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crashandlivewrites · 4 months

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@soapsgf and I were feeling gay so we wrote lesbian fics for each other <3

Pairing: fem!Ghost x fem!reader (or rather, stone top butch Ghost x pillow princess reader)

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, cunnilingus, mention of a strap, relationship insecurities, Ghost communicating (?!?!), use of daddy one (1) time

Word Count: 2.1k (this was meant to be a drabble oops)

You were cuddled up on the couch late at night in your small flat you shared with your girlfriend, Simone, whenever she was back from deployment. Your hands had slithered their way underneath her jacket and shirt, leeching the warmth from her body as she had one of her muscled arms thrown casually over you, keeping you tucked into her side as her fingers traced mindless patterns over your body.

Playing on the tv was a reality show you enjoyed, yet tonight you weren’t really paying attention to it. Simone had even chimed in a few times, to show her interest in the show for you, but her statements and questions remained unanswered. It wasn’t until something ridiculous happened that would normally have pulled a barking laugh from you that she decided enough was enough.

Switching the tv, she placed a hand over your shoulder, shaking you lightly.

“You gonna tell me what’s been rollin’ in your head since I got home or not, pretty girl?” Her voice startled you, breaking you out of your daydream as you pulled back from her, furrowing your brows.

“What? I’m sorry, wasn’t listening.”

“Clearly.” She gave you a pointed look. “Wanna know what’s on your mind, lovie. You haven’t been right since I got back.”

“Nothing. Just tired. Been a long day.” You tried to dissuade her, waving your hand as you reached over her to take the remote, only to my stopped by her firm fingers on your wrist.

“I’m not stupid, nor blind, love. You haven’t been yourself. You’ve been quiet.”

Cursing inwardly, you looked away from your overly observant girlfriend, trying not to show your discomfort. Of course, she’d noticed the small things that no one else would. Your brows furrowed and you wrung your fingers as you tried to search for the right words. Simone just sat there, a reassuring hand against your shoulder, letting you know she was there to listen. She always was.

“It’s stupid… really, I don’t know why it’s affected me so much.” The hesitancy was evident in your voice, and her eyes narrowed slightly.

“It’s not nothing. It’s got you in a tiff.”

“It’s…” You faltered, eyes flicking around the room as you were unable to look at her. Only when her hand reached out to grip your jaw did you force yourself to meet her gaze and continue. “It’s about sex.”

“What about it?”

“I just… don’t you feel left out?” Her brows knitted together, and she angled her head, signalling for you to continue. “I feel like I’m always just lying there when we have sex. I do nothing. You’re doing everything, Simone, including getting me off but not yourself. Don’t you hate that?”

Her hand went soft on your jaw as her thumb stroked your cheek, eyes boring into yours.

“What stupid video have you seen now?” Blinking, you cocked your head and looked at her in bewilderment.

“How did you—”

“Doesn’t take much. Let me guess, some wanker of a broad on tiktok made a video about how pillow princesses are lazy and should do more work, hmm?” Simone leaned forward, getting into your space as you stared at her, dumbfounded.

“But isn’t it true?”

“I think you’re missing the point of the term, princess.” She elongated the term of endearment as her hand ran down your neck. “I like making you feel good. Just you. Besides, the way you sound when you come, who wouldn’t want to hear that?”

Your face heated and you tried to push her away in protest as she smiled, flashing a toothy grin before running her tongue along her lips. Though her words struck a chord with you, there was still some lingering doubts swimming in your head.

You could count the total amount of times you’d gotten her off with your own mouth or fingers on one hand. The queasiness in your stomach, however, didn’t fade with her reassurance.

“Do you not like me in that way?” Your voice was small and filled with shame, as if you already knew the question was stupid, but you couldn’t stop the feeling from clawing its way up. Simone’s eyes softened and her long fingers ran along the back of your head.

“Lovie, it’s not like that. You know it takes me a lot to want to be in the mood to receive. It’s got nothing to do with not wanting you. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“But your job is stressful! Surely you’d want some release when you come back?”

“You’re my release, princess.” She whispers, voice lowering as she leans in. “The way you’re so obedient for me, how you spread your legs so eagerly, how wet you get when my fingers barely graze your skin… you’re a fucking sight, princess. And you’re mine.”

The drop in her tone sent a rush of arousal through you. Pursing your lips and squeezing your thighs together, you whine in protest.

“I want to please you!”

“You do fuckin’ please me, lovie. The sight of you on our bed, legs spread open, begging for me to touch you like a good little slut. My good little slut. Makes my head spin. Hearin’ you scream my name as you squirt over my face? A fucking godsend.”

Simone was now shuffling over the couch into your space. You felt the sturdy armrest pressing into your body as you leaned back, face heating and heart thumping. True to her words, your legs were unconsciously spreading for her, accomodating her broad frame as she nestled between your thighs, her large hands caressing your pliant one.

“Simmy…” Your voice was barely above a squeak as she cocked her eyebrow up at you, the smirk on her face deadly.

“What is it, my little princess? What do you need?”

“You.” Simone hummed, shaking her head.

“More specific, princess. You know the rules.” Her hands slid up your thin shirt, tweaking at your nipples and drawing a gasping moan from you.

“Mouth… want your mouth Simmy please.”

“My mouth where?” She pressed, squeezing your tits now in her large hands as her mouth descended on the bare skin of your stomach, pressing soft kisses as she waits for you to reply.

Moaning both in delirious pleasure and frustration, you managed to lift your head up and look down at her with a frown.

“You’re so cruel.” You pouted accusingly at her, and she laughed darkly in response, but she didn’t make any further movements. Not able to resist any longer, you tilted your hips up so they were closer to her mouth. “Want your mouth on my pussy and want you to make me come.”

This time, your girlfriend grinned wickedly, adjusting you both so your legs were thrown over her muscled shoulders.

“My good fucking girl, using her words. Gonna reward you for that.” And she did.

Her lips immediately latched onto your clit after pushing your underwear aside, dragging her tongue up your slit as she moaned, fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs. Moaning into your cunt, she moved down, tongue lapping over your wetness as your fingers wound their way into her hair.

She usually buzzed it short whenever she left for the field, then let it grow. Right now, it was just long enough for you to tug at with your fingers as you cried out her name. Simone had always been godly with her mouth, and tonight was no different.

Tonight, she was taking her time with you, pressing soft kisses over your sensitive flesh, her tongue sliding languidly up your cunt, delving into your wet hole and groaning at your taste.

“So fuckin’ wet f’me lovie. Practically dripping on our couch.” Our couch, she says. You grin amidst the pleasure, thinking about how quickly Simone began to call your home hers as well.

Sucking your clit back into her mouth, she reached down so the pads of her fingers were prodding at your soaked entrance. Clutching at her hair, you rolled your hips, eager to feel the delicious stretch as she pressed her long fingers into you. But she didn’t. Instead, she clicked her tongue and pulled back.

“So greedy tonight, princess. What was all that talk about earlier? Wanting to do all the work? No sweets, you belong here, beneath me writhing and moaning like the little slutty princess you are.”

“Simone.” You whined, rolling your hips once more as your cunt throbbed in need.

“Look at you.” She cooed, grinning salaciously as her eyes raked over your body, clothes having been shoved haphazardly out of the way. “Looking like a proper slag now, princess. Cunt all wet and swollen, perfect tits out on display. Should take a photo.”

Your lips parted at the suggestion, the debate waging in your head.

“Is that what you want?” She hummed thoughtfully.

“Probably not. As much as I’d love to show you off and brag to the blokes that you’re a fuckin’ babe, you’re mine, princess. And only I can see you like this.” To back up her words, Simone’s teeth dragged possessively along your inner thigh, wringing out another moan from you.

Returning her attention to your clit, she flicked it with the tip of her tongue, the barest stimulation still sending shivers up your spine and making your thighs clench around her ears. Ghosting her middle finger down your slit, she pressed it inside you, groaning at the ease.

“Fuck lovie… never gonna get over that feeling.” She pressed another in for good measure and curled, making you squeal and grip her hair tightly, holding her face to your cunt as she ravished you.

“Please… oh god please Simmy. ‘m gonna come.” You panted, heat pooling in you. She pulled back, thumbing your clit as she grinned down at you, fingers still plunging into your slick hole.

“Yeah? You gonna be a good girl for me and come, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over our couch and make it smell like you?” Now it was her turn to moan as she leaned back down, alternating between her tongue and thumb as she spoke.

“Love the way you smell, the way you taste… I’d live off you if I could, sweet girl. My good girl. Mine.”

“Yours, Simmy… always yours.” You managed to get out, head spinning as your fingers tightened. You were spiralling, her attentiveness to you was unparalleled, knowing exactly where to press, flick, and suck.

Unable to contain the feeling, you cried out, one hand flying to grip the couch below you as your back arched and thighs trembled. You could feel your pussy pulsing around her fingers, clenching around them tighter as the coil in your gut tightened. Your body was tantalisingly close, perched on a knife’s edge before the spring snapped and you moaned her name as your eyes fluttered closed, head tipping back.

Simone hummed contentedly into your pussy, lapping gently as she worked you through your release. Once your body had sagged back down onto the couch and your walls had stopped spasming around her fingers, she lowered back down to place a soft kiss on the hood of your clit. Jerking from overstimulation, you whined softly, but giggled as you opened your eyes blearily to look up into her smiling face.

“So fuckin’ pretty, lovie.” She whispered before diving in to claim your mouth, tongue immediately pressing in so you could taste yourself. Pulling back just as quickly, her eyes darkened with lust, she looked down at you, head cocked slightly.

“Got an idea, princess. Since you had all that talk about doing some work in the bedroom, why don’t you get out that strap of mine that makes you scream?”

Drawing your lip into your mouth, you nodded eagerly, quickly getting up on shaky legs as you stumbled to the bedroom. You could hear Simone laughing as you walked, but you didn’t care. Returning, strap in hand, you held it out to her.

It was a mean thing, cruelly thick and curved, large enough to hit that spot inside you that made you cream with ease, and she knew it too. Standing up, Simone loomed over you, shucking off her jacket and pants revealing her hulking frame, she tugged on the strap before sitting back down on the couch, legs spread in a way that made you want to crawl between them and worship her. But she had other plans.

“Want you to ride me, lovie. Ride my cock until you can’t take it anymore and need me to take over. Wanna watch that pretty face fall apart as you realise you can’t come without me, then I’ll plow you into the couch.” Whining softly, you crawled into her lap, positioning yourself over her strap.

“Be a good girl and ride Daddy’s cock, like a pretty little slut.”

#crash writes #cherry 🍒#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #ghost smut #fem!ghost x reader #fem!simon riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty smut

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cocogum · 9 days

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The Great Wave - Chapter 3 Review

‼️ SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER ‼️

Warning(s): extreme use of foul language.

Aurora is not pregnant.

I don’t believe it for a second, that cow is lying through her teeth. I already mentioned in the second chapter review that she just couldn’t be pregnant because there are three major reasons that easily disprove her claim.

First, it’s the amount of time that passed by. It has been a few months since Season 4 and the manga, around four months to be exact. And yet, Aurora’s stomach appears to be completely flat. How is this possible? Shouldn't there be a visible bump by now?

Second, season 3’s artbook already confirmed that Aurora was a manipulative woman and wanted to reflect it with her design (by having her hair covering one of her eyes) so who’s to say she’s telling the truth right now??

Third, @kilfeur pointed out in this post that if she was pregnant, Armand would not have allowed her to fly high up in the cloudy sky to gain knowledge about the Eliatrope goddess' eliaculus. Armand was already worried about Aurora when she went up, and the thought of her flying high while carrying their future child would have made him refuse the idea entirely, as he feared it could put their unborn child in danger.

So yeah, this skank is clearly lying her ass off just to manipulate the sadidas so that they could take her side. She’s so fucking petty omg I cannot deal with her. And her father is even worse my god wipe that ugly ass smile off your face you fatass.

This man clearly wants power that’s outside his kingdom. He just wants more even if it doesn’t belong to him and it painfully shows because he won’t stop making this fart face.

But it’s okay because as soon as Amalia opens her mouth, he immediately stops looking like a dumbass and immediately FROWNS because he knows she’s spitting FACTS.

And this is the only reason why I loved this moment. Amalia literally put him in his place and shut him up.

Amalia on the first panel: “What right do you return after you have shamelessly abandoned us? The osamodas kingdom, the nations of Bonta, Brakmar, Amakna, Astrub…”

Amalia on the second panel: “We asked you to come help us!”

Amalia on the third panel: “BUT NO ONE CAME! It was the future of the world that was at stake, not just the Sadida Kingdom!!!”

LIKE YES GIRL YES FUCKING DESTROY THIS OLD WASTE OF SPACE!!!

She literally dragged him on the fucking floor with all these facts omg I can’t she’s such a queen I love her so much. 💖💖

But then, instead of just taking it all like a good boy, this old bag of furry bones only had one thing to say and it was:

Osamodas blue cow king: “You give honor to your egocentrism, Amalia…”

Bruh what.

What are you talking about, you crusty old bat?

She drops so many facts and events that happened and this guy’s only comeback is “you’re being selfish 🥺😡”. Like what the fuck was even that???

Dude if you’ve got nothing to say, then don’t say anything but don’t just blurt out the first thing that comes out of your mouth??? Like what??

This is the equivalent of a detective who presented all the proofs that you committed the crime and the only thing you have to say is “your mama”.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse for this guy, he says:

Osamodas blue cow king: “My soldiers would have beat these creatures just as efficiently as yours.”

Oh yeah, where were they then, you fucking liar??? The worst part about this is that you didn’t even try hiding the fact that you would’ve been ‘ready’ but you’re so dumb you have no idea how brain-dead that makes you sound right now. You’re saying you could’ve sent your men BUT YOU DIDN’T DO SHIT. WHAT’S WORSE IS THAT YOU KNEW THE SADIDAS NEEDED HELP CUZ UR STUPID DAUGHTER FLED TO GO BACK TO YOU.

Also didn’t you once claim that Armand’s army was weaker than yours but then all of a sudden you’re now saying that your army could’ve beat the necromes like theirs did???

(oh oop- Armand don’t kill him yet 😭)

Bitch doesn’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. I doubt he even knows wtf he’s saying half the time.

Are you dumb???? Are you actually suffering from constipation????

You’re implying that you were free to help and that you knew they needed help. YOU’RE INDIRECTLY SAYING THAT YOU KNEW AND DIDN’T HELP DESPITE HAVING THE TIME TO DO SO.

While the old fart is yapping, Yugo’s face is just so 🫤😑 I’ve been staring at this panel for 2 minutes now and I love how fucking out of it he looks while listening to the cow 😭 Actually, I’m not even sure if he’s listening, I think he’s just hearing him from one ear but it all goes out on the other side. He looks like a god who’s about to squash an annoying ass ant lol

He’s literally like “is this bitch fr?”

Like Yugo is 100% confident to say that the osamodas king had no idea what the hell he was talking about when he thought his troops and he would’ve been able to fight off the necromes.

Yugo: “You have absolutely no idea what we saved you from!”

Yugo’s making that face cuz he knows the king has no clue what he’s barking about. (Also can’t Yugo just use his wakfu sensing abilities to check if Aurora is actually carrying another twelvian?? Or is he not able to do that because an unborn child does not have wakfu yet?) Little blue bro doesn’t know what necromes even are cuz Yugo never told him about them so how the hell was he supposed to know if his men would’ve stood a chance???? No seriously is this cow okay? Why is he talking? Is he talking just for the sake of talking?? Is he that self-conscious that he’ll make up lies on the spot just to protect his image??? The cow king doesn’t even know that the necromes had a leader. Yugo and Amalia are dealing with a fucking grown-ass child omg.

Osamodas blond cow: “I left because I made the promise to my dear Armand.”

This is a lie. Armand never heard of any promise. An analysis conducted by @geekgirles even indicated otherwise, supporting that the claim made by Aurora was fake. According to the analysis, Aurora was more inclined towards her family than her new life with Armand, and the claim that he made any promises to her was baseless. If you wish to read the detailed analysis conducted by @geekgirles on this matter, you can find all of it in this post.

I’ll now explain to you, in my own words, why her bullshit is hot donkey ass. Keep in mind that the whole reason why she left was to protect “the child” aka “the future heir”. As I said before, Aurora couldn’t have promised Armand anything because he knew she still held a bit too much on her osamodas family. From what we’ve seen, Aurora had the time to go back to the Osamodas kingdom to check up on them because of the eliaculus in the skies, had sided with her osamodas family during the meeting with the eliatrope goddess, had tried to marry off Amalia to one of her brothers and cousin, deliberately brought some of her relatives to Armand’s coronation to….stand around, and even keeps her father around in the Sadida kingdom when he should either be ruling his own kingdom or go back to his cave. Armand is not a moron. He knows that she constantly brings her own family to a place that doesn’t need them. So when he’s about to sacrifice his life unbeknownst to Amalia, he tells her this:

“The future is yours.”

Armand had passed the torch to Amalia.

It's worth noting that this is a crucial moment because he chooses not to pass the leadership to his own wife, Aurora. This decision is based on the fact that Aurora is heavily influenced by her family and is unable to make independent choices. At the same time, he also chooses not to give it to someone else who is just as important.

And that is the imaginary baby that Aurora is carrying.

Remember that the baby doesn't exist, and that's an important fact to keep in mind. Armand, who still loves Aurora, doesn't trust her enough to give her the leading role, or any role for that matter, especially not one that involves a child they could potentially have together. Instead, he gave the role to his sister. Aurora knows this and is fully aware that her promise to him was never even a thing. In Armand’s mind, it wouldn't have mattered if she ran away because he never intended to give her a part of the kingdom’s responsibilities in the first place, even though her getting away like that would have hurt his heart.

And Aurora is over here saying that her dad will help her lead the sadidas while she’s pregnant, girl sit your ass down no one called for you. Hoe thought she was in the same group as freaking warriors, shut up. You clearly want your father to rule for a much longer time literally wtf.

Osamodas blond cow: “During my pregnancy, my father will help me lead the kingdom…and I also count on him to train the future heir.”

It's concerning that her explanation might make sense to the sadidas. I'm not sure how she managed it, but that skank made it sound like her father would automatically assist her in ruling the Sadida Kingdom (despite them being Osamodas) since she would be pregnant and without aid due to Armand's demise. And after her baby would be born, her father would train him under his guidance to make him become strong and successful. She made it sound like a simple plan with no problems attached to it. She hasn’t even mentioned if the “baby” was an osamodas or a sadida. She only mentioned the gender, that the baby was a male (in French, when she calls the unborn child “the heir” she says it by using male pronouns).

Hey, Aurora what happens when your lie doesn’t work anymore because your stomach will still stay flat after eight months? You’re gonna tell the people that you swallowed the baby or something? That it fell down? What happens when you can’t keep up with your lie anymore?? Huh? Ever thought about that, you dumb bitch?

I have an idea, Amalia: how about you throw Aurora to the other side of the world and then try to get yourself pregnant by using Yugo so that you can also have a better reason to stay? Or better yet, you can tell her to prove her pregnancy because again, HER STOMACH IS FLATTER THAN A WASHBOARD AFTER ALL THESE MONTHS. Make her suffer from her lie and try to make her work hard for it.

You know when a dog lifts his tail and head up while he’s walking away from something cuz it shows just how sassy and confident they are? I see no difference with this crappy blue cow ‘family’ except that it ain’t cute when they do it.

They just ignored everything Amalia and Yugo said, looked the other way from every proof and situation that they were currently in, and only brought out Aurora’s pregnancy as a trashy uno reverse card, then decided to dip out before blurting out that they were gonna wait NEXT TO ARMAND’S FUCKING TREE GRAVE SO AMALIA CAN PREPARE HER STUFF TO LEAVE.

Osamodas blonde cow: “We are going to pray at Armand’s grave tree, while you make your arrangements.”

The fucking nerve to say that.

I don’t give a shit if she’s crying while saying it, this bitch is supposed to be a professional manipulator.

She and her family have no shame whatsoever. They genuinely thought they did something there. The only thing they had as “leverage” against Amalia and Yugo was Aurora’s stupid “pregnancy”. And even if she was actually carrying Armand’s kid (for whatever reason), her reason would still be shit cuz Armand already declared in his final hour that Amalia was going to take his role.

Osamodas blond cow: “Your presence here is no longer desired, sister-in-law. Just do what you’ve always done…Go explore the world!”

Like-

Who are you???

Blond cow had the audacity to exist.

Not only do we know that the royal osamodas family are liars and manipulators, but we also now know that they’re complete dumbasses for even wanting to rule the Sadida kingdom of all kingdoms. The Sadida kingdom is not built like theirs. The Sadida culture and its customs are extremely different and very much the opposite of the Osamodas since these two races are polar opposites. The Sadidas care about plant life while the Osamodas care about wildlife. It would be extremely hard for the osamodas to fully accept a culture that preaches everything that opposes what they preach. Not only that, but the Sadida kingdom is the literal embodiment of nature. If anything tries to hit its source no matter how big or small, then there would be dire consequences to the entire ecosystem of the world. The Tree of Life is such a big deal in fact that Armand even nicknames it “the lungs of this world”.

And to protect it, you not only need to be one with nature, but that also means you need a SADIDA to guard it which is a person that can literally SPEAK FOR THE TREES. Aurora you NEED Amalia, not only because she’s a Sadida, but because she’s also a royal AND has the strongest connection to the tree more than any other sadidas. You’re not just ruling a kingdom, you’re taking care of the world’s core.

And Aurora’s father doesn’t seem to understand that very important detail. When Armand reveals to him that the sadida kingdom keeps getting targeted at all times because it represents the lungs of the world, this fucking dumbass cow thinks that it’s because the sadidas are weak and can’t protect their own home which is why it keeps getting attacked.

Aurora’s father is such an idiot that he doesn’t even understand why the kingdom is so precious when he’s just been TOLD THE ANSWER DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF HIS FUCKING FACE.

At this point, even a iop would get it. BECAUSE THE PERCEDAL FAMILY ACTUALLY UNDERSTOOD THE ASSIGNMENT-

This is why imagining an osamodas ruling the Sadida kingdom is a literal death sentence. Because an osamodas, someone who only takes care of beasts, shouldn’t be able to properly take care of the sacred tree that links every single living plant in the world. For fuck sake, Aurora, why do you think they call it “the Tree of LIFE”?????

If the Tree of Life doesn’t have a proper guardian (aka A FUCKING SADIDA), then it dies. And if it dies, that means the ecosystem dies. Aurora, you dumb blond, let me explain it in osamodas language: if every green that you see outside disappears, that means that your stupid animals won’t be able to properly eat, shit, reproduce, drink, breathe, and live. And yes, Aurora that last one also means that they won’t have a surface to walk on, aka death.

You don’t have a brain because you keep listening to your egocentric manipulative fat father every time he opens his mouth and you keep making constipated decisions without thinking about the later outcomes because you think you’re in control of the situation.

The only thing you can do, and I’m being generous here by giving you a “talent”, is to shut the fuck up and sit there looking pretty. You did a good job doing that in Season 4 and I want you to do that again. And while you’re at it, go make me a sandwi-

Not only does Aurora need Amalia, the sadida who has the strongest link to the Tree of Life, but the Osamodas king also needs Yugo. I’m not sure why these blue people didn’t catch the fact that there’s a gigantic ass necrome dragon that’s only been PARALYZED and is currently standing in the fucking Sadida Kingdom’s backyard. The dragon is very easy to spot and the only reason why Yugo still keeps the eliatrope dofus on him at all times is to prepare himself for when the dragon gets out of this state. Because yes, Armand did beat him, but he didn’t kill him. Again, you are not able to kill a necrome. If the royal Osamodas family somehow takes hold of the Sadida kingdom, how the fuck are they gonna beat a fucking dragon, one of the most powerful fucking entities of this world who also had been necrofied to NEVER FUCKING DIE??? The osamodas cow king never saw a necrome, never beat a necrome, doesn’t know how it became a necrome, and doesn’t know where it comes from. Since he doesn’t know shit about the necromes, how is he gonna be able to fight a fucking necrome DRAGON?????

Sweeties, do you get it now?

Staying in the Sadida kingdom isn’t for power-hungry clowns. Staying in the Sadida kingdom means that you’ve gambled with your life more than once and you know the taste of adventure and combat. Staying there means knowing that your life can be taken away from you by either the enemies who try to take the literal lungs of the world, or the paralyzed undead dragon who can wake up at any time if he simply wanted to.

You bozos NEED Yugo and Amalia to the point where you can’t even be the ones to stay there, let alone own the place. You can’t stay there because there is so much to keep guard of, to be aware of, and to be ready for. The sadidas have practiced this dance for centuries now and they’ll keep doing it even harder because of an additional menace that is living on their grounds, the dragon being that very threat. Now, not only do the sadidas have to be vigilant of the outside, but they also have to be vigilant of the inside.

So yeah, the royal osamodas are a goofy ass family and I hate the circus.

(i love how the French commentaries on Allskreen and the Krosmoz app are clowning this family lol everyone understood the assignment)

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starsandhughes · 7 months

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Penalty Box Series— Trevor Zegras Edition (Three)

23-24 Season Masterlist

previous: two

next: four

a/n yes that's the stars new locker room and yes that does mean they're better than everyone else because LOOK AT IT

OCTOBER 19, 2023

yourusername

liked by trevorzegras, _wyattjohnston, and 15,423 others

yourusername welcome back to my penalty box update show: I MET THE DALLAS STARS EDITION!

dad (troy) scored the first goal of the game less than five minutes into the first, and my z-baby got an assist, giving him his first point of the season! it's about damn time, my love!

not only did he get his first point, he also got his second (and technically third but... that was for too many men) penalty. if you'll notice, i did not use an exclamation point, and that is because he hooked hakanpää and had an... extra reaction to it... (i love you, babe, but please... you do not want to hear what razor and bogo had to say...) (i love you) (but oh my god) (it was hot tho) (just next time don't do it against a star)

my quackies worked really hard tonight, they just didn't get the dub in the end :( but mine and trevor's son, leo (@/leocarlssoon) SCORED HIS FIRST NHL GOAL TONIGHT! IN HIS DEBUT! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU, CURRENT FAVORITE CHILD! I LOVE YOU SM! MWAH!

p.s. @_wyattjohnston sorry my boyfriend was a pest! he's still being trained <3 it's all business! i promise, he's a sweetheart! thank you for the locker room tour and for introducing me to some of the other guys! i loved it and i’m utterly obsessed with you!

p.s.s. @/masconmctavish23 DO NOT TRIP HARLS AGAIN! I WILL FIGHT YOU!

p.s.s.s. i love you, always, my sweet boy🧡 (despite your faults)

tagged trevorzegras

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trevorzegras i'm your fiancé?

yourusername you've been downgraded since you caused jamie benn to intervene on your nonsense

trevorzegras YOU'RE PRO NONSENSE

yourusername NOT AGAINST THE STARS!

_wyattjohnston @/trevorzegras is she serious?

trevorzegras @_wyattjohnston probably not

jamie.drysdale @_wyattjohnston she's just quirky

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale WHY DOES EVERYONE USE QUIRKY TO DESCRIBE ME?!

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername it's the nicest word available

trevorzegras @/yourusername you're also my precious weirdo! i love you, forever!

yourusername @/trevorzegras @.jamie.drysdale i can't tell if i’m being attacked or not

trevorzegras @/yourusername probably not

user61 AHHH SISSY LIVED HER DREAM!!!!

user9 oop- hope that wasn't awkward with trevor and wyatt's sass off😭

jamie.drysdale @/trevorzegras you're doing amazing, sweatie!

trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale this is why we aren't living together this year

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale stop lying to the people! he lives 2 minutes away and moved out because we're having a baby!

jamie.drysdale @/trevorzegras and we've already had sleepovers!

trevorzegras @/yourusername @.jamie.drysdale could you two just let me be dramatic?

yourusername @/trevorzegras i think that might kill me

jackhughes @/trevorzegras sissy is dramatic enough for all of us. so no.

yourusername @/jackhughes will you ever not butt in on a conversation between me and z?

jackhughes @/yourusername i think that might kill me

leocarlssoon love you, too, mom! thanks for the mini trophy! and the post game goodie bag!

yourusername you're ever so welcome, my son! (you'll get a trophy every year for your first goal) (and a goodie bag after every game!!!)

trevorzegras @/leocarlssoon I'M SO STOKED FOR YOU, SON!

leocarlssoon @/trevorzegras thanks, dad! does she really give everyone a post game goodie bag?

trevorzegras @/leocarlssoon she does! she sends me with them on roadies she can't go to

yourusername @/leocarlsson i also give them to former teammates because i still loves them

trevorzegras @/yourusername love*

yourusername @/trevorzegras i said what i said! i love them a lot! plural love!

user72 z really went from precious baby child in the box for no reason to hot angry man sitting for his sins

_wyattjohnston it was great meeting you! let's hang out a little longer when the ducks come to dallas

yourusername and if i told you i go to ever dallas game against one of my friends/brothers as humanly possible?

_wyattjohnston i'll see you november 4th then😂

t.harley48 @/yourusername i also enjoyed meeting you and will see you on the 4th! and you really don't need to fight mctavish for me!

yourusername @/t.harley48 it's a little too late for that

jamie.drysdale @/t.harley48 he's fine, he just got wacked outside the head

masonmctavish23 @/jamie.drysdale speak for yourself

t.harley48 @/jamie.drysdale is this normal?

jamie.drysdale @/t.harley48 only for tripping, slashing, boarding, elbowing, head contact, and fighting penalties against you guys

_wyattjohnston @/yourusername you're too kind

yourusername @_wyattjohnston thanks, it's kinda my thing

tydellandrea53 @/yourusername i wanna meet you! you seem fun!

jamie.drysdale @/tydellandrea53 she wacked mac-t for tripping thomas

tydellandrea53 @/jamie.drysdale sounds fun to me

yourusername @/tydellandrea53 you get me

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras @.jamie.drysdale how much did she cry?

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes she was surprisingly fine... it was scary

jamie.drysdale @_quinnhughes she saved the freak out for when she got home

_quinnhughes there's my girl

user37 i need to know if sissy gets disappointed when the stars lose against one of her boys

_quinnhughes she says no, but we can all tell she is

jackhughes she's a traitor

_wyattjohnston @/jackhughes @_quinnhughes our bad

lhughes_06 @/trevorzegras you're making it really hard to want to bet on you for canucks v ducks games

trevorzegras @/lhughes_06 i swear i’m trying to

yourusername @/trevorzegras istg if you make me owe jack a lot of money again we're getting a divorce

trevorzegras @/yourusername we aren't married yet!

yourusername @/trevorzegras i’ll wait.

jackhughes @/trevorzegras good luck!

_alexturcotte @/yourusername most of the time when a marriage is destroyed by gambling addictions, the other person files for divorce

yourusername @_alexturcotte sucks for them but i'm different

leocarlssoon @/yourusername what are you betting on?

trevorzegras @/leocarlssoon please don't get in on this

_quinnhughes @/leocarlssoon it's the high limit lounge in vegas on ducks v canucks games. stay away.

edwards.73 @/leocarlssoon it's hell week in one night three times a year

jackhughes @/leocarlssoon there's lots of screaming and fighting and crying

colecaufield @/leocarlssoon and it's not just jack and y/n this time

slknight35 @/yourusername i’m in

yourusername @/slknight35 buckle up buttercup! you're in for a wild ride in the gc

matthew_tkachuk @/yourusername i’m intrigued

yourusername @/matthew_tkachuk welcome to the shitshow, matty ratty😈

_quinnhughes @/yourusername stop turning everyone into gamblers

yourusername @_quinnhughes no <3

user45 BLUE SUIT! BLUE SUIT! BLUE SUIT!

colecaufield @/trevorzegras you embarrassed your girl

trevorzegras @/colecaufield wrong. i pissed off my girl.

yourusername @/trevorzegras that's not better

trevorzegras @/yourusername i’m just trying to be honest!

colecaufield @/yourusername we love an honest dad!

yourusername @/colecaufield i mean i guess

trevorzegras @/yourusername mwah!🧡

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras sissy will never let this go

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i fear this will be worse

jamie.drysdale @/trevorzegras she met some of the stars so maybe not?

yourusername @/trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale @_quinnhughes i haven't decided yet

trevorzegras well that's terrifying

yourusername @/trevorzegras mwah!🧡

#penalty box series #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras x y/n #trevor zegras fanfic #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras x hughes reader #jamie drysdale #quinn hughes #luke hughes #jack hughes #cole caufield #wyatt johnston #hockey imagine #nhl imagine

216 notes · View notes

madame-wilsonn · 2 years

Text

Hold me, love me, touch me

(Be the first who ever did)

MASTERLIST

Request: "it’s breaking my heart to see you like this" - maybe for Tommy? — @thesoldiersminute

Summary: If you hold me without hurting me / You’ll be the first who ever did

or: after running away from Grace’s funeral, Tommy finds some comfort in your arms

A/N: this is veryyyy different to what I usually post but i’ve had this idea for so long!! It’s inspired by a few scenes from the show as well as a few LDR songs. I would just like to add this quote from California because it fits the story well:

You don't ever have to be stronger than you really are When you're lying in my arms, baby You don't ever have to go faster than your fastest pace Or faster than my fastest cars

Also big big big thank you to my pal @hauntedheathcliff and my bg @huntingingoodwill for helping me out, i don’t think i would have finished and posted it if they weren’t here!! this is the first very long one shot i post, I hope you all enjoy because i’ve been working really hard on this and i think i got too attached to it oops…anyway have fun!! <3

Warnings: mentions of death, war and just angst overall; a bit of fluff (old habits die hard)

Word count: 6,464 words

Thunder rumbled. Its echo reverberating on the tall trees.

Tommy could almost hear it.

The grieving sky screaming. The leaves whispering. Murmuring the same haunting chant over and over.

She’s dead. He killed her. She’s dead. He killed her.

His vision blurred. For an instant, he thought he was finally crying until he noticed the rain. It was raining.

A drop. Then another. And another. And another.

The tears rolling down Tommy’s peaked cap turned into weeping. The sky wailed its pain, crying the tears the widowed man didn’t have.

He couldn’t bring himself to.

Was he so broken even the death of his wife wouldn’t affect him?

The man brought the half-empty bottle of whiskey to his lips. The golden liquid cast a gentle warmth on his entire being. Tommy welcomed it, only wincing as the taste burnt his lips.

At least he could still feel that.

The reason he couldn’t cry for his late wife, he knew it.

That very reason made him cower with shame. Run away from her mourning family. Hide from his own son who, only aged two, reminded him so much of her.

But how could he cry for a woman he had never been in love with?

He swallowed another sip.

No matter how many times he had foolishly tried to convince himself, he was never in love.

He cared for her. He was loyal. He was devoted.

But never in love.

No, his heart belonged to another.

He chugged at the bottle, drinking until he couldn’t breathe and his head felt dizzy.

He closed his eyes, the heavy rain making him shiver.

Her image, engraved on his eyelids, shook his heart. She had always been aware of it. There was a distance, a wall between them. He didn’t look at her the way she wanted him to— no spark, no tenderness in his gaze. They shared a house and a family but that’s all they would ever have.

If Tommy married Grace, despite her betrayal, it was only to do right by her.

And he never regretted it.

Thomas Shelby wasn’t a man of many regrets.

He was a man of guilt.

Marrying a woman he didn’t love to preserve her reputation— to protect her— just to get her killed instead.

That was all him.

He stared blankly at his hands, an empty chuckle leaving his lips.

Those hands. Dripping with innocent blood.

So much blood.

Blood on her porcelain skin. Blood on her powder pink dress. Blood on his pristine white shirt. Blood. Everywhere.

And it was all his fault.

Gulp.

If there was one thing worse than being responsible for Grace's death, it was the shame he felt.

Even dead, he couldn’t give her what she desired. He couldn’t mourn for her the way everyone expected him to. His heart couldn’t break for her the way it should because it never belonged to her in the first place.

Gulp.

His son was going to grow up without his mother. Tommy knew how that felt. It was the last thing he wished for Charlie. To grow up the way he did.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

The last drop of ember liquid slid down his throat and Tommy stared at the clear glass. There was no consolation. No rest for him. Not here. And certainly not at the bottom of that bottle.

He got up suddenly, stumbling through the large field into his car. Glancing at his pallid face in the rearview mirror, he sighed.

There was only one place Tommy could hope to find comfort tonight.

A soft knock on the door tore you from your thoughts. A swift glance at the clock pointed to the late hour as you slipped your robe on. You crossed your apartment warily, wondering who could visit in the middle of the night. Who could be brave— or stupid enough to defy the pouring rain outside?

You opened the door slowly, your heart pounding in apprehension.

“Tommy?” You opened the door slowly, heart pounding in apprehension. “Gosh, Tom, you must be freezing! A-are you okay?” you quickly ushered him inside.

Grabbing his coat and cap, you handed him a dry towel.

You hadn’t seen him since the morning, at the funeral. He left after his speech, handing Charlie to Polly and taking his car.

His brothers spent hours searching for him but it was useless. If Thomas Shelby decided he didn’t want to be found, then nobody would.

You hesitated for a moment. Maybe you should warn Polly or Ada, tell them he was with you.

Instead, you brought a comforting hand to his soaked arm. “Would you like me to make you some tea?”

“No, it’s alright. I…I don’t even know why I came here,” he slurred, his eyes darting around— always avoiding you.

Guiding him towards the sofa, you managed to get a better look at him.

To say he seemed tired was a euphemism. His eyes lacked their usual spark and his skin had a sick, grayish tone. He had aged twenty years in about a week.

Your heart clenched in your chest as the memory of the young man he used to be appeared. His clear laugh rang out somewhere in your mind and you thought about the long nights spent with the other. Up there, on the roof of some abandoned factory, dreaming of a gilded future.

“Do you think you can get up? My brother left some clothes here, you could change into something dry.”

Tommy took a cigarette out from the pocket of his black jacket. You observed him, watching the same ritual you’ve witnessed countless times. The cigarette between his lips, he muttered “It’s fine,” before inhaling the smoke. “I should go anyway. Shouldn’t have bothered you so late at night. ‘M sorry.”

Your hand reached for his. “No. You’re not going anywhere, Tom.”

He observed you as he felt your thumb running against his skin. Such a simple gesture yet it took Tommy a moment to recognize the small display of affection.

Your touch sent shivers down his spine, different from the ones he felt because of the cold— enjoyable. He decided to focus on the warmth emanating from your hand, sitting back down.

He wondered when was the last time someone had been so tender with him. The last time touch didn’t rhyme with broken bones and bruises. The last time he seemed important enough to be handled with care and gentleness.

“Hey,” you announced softly, taking a seat next to Tommy. “How’s your arm doing?”

He took a swig straight out of the bottle of champagne. You instantly recognized the “gift” offered by Grace as he handed it to you. “Feels like it's been shot,” he shrugged, his gaze fixed on his passed-out brothers.

Sighing, you swallowed some of the bubbly liquid again. Even though a part of you was thrilled to see the blonde barmaid gone— you had been wishing for that ever since she stepped into town— seeing Tommy so heartbroken snatched the joy away.

To your dismay, her arrival in Small Heath brought back parts of him you thought were lost in some deserted french field. It shattered your heart to see his smile, the somehow sparkling eyes, the lightness in his demeanor every time—and only when she was around.

And yet, if it meant him being happy again, then you could deal with the disappointment and the jealousy and the yearning. You could handle watching his joy from afar. Even if you weren’t the reason behind his smile, even if you weren’t part of it. You just wanted him to be happy.

But it was all a lie.

Who would have thought it was merely a scheme?

Probably the oldest one in the book— to get close to the man in charge and trick him into handing the information on a silver platter. No one suspected her. Not even Polly.

She had managed to fool all of you, the same way you’d fool a child into drinking some nasty medicine.

“And you?” you finally ask, turning your head to observe Tommy. “How are you?”

You noticed the clench in his jaw, the pause—a fraction of a second too long before answering “Good.”

"Really good or ‘just leave me alone’ good?”

He grabbed the bottle from your hands, staying quiet and you took this as a sign to ask again. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

One of the things Tommy cherished the most in your relationship was his ability to be honest with you. You seemed to understand, or at least accept what others qualified as flaws. He knew he could ask you to go away if he wanted to without upsetting you. It comforted him in some way.

But then, the thought of you leaving made his heart clench painfully in his chest. The swirl of emotions was too much. Too much for him to deal with alone.

His hand searched for yours, squeezing it gently. The words didn’t need to be uttered. You sat closer to him and for some reason Tommy couldn’t understand, his head rested on your shoulder.

It wasn’t calculated. He didn’t even think of it.

One minute he was carrying his heavy heart alone. The next, you stood by him and lifted some of the burden away.

Your fingers made their way to the shaved part of his head and Tommy closed his eyes. He could forget about everything. Forget about the throbbing pain in his arm. Forget about Danny Whizzbang. Forget about her.

He could just lean on you for a little bit. Focus on the feeling of your nails grazing his skin. Let the faint scent of aldehydes wrapped in roses suffocate the demons in his mind.

“I don’t want you to blame yourself, Tom,” you whispered after a moment of silence.

He scoffed and you brought your hands to his face, lifting his head from your shoulder. “I’m serious,” the fierce look in your eyes confirmed your words. “It could have happened to any of us. And you’ve been through so much. You wanted to believe you could finally allow yourself some peace,” your thumbs ran across his cheekbones. “It was with the wrong person but you still deserve it. You deserve good things.”

Tommy stared at you, almost bewildered. How could you say those words to him— and believe them when you knew what he was? He wondered if your friendship affected your judgment. Made you less able to separate the man he was from the memories you had with him.

As if you had been reading through his mind, you interrupted his ruminations. “I know you’ve convinced yourself you were all bad and evil but you’re wrong. The voices in your head are wrong. There is still good in you, Tom. I know there is, I can see it,” your hand slid from his cheek, dropping to his heart. “Right here.”

Tommy could only observe you. The determination in your voice, the earnestness in your eyes, you were convinced with your own speech. So much that a part of him began to trust you.

You smiled softly at him and he swore he felt his heart miss a beat. “You’re going to meet a nice girl. And she’ll be funny and sweet. And she’ll probably have the patience of a saint to deal with your stubborn arse.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your remark. “But she’ll love you more than anything else and she’ll be lucky because you’ll love her just the same.”

And while Tommy listened intently, the only thing he could think about was you.

Everything you described. Everything you said.

You. You. You.

It was you.

Tommy pressed his palms against his eyes until light dots appeared in his vision. He was beyond exhausted. His head, his arms, his legs ached. His entire body was begging him to surrender. Wave the white flag and give up.

He didn’t know how many battles he could still fight. How many blows he could still stomach. How many times his heart could still be torn apart and keep going.

If all of this was extra, why did it hurt so much?

“I called Polly,” you cut Tommy’s train of thoughts, entering the living room. “Charlie’s alright, he’s asleep now. She is staying at Arrow House with Ada.”

Tommy sighed, his gaze fixed on his trembling fingers. You observed him quietly, noticing the habit he had when something bothered him. He kept clenching his jaw anxiously. To the point you worried he might dislocate it.

Trying to catch his attention, you cleared your throat. Once. Twice.

And realizing he was far too gone into his own mind, you lightly touched his shoulder.

“You should get some rest. You’re tired.”

“I’m alright,” the response was short. Cold.

Anyone else would have backed down. Apologized, even. But you sat next to him, your concern only growing and decided to ask, “When was the last time you slept, hm?”

The dead silence that followed said it all.

You shook your head, a desperate sigh filling the quiet room with your worry.

“I wish there was something I could do,” your fingers brushed against his damp hair. “It’s breaking my heart to see you like this, Tom”

He stared at you, feeling your breath tickling his cheeks— the soft summer breeze embracing him after a hot, straining day.

And something in the air shifted.

Maybe it was the comfort Tommy found in your eyes. Maybe it was the way his heartbeat seemed to chant your name. Maybe he just wanted to.

But he leaned in.

His lips caressed yours, almost timidly before he moved closer. He was kissing you. The dwindling ember ablaze at the sweet taste of your lips mixed with whiskey and tobacco. A precious nectar Tommy knew he could never live without now that he had tasted it.

It seemed to be the only way to bring air into his lungs. Yet somehow, he felt breathless at the same time.

The feeling of his lips— so strangely soft made you dizzy. Your brain didn’t seem to work properly as you kissed him back. Tommy. Kissing you.

You almost giggled, a warm rush spreading in your chest and your head and everywhere in your body.

The only thing keeping you from bursting in flames was the cold. From his hands. His shirt. His hair twirling around your fingers.

You relished it. Cherished his calloused skin against yours. The dazzled lightness in the air.

At that moment, you were no more than a simple woman. And he was a simple man. Kissing you so passionately in the faint twilight.

Your hand touched his, grazing the golden band on his finger and you felt the bubble around you explode.

You weren’t a simple woman. He was far from a simple man.

You pushed him away, regretfully. Your body was almost leaning in again, craving more of the electricity skipping through your veins.

You wanted to be his. And him to be yours.

But not like this.

You knew Tommy like you knew your way back home. He couldn’t address his grief properly. He had never really learned, even after years of practice. The only thing he was used to was taking the pain away, no matter how. No matter the consequences he’d have to face.

And you were well aware of that.

Tommy wasn’t kissing you out of love or even out of desire. He was kissing you to feel better. You couldn’t let that happen. Not to him. Certainly not to you.

But the look he gave you as he realized what you had done made you want to throw it all away.

To hell with morals and honorable principles!

Who needed that when you could kiss him over and over again? When all you had to care about was his heart pounding against your palm, raindrops cooling down your flushed cheeks.

“Tom…” you resigned yourself.

No, you couldn’t just throw it all away. He was mourning his dead wife and he was in pain. You couldn’t take advantage of that.

His hand left your waist as if it had burnt him and guilt soon replaced the gentle warmth in your chest. But it was for the best.

At least, you tried to convince yourself it was.

The terrible humiliation was nothing compared to the regret he’d feel as the sunlight cleared his mind. He couldn’t realize it now. Too intoxicated, protected by the moon’s sheltering shimmer.

You had to keep your composure. Don’t let yourself be fooled by the comforting embrace. It was all an illusion. Giving in meant feeding the sliver of desire you tried so hard to contain.

You couldn’t live off some false hope.

You couldn’t risk your own sanity just so he could choose her.

Not again.

Running through the empty halls of the company, heart pounding in your chest with worry, you prayed.

Please let him be there. Please make sure he’s safe. Please. Please. Please.

Your heels hit the hardwood floor, each step resonating through the halls of the empty building. Out of breath, you almost fell to the ground when the engraved glass doors appeared in front of you— at last, liberation.

You pushed them open, not paying attention to the sound of the slamming doors. A relieved sigh left your lips, your gaze falling on him.

In his armchair, almost asleep, Tommy didn’t budge at the noise. He lazily opened one eye, observing your disheveled hair, how breathless you were. Sitting up, questions bubbling in his chest, he opened his mouth but you interrupted him before he could say a word.

“Where the fuck have you been, eh?” you yelled, walking into the office. Tommy left his chair, carefully joining you in the middle of the room. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

He only stared at you, waiting for the anger to settle down. He realized how worried you must have been, how terrified it was to not find him after he left so suddenly. But he could only feel relief.

Two hours ago, he was kneeling in front of a grave, waiting to be shot. And now, he was with you, getting a well-deserved earful for disappearing.

Tommy had probably never been this happy to get yelled at.

“…And nobody knew where the fuck you were! And then there were shots and we were all running around, even got my new shoes ruined!” you rambled, your hands waving around. “Arthur told me it was over but I couldn’t find you! I searched everywhere, even asked that posh girl who looked after your horse! And I swear to God, someday I will put a leash on you! Disappearing like that! I-“ You stopped abruptly, your expression changing as you noticed the bright red staining Tommy’s temple “You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding? What…”

“I’m okay,” he replied softly, feeling a change in the air. You closed the distance between you, your hands reaching for the injury.

“What happened to you?” You whispered, your voice higher than before.

Thomas’s hand wrapped yours and he smiled, trying to reassure you. “I survived, Y/N. I’m alive.”

Your lips wobbled, eyes watering and your anger wafted away, replaced by a gut-wrenching worry.

The words he uttered to you at the races before he left took on their full meaning. You couldn’t realize it at the time but the way he looked at you, the way he kissed your temple and promised to come back.

It had felt a little too familiar but you couldn’t remember why.

He was saying goodbye, that’s why. He promised something he wasn’t sure he would keep just to assure your peace of mind.

Suddenly, you were back on the train platform, watching him walk away to a most certain death, completely powerless.

You almost lost him today. Again.

He was gone but then he came back.

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe you were granted a second chance after letting the first one go. Who knew if you would get another?

You couldn’t waste it.

You couldn’t let your last chance slip through your fingers.

You couldn’t risk losing him.

Not without him knowing about your feelings.

“Tommy, I…”

His arms wrapped around your waist stopped the words on the tip of your tongue. He held you close, so close his heart beat right over your ear. One gentle kiss on your temple. His fingers threading through your hair, you closed your eyes.

“I’ll buy you new shoes. I’ll buy you all the shoes you wish for. Even hire a cobbler just for you,” he whispered, tightening his embrace.

“Forget about the shoes…” you started, trying to find the right words.

But what could you say?

Nothing seemed enough. All so insignificant compared to the love you carried like a cherished picture in a locket— always close to your heart.

“I have to tell you something,” he interrupted, a soft smile brightening his expression. “I’m going to be a father.”

“What?” you asked, leaning back.

“Grace’s pregnant with my baby. I’m going to marry her and we’ll raise him together.”

And the world seemed to crumble around you.

Who knew a sentence as simple as this could have the same effect as a thousand cuts?

You could only stare at him, your mind playing the words over and over again— a broken record you were doomed to endure for the rest of your days.

Your eyes burnt with bitter tears attempting to escape their prison. A million questions rushed through your brains, striking each other until nothing made sense.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her.

You would find another way. Raise the child yourself if you had to. But not her.

He couldn’t fall for her again. You had to talk him out of it. Reason with him.

You couldn’t lose him like this.

“Y/N?”

You focused your attention back on Tommy, noticing the frown forming between his brows.

He expected your answer. Hell, his decision probably depended on your next words. But the idea of a baby…

He had given up on that.

The dreams of a happy, somewhat normal life had been buried in the tunnels. Covered in mud. Lying next to the decaying bodies of his comrades.

And now, it was so close to him. He could reach through the mud and get this life back. He could try to leave the war behind. Let a new life forgive all the lost ones.

Let the flowers grow over the old tunnels.

You bit the inside of your cheek. No, you couldn’t ruin that for him. He went through enough. He deserved some rest.

No matter how selfish you wanted to be, he would always be above all foolish sentiments.

A forced, poorly attempted smile made its way on your face— locking the tears away.

“I’m just…I’m so happy for you,” your voice broke as relief washed over his tired features. He hugged you again, chuckling. “You’re going to be a wonderful father,” there was no hesitation. Only the truth.

“And you’ll be an even more wonderful aunt,” he kissed your cheek, rubbing your back. “Don’t tell Ada I said this.”

You clutched his jacket in your hands, biting your lips hard enough a faint metallic taste covered the bile in your mouth.

The familiar feeling was here again. An impression of déjà-vu. Back on the train platform. Watching him leave.

But this time, he wasn’t coming back.

“I’m sorry, Tommy, we can’t…” but he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen to whatever excuse you had.

The only thing worse than being rejected by you would probably be hearing you say the words.

I don’t love you, Tommy.

No. It would be the fatal blow. He wasn’t ready for that.

He got up, the alcohol in his blood seemingly gone— deserting, leaving him powerless.

“Tommy, please”

You kept saying his name like it mattered. Like it would change anything.

Shaking his head, he pulled his arm away.

Nothing could mend the raw rip, tearing his heart in half.

It made no sense to him. He was convinced there had been something.

You.

You who stood by him through everything.

You were the only constant.

Your relationship, his only haven— the solid deck on vicious waters.

Never breaking. Never busting.

What would he do if the deck shattered?

Tommy didn’t have the answer to that question. He didn’t want to know.

The cold pit in his stomach as you leaned back was enough to make him leave. He couldn’t bear looking you in the eyes, terrified of what he’d find there.

He had to go.

You followed him through your apartment, calling his name. He wasn’t going anywhere, you wouldn’t allow it. Passing the door meant giving up on your friendship.

It couldn’t end this way.

“Tom, listen to me,” you pleaded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” struggling to find your words, you felt the lump in your throat growing until you were suffocating. “Please, don’t go. You can’t go now, you can’t.”

He grabbed his jacket. The sound of your voice withering almost made him stay. Force a smile on. Tell you it was alright.

No matter how hardened he grew with the years, he never could stand you crying. Ever since the day he met you.

You had scratched your knee on the dingy pavement and he carried you on his back. He even stole a chocolate bar to console you— the little girl with braids and the sweetest laugh his ears were blessed to hear.

He swore he’d do anything to bring the smile back on your face. Engrave the lightness it carried in his heart.

You would know no woe. No grief.

Not as long as you had him.

You clenched your jaw, desperate tears starting to roll down your cheeks. Deep down, you knew your choice was the best but the sight of him leaving—even worse, hating you, made you sick.

“Tommy,” your voice broke, “Please, you can’t leave now. Please…,” one last wretched attempt to get him to stay.

Time began to flow so slowly you could swear it stopped.

The clock didn’t tick. The fire in the hearth didn’t crack. The wind didn’t blow.

The world around you held its breath. Waiting. Carefully listening to your beating heart. Pounding against your ribcage. Each thump edging you to the forlorn void of despair.

But if there was one promise Tommy wouldn’t break, it was the one he made to the little girl with her braids and her scratched knee.

His greatest weakness.

You.

Fingers freezing on the doorknob, Tommy listened to your quiet sniffles. He bit his tongue, feeling the guilty grip around his heart.

The moment of hesitation— only a few seconds but it was enough time to put your hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” your forehead rested against his as you whispered, your breath brushing against his lips. “But we can’t do this,” Tommy clenched his jaw, his shoulders slouching in apprehension. “You’re only doing this to feel better and I wish I could help you, I do. But I won’t let you wreck everything just to regret it tomorrow and probably the days after…because you love her.”

A trembling breath left your lips. “You're in love with Grace and you’re mourning and…”

“What?”

Tommy pushed you away, deep creases forming on his forehead. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Tom…”

“What are you talking about? Why would you say that, eh?” confusion in his voice turning into venom, the lack of sleep grinding his nerves.

“Y-You love her. You love Grace, she was your wife and I’m sorry if…”

“Is that what you think?” he spat out as your hands reached for him again.

The fatal blow.

Unexpected. Sharp. Lethal.

“What do you mean?” you stared at him, puzzled at his brusque reaction. “Grace was…”

“Stop saying her fucking name!” he snapped, eyes maddened by his own anguish.

The mere sound of her name was enough to stir the guilt overtaking his body— stabbing the same bleeding wound over and over.

You stood before him, not knowing how to act.

Tommy rarely lost his cool. He always had the upper hand over his own emotions. You were used to that. You had learnt to deal with his seemingly unshakable façade.

This was different.

“Is that what you think, hm?” he repeated, cutting the stunned silence reigning “You think I was in love with her?”

You had no idea what to reply. You couldn’t grasp the reason behind his outburst. His anger and his hurt were part of a puzzle missing its central piece.

Twisting his words in your mind, you tried to find a clue— anything to help you understand. The accumulation of distressing events was the most obvious answer but it still didn’t explain everything.

“Tom, I don’t understand, I…” you finally admitted, powerless faced with his own torment.

Your confession made him scoff. Tommy’s chest heaved and he clenched his jaw, biting back the words burning his tongue.

The turmoil of emotion began to overwhelm him and he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, words would flow uncontrollably. The wise decision was to walk away.

Walk away and blame the concerning amount of whiskey in his blood the next day.

Just walk away.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Of course.

The heavy lump in Tommy’s throat seemed to explode, spreading its vehement poison across his body.

“I was never in love with Grace.” he spun around, facing your defeated expression “I was never in love with her because I’ve always loved you. You.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t say anything. But Tommy didn’t expect you to. “She was the mother of my son and I cared about her but the way I love you… You are the only woman that ever mattered and without you…” his voice broke, eyes watering.

The wave of emotion washed over him with such intensity, air barely reached his lungs.

Drowning.

He felt like he was drowning. Condemned in a tormented sea. Desperately gasping for air yet only allowing more water in.

Tommy considered the idea of forsaking— let the water burn his throat, churn at his insides as long as he could rest. As long as his soul didn’t ache.

But at the very last second, he felt hands pulling him out.

You embraced him, arms tightly knit around his neck, his head resting against your shoulder. Tommy closed his eyes, treasuring the small moment of peace granted to him.

Feeling the strength in his body failing, you guided your bodies to the carpeted floor. His arms tightened around you and you sighed.

His confession had been everything you ever wanted to hear and you desperately wanted to believe him. Craved to whisper those same words back.

But could you trust the words of a man so inebriated he would probably not remember by the morning?

“It was all an illusion”, you reminded yourself.

Tommy, your friend, may have been the man you loved but he was also a widower. Maybe it made no sense to act this way and maybe you should believe him because why else would he say this?

But it was unfair to expect him to “make sense” after what happened to him.

He needed comfort. He needed to stop being the man in charge, the “always standing” one. He needed you to be his friend.

Only that.

Your hands rubbed his back soothingly and you kissed the side of his head, chasing the voice in your head begging you to give in.

For now, you’d have to content yourself with that.

A gentle embrace, mending the scattered pieces of his heart in the dark hall. Tommy couldn’t let go. Your arms provided the solace he longed for—the lifebelt keeping him afloat.

And as you held him, he could only think about the time. The time he lost. The time he could have had.

If only he had said something…

The train platform turned into a sea of teary goodbyes, children escaping their mother’s grasp and boys, men— soldiers, leaving for France.

Clutching Tommy’s army jacket in your hand, you felt his fingers brushing the tears on your cheeks.

“Come on, sweetheart, you know I hate seeing you cry,” he attempted a soft smile.

“Then don’t leave us.”

And he knew he would. He would do anything if it dried your tears and erased the sad pout on your face.

“Please, just one smile. I want to see you smile.”

In case it was the last time.

Tommy searched through his pockets, waving a bright blue box in front of you. “Now you can’t cry anymore,” he muttered with a sly smirk.

You stared at the chocolate bar and couldn’t help the grin making its way through your tears. You swung your arms around his neck, cutting his breath short as you hugged him.

Tommy returned the embrace, closing his eyes.

He could never open them again and stay with you. He wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Just stay. Thread his fingers through your hair and kiss you and love you. He could just stay.

Neither of you wanted to let go. You were pretty sure neither of you could.

As long as you had him. As long as he had you. Nothing could reach you. Nothing could hurt you. If only you held onto each other tighter.

But a loud, piercing whistle resonated through the station, breaking the tender embrace. Tommy took a moment to admire you. Gentle features and radiant smile. That’s how he wanted to remember you. His thumbs reached under your eyes. No tears.

Not today. Not ever.

He wasn’t sure he could keep standing there as you cried and not cry himself. Blinking away, his jaw clenched, he let his fingers trail down your cheek.

His touch was so soft, so light—like feathers tickling your skin— it almost made you forget why he was leaving.

You tried to smile, even as a few rebellious tears tried to escape.

Oh, my darling Y/N...

And he thought he might finally admit it. Confess right here on the noisy train platform. Whisper the words into your ear and make you promise you’ll wait for him.

He was already walking towards death, he might as well free himself of the secret he kept for so long— the same way a condemned man would.

“Tommy?”

He focused his attention on you, the delicately embroidered handkerchief close to your nose. Your eyes reddened with tears, cheeks still damp.

Yes, he could say it.

But what if he didn’t come back?

What if he told you he loved you and died in some french field? What if the only thing you got back from him was a box of his belongings and nothing else?

“I…I just…” You wouldn't handle it. You were already terrified of what would happen, he couldn’t add to that some foolish confession just to feel better.

He couldn’t risk it.

“I’ll miss you. Take care, yeah?” he leaned in, kissing your temple.

“Come on, Tom! We’re gonna be late,” Arthur’s deep voice urged him.

“I’ll write to you all the time,” you promised, your hand reaching for his.

Tommy didn’t let go, holding your fingers until he was too far. He stepped onto the train, his eyes always set on yours.

One last glance. One last smile.

And he was gone.

Arthur and John found a compartment where they set their bags, greeting other soldiers. But Tommy wasn’t paying attention.

He had a chance. He could have said it.

No. No, it would have been too selfish to blurt it out and leave. He wanted to tell you he loved you but not under Death’s malignant threat.

He would admit he loved you only if he could live to fulfill that promise. When he could take you dancing. When he could be sure to fall asleep kissing you and wake up just the same.

What was the point of saying it if he never had the chance to show it?

But could he really risk dying without ever telling you?

If he died and you never knew he loved you, he would regret it.

One last whistle resonated through the train station. The train wobbled, slowly moving.

No. No. No.

Tommy left the compartment, running to the corridors.

“Tom, what the fuck are you doing?”

The last thing he wanted was to break your heart if he didn’t come back. But he couldn’t leave without you knowing just how much he loved you.

He just had to make his way back to you.

And he could. He could fight and floor his opponent if it meant coming home to you.

He just had to say it. He had to.

He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.

Pushing away soldiers, ignoring their exclamations and complaints, Tommy finally reached the last car.

It was full but it didn’t matter. He burst in, running towards the window. Quick. Before it’s too late.

I love you.

Soldiers were staring at him as if he was mad.

Maybe he was.

I love you.

He leaned out, almost tipping over and falling. He didn’t care.

I love you.

Tommy spotted you amongst the crowd.

I love you. I love you. I...

But the train had already left the platform.

It was too far. It was too late.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, defeated.

No one noticed the tears in his eyes. The train rushed under the dim tunnel as regret filled his body with immense darkness.

Too late.

You woke up with a groan, shy rays of sunshine tiptoeing through your quiet apartment. But you couldn’t enjoy the warm weather. Not when every limb, every muscle, every fiber of your body ached.

On the floor. You had fallen asleep on the floor.

You groaned again, stretching your sore legs. As you tried to get up, the night before came back to your mind.

At least you had an explanation for your aching neck.

You called for Tommy, expecting to find him in the living room but the room was completely empty.

The exhaustion in your body was enough to not question it too much as you made your way to the kitchen. You needed a cup of tea. And maybe some sleep in your bed.

But as you moved towards the table to prepare your breakfast, you noticed a small piece of paper.

Recognizing Tommy’s clear writing, you felt a warm rush through your body and a smile creeping on your tired features.

#ma ptite bombasse 🥰#tommy <3 #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby fluff #peaky blinders #anna's fics #500 followers celebration #anna's grand ball #peaky blinders

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deyisacherry · 11 months

Text

3 steps for a love confession — DCA x Y/N

First step, analyze their feelings for you. Done.

Second step, accept them. Done. Hardly.

Third step…

Confess.

There you were, sitting behind the desk. The kids had recently left, the Pizzaplex hadn't closed yet.

Good, great, wonderful. They have time.

Sun had excused himself to you, saying that he had to tidy up some things in his room. Of course… walking around the site, accustomed to nimbly dodging the pile of things lying on the floor, was the complete opposite of that.

Thank the stars that he and Moon can communicate internally, or his incessant nervous chatter would have been noticed by you a long time ago.

"How is someone supposed to confess their feelings? What are we supposed to do? You know how bad I am at telling the truth, I'll just say something stupid to avoid it and ruin it, I'm sure. Very sure!" Sun paced back and forth, his beams spinning as he tried to think. Poor thing, anyone who saw him from the outside could tell that he had gone crazy. He even moved his hands in expressive gestures as he communicated with Moon.

"Staying up here, not talking to them, probably not much will happen if we keep doing this."

"Moon! I'm serious! I'm not good at this, and you- neither are you!"

"Rude."

"You know what I mean."

"So cruel."

"Moon."

"I know, I'm just playing."

Sun sighs, stopping his pacing. "Maybe a letter? They're nice, and personal, and… oh, no, no, I'm going to get carried away and probably make them feel uncomfortable, plus I don't have self-control with details, and drawings, and glitter glue-" Sun he lets out an exasperated groan in his mind space, causing Moon to growl. "Why is this so difficult?!"

"Noisy."

"Please be of more help, you also want them to know how we feel." Sun says, with a tired expression.

"Flirt until they find out?"

"Oh, please…" Sun says annoyed, placing a hand on his forehead in disappointment.

"Hey, it's not even that terrible." Moon defends himself against his reaction. "You don't have to be too obvious… just play around."

"It's easy for you to say, you always do…"

"Not like this…"

Sun is silent for a few seconds, and then groans softly knowing that he is accepting his proposal.

"I guess we can try." He crosses his arms, looking down at the Daycare through his balcony.

"I have an idea."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"… Should I trust you?"

"Maybe you should, maybe you shouldn't." Moon responds, with a very soft laugh.

Sun has a feeling that he's going to regret it.

———

When the crepe paper rose is ready, Sun holds it in one hand, while the other one holds a piece of sticky tape.

"… This is goofy… even for me."

"If you don't try, you'll never know."

"Don't apply my sayings to me!"

"Just do it."

Sun complains silently, and begins with the last step of Moon's idea. Best scenario, it really works. Worst scenario… he'll resign himself to letting you see him and will stay in his room forever.

"… I'll blame you if anything happens."

———

There's at least an hour left before the Pizzaplex closes its doors. You are reviewing some messages that you forgot to reply to. Yep… it was definitely a good idea to have disabled the option to show when you read a message. It saves you from the idea that they will hate you for losing social energy mid-conversation and leaving them on seen.

You're in the middle of drinking some coffee you ordered, when you feel Sun approaching. You usually let him talk or do something, so you don't turn to look at him. But he doesn't do anything, so oddly enough, you look away from the screen to where you know he is.

And you're immediately greeted by the sight of Sun, with a paper rose taped to his smile. His eyes narrow with excitement as he leans across the desk. "Hello, Sunshine~"

A wink from him, and- Oop.

You just choked on your coffee from how badly that caught you off guard, coughing and covering your mouth as you look away in panic.

"Oh no, no, no! Sunshine! Sorry! Sorry! Bad timing for that! I'm really sorry!" Sun tries to get his hands closer to you but he doesn't know how to help, and seeing him with the rose still stuck to his mouth doesn't help your coughing stop.

———

"I knew it was a bad idea! I knew it! I knew it! And you knew it! You wanted to make fun of me!" Sun yells into his headspace, pressing a Freddy stuffed plushie against his face.

"But the flirting worked, they were blushing and embarrassed."

"They weren't blushing nor embarrassed! They were choking!"

"… Isn't that how embarrassed people react to something like that?"

"Moon!"

�� The third step will have to be postponed.

---

edit: god dang it i just realized i made some mistakes with the font color AAA

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elonmuskfansgossipblog · 7 months

Note

part 6

Now we are free.

After a heady, orgiastic night, she woke up changed, feeling as if she had the power of many minds, full of energy and good humor, and when she thought about him she felt something like an electric discharge in her head. Hmm... baffling- she thought. She turned on the computer, and very strange wallpaper appeared on the screen, some animation, two red and blue balls, swirled, merged, exploded into the words "quantum entanglement" and then disappeared. oh! It's going to be an interesting day, glitch in a matrix. She turned on the radio and from the speakers came:

You were standing (you know it's true) I was there (worlds collided) Two worlds collided (we're shining through) And they could never tear us apart

-Is this some joke? - she laughed loudly.

She sat down in the armchair and was about to do her business when she heard a whisper: leave it all and write for me, I want to know how it ends.

- Damn, I need to see a psychiatrist, my dreams have been crazy lately, but the voices when I'm awake?! - she wanted to write a note in her phone, but she couldn't find it - I probably left it in her purse - the purse was nowhere to be found either. She sat on the bed to collect her thoughts, when suddenly in her mind's eye she saw a large cinema screen and on it she saw him, riding the Cybertruck and listening to music. Her heart started pounding like crazy, she could see him live! He looked happy, he was whistling a tune quietly, he was just turning a corner when a huge, terrifying fart split the air in the cabin. She saw him jump up, scared like a panda. "Oops, another tire inflated" he laughed loudly and mockingly. Then the image blurred and disappeared, probably because she was also bursting with laughter and tuned out of the signal. All in all, she wasn't too surprised, she could see remotely, but it never occurred to her to spy on him, especially since time didn't matter here, she could see any moment at any time. She relaxed again and thought "Well, let's see how you did in Baldur's Gate 3, I was lynched on the blog for that." This time, she wanted to see the scene from his perspective, she had mastered connecting with the consciousness of another mind quite well in her dreams, but would it work the same in waking life? She will most likely see the most exciting moment, such moments leave the clearest trace when new emotions occur. An image appeared, the scene flashed briefly, she didn't need to see more, she burst into laughter again, howled with laughter because she saw him having sex with a bear! She was ecstatic, he was so disarmingly human in everything he did, and for a moment she was fooled into the illusion that he was completely normal. She lay down on the bed to think for a while, she could, it was Sunday morning, nothing was chasing her. "Hey, little one, it works both ways" she heard. There was music in the room, Air On A G String, she saw him lying in his bed with his phone in his hand, he was reading part 2 of the story and thinking about her, probably quite intensely, she felt his arousal as her own, his penis was already ready, sticking out like the Washington Monument, lightly stroked by his hand, and with each movement her excitement grew. "Come to me" she heard his tender whisper. The transfer was immediate, and at the same moment she gave her inner consent, she was next to him. She was sitting between his legs, his thighs were so hot, the wonderful smell of Shalimar spread in the room "mhm... art deco even in the air..." She leaned over him, first her tongue enjoyed it, and then she covered it with her mouth, mmm... ice cream so good , yes yes yes and his rocket was ready to fly. She sat on him so thirsty, he grabbed her waist and she sucked him with her pussy. They came together. It was the most delicious breakfast you could have on a Sunday morning accompanied by a cello.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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lovesickgolbach · 1 year

Text

Words I didn't say 3 || LN4

Description: Things were different this time around.

Pairings: Lando Norris x Verstappen!reader

Warnings: none! actually, my dutch might be a liiiiiittle off so sorry about that, at least i tried :)

A/N: hello! hi! my writing style has DRASTICALLY changed so this fic is like 10x better quality than the other two so... oops. Maybe i'll rewrite them one day, maybe not. we'll see.

but for now- enjoy and thank you for reading <3

Part 1 , Part 2

A week had gone by since you and Max had your falling out, he had texted you but you had ignored them all by leaving him on read or just archiving the chat so that his name wouldn’t be on your screen every time you opened your phone.

You were deeply hurt by Max’s actions, not just because of the yelling, but because he accused you of lying. It hurt because he was your twin brother, literally your other half, he was your best friend and you know everything about each other (yes, everything). How he could accuse you of lying to him so easily just baffles you.

The thing is— Max knows how you feel about your father, he knows why you never initiate any sort of communication from your side with him, even though he’s at nearly every race weekend. You’ve accepted the fact that Max will always worship your father and you respect his decision not to completely cut him off, but you spoke with him about this and he knows to keep Jos away from you.

You sit on Lando’s couch, swimming in your thoughts as you stare at a message from Kelly, this was the first text she has sent you all week, not wanting to get between you and your brother’s drama. You sigh, locking your phone and tossing it to the side.

“Hey,” Lando speaks up as he walks into the apartment, looking sweaty and disheveled from his workout. You had to physically restrain yourself from not jumping on top of him. Things have been mostly normal between the two of you, the only thing that’s changed is that you aren’t dating anymore. You don’t sleep in his bed, you don't kiss or have sex or cuddle when you watch movies. You’ve been sleeping in the guest room since that night you showed up at his doorstep in tears.

“Hey,” you respond, shooting him a soft smile. “How was the workout?” You question, watching him as he refills his water bottle and taking a few sips. “It was alright, fucking hot but it was alright.” He flops down next to you on the couch, letting out a huff of air.

“Heard anything from Max?” he questions, looking over at you. You roll your eyes, “What do you think? Even Kelly is texting me now. Says he’s been quiet,” You shrug, shifting to cross your legs. Lando looks over at you, “He was at the gym, when I got there. He looks like shit, honestly. He did try talking to me, but I ignored him. I was sure he was almost in tears when I walked off.” His expression is neutral as he speaks, wanting to gauge your answer.

“Good.” Is all you say in response. Yeah, you feel bad for making your brother (who doesn’t like to get emotional) cry, but he had yelled at you and sent you into a full blown panic attack. He deserved to be upset. He deserved to be worried.

“Y/N—” Lando starts, but you cut him off by lifting your hand to silence him. “I am planning on going back to his place anyway, tomorrow. He’ll survive one more night.”

Lando just nods, before getting up. “I’m going to hop in the shower. Do you… want to talk after I’m done?” he questions, you just nod, “Yeah, we should talk, properly, I guess.”

He nods silently before making his way over to his bedroom and closing the door.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

But you do it anyway.

You jump up from the couch, running over to his room before opening the door, not bothering to knock. Lando lets out a surprised scream, standing in only his white boxers, trying to desperately cover himself up. “Y/N!? What are you—”

You cut him off with a kiss, smashing your lips together roughly, he instantly kisses back, his hands finding their way to your waist. You pull back after a moment, breathless and red-lipped from the kissing. You look into his eyes, those gentle blue-green eyes you fell in love with when you first looked at him.

“This is not me fully forgiving you… we need to— we need to discuss a few things still, but this is me telling you I still love you, I still want to be with you and— and I do love you, I still love you, I never stopped, Lando, But if— if we want us to work out, we can’t hide anymore, I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to kiss you in the paddock and sit in your garage, I want to hold your hand in public, I want to be known as your girlfriend.” Your words come out shaky, a few tears running down your face.

Lando nods rapidly, “Yes, yes anything you want, baby, anything. I won’t lose you again, I won’t. I’m so sorry, so so sorry.” He pulls you into a tight hug which you reciprocate immediately. You feel so safe with him. Your heart is his, it always has been.

“Do you… want to join me in the shower?” Lando asks, unsure of where your boundaries are set at this point in time. It’s not like he’s never seen you naked so you shrug, before pulling your top off.

“Why not,” You smile, taking his hand and dragging him into the bathroom.

–

The next day, Lando drives you back to your brother's place, parking in the driveway. You turn to him, kissing his cheek softly. “I think it’s better if i do this alone, okay? I will text you.”

Lando nods, giving you a reassuring smile. “You can do this, I love you.”

“I love you too.” You kiss him again quickly before walking to the front door and letting yourself in. Before you can even step a foot into the house you are nearly tackled to the ground by a little figure.

“Y/N!!!!!!” The little girl screeches, trying to practically climb her way up into your arms. “Hey sweet P!” You plaster on a smile, picking her up and hugging her tightly. God, you loved this little girl so much. “Missed you,” She mumbles into your neck and you can't help the sting you feel in your chest. You didn't think about her when you left, usually she would see you at least once or twice every week, your chest stings thinking about how she was probably waiting for you to visit but you never came.

“I missed you too,” You kiss her cheek as you make your way to the living room, where you found your brother, yelling into his headphones at whoever he was playing with.

You move so that you're in his field of vision, still cradling P against your chest. His head snaps up when he sees you.

“Y/N…” Max looks surprised to see you.

You place P down gently, “Go play upstairs and I will come play with you okay?” You smile brightly at the little girl who nods vigorously, making a beeline for the stairs.

“Do not run up the stairs Penelope!” Max yells after her, turning back to you before placing his controller down.

"Y/N…” He starts again but you shake your head, effectively cutting him off. “I do not want your excuses. Ik verdiende niet wat je me hebt aangedaan.” I did not deserve what you did to me.

Max looks down at his hands. “Jij bezit my niet,” You don't own me. You growled, feeling the same kind of anger you felt just a week prior. “You are my brother and that is it, I can do with my life what I want. You don't get to yell at me like Dad used to, you don't get to yell at me and expect me to just—” you vaguely gesture with your hands, “— crack and tell you everything.”

“En Max, hoe durf je me te beschuldigen van liegen!” And Max, how dare you accuse me of lying! Your voice came out as a low, calm growl. You take a deep breath, trying not to fucking combust on the spot.

Max is silent, but nods.

“Did you… did you… did you…have a panic attack? When you left?” He asks after a beat of silence, his eyes brimmed with tears. You know your brother isn't a crier, so this is hurting him just as much as it's hurting you. It’s gone too far.

"Yeah... I went straight to Lando's... I couldn't—" You shut your eyes, squeezing them together in an attempt to stop the tears. It's all become too much. It's all been blown way out of proportion.

You let your boyfriend and Max’s best friend get in the way of your relationship you have with your brother. The special bond you two had, has been damaged because of some stupid boy. You both were blinded, Max was blinded by his protectiveness of you and you were blinded by your loyalty to Lando.

You sigh, moving across the room to sit down next to him. You lay your head on his shoulder. “Why did you say I lied to you… I have never ever lied to you, Max.” Your voice was laced with pure hurt, your heart breaking from the beginning just thinking of Max accusing you of lying.

“I was just angry, Y/N. He promised to not hurt you and he did, he did hurt you and I was just so fucking angry, I could not believe you were defending him…”

Silence fell upon the room again, the only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic sniffling coming from you and Max. He laid his head against yours.

“Je leek zoveel op papa op dat moment. It was so scary, Max.” You looked so much like Dad in that moment. You let out a sob that you've been trying to suppress. Your brothers’ arm wraps around your shoulder's protectively.

“Het spijt me, Y/N, vergeef me alsjeblieft,” I am so sorry, Y/N, please forgive me. Max looks over to you, and all you can do is nod. It wouldn't help anyone if you just stayed angry, and you were exhausted anyways.

You just wanted things to go back to normal.

And slowly but surely they did, you had eventually moved back in with Lando, your relationship had slowly but surely gotten back to where it was, perhaps even better than it was. Max had been trying his best to not be overbearing, giving you space and trying not to play the role of an overprotective brother who gives his sister no freedom.

There was definitely still some tension between Max and Lando, Max still didn't fully trust him with you after everything, but things were different now. The public knew about your relationship now, girls no longer flung themselves at your boyfriend, touching him and feeling him up and down at every opportunity thinking he’s single. Lando had been working on proving himself, that he’s changed, that he's loyal to you and only you.

Things were different this time around.

Things have been good.

Things will get even better.

You can't wait to see what the future holds.

#f1 x you #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #formula1 x you #lando norris imagine #ln4 #lando norris fanfic

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bubble-dream-inc · 1 year

Text

Lemniscate (the place between sleeping and awake)

a chance encounter with your superior during a very lonely holiday season leads to an interesting conversation and an insight on yours and Ghost’s relationship.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 4,8k

a/n: i had to repost this bc tumblr was being fussy and hiding it oops. also i was listening to so handsome hello by woodkid while writing this so there’s my song rec for the day. i am down bad for this man someone help me! thank u loml @deafeningcat for being the best beta reader ever, always <3

warnings: explicit talk about death, war, trauma and violence, suggestive, profanity, ghost being ooc, sex as a coping mechanism for ptsd, heavy antimilitarism, angst to fluff, slight prey and size kink if you squint, non intentional liverpool slander, reader is part of 141, soap calls you "bonnie" once but otherwise no gender especified for reader, reader thinks they can fix him and is sorta emotionally dependent so its kinda toxic idk, intentional repeating of words, christmas/holidays ambience. MDNI

The puddles rippled under your boots, and right there under the faint street light which reflected the light drizzle of rain darkening the already pitch black night sky, you remembered how much you hate the holidays. Sure, it felt nice not having to worry that much about being ambushed or shot or killed for once, but you’d be lying if you said you looked forward to having time off from work. Having spent the last few years constantly living on edge, running solely on the primal instinct of survival for weeks on end had you addicted to the adrenaline, and you forgot what it’s like to be completely at ease a long time ago.

You felt your skin dampen under your clothes in the humid air. You haven’t bothered with an umbrella; you have been through worse. Liverpool was never your cup of tea, the sky was too gray and the wind felt like tiny needles attacking your skin on the rare occasion it wasn’t raining, and in moments like these you missed the scorching summer sun from your hometown. But again, could you really call it home? That thought had been lingering in the back of your head as an ugly reminder of one of the shittiest parts of your job ever since a few days ago when the base you were stationed in was filled with the sound of rambunctious laughter and the smell of cheap cigarettes and beer, all of it a reflect of a mission well done. The intel was useful, the danger was dealt with, and your teammates could not be more grateful the timing was just right so that they could go spend some time off with their families for the holidays. You weren’t really thinking too hard about it, too absorbed in your teasing banter with Gaz, until Soap turned to you.

“What about you, bonnie? Where ya spendin’ your holidays at? Going home?”

You had shaken your head no with a chuckle, swallowing the bad taste the word home left in your mouth and masking your discomfort. Having all their attention on you as your team mates waited for your answer wasn’t inherently bad, but you did have to ignore Simon’s piercing stare from across the group, focusing only on Soap and trying to not give in to your instinct of looking back at your Lieutenant. As the years went by, you’d found out that was just the way that he was, and you had to learn how to differentiate when he actually wanted for someone to be scared by his constant, terrifying eye contact, and when to know he was simply looking in your general vicinity. Not that it worked that well, of course, since just his massive presence and the low timbre of his voice could make anyone’s fight or flight instinct blare sirens in their head, and yet, at some point you realized you liked it. You felt like a prey under his gaze, and the fact that it both terrified and excited you was intoxicating.

“Nah. I’m heading to Liverpool, i think, as usual”

Being in Liverpool for you was far from pleasant, but a few years before you decided to go there for your time off just because it was closer to the base you were stationed in and you had nowhere else to go, and it became a tradition, even if it sometimes felt like self punishment. It certainly seemed like it, you thought as you wandered aimlessly through a quieter part of the city, occasionally passing through a group of tipsy barely-of-age kids, or a happy looking family going back to the comfort of their cozy homes together. It made your chest ache, but the loneliness got duller after so much time being surrounded only by the 141 members and having to watch so many people you knew die on the front lines.

“Do you regret it? Joining the military?”

You had asked Ghost one day after you two had to get holed up in a dingy safe house, trying to pass the time while waiting for exfil. He had stared at you for a few seconds, silently, and you wondered if you had crossed a line by asking something way too personal, but in a moment he was back to staring at the worn out coffee table in front of the couch you were in.

“No. I did what had to be done at the time.”

While somewhat cryptic, you accepted his answer without prying for more, but after a few seconds he looked back at you, not going unnoticed how his eyes looked a bit more tired than usual.

“Do you?”

You remember sighing.

“Everyday. War is hell.”

He only hummed in response, putting an end to the conversation that had barely been started, but your mind dwelled on your answer. It seemed like ages ago when you were a starry-eyed private, having been fooled by the military propaganda promising you’d be a hero, but that resolve quickly broke a few months later in your first mission, and you certainly didn’t feel like a hero after taking someone else’s life for the first time.

Lost in thought as you walked, you almost paid no mind to the man in your path that was leaning towards a lamp post and having a cigarette, if not for the fact that even from a distance you could see he was massive. There was only one person you knew that seemed as tall as that, and that was your-

“Lieutenant?” You squinted, being pretty sure you couldn’t mistake your towering 6’4 masked superior over someone else, and he acknowledged you with a look. If he was surprised to see you, he didn't show it. “Liverpool sure is tiny, huh? I thought you were from Manchester.”

“I am.”

His answers were rarely something other than short and dry, and he knew you knew better than to pry into his own personal reasonings, even because you also had no real reason to stick around that city and yet there you were. Still, the laidback-ish atmosphere of being between missions made it easier for you to act a little more daring than usual, treading lightly as you questioned him, unable to hold back your curiosity. Alas, you found yourself hypnotized by the way Simon’s full lips wrapped around his cigarette as he took a slow drag, waiting for you to say something.

“Heading somewhere?” Your voice sounded foreign even to yourself, and you didn’t know whether to blame the cold, the awkwardness of feeling like you were bothering your superior on his time off, or the way just being by his general vicinity made your chest ache with a feeling you hadn’t quite been able to name yet, but you shrugged all of it off and focused on trying to act as normally as possible.

“Not really. Are you?”

“Not really” You mimicked his words, smiling faintly and wanting to imagine that you actually saw mirth in his eyes. “Lookin’ for a pub that’s still open, but I'm not having too much luck with it.” You paused, unable to stop the next words that came out of your mouth. “Care to join me?”

Ghost pondered your bold request for a moment before putting out his cigarette by stepping on it and nodding with his head for you to lead the way. His way of communicating with so little words made you uneasy at first, but nowadays you’d find it endearing.

And that’s how you ended up in a beaten up looking pub near the port, sitting side by side with Simon by the bar, acutely aware of the bartender eyeing you two warily. You weren’t sure if he was angry for the fact that the bar actually had customers, which meant he couldn’t go enjoy time off at home, or if he was intimidated by Ghost. Maybe both. It was an otherwise cozy little pub, the warm lighting and the low ceiling made you feel slightly comforted by your surroundings, even if there were only three other customers around and the air smelled of burnt oil and deep fried food. You tapped your fingers on the wooden surface of the bar while waiting for the grumpy bartender to bring your beer, comfortable with the silence between you and Simon. When it arrived, you watched with a side eye, trying to be discreet, as he raised his mask slightly to take a sip of his bourbon, even if you knew he had noticed you.

Ghost’s face was somewhat familiar to you. Less than his body, admittedly.

There were a handful of times you had seen him without his mask, but you had barely committed its features to memory since it had mostly been in the dark confines of his quarters - which made you think how nice it must be to have a rank high enough to have your own room - and in times where staring at his face was not the first thing on your mind. It didn’t matter anyway, knowing he really was handsome after all under the balaclava didn’t change how your chest would tighten at the sight of him way before you dreamt of seeing his whole face.

Being alone with your superior was hardly foreign at this point, after so many years and everything you had been through together, and while you had never said it directly to him, his company was enjoyable. You remember clearly; It had happened the first time during mid summer after a mission gone particularly wrong in Somalia. One hour in the shower later, scrubbing your skin raw, you still felt dirty and grimy, as if you believed you could let go along with the blood-dirtied water the screams of all the civilians you had heard and the image ingrained into your brain of all the innocent people lying dead on the streets, massacred without a second thought. You tried showering, smoking, drinking, going for a walk, talking to your fellow team mates - all of them who looked just about as shaken as you were - but nothing could get your mind off of it. Mid walk, you had rounded a corner inside the base and locked eyes with Ghost, who was coming from the opposite direction, and, for reasons unknown, something instantly changed in the air between you. Sure, you had flirted a bit and perhaps given some indication of your attraction towards him before, but at that moment maybe you looked more distraught than you thought, and in only a split second after the very sudden eye contact, a non-verbal agreement was set, and quickly you found yourself glued to his broad chest, his hand lifting his mask just enough so you could connect your lips in a messy and aggressive kiss as he guided you to the door of his room. There’s no way to tell how long you were there for, but as you felt him blindly in the dark to hug his neck while he was inside you for the nth time, you were grateful he didn’t comment on your sobs that you now allowed to flow as freely as your tears, and, in turn, you didn’t comment on how tender your huge, scary superior could be, holding your face gently and whispering praises, comforting you the best he could.

It became something akin of a habit. At first it was just fucking to destress or to not have to deal in a proper way with all the trauma that came with your line of work, but then you started to linger. His touches became gentler, his big hands would stroke your skin instead of just gripping it hard enough to bruise, and you found yourself staring at his strong and scarred back one morning as he slept somewhat soundly beside you. Your hands itched to trace them, and at the moment you decided you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, literally, with your superior more often, it was when you also realized you were fucked. To the others, surely it looked just like a very unethical and paperwork-worthy sexual tension, but you weren’t stupid, and not a teenager anymore, so you couldn’t find any excuses for the lingering glances and touches, how you started worrying more for him in battlefield, and you didn’t know if it was comforting or terrifying for you to think that he probably realized what was going on inside your head whenever he looked back at you, even if his hardened and unreadable gaze never faltered. Some nights, you’d find yourself alone in your cot wondering if you were imagining it all or if the longing you felt for his reciprocity was too delusional, and the thought made your throat ache in the worst way possible. You knew it was a bad idea, but you were unable to restrain yourself from finding your way back to his bed more often than not - and whenever he’d open the door for you when the base was already dead silent, realizing he also seemed glad to see you made all of your rational thoughts go out the window.

“Quit the starin’.”

Oh. Right. You were still looking at him. You muttered out a low sorry and looked down at your cup, well aware of Simon’s gaze burning holes into your face. So much for not staring.

“Why don’t you ever go home?”

There’s that word again. You wondered if your experience with feeling so stateless after fleeing from the place you used to call your own such a long time ago was that uncommon between soldiers, and suddenly the beer in your tongue didn’t taste that bitter anymore.

“It was just a place like any other. I’m afraid there hasn’t been anythin’ for me there in a while, so i guess i don’t really got one anymore.”

But again, you did wonder why Simon was all the way over to Liverpool and not Manchester, and a part of you selfishly hoped you weren’t alone with the gut wrenching feeling of not belonging anywhere but your base. Not that he’d ever admit to something like that. Simon was not the kind of man to say his thoughts clearly, or with words, for that matter.

“No family? Friends?”

Chuckling dryly, you’d let yourself linger a bit longer on Ghost’s sudden interest in actually knowing you more than physically if his bluntness didn’t amuse you in a bitter way.

“People realize really quickly how hard it is to keep relationships with someone who’s gone for months on end, and could very well be dead in a ditch the next time you try to call. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

Simon said nothing in response, but his gaze on you seemed to soften a bit. Experiencing him outside of the battlefield was the kind of thing that would surely give you whiplash, years of military experience and living through horrors beyond comprehension would, of course, make him have a dangerous and reserved aura 24/7, but watching him let loose just a little bit and allow himself to be minimally vulnerable through his gaze and casually, softer spoken words were a new sort of fascinating. He was never the kind of person to ask things out of politeness, no, he was brazen and direct, so his genuine curiosity in you made it difficult to calm your already palpitating heartbeat.

Under the lights of a very dimly lit pub in East Liverpool, you were seeing not Ghost, not your Lieutenant, but only Simon Riley. You came to the conclusion you really liked this side of him. So, you decided to take your chances and prod a little bit more.

“What about you, Lieutenant? Where is home for you?”

“Classified.”

You chuckled, and a tiny, barely-there smirk formed on his lips before he hid it with the rim of his bourbon glass. It was worth a try.

You lost track of how long you were sitting there, in silence, just listening to the static-ish audio of the shitty television on the corner of the bar or the idle chat of other patrons, occasionally muttering something to Ghost, but it all felt superficial. You wanted to jump him, to strip him bare, not of his clothes, but of all of him that was a façade, and lay down every word left unsaid. Maybe it was selfish, but you wanted him to let you care for him the way he cared for you. For every time he’d wordlessly patch up your wounds in a dirty alleyway, push you out of a sniper’s line of sight or bark orders for you to get to fucking safety, you wanted to help him through each nightmare (that he thought you didn’t notice it plagued his nights more often than not, leaving him restless the next day), and hold him close when the throes of carrying a whole team and an entire life of trauma on his back became too much to bear on his own. You felt like a fool, pining over a man who made no effort to hide how little he trusted people.

Soon enough, the pub grew quieter and more devoid of people, and at some point you and Ghost decided the bartender’s gaze was way too unwelcoming, as he clearly wanted to go home, so you wordlessly decided to go back to your aimless wandering. A few of your old army colleagues wouldn’t hesitate to pull off their military card to get what they wanted, whenever and however they wanted, but just the thought made your stomach turn in disgust. Your blood stained hands didn’t feel like the ones of a hero that deserved to be pampered.

“Why are you still here anyway?”

He had asked you a few days after your conversation in that dingy safehouse. You had found yourself brushing shoulders side by side together after you went out for a smoke in the base, running into him leaned against a parked truck, lost in thought. For some reason, the question made you feel ashamed to meet his eyes, even if his tone wasn’t accusatory; just curious.

“I feel like it’s too late for me. I’ve seen too much. There’s nothing else I know how to do at this point.”

Your tongue felt like lead inside your mouth. A part of you longed for an early retirement so you could live a quiet and monotonous life somewhere in the countryside, but you also knew most people with your lifestyle wouldn’t live enough to see retirement. Alas, deep inside you felt like it was impossible to not grow restless if you were to live a life free of the adrenaline you embraced as a vice. It felt hypocritical, suffering over the consequences of your own choices, but God knows you’d leave in a heartbeat if you weren’t already too far deep in. You’d suppose becoming a soldier had its good sides, though, even if just the idea of finding any comfort in your work made you uneasy. Surely you’d never have met the 141 otherwise and, consequently, made them your little dysfunctional found family. You’d hold onto that for the sake of your sanity. On your side, Ghost hummed, acknowledging what you were saying, and maybe you’d find he could relate to your feelings, somehow.

“It’s difficult to let go of a whole life of violence.”

His words had stuck with you, as wise and cryptic in a way only he managed to pull it off.

Outside, the drizzle seemed to have gotten a bit stronger in the last few hours, but neither of you cared enough for it. It didn’t feel that bad compared to the storms that rained over you in open fields or the mud you’d have to crawl across to stay hidden sometimes. You’d feel pretty stupid if this little rain actually got you sick, but that was a worry for future you. It didn’t even cross your mind to ask Ghost if you were heading somewhere, you just followed him blindly, analyzing him in silence and noticing he looked good in civilian clothes, the plain black hoodie fitting him perfectly. From the little distance you walked besides him, you could notice he was smelling good, a mixture of cologne and his natural musk which you were already very well acquainted with.

The street was clearly in a commercial district, and it felt even quieter than the one you were before. All the stores were closed with only a faint night light illuminating a few of their interiors, and you appreciated the faint smell of the sea by being somewhat close to the port.

You enjoyed the stillness of it all and the lack of people to make you jealous with their normal, happy lives.

Subconsciously, you barely noticed that you ended up scooting even closer to Simon as you walked, happy he didn’t seem to mind it.

Suddenly, he stopped mid-walk, and you became hyper aware of how much you were staring at him. God, you felt like a creep. After a second, he spoke in a murmur, not turning to look at you.

“Since when?”

You waited for him to elaborate what he meant, but it never came. Chuckling nervously, you peered up at him, confused.

“Since when…what?”

Finally, he turned to look at you with something indescribable in his eyes. It made you feel small, like he wanted to devour you, but it also made your heart leap in your chest, like he wanted to devour you.

“I know how you feel about me. You’re not very subtle about it. I’m not bloody stupid, kid. ”

Your head snapped towards him at his harsh words, even if his low voice and gentle-ish tone didn’t quite reflect the true nature of them, but any witty reply you had died down once you saw how his eyes were downturned in unease.

Oh.

You realized what he’s talking about, and turns out your late night musings were right - at least part of them. Simon leaves no opening to figure out by his body language what the bringing up of the topic means to him. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he will reject you and reprimand you for being unprofessional (as if loving him was more unprofessional than fucking your superior). Maybe-

“I’m…not sure.” You admit, refusing to meet his steely gaze. “It just…happened. Stopped being just casual sex a while ago.”

His silence makes seconds feel like hours. You try to control your labored breathing by listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain that’s back to drizzling on the store awning you’re both under. A part of you wishes the rain would suddenly get so strong it would break the awning and drag you away with the current from Simon’s soul-crushing silence. You feel stupid, foolish.

Fool, fool, fool-

He closes the distance between your bodies. Having never paid much detailed attention to the rare occasions when gloves didn’t adorn his hands outside the bedroom, you suddenly notice how much his palms feel a pleasant kind of rough and calloused when they don’t carry the intent of ravaging you, so big against your face as he gently cradles you. Of course, he knows you’re a soldier, not some porcelain doll to be easily broken, but God knows how much seeing him hold you as if you’re something precious makes your once-labored breathing come to a halt altogether. His eyes are soft, half lidded, and uncertain on you as he murmurs out sorrowfully.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.”

For the first time ever, you feel like you’re the only person who’s ever seen Simon Riley look scared. You don’t know if he’s afraid of hurting you or the other way around.

Instinctively, your own hands gingerly go to the top of his in a light caress, and you fight against the urge to close your eyes and breathe in his musk as you lean into his touch. This up close he also smells faintly like cigarettes.

“Maybe not.” You admit, and you hope he can notice the way you look up at him with hearts in your eyes and willing to wear your own on your sleeve. “But I want to find out.”

He doesn’t really smile - he almost never does - , but his gaze holds a promise in it, a vow. One of his hands leaves your face to hike up his mask, and you expect it to stop just below his nose, as always, but he keeps going until it rests on top of his dirty blonde hair, making your breath hitch once again. You were wrong about him; you didn’t need to strip him bare, no, you realize he’d do it for you if you asked. A long time ago you decided you didn’t give a shit about how his face looked, but you made sure to take a good look at him, finally committing his features to memory, acknowledging his trust in you and also how much you really were a fool by underestimating it before. The stubble on his jaw feels coarse under your fingertips, and you indulge yourself by lightly tracing the scar on his lip the way you wanted to do with all of his marks ever since that morning. It occurs to you that even when the hookups turned into something more, you had never seen him so vulnerable, and it sets an equally giddy and unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, as if you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, but you weren’t about to question his resolve. Taking the reins - as he always does - his lips are on yours in an instant, and you swear you’d die happily at that instant.

The way he kisses you is something new, slow and passionate, as if trying to savor every piece of you at his pace and communicate what he doesn’t know how to put into words. You’d kissed before, sure, but it was always animalistic, an aggressive dance filled with wanton growls deep from his throat and your involuntary whines whenever he would bite your lip - a gazelle in the jaws of a lion - and in the occasions sex was tender, it was most likely because something bad had happened, and you’d hide your face in the crook of his neck so he could pretend not to notice how much you needed it - him - to cope and how much his touch kept you grounded; you’d like to imagine yours made him feel something of the sorts as well. Simon Riley was not the type of man to engage in raw emotional affairs without getting something out of it. And yet, as you close your eyes to hug his neck, bringing his large body impossibly closer to yours, you feel like he is finally giving all of him to you in the rawest way he knows how to. Of course, you’re not teenagers, and with the way of life you lead, emotional attachment can make any soldier feel dreadful for their future, so it would be foolish to expect a full on love confession in the rain, but, if anything, you suddenly realize you can feel Simon’s heart beating fast on his chest through your own, and that is enough for you, making you smile against him.

When you separate, there’s still minimal distance between you two, the air around you feels lighter, and you surround yourself in affection by the way Simon looks down at you adoringly. Any outsider would be quick to say he has the look of a stone cold predator, and he is as unreadable as they come, but once you start dealing with the true man under the mask - even if only figuratively -, you realize that his eyes are truly the window of his soul, and any words left unspoken you’d die to uncover are visible in his dark hues the moment he looks at you. A few blocks away, a clock tower strikes midnight and you spare the building a look from where you can see it.

“Merry Christmas, Simon.” You murmur, knowing full well religious holidays are neither yours or Simon’s thing. The irony of it all is lost when he huffs out a small noise of amusement and distances himself just enough to extend his arm for you to take, his gaze never leaving your form. You could point out he hasn’t really lowered his mask yet but you enjoy the view too much so you might as well indulge in it while he doesn’t remember to do so. His bicep is thick and strong under your fingers as you grip him gently, and he nods forward beyond the awning.

“It stopped raining. Let's get going.”

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renecdote · 1 year

Note

how about "this reminded me of you" if it sparks? <3

Hi Kate ily I hope you don't mind that I took some creative liberties with the dialogue here <3 It also got way longer than expected oops so enjoy 4.4k of these two being ridiculously in love.

Also for @starlingbite who requested the same prompt.

[Read on AO3]

The package shows up on the doorstep on Wednesday afternoon. Eddie is supposed to be at work—the last shift in the cycle before their four days off—but instead he kissed Buck goodbye at the door, made him promise not to do anything too dangerous, then stayed home to look after his sick kid. He’s expecting groceries when the doorbell rings just after five p.m., not the lumpy grey package left by a USPS driver who is already climbing into his truck and driving away.

Eddie skims the label as he shuts the door—sent to: Evan Buckley; description: boyfriend hoodie—curious because he doesn’t remember Buck mentioning anything he ordered recently. He doesn’t open it, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He pulls out his phone instead and types boyfriend hoodie into the search bar, only hesitating a moment before he hits enter. A dozen links pop up, but none of them are all that enlightening. Eddie is left with no clearer idea of what a boyfriend hoodie is and a vague disgust at how expensive they are to buy. He’s pretty sure that if Buck ever put together a budgeting spreadsheet it would look something like:

Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Hoodies $3,600

Utility $150

And Eddie knows he’s so, so far gone for his boyfriend. He knows he has been for a long time. But damn he’s got it bad because he knows that if Buck put a budget like that in front of him, he’d never be able to talk him out of spending a fortune on all his cosy, tempting hoodies.

The doorbell rings again, cutting into his thoughts, and Eddie leaves the package on the dining table to collect his groceries. Milk and eggs and the deli bacon Buck likes go in the fridge, oranges in the fruit bowl, crackers and pedialyte left on the table, everything else in the pantry. He checks on Chris—sleeping, no warmer than he was an hour ago when Eddie brushes a hand over his forehead—and somewhere between folding laundry and ladling chicken soup into a cup, the mystery of the package slips to the back of his mind.

****

Buck tries to sneak in when he gets home, but Eddie is dozing on the couch, half awake in case Chris needs him, and he hears the rumble of the Jeep’s engine before the door is unlocked.

“Hey,” he greets sleepily, “you’re early.”

He’s not really: it’s twenty past eight. Eddie is just so used to calls taking them overtime, or lingering in the station at the end of a shift, or the hell beast that is LA traffic in the mornings. Their shifts end at eight, but he rarely sees the inside of his house any earlier than eight forty-five.

“Hey,” Buck echoes, yawning. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Eddie shakes his head, swallowing back his own yawn. “Nah, I’ve been up for a while.” Sort of up, anyway. “How was work?”

“Busy,” Buck answers. “I missed you.”

He looks tired, which means he probably didn’t get much sleep in the bunks. Hard to tell whether that was because of the busy or the I missed you though.

“How’s Chris?” he asks before Eddie can question him further. “Is he feeling any better?”

It hits Eddie sometimes, in the moments he least expects it, that he’s been coparenting with his best friend for far longer than either of them realised. Buck letting himself into the house, asking how Chris is when he’s been sick—none of it feels new. They could have had this conversation just as easily three years ago as they are today. The only difference is that now, after Eddie has reassured his partner that Chris seems to be on the upswing, he can tip his head back against the couch and Buck will lean down and kiss him; first on the forehead, then, when Eddie pouts upside down at him, on the lips.

“Hi,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling with his smile, and Eddie can’t help smiling back at him.

“Hi,” he echoes. Thinks: I missed you too.

Buck starts to straighten up and—it’s fine, he’s not going to go far, but—a sound of protest catches in Eddie’s throat and he reaches up and snags his boyfriend by the hoodie string and—

Oh. The hoodie!

“You got mail,” he blurts, sitting up so fast he almost smacks Buck in the head.

“Mail…? Oh!” Buck’s eyes light up as he grabs the package. “I didn’t think this would be here until next week.”

“You bought another hoodie?” Eddie asks, trying to sound casual and probably failing. He hopes it’s a nice blue that will bring out Buck’s eyes. Or the kind of pink that makes his lips pop. Or that burnt orange he looks so good in. Or green, or white, or maroon, or purple. He’s pretty sure Buck doesn’t own a purple hoodie yet.

“Actually,” Buck is already ripping open the packaging, his grin bright and unrestrained, “this one is for you.”

Eddie frowns, confused. Why? he almost asks. We both know I’d just steal it from you anyway. And then Buck gets the hoodie out of its packaging inside the packaging (Eddie mourns the environment) and holds it up, the material unfolding to show a grey-blue hoodie that says I stole this from my boyfriend on the front. He blinks. Reads it again.

“Doesn’t it defeat the whole purpose if it’s for me? I mean, if you give it to me, I didn’t really steal it from my boyfriend, did I?”

Buck rolls his eyes, but his grin hasn’t faltered. “I can wear it a few times first, if that helps.”

“I think you should,” Eddie agrees, reaching out to run his fingers over the white letters. They’re embroidered, thread bumpy under his fingers, not the plastic feeling of writing that will flake off after a few too many washes, and when he dips his fingers under the hem, the inside is so soft and cosy he almost shivers just thinking about wearing it.

“Dad?”

They both turn—and Eddie’s heart thumps, a pain that doesn’t really hurt, at the way Buck responds just as easily—to find Christopher making his way towards them.

“Hey, buddy,” Eddie says. “How are you feeling?”

Christopher shrugs, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m thirsty.”

Buck’s hand presses against Eddie’s shoulder just for a second—I’ve got it—and then he’s moving into the kitchen while Eddie fusses over Chris, checking his temperature and getting him settled on the couch and convincing him to try a piece of toast.

“Buck,” Christopher says between nibbling bites of toast, and Eddie watches Buck shake himself back to attention, the long shift starting to catch up with him. “Do you really need another hoodie?””

Buck blinks, slow and cat-like in his confusion, and then his face twists into such exaggerated affront that Eddie has to bite his cheek on a laugh. The packaging is still scattered on the dining table, the new hoodie hanging over the back of a chair, and Chris couldn’t have seen who it was addressed to, but he didn’t even question that it would be Buck.

“There’s no such thing as too many hoodies,” Buck tells Chris mock-seriously. Mostly mock, anyway; Eddie knows there’s a part of him that really believes there is no such thing as too many hoodies.

Christopher’s teeth poke out with his smile. “But we live in LA.”

“LA gets cold,” Buck insists, the same way he insists whenever anyone brings up his absurdly large jacket collection (“it’s not just me! why does no one ever talk about all Hen’s sweaters?”). He looks at Eddie for help, but Eddie just shrugs.

“Kid has a point,” he says, as if he doesn’t spend half his time stealing from his boyfriend’s side of the closet.

Buck grasps his chest in mock betrayal, but there’s a smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

“Now I know you’re feeling better,” he says, tousling Christopher’s curls while Chris giggles and ducks away.

It’s overwhelming, sometimes, how much Eddie loves them both. His heart is doing that thing again, that hard thump that makes his breath catch, and when Buck glances at him—you okay?—he just shakes his head, smiling back: I love you, I’m okay.

Buck reaches out to take his hand, tangling their fingers together: I love you too. His eyes in the morning light are a pale, glittering blue and Eddie leans over and kisses him, just because he can.

****

Eddie has been expecting to be taken out by the germs from the moment Chris first pushed his food around his plate on Tuesday night and said he wasn’t hungry.

Somehow, it’s Buck who catches the bug next. He crashes for four hours while Eddie putters around doing housework, sleeps right through lunch, and when he wakes up in the afternoon, he’s achy and shivering.

“I’m okay,” he still tries to insist, slumped at the kitchen table while Eddie watches him warily, putting all the sandwich fillings that were offered and rejected back in the fridge. Christopher and Buck are more alike than they both know, their appetites always the first thing to go when something is wrong.

“You’re sick,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you’re denying it, it was bound to happen.”

Buck grumbles. “I was fine earlier.”

Eddie thinks back, tries to remember if he missed any sign, but Buck really did seem fine earlier. It doesn’t really reassure him; Chris seemed fine when they picked him up from school on Tuesday as well.

“Go lie down,” he suggests. “The sooner you give in, the sooner you’ll be able to kick this bug.”

More grumbling, but Buck goes to lie down on the couch. Eddie mentally files that under feeling worse than he’s willing to admit. He stands by the table for a moment, listening to Buck and Chris through the open doorway (a muted “hey buddy,” and, “sorry I got you sick, Buck”), the sound of a cartoon explosion on the TV, a funny line of dialogue that should get twin laughs from the couch but doesn’t.

Definitely feeling bad, Eddie thinks, and it’s not like it’s the first time germs have been shared around between the three of them—he’s lost count of how many times they’ve huddled on that couch and taken care of each other—but it still makes his heart squeeze.

When he checks in on them fifteen minutes later, Christopher is fast asleep at one end of the couch and Buck is huddled under a blanket at the other, eyes closed but not sleeping. His face is flushed with fever heat, but even under the blanket, he’s shivering.

“Are you cold?” Eddie frowns, checking Buck’s temperature with the back of his hand.

Buck shrugs, lethargic. His face is half hidden by the blanket, but there’s a tight little scrunch between his brows that means he probably has a headache as well.

“Okay,” Eddie says, quiet. “Hang on.”

He heads for their bedroom, but the dryer beeps so he backtracks to the laundry instead. He pulls out the clean clothes, dumping them all in a basket to be dealt with later, then fishes out the new hoodie that he threw in with the load earlier. It’s warm in his hands, feeling even softer and cosier than it did coming out of the packaging.

“Here,” he says, smiling as he drops it in Buck’s lap. “The sooner you wear it, the sooner I can steal it.”

“You might not want to steal it if I throw up on it,” Buck mumbles, but he puts the hoodie on, struggling for a moment with the left sleeve before his head emerges, curls sticking up in every direction. Eddie runs a hand through his hair, then kisses the top of his head.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t throw up on the hoodie,” he agrees, “but I’d still love you.”

“You always love me.”

Buck blinks up at him, pale and miserable, and even after all these years there’s a persistent thread of wonder in his voice, like he can’t quite believe how much he is loved. Like he can’t quite believe that they made it back here, together, after everything. Eddie can’t blame him because he still can’t believe it sometimes too. He doesn’t know what to do except kiss Buck again, holding him close and hoping that some of his warmth will soak through the layers between them. Buck sinks against him, boneless, and Eddie thinks they could stay like that forever, just holding each other, until Buck pulls away with a low groan.

They spend a while on the bathroom floor after that.

“You’re going to get sick,” Buck tries to protest, but it’s half-hearted; getting sick has pretty much been an inevitability since Christopher brought the note home from school a week ago warning parents that the stomach flu was going around. Once Buck was taken out, it became a certainty. It’s not like Eddie is going to move out of their bed until the germs are gone, after all.

“I’ll risk it,” he says, rubbing Buck’s back. He’d risk a hell of a lot more than a virus for his partner, but it doesn’t feel like the time to say it.

Buck shakes his head, but it’s not really a denial, just, “You don’t want this, Eds.”

Eddie kind of wants to shake him sometimes. To take him by the shoulders and say: I want you, remember? all of you? But he’s pretty sure it would be labouring the wrong point, right now, and it doesn’t really matter anyway because Buck is scrambling to get his head over the toilet again and Eddie can only grimace sympathetically and rub his back. Buck is right: he doesn’t want this bug. But he does want Buck and Chris, so. Germs are a pretty small price to pay.

****

He tosses and turns, sleeping fitfully, and by three a.m. they’re both sick and miserable together.

“Is this what they mean by ‘in sickness and in health’?” Buck asks the ceiling, and Eddie’s sluggish brain has to think through that for a long moment before he remembers:

“We aren’t married.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Buck’s voice sounds far away. “Should we get married?”

Eddie thinks about that for a long moment too.

“Probably,” he decides. And then his stomach twists again and it doesn’t really matter if they’re married or not because he’s too busy throwing up to think about anything except how awful he feels.

****

When Eddie does steal the hoodie, it’s mostly an accident. He wakes up freezing, desperately thirsty, and when he staggers up in search of water, he grabs the hoodie that has been tossed onto the end of the bed without thinking about it. It’s already over his head before he realises that it’s the one Buck was wearing when they crawled into bed.

The next time he wakes up, he’s too warm, Buck a long line of heat pressed up against his back, and he has to wriggle free to wrestle the hoodie off again. It’s damp with fever sweat and he tosses it on the floor in disgust. He just did laundry yesterday, but he’s already thinking about how they’ll need to do it again.

“Okay?” Buck asks, still half asleep.

The answer is yes but also no, I feel like crap, and I hate how never-ending housework is, which is all too much to explain. Eddie just groans and buries his face in his pillow. A sound catches in Buck’s throat, something vague and sympathetic, and he slips a hand under Eddie’s t-shirt to rub his back. Eddie shivers, pressing back into him.

“Your hands are cold,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t mean stop.

Buck shuffles a little closer and kisses the back of his neck: I’ve got you.

Eddie still feels awful, but he thinks he’ll feel a little less awful as long as he has Buck there rubbing his back. He knows this isn’t what either of them meant when they promised to have each other’s backs all those years ago, but it feels inevitable that they ended up here anyway. Buck’s hand moves over his skin, warm and solid and familiar, and Eddie wonders—lets himself wonder, the way he doesn’t usually dare—how it might feel with a ring on his finger. He’s pretty sure it would feel just like this; like home.

****

The hoodie spends two days waiting for someone in the house to have enough energy to do another wash cycle, then three more days at the bottom of the laundry basket waiting to be folded and put away. Buck is the one who finally puts it in the closet, his hands moving restlessly when they get home from a busy shift, jittery from too much caffeine and too little sleep.

“I love you,” Eddie says when he pulls oven cleaner out from under the sink next, “but if you’re going to deep clean our whole house, I’m going to nap without you.”

He’s exhausted, slumped at the kitchen table because even sitting up feels too hard right now, and Buck’s energy is starting to make him a little dizzy. He doesn’t think twenty-four hour shifts used to be this exhausting, maybe he should be more worried about getting old?

“Twenty minutes,” Buck bargains, already reaching for a cloth to scrub the oven with. “I just want to do this and then I’ll join you.”

Eddie considers insisting—he knows Buck is just as exhausted as he is and if he lies down for ten seconds he’ll probably crash—but compromise is the foundation of all good relationships, or so Bobby keeps telling him. It’s a foundation, Eddie is willing to concede, but he’s pretty sure the foundation of all good relationships is trust.

“Twenty minutes,” he agrees. “I better not wake up alone, Buckley.”

Buck smiles, like he can see right through the faux-stern Buckley to the heartfelt honey underneath, and ducks in to kiss Eddie on the cheek on his way to the oven.

“Twenty minutes,” he says. “I promise.”

****

Eddie is out as soon as his head hits the pillow, so he doesn’t know if it is twenty minutes, but when he wakes up and rolls over, he finds Buck sprawled on the bed beside him, dark green hoodie rucked up around his waist, one leg sticking out from under the covers, breath whistling faintly between snores. He smiles and closes his eyes. Chris is at school, the house smells vaguely like lemon disinfectant, he’s warm and comfortable and they have nowhere important to be. He can spare five more minutes before getting up, he thinks.

Half an hour later, they’re still in bed, wrapped up around each other, and Eddie has forgotten why he ever wanted to get up at all.

****

“Uh, isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?” Chimney asks, pointing between them.

Eddie glances at Buck, I stole this from my boyfriend embroidered right over his heart.

“Looks fine to me,” he answers, shrugging.

Buck grins. “You think I look fine?”

Eddie opens his mouth, a dozen answers to that on his tongue, half of them straying dangerously close to NSFW, but Hen beats him to it was a drawn out, “Oookay, save it for when we don’t have to stand here and listen to your foreplay, boys.”

Eddie can feel his cheeks turning pink, but Buck is as unrepentant and shameless as always.

“You could stand somewhere else,” he suggests, and he’s laughing when Hen smacks him in the arm.

****

The hoodie is traded for an LAFD one instead, relegated to Buck’s locker for the duration of their shift. Eddie isn’t fussy; he’s just as happy to watch the LAFD material stretch over Buck’s arms and chest and broad shoulders as he is any other kind of clothing.

Buck goes home with the hoodie tucked into his bag the next morning, but somewhere between walking in the front door and leaning against each other in the kitchen while the coffee maker works its magic, Eddie ends up wearing it. It’s like wearing a hug, he thinks, but that might be the way Buck’s arms are wrapped around his waist as well, a solid wall of heat at his back. Eddie doesn’t want to step away when the coffee machine beeps, but the lure of caffeine is strong enough to get him one step, two, three, cold as soon as his partner’s arms are no longer around him.

“Thanks,” Buck murmurs when Eddie hands him a mug.

Eddie kisses him, a quick peck on the lips, you’re welcome, and Buck catches him by one hoodie string to kiss him again when he starts to step away. The coffee mug in his hand dips and Eddie takes it from him, setting it aside without looking. The space the movement put between them is only there for a second before Buck hooks his hands in the hoodie pouch to pull Eddie closer, deepening the kiss.

“Have I told you lately,” he says between kisses, “that I love when you wear my clothes?”

Eddie hums, busy working his hands under the hem of Buck’s shirt so he can touch as much warm skin as possible. It takes him longer than it ordinarily would to string together the words to say, “I thought you bought this hoodie for me?”

“I bought it because it reminded me of you,” Buck agrees, his own hands under Eddie’s hem now, hot enough to brand everywhere he touches, “but you’re the one who said it doesn’t make sense unless it’s my hoodie.”

“And you said you’d just wear it a few times first,” Eddie reminds him, distracted enough now to frown, hands stilling on Buck’s waist. “Hang on, are you trying to steal my hoodie?”

Buck’s next kiss is more like a bite, teeth nipping under Eddie’s jaw; the promise of a mark that will sit just above where the hoodie might cover it.

“Right now,” he says, the same kind of promise in his voice, “I’m just trying to get you out of it.”

Eddie is more than happy to help with that. He lets Buck take him by the hand and pull him down the hall towards the bedroom, coffee forgotten on the counter, hoodie tugged off and quickly forgotten on the floor. Buck lips press against his skin right over this heart, right where the embroidered words would be, and Eddie feels like there is a mirror image of them etched into the beating muscle beneath his skin: my boyfriend stole this from me. He would have given it—has given it, a dozen times over—but every time he reached into his chest, he found Buck’s name already there.

I love you, Buck presses into his skin with his lips.

And Eddie holds him close and kisses it right back: I love you, I love you, I love you.

****

“Our hoodie.”

“Huh?”

Buck pushes himself up on his elbow and Eddie blinks up at him, his brain still feeling a little melt-y.

“It can be our hoodie,” Buck says, idly tracing a pattern over Eddie’s ribs, just because he can.

“Like a timeshare?” Eddie asks, musing, the start of a smile breaking through. “You steal it this week and I’ll steal it next week?”

Buck flicks him and Eddie grins.

“I take it back,” Buck says, rolling away onto his back. “It’s my hoodie now.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to push himself up on an elbow, going far enough to lean over Buck and kiss him, cradling his face in one hand. It’s just supposed to be one kiss, but Buck kisses back readily, arms wrapping around Eddie’s back, and it’s easy to lose themselves in it after that, the thread of conversation unravelling as they make out.

“Okay,” Eddie says eventually, the word quiet and breathy in the space between them. “Our hoodie.”

It gives him a thrill, the same way it always does, whenever he refers to the two of them as an our. Our home, our family, our hoodie.

Buck’s smile is a brilliant thing. It burrows in through bone and blood and tissue to reach the heart underneath, making itself at home.

“I love you,” he says, so sincere Eddie feels it in his chest.

“I love you too,” he replies, punctuated with a kiss. “You know Hen and Chimney are going to give us so much shit about this hoodie for the rest of our lives, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Buck agrees. “Maddie too. Don’t tell Chris, but she thinks I already own too many hoodies as well.”

Eddie laughs. God, he’s so, so far gone for this man.

“She might have a point,” he says, but he’s pretty sure it just sounds like there’s no such thing as too many hoodies.

Buck rolls his eyes, still crinkled with his smile. “See if I ever buy you a hoodie again.”

It’s an empty threat. And it doesn’t really matter anyway because—

“That’s fine,” Eddie answers. “I’ll just steal yours.”

He can’t be sure, really, which happened first: that first stolen LAFD hoodie, or Buck stealing his heart. He tried once, wine drunk with Hen and Karen, to answer their question about when he knew he was in love, but the only answer that came to him was I’m pretty sure I loved Buck before I knew him.

“I don’t think it’s stealing if I let you,” Buck tells him.

“You’re going to let me, huh?”

“Yeah.” Buck nods. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I kinda like it when you wear my clothes.”

Eddie grins. “I might have had some idea.”

The proof is on the bedroom floor, or whatever that saying is. He never did understand why it was always in the pudding. It’s on the bedroom floor, and in the way Buck is smiling at him, and in the laundry all mixed up in the basket. It’s the way Buck kisses him, soft and lingering, and the way Eddie’s heart thumps once, twice, a pain that doesn’t really hurt. It’s our home and our family and our hoodie. It’s I love you and I love you and I love you.

It's the fact that they’re here, together, despite everything. Because of everything.

It’s kissing Buck again, and again, and again. Just because he can.

****

(Eddie wonders—lets himself wonder, the way he doesn’t usually dare—how it might feel with a ring on his finger. He’s pretty sure it would feel just like this; like home.)

#Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #911 Fox #fic #clothes thief eddie my beloved<3

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nekonanamii · 9 months

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All for the best pt. 2 — Geto Suguru x Fem! Reader

I don’t condone irl cheating but for the purpose of the story let’s enjoy this p*rn without a plot (pov you’re the real estate agent in the previous fic)

Geto Suguru was in the market to buy a new apartment, having recently been promoted and being given a significantly higher pay grade— of course he wanted something more lavish. It just so happens that you were his real estate agent <3

He says he’s looking for a apartment for him and his girlfriend. But where is this girlfriend he speaks of? The man says she’s busy tending to her boss’ every whim. Says it’s more than just work at this point, he feels like he’s the other man in the relationship. You think to yourself, how on earth could his girlfriend ignore this beautiful man? She must be crazy.

This poor man, he at least needs a little bit of pampering, yeah? After all, he isn’t getting much attention from his dear girlfriend :(

You made sure to have many apartment options for your client. You also made sure to wear you sexiest and tightest skirts every time you’d show him a new place <3

And each time you felt his eyes take in your body a little bit longer than he previously did.

Every chance you’d get, you would brush your fingers on his hand. You’d even go so far as to caress his muscular arms as you show him the newest additions of the apartment you were having him view.

If it wasn’t painfully obvious by now, you noticed how the tent in his pants was growing harder and harder to hide. Your dear client would constantly excuse himself to the restroom every now and then <3 How cute you thought, you were made painfully aware that this sexy man had a large dick. Oh how you wish you could ease the burden on him and drain his balls for him <3

Your dearest client finally has an apartment he says he wants to put an offer on but says he needs a little bit more convincing, after all the rent was pretty steep but the cityscape view was to die for.

You take him to the bathroom to show him the latest shower feature it had, but whoops you accidentally turn it on a bit too much and now you’re wet. Your white button down top is essentially see-through as it’s drenched in water. Suguru swears his eyes nearly budged out of their sockets seeing how perfectly plump your tits were and not to mention how perky and painfully hard your nipples were.

“Oops my bad- I didn’t know it would turn on all the way~” lies. You knew what you were doing. After all, you purposely didn’t wear a bra today, The tent in his pants was impossible to ignore at this point and you could see the visible discomfort he had on his face from how hard his dick pressed into the fabric of his pants.

You lazily unbuttoned your shirt and shimmied your way out of your tiny little pencil skirt, and that was it for him. He needed you. You started with his belt then worked his zipper down bringing his pants and boxers down to his ankles. Suguru was at a loss for words. God you looked so sexy. He’d be lying if he said be hasn’t been fisting himself to the thought of you after each viewing you had with him.

You licked the head of his cock— god it was bigger than you imagined. Incredibly thick too. Slowly you bottomed out and sucked his dick at an increasing pace. Suguru swears he saw stars. He grabs a fist full of your hair guides his cock deeper into your throat.

“I hope I’m the only client you treat this way” he says panting,

You pull out for a second and tell him “of course, I’ve never had a client as sexy as you”

Suguru pulls you up and your back is on his chest. He reaches down your clothed pussy and pushes the tiny little cloth covering your slit to the side “You wanted this didn’t you huh?” Suguru works his fingers on your pussy while your hand grabs onto his aching hard member. You align it to your entrance while he kisses you from behind, your dear client is now fucking you from behind with such force you swear your knees are gonna buckle.

“Fuck you’re such a fucking minx you wanted this so bad didn’t you huh?” All you could do was say yes over and over and Suguru tells you he’s about to cum, you face him with his cock deep inside you.

“Please please please need your cum in me please oh fuck” is all you can say.

Suguru can’t fucking believe it. Before he could do anything he’s shooting ropes into you and you’re seeing stars. You’re both coming down from your high while kissing each other through it.

“So I guess I’ll be taking that as a sure offer?” you say

And just like that, your affair with Suguru begins. It’s not your fault his dear girlfriend doesn’t doesn’t keep him on a leash.

🫢

#geto my beloved #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru smut #jjk geto #geto smut #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto suguru

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loki-cees-all · 7 months

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Chapter 3 - Then With the Eyes Shut {TLTGYA - Post-TVA!Loki x OFC Longfic}

Previous Chapter / TLTGYA Masterlist / A03 Link / Next Chapter

Pairing : Post-TVA!Loki x Oliviette (OFC)

Chapter Summary : Loki is trying his best to just ignore his new cellmate, but she’s really not making it easy for him.

Chapter W/c : 4.7k words

Chapter Tags / Content : Heavy angst, again. Oops!

Author's Note : Sorry this chapter is so late! It’s a long story, but I got kicked through a Time Door and was temporarily lost to time. Anyway - hope you all enjoy this chapter, and thank you so much for reading!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

Loki had never been one to loathe his own nightmares; he needed their reminder, and he craved the pain they caused. But the nightmares had betrayed him - forcing him into revealing his presence to his new cell mate, and so he was absolutely cursing them now.

He’d forced himself to look away before responding to her query about escaping, and while he hadn’t directly witnessed her disappointment and confusion, he had felt them. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Loki resented having to admit out loud that he’d rather stay there in that horrible place, that his reluctance to leave was probably going to damn her as well.

She was an innocent bystander, someone who didn’t deserve the danger and chaos and death that followed Loki wherever he went. But he knew she was doomed the moment she entered his presence, whether they stayed or left.

The woman had made several more attempts to communicate after he laid back down, and Loki had ignored every one of them. But he didn’t dare fall back asleep; he was bound to have another nightmare, and having another person there to witness its aftermath was just too intimate, and too much for him to deal with, on top of everything else.

So he just continued laying on his side, his dark cloak pulled tight around him and his forearm curled underneath his head, and his eyes open but not seeing as he listened to the dungeon sounds that he had grown painfully accustomed to. The water droplets and distant screams were almost comforting at this point, but the sound of the woman’s quiet sobs and prayers for assistance were most certainly not.

Loki couldn’t blame her for them, though - she had every right to be frightened. He could feel her muscles tensing up with every scream in the distance, with every footstep of the guards down the hallway. And for some reason, her anguish was much harder to deal with than the ones of his previous cell mates.

He told himself it was just because she was the only one who ever knew he was there, and that he just needed to be patient for another two or three days, because eventually the guards would come for her. Eventually, she’d be put out of her misery, and Loki would be able to nightmare in peace once again.

Until then, Loki would continue to suffer while awake. Keeping his heavy eyelids open was an enormous effort, and shifting his position on the floor felt like trying to push cinder blocks against an ocean’s current. He never would have guessed that simply lying down would be so exhausting.

Not even the rigorous warrior training he was obligated to endure under Odin’s guidance had been this depleting, and while he hadn’t necessarily been conscious during the horrors inflicted upon him on Knowhere, his body had still suffered tremendously.

Just how long had he been awake anyway? There were no windows in his cell, no sunrise or sunset to witness, and mercifully, no clocks to mark the passage of time. That had been his favorite part about this place, back when there was nothing to look forward to and nothing to dread.

It was peculiar that they hadn’t come for her yet. No one else, other than him, had ever survived for this long. What exactly were the guards waiting for?

Loki clenched his jaw and sighed in frustration. He didn’t want to ask questions - even to himself - and he certainly didn’t want answers; they just made doing nothing that much harder, and it wasn’t the kind of punishment he had been seeking in the first place.

All he could do was remind himself that this was all temporary. He didn’t know or care if the universe was trying to offer or taunt him with a chance at redemption, but he wasn’t going to fall for it again. The opportunity - or the illusion - would eventually pass, just like all the other times he had tried and failed, and soon he’d be able to return to his nightmares.

For the most part, he dreamt about running; from himself, from truth and lies and pain and respite. From villains and heroes as they chased him down endless hallways with countless doorways. And whenever he stopped to open them, each one led to the memory of a time he could have made the right decision and didn’t - when he could have just not snuck the Frost Giants into Asgard, when he could have just stayed in the Void with his other variants, or any time he could have just not picked up the Tesseract -

Loki gasped violently, and his eyes flew open in a panic - he had started to fall asleep again. He immediately froze in place, listening for signs that the woman had heard the disturbance. But she didn’t move or speak, and Loki was grateful for that.

His lungs heaved for air and his heart thudded painfully in his chest as he desperately tried to calm himself down, and his jaw set in place as he forced his eyes to focus on the cracks of the stone before him. The most prominent one was deep, chiseled and eroded away by years of water and pain. Smaller cracks branched out from the primary fault, some above it and some below, just like the doomed offshoots from the Sacred Timeline.

He couldn’t help but wonder - were those branches still being pruned? Or were they allowed to continue, drifting and splitting in countless directions with endless opportunities for variants of He Who Remains to come into power? To declare war against the others? To destroy and conquer everything in their sight in pursuit of their own narcissism?

Before he knew it, his eyes were filled with tears. He hadn’t driven the knife into He Who Remains, but he might as well have. The failure was on him, and the countless lives that would be ruined whether the TVA continued pruning or the dangerous variants were allowed to come into power was his burden to bear. His glorious purpose…

This wasn’t working - sleep only led to nightmares, and staring at the wall only invited rumination. His mind wasn’t in his own control, Loki’s muscles were aching and screaming for a change in position, the damn TVA belt was digging painfully into his belly, and as much as he didn’t want the woman witnessing his nightmares, he definitely didn’t want her to know he was weeping.

Loki needed a different kind of distraction, and since he had no previous history with the woman, perhaps she could be the right kind.

It was excruciating, but Loki did it anyway. He placed his palm flat on the stone floor and carefully pushed himself upright, his joints creaking and popping uncomfortably after months of disuse. Moving slowly and cautiously, and stifling multiple groans of pain, he finally managed to bring himself into a sitting position. He was still hiding in the shadows, still unwilling to expose himself, and he leaned back against the stone with a heavy sigh.

His long legs were outstretched before him, one ankle crossed over the other, and his hands were folded neatly in his lap and underneath the dark cloak. Physical pain was temporarily assuaged, and he waited patiently for his green eyes to adjust to the meager shift in lighting conditions.

It had been a long time since he had looked at this side of the cell, and not much had changed; the hallways were still sparsely illuminated with poorly-maintained lanterns, the stone walls were still grizzled and filthy, and the bars were still aged and corroded. There was nothing new to see, and nothing new to feel, and inevitably, his gaze migrated over to his new cellmate.

She was still in the same position as when he had last looked at her, knees pulled to her chest and huddled against the opposite corner of the cell. She even wore the same expression of despair and anguish as before, except she had somehow managed to fall asleep. Her eyes were now closed, and she was breathing in and out slowly, and that was the only reason Loki felt comfortable looking closer.

The woman’s fiery red hair, woven into one long braid slung over her shoulder, glowed in the lantern light; in any other conditions, her hair would have been stunning, but in here, it was just tragic. A long and thin chain hung around her neck, the links hooked together to support whatever gem or stone her fingers was wrapped around, clinging to it like it was magically going to transport her to safety.

In that same hand, Loki could see she clutched the small blade of an unused dagger, its blade free of chips and jagged edges, and her other arm was hidden inside her dark cloak.

Loki found himself wondering who she used to be before she was brought here, and what she had done to deserve it. He had always prided himself on being a quick study, an expert on reading between the lines of who people were, of what they craved - and more importantly - what they lacked.

He was always able to use that skill to his advantage - but Loki was stumped with this one. Her clothes, black leather and dark green cloth, were relatively clean and well-tailored. The dungeon guards could be after money, but that seemed unlikely while her jewelry and weaponry were left untouched. And as far as he knew, there was no extortion happening in this place - only death, perpetuated by mysterious guards, who for all Loki knew, were simply doing this for fun.

As if on cue, the sound of clinking keys echoed from down the hallway. Surprisingly, Loki felt no relief at the sound, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the footsteps of her reapers coming to collect what they were owed; except it wasn’t the usual pair of guards moving down the hallway, it just was one of them.

His brow furrowed, and his eyes cracked open just as the lone guard came into view and paused before the cell door. The guard held some sort of tray, balanced in one hand while the other pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and began to unlock the cell door. It was only then that the woman startled awake.

She gasped in fear as she scooted back away from the door, pushing herself with her feet and trying to find a safe distance within the confines of their cell. She still clutched her dagger tightly, instead of using it to fight, and Loki, still hidden in the shadows, remained unmoving as the guard stepped inside and carefully placed a tray of food on the floor.

Loki couldn’t believe it. After how many weeks and months, how many prisoners and deaths, not once had he ever encountered anyone being fed here. Not once had the guards kept anyone around long enough to even warrant feeding.

In fact, it was the first time Loki had ever gotten a good look at any of them. The guard moved slowly and with purpose, dressed head to toe in black clothing that lacked any markings or indications as to who he worked for, or what their goal was. The mask he wore was flat and expressionless, tinted with ochre and had two thin cutouts for the eyes and none for the mouth.

And even with the mask obscuring his features, the guard radiated animosity towards the woman as he lingered in the cell - as if he completely despised her, even as he was feeding her.

The guard finally backed out of the cell and relocked the door, and the woman eyed the tray suspiciously, conflicted between wanting to trust the food, but not wanting to be poisoned either. She didn’t seem to notice the guard’s covered face turning as he moved down the hallway, still staring at her from underneath the mask as he walked away.

Loki’s brow furrowed as he turned his attention back to the woman. She carefully placed the dagger on the stone floor and inched her fingers forward to reach for the tray, her green eyes still transitioning between apprehension and hunger in the face of the unappealing food that had been delivered by her captors.

The tray contained a bowl of grains, soggy and mushy and almost certainly cold, and next to it sat a hunk of bread, the age of which was undeterminable. No one would ever choose this as a meal, but it was probably the only food she’d seen in days - and Loki, months. But her apprehension hung heavy in the air, suffocating him like the unanswered questions he was dying to ask.

“They wouldn’t have bothered with imprisonment if they were going to poison you. Just eat it.”

The woman practically leapt out of her skin at the sound of Loki’s voice, like she had forgotten he was there. She shrank back against the wall, gasping for breath and scanning the cell wildly. “Oh, now you wish to talk?!”

Loki’s expression remained impassive as he looked back at her. “Your unease was distracting. Just eat it,” he repeated coolly.

After a moment, she swallowed hard and nodded as she slowly pulled the tray closer to her. “Right, of course. Obviously poisoning me now would really be crossing a line…”

The woman smiled sarcastically as she spoke, and the corners of Loki’s mouth twitched underneath his stoic expression. Maintaining a sense of humor under these conditions was an impressive feat - another item to add to his growing list of questions - and he decided it might be worth it to give in to the curiosity. It would be a temporary reprieve from the nightmares, and Loki knew they were still waiting for him - but they could hold on just a little bit longer.

The woman cleared her throat as she carefully picked up the spoon with her right hand and dragged it clumsily through the porridge. Loki noticed that her other arm was still hidden within her cloak, and that her eyes flitted nervously between the dagger on her tray, her only weapon to defend herself, and the spoon, the only tool she had to feed herself.

So they kidnap her, break her dominant arm…and now they’re feeding her…

None of it made sense. Clearly they intended to keep her alive - albeit broken - for a long time, but for what purpose? Loki hated that he wanted to know, that he couldn’t resist the puzzle pieces sitting before him. He had come here to suffer, not to play games, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. “Who are you?”

The woman’s expression softened, and she looked towards him in the shadows. “My name is - ”

“No, I’m not asking for your name,” Loki replied, staring intently at her from the shadows and doing his best to ignore the optimism on her face. “Who are you to the guards?”

“Me? I’m…nobody,” she laughed nervously as she twirled the spoon through the porridge.

Loki cocked his head as he leaned forward. There had to be some explanation as to why they would go through the effort to capture but not kill her. “Then why are they feeding you?”

The woman turned her head to look in his direction, her green eyes narrowed as they searched the darkness for his. “I don’t know. Why aren’t they feeding you?”

Loki chuckled to himself; he wasn’t interested in answering questions, but he couldn’t help but admire the way she was dodging his. It had been quite a long time since he had found something so intriguing, and for a moment he almost forgot about the horrors that usually unraveled whenever he pulled on a thread.

“I already know why they aren’t feeding me. What I don’t know is why you’re getting special treatment from the masked guards.”

The woman’s expression shifted from irritation to concern as she set the spoon back down into the bowl. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?”

Loki wasn’t expecting the change in her tone, or for anyone to bother showing interest in him ever again. He looked down at his hands in his lap as they fidgeted with each other. “Why? What difference does that make?”

“I was just wondering if the reason you’re so moody is because you’re…hungry.”

He swallowed hard, baffled by her conclusion and consideration. Loki was hungry, that much was true, but he wasn’t ever going to admit to that. “That’s…completely irrelevant, I - ”

The woman cleared her throat to interrupt him, and he paused as his eyes slowly traveled upwards. She was holding out the chunk of bread, extending it in his direction with a benevolent smile on her face. “Share?”

Loki’s eyebrows knitted together as he stared at her expression of sincerity and kindness, struggling to answer a simple question without an uncomplicated answer. Food wasn’t going to solve any of his problems, and yet the offer felt like a lifeline for a lost soul that had spent far too long drowning in sorrow.

He believed he didn’t deserve that lifeline, but before he could answer with what would almost certainly be a refusal, his muscles were inexorably pushing him upright. They made the decision for him, as if their need for sustenance nullified his desire to stay isolated.

Loki cautiously took a few steps closer, a massive effort for someone who had spent over a thousand days in the dark, but as he reached for the bread, the woman moved it just out of his grasp.

“If you’re going to eat with me, you can’t go back to hiding in the shadows. Agreed?” the woman offered, a slow smile creeping across her face as she looked up at him.

Her green eyes sparkled with the guileless amusement of someone who didn’t know what they were actually asking of him, and Loki was grappling with the urge to resist temptation, to fight the siren’s call of both avoidance and hostility over her simple offer of food and company.

It was foolish, and it was going to end in disaster, and Loki couldn’t understand why he was considering it at all. The years of previous mistakes had led him to believe that he couldn’t be trusted to make the right call, that the last choice he had made - the one to stay isolated from everyone and everything - was the only good thing he’d ever done.

But it was just bread, and Loki told himself that the conversation would just be temporary, and so Loki cleared his throat and set his jaw in place. “Agreed.”

The woman smiled with an innocent sort of triumph as she handed the bread back to him, and Loki felt his heart skip a beat. It was nothing, it was just a simple gesture, one that he didn’t deserve - she just didn’t know any better yet.

He pushed the feeling away as he settled back down on the stone floor again, adjacent to the shadows but not within them this time. The woman shifted her attention back to her porridge, and Loki, feeling exposed and unsure of what to do or say, focused his attention on the bread.

He turned it over in his hands, studying its shape and color - round and flat and carelessly formed, with a dark and over-cooked crust. It gave way under the pressure of his hands, snapping in half with a loud crack. Loki glanced over, and the woman was smiling softly at him.

These two strangers were sharing a meal inside a dungeon meant for horrors and torture and pain, and Loki had to remind himself to not get used to it, because the price for even the simplest of meals was always going to be regret.

“So, what should I call you?” the woman asked before bringing a spoonful of porridge to her mouth.

Loki tore off a piece of bread and put it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing to buy himself some time instead of answering. He was sure that no one here had ever heard of him, that saying his name wouldn’t set off any alarm bells - but still he hesitated. What if his reputation had somehow preceded him? What if he actually wasn’t that far outside of the Nine Realms?

A thousand other what-ifs swirled in his mind, and the woman was still waiting for an answer after sharing her kindness and food that he definitely didn’t deserve. Maybe his name would somehow cast a spell for all of his enemies to hear, and they’d finally be able to find him, and they’d make sure he never had anyone to share a meal with ever again. That was what he deserved.

“My name is…Loki.”

He braced himself for the eventual fallout, like his shame would manifest itself into the monster he knew he was, but nothing changed. The woman continued eating, perhaps only finding the time it took him to answer strange instead of the actual answer, the water droplets continued falling, and the darkness in the dungeon remained stagnant.

“And why don’t the guards bring you any food, Loki? Are they punishing you beyond locking you in here?”

It was a very loaded question, one with a very complicated answer, and Loki wasn’t sure how to handle it. He broke off another piece and put it in his mouth as he weighed his options - on the one hand, he didn’t know this woman at all, or if she was trustworthy; clearly the guards thought her important even if they hated her, but what exactly was she capable of?

But on the other hand - what did he have left to lose?

“The guards don’t know I’m here,” Loki answered truthfully. It was so unlike him to unveil himself like this, and he didn’t know whether it was because he had spent too long wallowing in apathy and simply didn’t care anymore, or if he was so desperate for connection that it weakened his sensibilities.

The woman lowered the spoon back to the bowl as her brow furrowed. “Wait - you’re hiding here? Why?”

Another loaded question, and he was really starting to regret answering them. He had come out of the shadows to be distracted, not to have someone question his actions or judgment. The woman seemed genuinely curious about him, but how could he even begin to explain himself, and what would be the point? It wouldn’t alleviate his burden, and it would only lead to more questions.

“I deserve to be here. This is where I belong,” The words felt like acid on his tongue, and Loki sighed heavily, looking down at his hands as the woman processed his words with even more confusion.

What am I - the God of Self-Sabotage?

Those words he had spoken to Mobius so long ago were intended to be sarcasm at the time, but it was still the absolute truth. It wasn’t too late to end this, to lay back down and face away from her again. It might take a bit longer than a few days, but eventually she would be just as dead as all the others, and everything could go back to the way it was supposed to be.

But he stayed where he was, exposed in small slivers of light as he crushed another chunk of bread between his teeth.

“I’m…so sorry, Loki. I cannot imagine how whatever you’re hiding from could be worse than this…” the woman replied, shaking her head as she looked around the cell. “Or how you could possibly find respite in a place like this…”

If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t be sympathizing with him right now, and Loki considered telling her about the awful things he’d done that had led him there. Just to get her to stop feeling sorry for him, to make her scared of him, to make her hide from him…because he was too broken to do anything else.

Loki didn’t respond, busying himself with chewing and swallowing, and he could feel her gaze return to him before she spoke again. “Look, whatever you’ve done - it can’t have been so bad - ”

He wanted to believe her, but she was so very wrong about him, and his heart ached as she continued justifying what she had no way of understanding, the pressure of her reassurances constricting his insides and sending blood rushing through his ears. He could barely hear what she was saying, but her expression was kind and forgiving and it was too much for him to handle.

“With all due respect - ” Loki finally snapped, interrupting and meeting her sympathetic expression with a fiercer, more intense one of his own. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me, and you don’t know what I’ve done.”

The woman stared at him for a moment, her eyes widened in surprise, before looking back down at the tray in her lap. “You’re right. I apologize…”

Loki shook his head as heavy silence descended around them. He hadn’t meant to be so insistent, but she was in direct contradiction to the torment he was deserving of.

Tearing off another chunk of bread, they both chewed without speaking, unsure of how to continue. The air hung heavy, full of regret and musk and uncertainty, but he could feel the woman’s gaze shifting to and from him, like she wanted to ask him another question. He could only pray that it wasn’t about himself.

“So, um…do you happen to know who the dungeon guards are? Or what they want from me, or the others?”

Loki was unable to hide the snark still lingering in his tone. “How am I supposed to know what they want with you?”

The answer to that question was what had initially drawn him out of the shadows in the first place, and he was vexed that she had somehow managed to turn his interrogation on its head so easily.

The woman either didn’t notice his growing irritation, or was deliberately ignoring it. “And I take it no one’s coming to rescue you?”

He sighed and leaned back against the stone wall. It was cold and unyielding, like the cruel fate he deserved, like the harsh loneliness he had felt his entire life. No one would have come to save him, even if they knew where he was.

Somehow his cellmate seemed to understand that, judging by the forlorn look in her eyes. Loki felt raw and exposed, oddly juxtaposed against his desperate need to be understood - a feeling he thought was dead and buried a long time ago. Why was this happening? How did she do this to him?

The woman moved her tray to the floor and stared intently at him. “Look, no one’s coming for me either, so we need to break out on our own. It shouldn’t be too difficult if we’re working together.”

So that’s all she wanted - for him to save her. Loki ran a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. That was a choice she expected him to make, one that put her very life at stake, and more importantly - it would require him leaving in order to save her. His head already ached with the burden of it all, and that familiar dread of his previous captors forcing their own wills on him was washing over him again.

“Plus, we have the element of surprise if the guards don’t - ” the woman continued, and Loki was now positive that she was definitely ignoring his trepidation entirely. Her expression was hopeful, and he couldn’t stand it.

“No. Absolutely not. Absolutely not!” Loki seethed through gritted teeth, and his jaw clenched together as anger coursed through his veins. “If you want to leave, you’ll have to do it alone!”

Their eyes met, and she looked absolutely crushed again. He was sorry no one was coming to rescue her either, but that couldn’t be his burden to bear. He hadn’t meant to be lured into any sort of camaraderie, he just didn’t want to fall asleep again. And while Loki knew doing nothing was worse than trying and failing, he couldn’t bring himself to take the chance.

“Look, I appreciate the meal, but this was a mistake,” he sighed heavily. “You’re better off on your own.”

Loki shoved the final chunk of bread in his mouth and started to chew. And without waiting for a response, he lowered his back to the stone floor, resuming his position on his side and closing his eyes.

He told himself he was better off without her too.

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

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