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ghostheartfelt · 10 months

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*:･｡☆ notes: mature content, hellllla smut... smutty smut smut! reader is mentioned as petite/given the descriptions of being petite. reader and ghost are married. ghost is left at the door upon arrival, simon comes home. ghost takes the mask off only at home under your relationship rules.

*:･｡☆ tags: praise and degradation, anniversary sex, reunion sex, breast worship, body worship, ghost is obsessed with ya'll..., ghost is more affectionate during sex, biting, lots of kissing, reader is hella sex deprived, dom!m & sub!f, dom!f if you squint, cunniligus, you ride ghosts face for the first time, ghost loves eating pussy, you give him a blowjob (lucky), no use of y/n, lots of moaning and whining, spit play, ghost spits in your mouth, ghost loves the belly bulge, major size difference kink, BREEDING KINK, ghost breeds you like your life depends on it, you both try for a baby, very fluffy aftercare, ghost takes care of you.

〔☆〕 desc: ghost takes leave for your one year marriage anniversary and makes it up to you with hella sex. oh and you ask if he's ready to give you a baby because you don't like being home alone without a purpose, he doesn't let you leave without there being no chance of you walking out without his baby in you.

—✩ TEN MINUTES PAST ✩—

word count — 10.1k

a/n: this is my first ever time writing smut! i genuinely hope i did alright, and i welcome any advice and soft criticisms. anywho, enjoy this long ass smut shot!

ao3

You pace the living room eagerly. He said he’d be home. He promised. He promised you he’d be beside you for this day. It was your anniversary; he proposed a year ago, and you’d been dating him for six years prior.

It’s two o’clock in the morning, seven minutes past. He’s still not there. Eight minutes past two o’clock in the morning. You spent time cleaning the house for the second time this week, for him.

Nine minutes past two o’clock in the morning. Almost ten. You’ve been waiting since the moment you woke up. Twenty-one hours. One thousand, two hundred and sixty minutes. He’s still not here.

You sit down on the leather couch, and pour the glass of wine you had set out for the two of you in a stemless glass, pressing it to your lips. You lean back, resting your head against the cushion behind you.

Your fingers glide up and down the rubber buttons on the remote to your t.v, the black turning to white as you press on the red on/off button located at the top right corner of the remote.

You pull your black weighted blanket over your body, draping it over your shoulders and tucking it in the crevices between your arms to warm you up.

A stereotypical romance is the first movie you watched while you were cleaning the kitchen. Now, you were halfway through the movie, and it no longer makes you feel bubbly and giddy. But instead, just lonely, almost broken.

Maybe it was the way the brunette male held the blonde, gripping her hips as they kissed underneath the threshold of his apartment door. Or the way he looked at her when she stared out the airplane window during their flight to France.

Nothing you haven’t seen before in a romance, but they contained your favorite tropes, although basic, because Simon never did any of the things you see in the movies. His proposal was simple, hell, you were surprised he even proposed at all.

Your wedding ring was beautiful, a circle-shaped diamond that wasn’t too flashy nor too small. It had two bands that wrapped around your finger, and a diamond-covered frame covering the larger stone.

His ring always stayed on his bedside table, that is more than it should be, left untouched. He wears a silicone band when in the fields, which you were okay with due to it being for his safety. Once in a while, you end up wearing his wedding band around your neck, with a dog tag chain holding it securely.

Ten minutes past two o’clock in the morning. You remember his proposal all too well. You both had visited a pier that was fairly close to your shared home, and with no words, nor kneeling gesture, Simon had taken your smaller hand in his own, and slipped the gorgeous ring through your finger.

His eyes pinned to yours as you took in the moment for yourself. Your eyes shone, glistening with sticky tears as your mascara stained your undereyes. He always wore his mask out in public, but he never told you why.

It was almost as if you were proposed to by another version of him he never has told you about. You weren’t sure if it was him being ashamed of being with you, or something entirely different. Either way, you knew Simon was a man who was secretive and mysterious in a way that you were intrigued by. He still cared, although the man has never returned you an ‘i love you too’, he had other ways of expressing his feelings and admiration for you.

You stand from the couch, adjusting the red silk robes draped over your shoulders, tied at your chest. Your hair was pinned up in a tortoise shell claw clip, two strands from your bangs dangling in front of you. You’d grown out your natural nails, painting them in black—his favorite. You didn’t take the time to do your makeup, he’d always told you he preferred you without it. That your natural beauty was always his favorite; however, he loved when he made you cry off all your mascara while he fucked you, or when your lipstick would smear against him or the bed sheets.

A shiver ran up your spine at the thought. You longed for your husband’s touch for too long, and he’d promised you to provide. Simon was a man of his word, from what you’d seen and experienced. Two hours ago, it was yours and Simon’s anniversary. Two hours ago, you expected him to come through that door and hold you like he did on the pier, so long ago. A year ago. Now, you haven’t seen your husband in over six months, and it was killing you. It was torturous.

He mailed you, and you mailed him. He wrote you letters, telling you sweet nothings. He was such a literate man, he knew how to make you weak in the knees just through ink on paper. The last thing you’d mailed Simon were polaroid pictures of you. You in his favorite lingerie, you without it.

It took you a lot of confidence to do it, but you did, and he loved them. You didn’t know if he did or not, though, because he didn’t mail anything back. You spent day and night worried it was put into the wrong hands, or you wrote the address wrong, or he just didn’t care for them. Simon knew you were also an overthinker.

You walk back towards the kitchen, opening the fridge to take out a glass pitcher of coffee creamer, as well as the half-and-half carton. You close the fridge with your hip, and walk yourself to the other side of the counter where you had a little coffee and tea station set up. You grab one of the mugs off the rack, setting it down as you press the button on the electric kettle to heat up the water inside. You place your cup under the coffee machine.

Suddenly, you feel large hands envelope your waist, and you gasp. “What’re ya doin’ up still, love?” You immediately recognize his voice; so grim, deep, and low, and accented. His left hand drags up from your lower abdomen, up your ribs, up the valley of your breasts. You breathe sharply as he moves your robes, letting them fall off your shoulders slightly. His fingers trace your clavicles a moment, then your sternum again, then up your neck. His hand cups below your chin, pulling your head back to rest against his body.

Only then do you exhale and close your eyes while your palms press hard against the marble countertop. “I didn’t think you’d come,” you finally say, breaking the silence. “Mmm…—I know, t’wasnt my intention. Damn twits kept wantin’ and wantin’…” he says before he bends his head, kissing your shoulders gingerly. “Wanted to rip their heads off for keepin’ me from ya.” Simon grumbles against your soft skin. “But ‘m a man of my word,” his lips glide against your neck, almost hardly touching your skin—teasingly.

“Missed ya…Damn bad. Got yer pictures…” His eyes drag to your palms once they begin to grip on the counter. He starts low, making his way up your neck, sucking and kissing your sensitive skin to create marks that would be a considerable challenge to cover up for work. Just how he likes it.

“You didn’t send anything back…I only assumed the worst.” You reply, gasping once the male above you bites down on your neck then licks the indents he stamped down.

“Like?” He asks, separating your lips slightly with his thumb, which you place a few soft kisses against. “You didn’t…want them. Or they were bad—“ his hand covers your mouth, two of his fingers pressing into the skin below your chin.

“Quiet,” he grunts. “Didn’t want them? Fuckk…Do ya have any damn clue what y’did to me, woman?” Simon’s grip on your hip tightens as he grumbles against the shell of your ear.

“I wanted nothin’ more than to have ya bent to my contentment…To fuck y’r pretty little head empty.” He takes your earlobe between his teeth, then sucks lightly.

“I fucked my hand for over two damn hours like some fuckin’ eager man-slag. Course I damn well liked ‘em.” Simon’s hand trails up to your waist, the other still covering your mouth.

“Does that get ya off, hm? Knowin’ I fucked my fist to y’r pretty little slutty pictures?” He breathes heavily against you, pulling your body warm against his.

“Si…” you say softly, practically delicately after he releases the hand from your mouth to rest it on your waist with the other. “I asked ya a question.” Simon’s voice is so low and gravelly, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, and he takes notice.

You turn around. He lets you. You crave him. He craves you. “Yes,” you coo. His head cranes down to connect your lips with his.

“I’ve missed you so much, Simon,” you whisper into his mouth. He consumes your speech, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue meets with yours, tasting yours. Tasting what he’s longed for. Tasting who he’s longed for.

He doesn’t pull away until you start to struggle to breathe, biting your lip before he disconnects from you, a string of saliva causing him to chuckle deeply.

“Let me make it up to ya, love…” he says, asking for consent with his brown eyes. You only nod, which is enough for his hands to move and grip your hind, lifting you up against his chest. Your legs wrap around his waist and you kiss his chin, his neck—anything you can reach—desperately. He carries you towards the couch, setting you down on the soft material. Your doe eyes blink, taking in his form. He was still in his uniform, but his mask was resting on his side.

Simon’s hard gaze meets with your body, causing you to shuffle around nervously, he was standing up above you, somewhat menacingly. “You look damned beautiful—made me go mad the moment I walked in…” Simon’s eyes don’t leave your body as he starts to discard his vest and kick off his boots. “I feel a bit underdressed,” you joke softly, a smile creasing your lips. “Jus’ how I like it…” He teases, watching as you stare at him. At his shape. The way his tan shirt squeezes tightly around his arms accentuating his tight fit.

Simon nethers down in a bent form, his lips connecting with your wrist as he lifts your arm. “Smell absolutely incredible.” He says, his voice brimming with adoration and his eyes stirring with pure interest and dedication, a hint of desire masked in his dark irises. “Oh…” You exhale deeply, taking note of every one of his moves, memorizing the pattern of his lips against your feverish body.

“‘Oh’, is right lovie.” Simon teases you gently, a humorous chuckle leaving his throat.

He lets go of your hand, letting it slide back onto your thigh as he seats himself besides you, gripping your hips to turn you and lean you against the armrest of the couch. Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his sudden domineering pace. “Y’r so quiet, why?” Simon’s eyes lock onto your half-lidded pair. “I’m just tired, baby, and in shock. You’re right here. In front of me, right now.” You say, lifting your hand to tug at the shirt covering his chest.

Slowly, you drag your open palm up and over his collarbones, pushing him forward to close the gap between you by the nape of his neck. His thumbs add pressure into your hips, bruising them as you thread his fingers through your own, he groans in your mouth as you lightly tug his hair. His tongue glides past yours in a perfect synchrony, showing the desire he held for you. You need him, and he needs you, and that’s entirely evident. “Simon, slow…I don’t want to wake our neighbors,” you breathe as you separate from him. His eyebrows furrow. “I need ya—don’t care if I wake the entire damned city up.” He says sourly.

Your cheeks heat up and your eyes flicker down to Simon’s fingers fumbling with the fronts of your robes. You assist him, untying the little knot of the bow you secured, furtherly exposing your black floral bralette with matching panties. He inhaled sharply, his eyes burning into your cleavage and hip dips. “Fuckin’ bloody massacre…” he cranes his head down, planting kisses over your upper breasts, meeting your lips with a soft peck, you mumble his name, catching his attention. “Y’r a’ready gettin’ all worked up, love.” He teasingly drags his middle finger up over your clothed cunt, making you twitch.

“Oh—“ you moan.

“Tha’s exactly how I can tell ya ain’t had a good fuck in some time…So sensitive to everything. Ya want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart? Is that what ya want?”

He bucks his hips against yours, enough to rile you up. “Please, Simon,” you choke out, gripping his shoulders. “Atta girl,” he lowers himself down and kisses your inner thighs, biting the flesh hard enough to leave marks. “Sweet girl”, he hums below you. You gasp and dig your nails into his skin through his shirt, wiggling as he licks and teases the bitten skin. “I need you,” you sigh in ecstasy to his touch. “I’ve been craving you.” He groans at your blind solicitation, propping your legs up from behind your knees before spreading them apart.

His fingers grip the waistband of your panties before he tears the fabric off from you with just one hand. “Simon!” You yelp as your eyebrows furrow. “Those were expensive…” He huffs below you, kissing your raw skin. “Don’t care—“ he pauses a moment, pulling from your legs to snatch a box from the coffee table beside the both of you.

“Open.” Simon nearly commands, filling you with a slight excitement yet confusion. “Didn’t have time to wrap, ‘sorry.” He watches you take off the lid of the silver glitter box, your eyes immediately widening with marvel.

A new lingerie set to add to your drawer, it was a laced pink set with a little gem hanging in the center front of both the panties and brassiere. Underneath, a perfume you’d been talking to him about like a mad woman, and a pearl necklace with a diamond heart pendant.

You give him a toothy grin, immediately wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him into your chest, he lets out an amused huff. “Happy anniversary, love.” Simon hums against your ear, kissing your collarbone. “Happy anniversary, Simon.” You say back breathlessly.

He sets the box back down on the coffee table after you let go of his shoulders, then he tugs his shirt over his head, piling it on the rug with his gear. He dips down again between your thighs and laces his tongue down your folds from your clit. “So precious,” he coos. You immediately arch your back up and squeal, but he presses his palm against your abdomen, pushing you down.

You bite down on your lip to suppress your noises, and you instinctively slam your thighs together in embarrassment. It’d been so long. “Stop.” He says with a low growl. “Y’r beautiful, love. Nothin’ to be nervous ‘bout, y’hear me?”

His thumb pulls down your bottom lip from your teeth’s hold, causing you to smile softly. “Y’r gorgeous, inside and out. Let me show ya what I mean…” Simon thumbs your robes off entirely with featherlight touches and hoists you up by the back of your thighs. “Si?” You blink, watching as he lays down below you, setting you down hard on his hips.

His pants are dented with a bulge, struggling to breathe under the constraints of his cargos. Your slick cunt wets the fabric below you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, slowly rubbing yourself against the tent in his pants, earning a deep groan from your husband.

“Tryin’ somethin’ new,” he says. “Scoot.” You look at him anxiously, trying to avoid your thoughts resorting to what you thought he was trying to do. “What?—“

“Scoot the hell up here ‘n sit on my damn face, woman.”

“Help me,” you murmur, causing his eyebrows to pinch together. You feel his cock twitch beneath you. “Please, please, Simon…” He obliges. His large and scarred hands cup your bottom, pushing you up and over his chest. “I don’t know if I can,” you mewl above him, and his eyes burn into yours. They melt you into pure liquid above him.

Your legs feel like pure jelly. “I know you can.” He says. “Hands on my chest, dig y’r nails into me if ya have to, understood?” You shake your head. His hands grip your ass tighter. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes, Simon,” You tremble, hardly able to hold yourself up even with his assistance. Slowly, he sets you on his lips, and you shiver at the first kiss pressed against your wet core. “That’s it, sweet angel.” Simon praises. Immediately, your fingers and hands curl against his lower chest, holding you up. Unholy and sinful sounds fill the living room as he attacks your cunt, lapping up your juices as they dribble down his chin and down his chest sticking to his stubble. “Oh! Oh, fuck!” You gasp loudly, flinging your head back as your nails dig into his skin. “Simon, Simon…!”

“That’s it love, let ‘em hear. Let ‘em know who makes you feel this good.” He growls against you, causing your already sensitive thighs to tremble and your muscles to convulse. Simon’s tongue separates your folds, his nose bumping your clit causing you to squeal. “I could jus’ drown in this sweet cunt,” he groans, causing something to swarm in your chest and stomach from his words. “Keep lookin’ at me, babe.” He commands.

“I can’t,” you whine.

“You can. Bullshit.” His hands move to your hips, allowing his fingernails to dig into the dips, holding you up. “Simon…” you stammer his name over, and over, and over again.

“Ride my face, you beautiful fuckin’ slag.” Simon orders, tugging your hips forward to bump your cunt further against his nose as he buries his tongue into you, curling into your hole. Reluctantly, you take control and roll your hips against him. “Oh fuck…” he breathes heavily. His tongue retracts, and he sucks and flicks his tongue on your clit, driving you to the complete edge. Simon grunts. “Holy shit—fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“Fuckin’ needed this…” He moans below you. Against you. You let out a sharp cry of utter pleasure, earning a positive reaction from him. “Needed you…” Simon lets go of you, your body falling flush against him, increasing the pressure.

“No, no—“ you twitch and moan breathlessly, your breath hitching in your throat. It was all too much. A knot ties in your stomach. He wasn’t done. Of course he wasn’t. “Simon!” You scream and lower your head, taking a hand to smear away your slick from his cheek.

One finger swirls over your bud, then side to side at an almost inhuman pace as he sucks on you. He knew exactly what killed you. Your stomach sucks in and your shoulders slump above him as your entire body seems to break into short spasms.

“Such a fuckin’ good girl…” He praises, lifting you a moment. “Don’t stop talking, oh—please, please,” you beg him, your lips quivering. He abides. “Ya think you could cum to just my voice alone?” You moan out in agreement to his question, shuddering as he slowly slides a finger in you.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes sharply. “Y’r tightenin’ around my finger like yer damned life depends on it.” He chuckles low and works on the skin across your inner thighs, covering them in red and purple love bites as he pumps his middle finger in and out of your heat.

Simon attempts to push his pointer finger in you, but you object in pain, arching your back up. “Simon—” you mumble. “Shiiiiiitt…We’ll work ya open, love.”

He presses his lips messily against the side of your knee for a split moment, then starts to slowly work a second digit in again, whispering sweet incoherent praises below you. “I’m gonna…” You manage to say, he hushes you softly by pinching the skin on the inside of your left thigh.

“C’mon then,” he urges. Two fingers slowly move into your cunt while his tongue curls around your throbbing clit, you practically fold. “Cum—cum for me,” he croons against your core. His stubble adds in an extra sensation that’s truly unimaginable.

Your spine arches above him and your nails drag along his scarred skin. He groans. A noise you’ll never get over. “Fuckin’ minx—you like that, sweet girl?” He gruffly purrs, his eyes locking to yours as you look down at him, your mouth slightly ajar as you moan with fluttering lashes.

“So damn gorgeous like this,” Simon glides his thumb over your sensitive clit, fingers entering and exiting your warmth. “You’re so fuckin’ tight…” Your husband praises, extinguishing your pre-insecurities. You tighten around him and he lets out an approving mumble. Once you release around his fingers, he shoves deeper into you, pushing your liquids back inside to watch it drip out of you. “That’s it, sweet girl.”

“Delicious,” Simon groans as he laps up your juices from off his fingers, savoring the taste of your release. He always knew what to say to make your belly swarm with butterflies. You bite your bottom lip shyly.

You let out a heavy sigh in an attempt to soothe the muscle spasms in your thighs. Simon slowly lifts himself up, holding your back to keep you against him, tapping your right thigh roughly with four fingers to instruct you to wrap around him.

“Where are we going?” You question softly. “Room,” Simon grunts back as he steps through the threshold of your shared bedroom.

He pauses, staring at his side of the bed being unkempt. “Did’ya sleep on my side?” His eyes shoot down to meet yours. “I’ve been, sorry.” You bite the tip of your tongue gently.

“No, don’t.”

“Don’t apologize for that.”

Your heart rate rises and your fingers curl against his chest. “I have something for you,” you coo lightly and wriggle in his hold to ask him to let you down. He does, one of his dark eyebrows shifting higher than the other in confusion.

Once your feet meet the ground, you walk quickly to your side of the bed, fingers hooking the straps to a small black bag with thin wrapping.

You hesitate. One hand grips the bag, a loud crinkle filling the room, and you close your eyes.

It felt as if the air all around you was being swallowed whole and your throat was tightening in an attempt to catch up with the disintegrating air.

You feel Simon’s back press against you as he takes the bag out of your hands slowly, his lips pressing onto the back of your head.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he says almost silently.

You turn and lift your head up to look at him, and he takes a hand to caress your cheek with his thumb before he retracts and pulls out the wrapping inside the bag.

His eyes widen a moment, and you feel nervous. He pulls out the small infant onesie, his view flashing to look over your face with concern.

“Simon,” you take a step closer, adjusting the robes to cover you up slightly. “I want to be the mother of your baby.” You say as you rub over your cuticles. “Please, don’t leave me alone this time, I want you to fuck me full of you,” you trace the bulged muscles on his neck as he stands in silence.

“Si? I’m sorry, I knew I should’ve waited, I’m—“ you take a step back, shaking your head as you let out a scoff.

He grabs your arm, pulling you back towards him as your name leaves his mouth nearly silently. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, love.”

Your hands grip both of his biceps reassuringly, head tilting up to place a gentle kiss on the scar that laced from his chin down to an inch of his neck. “You are nothing like him, baby,” your voice reaches nothing below a whisper. “I don’t fear you, not around me, and I won’t fear you around our child.”

Slowly, your fingertips dragged down to the hem of his shirt, pulling it above his belly button before he took it off entirely himself, his neck scooping low to connect your lips together.

Simon’s tongue snakes across your own, a hot breath that tastes like whiskey filling your senses. You release a weak moan into his mouth as you turn your head to deepen the kiss, fingers dragging up the nape of his neck to curl through his blonde locks.

Your husband backed you towards the wall, his hands exploring between your inner thighs and pressing roughly into the already bruised skin. Simon groaned in your mouth before breaking contact to allow you both to breathe.

“Fuckin’ bloody massacre…” He mutters against your skin, his lips moving down the crevice of your collarbones to the dip in the middle of your neck. The roughness and scarring of his lips increased the friction.

He hooks your leg up with his hand from under your knee. Simon used his other hand to press a finger into you, causing a small squeak to spill from your mouth. You let out a moan as the heel of his palm bumps up against your clit. “That’s right sweetheart,” he purrs grimly.

“Oh-ho…good girl.” Simon chuckles as he pumps his finger in and out of your warmth, your slick coating his middle finger and dripping down his knuckles.

You whine, bucking against him and assisting him to go deeper inside your cunt. Simon’s head cranes as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth. “Pretty little slut,” he groans. Your husband slips in another finger, earning a gasp from you as they hook inside you and hit a spot that makes your eyes widen. “All this is mine.”

As he starts to quicken his pace, feeling you tighten around him and start to reject his fingers, your orgasm pushes forward on. “Come on, baby,” Simon praises, using his thumb to toy at your clit. “Simon!” Your legs twitch at every little touch to the sensitive surface, his name leaving your name with a wince.

Your legs spasm as you reach your release once again, his fingers leaving you with a wet squelch as he starts to clean his fingers off with his tongue. “Y’taste incredible, princess.” He says, and it makes you throb even further with his sexy smirk on top of his lustful words.

Simon could eat you out like you were his last meal. He loved tasting you, licking up between your folds and pushing his tongue inside your warmth, sucking and swirling on your clit leaving you an absolute mess. He loved the wet sounds that came from it mixed with your moans and whines.

“I need…” you mumble lightly, wrapping your trembling hands around his neck. Simon’s left eyebrow arches as he lets out a small “hmm?” of curiosity. “Use your words, babygirl.”

“I need you inside of me, please, fuck me, Simon,” you whined. His grin is wolfish.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel his lips suddenly envelop one of your nipples, his tongue lacing over the sensitive skin as he lightly sucks on the bud.

When he retracts, a string of saliva from your breast to his lips drips down your breast.

“Turn around and spread those beautiful legs, love.” He lifts his head up to whisper against your ear, pressing a kiss to the part of your neck below your earlobe. “Use the wall and brace yourself.”

You moan out your approval as he helps you turn yourself on your ankles. You spread your legs and bend at the waistline, pressing your palms against the pearly white wall of your shared bedroom.

“Atta girl,” he praises. “Such a good dirty little whore.” Simon drags his thumb down between your folds causing you to shiver. “Putting this pretty little pussy out on display for me.” His gruff accent only causes your knees to buckle beneath you as you let out a pitiful moan.

You feel your cunt throbbing at the sound of Simon unlooping his belt. You blatantly back your hips into his and grind yourself against the dent of his pants.

His groans fill the room as he grips the dips in your hips with one hand to keep you still. Simon’s belt meets with the floor and you watch him kick his cargos away after they pool around his ankles. “Fuck…” He hisses.

Simon frees himself from the restraints of his boxers, pulling his cock through the fly and holding it against your ass. “Y’feel how worked up y’get me, love?”

He leans himself forward closer to your ear as he slowly rubs his cock between your folds, coating it in your wet and warm slick. The moan he releases is intoxicating.

“Want me t’make you cum on my big cock?” He whispers lowly, then moans out your name as he slowly presses his tip into you. Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, like the way oil feels against skin.

You give him a desperate whimper as you feel his tip stretch you open, and you push yourself back further on him to assist him.

“Slow, babe.” He coos. You choke on a moan, a hand nearly sliding off the wall before Simon threads his fingers with yours, pinning it back against the wall as you ride his tip. “Oh my god,” you gasp.

Simon bites the skin of your neck; a searing, beautiful pain that only drives you to insanity as you buck yourself gently back and forth, down the head of your husband’s dick.

“Beautiful girl, stretch yourself open on me, use me.” He demands.

He wanted it to be easy on you, gentle. Simon was bigger than you’d ever expected, it always took a little longer than expected for your body to adjust to his size, and he was patient with you. Mostly.

Slowly, you push yourself farther down the length of his dick, filling your cunt up with him. You wanted your pussy to swallow him whole. You craved it.

Simon gripped your thigh as he thrusted himself deeper inside, you let out a shrieked moan, causing him to groan. “This okay?” He asks above you. “Yes,” you drawl with a moan following.

“Love the way y’sound,” he leads you onto him with a hand squeezing your waist, backing you up and down his cock. “And this pretty little tight pussy.”

The warmth of his tongue wets the base of your neck before he gives it an open-mouthed kiss, dragging his tongue in a horizontal motion. He roughly sucks on the raw and pleading skin.

“Mmm…” Simon moans against your skin feeling your hips finally meet with his as you take his entire cock in you. “That’s it…that’s it my sweet girl, my perfect little slut. Y’can take it.”

His hips thrust faster, pulling you back with his palm on your ass as he ruts into you. Simon plants a rough smack against your ass, a lustful chuckle leaving the depths of his throat seeing the skin bounce to his behest.

“Fuck,” you pant. Sounds of skin slapping fill the room, your mouth held agape as he snaps into you, a perfect set pace as he fucks you, hard.

“Please, please,” you moan as he takes a fist full of your ass and slams you down onto him, you let out a cry.

“Please what, sweet girl?”

“Make me…” a moan leaving your throat interrupts you mid-sentence, “…make me cum, make me cum on your big cock…I need you to…”

Simon hums gruffly. “Your gorgeous begs. Beautiful moans.” His fingers tighten over yours, locking his with your own.

You’re writhing beneath him, thighs threatening to give in and make your body meet with the wooden flooring. “Yes, yes…” you moan, each thrust inside of you causing your words to choke out with each heavy breath. “So good to me, so good…” You feel his cock twitch inside you at your whined and strained praises.

Just as he finds that perfect spot inside of you, your back arches. He slides his hand up the dip in your spine to grab your hair and pull it back, allowing him more access to your neck.

Simon drags his lips up your neck until he’s nibbling your lobe. “Yeah? Right there, love?” He croons sexily. “Y’like that?”

“Want me to fuck you right there?” He asks, you moan in reply, but he yanks your head back. “Tell me.”

“Ah—yes, yes…” you practically mewl as you feel your husband bottom out inside you, hitting your cervix with every deep and slamming thrust.

“So…so close!”

Your eyes water as you felt your muscles tighten in your body, your blood pumping lethargically through your veins insisting that you keep yourself from letting your legs give in beneath you.

Drool collected at the corners of your swollen and sore lips that you’d been gnawing at with the top row of your teeth as he filled you up to the hilt with his length and thickness.

“Fuck—“ he gasps. “Fuck…fuck…” Simon’s voice is hitched in his throat, almost as if the air around him was being consumed.

With one swift motion, he turns you around after pulling out of you and picks you up by cradling your ass, lips immediately crashing into one another as he roughly yanks you back down onto him.

“So good, so warm ‘n wet for me…” He wets your bottom lip with his tongue. Your nails dig into the skin on his upper back causing him to hiss into your mouth. “Taking me so well, sweet girl.”

You moan in pure ecstasy into his mouth, abrupt whines and whimpers leaving you everytime he hits your cervix. “Fuck me, fuck me, make me see stars!” You beg.

He backs you up against the wall and your hands meet with Simon’s hair, pulling his head back to attack his mouth with your own as he quickened his pace inside of you, attacking your cunt and making your slick coat between your thighs.

Simon slams into you once more, pausing a moment to rub along your abdomen, you let out a sob.

“Look at how full of me you are, bloody hell, babe.”

Your lolling head struggles to allow you to focus. He grabs your chin, pinching your lips together slightly forcing you to look down at the small bulge in your stomach from his size. You manage a small noise before he plants a long kiss against your forehead, helping you straighten your back before colliding your hips together once more.

His hand leaves your chin and settles back onto your ass, giving it yet another harsh smack to knock you back into your senses. Your eyes widen for a moment before they return to being half-lidded.

Simon chuckles, biting down on your bottom lip and pulling it back before releasing it.

“So cock-drunk for me, baby,” he purrs wolfishly. “C’mon, a little longer, princess.”

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” Your husband thumbs away a bead of drool dripping down the outer corner of your lips.

You whimper in reply, tugging at his blonde hair lightly, which you knew always drove him absolutely crazy.

“Fu—..ck!” A yelp leaves your lips as you pull yourself out of stupor and grip his shoulders, slamming yourself down on him, he releases a noise similar to a growl and a moan, whatever it was, you felt your walls spasm around him.

He moaned your name.

“Yes, yes, fuckin’ perfect, fuckin—“ he groans, a finger finding your clit as he fucks you through your orgasm, riding his own. “Gonna cum, so fuckin…Ah,” he grunts at every thrust.

“Cum with me…c—um…now.” He’s practically stuttering, speaking through clenched teeth.

You moan as the muscles in your legs start to tense, your cunt clinging to him as your orgasm rolls off.

Simon bites down on one of the many hickeys littered across the skin of your neck.

“Si—..mon!” you cry out, hands trembling as you drag one down the side of his face, peppering kisses wherever your neck could stretch and reach.

You smile, lips quivering as you feel him release into you, your own cum leaking down between your legs and down his own.

“That’s it, that’s it…cumming for me, making such a dirty mess, such a good fuckin’ girl…” he sucks on your bottom lip.

Simon thrusts his cum back into your pulsating cunt, making sure not to waste a single drop.

“Th..ank you, thank you..” you slur. “Mmm…yes, Si…”

It wasn’t over, he wasn’t done, and you loved it. You wanted him more than ever.

You whimper as you feel him slide out of you, immediately missing the warmth he provided. Two fingers slide over your wetness, as he watches it drip out of you, he fucks it back into you with those same two fingers.

Slowly, he raises them to your mouth, and you lock eyes with him as he pulls down your bottom lip.

Without hesitation, you lace your tongue up his fingers, then between them, lapping up your shared orgasm. He whispers soft praises into your ear as you take his fingers into your mouth, sucking off your mixed slick as you reach Simon’s knuckles, a loud and wet pop sounding as you release his fingers.

“Wrap y’r legs ‘round me, pretty girl.” He hums lowly.

You abide.

He picks you up from off the wall, connecting your lips. He groans into your mouth. “So soft, smell so good.”

Simon uses his elbow to open the bathroom door, pressing his back against it to allow you both in. The sound of your skin slapping against the dark grey marbled countertop he sets you on echoes. “Simon!” You laugh gently.

His hand dips to the nape of your neck, fisting in your thick hair and tugging your head back to allow his lips to attack your neck. He groans against your abused skin as you drag your fingers along the scars on his chest, your fingers tracing his clavicles with featherlight touches.

Simon’s mouth leaves your neck once again, yet another mark of his possession towards you marking your skin.

He finally kicks off his boxers entirely, tossing them into the corner of the bathroom.

He strokes himself a moment, aligns his cock with your entrance, and slowly pushes himself inside of your pussy.

Your mouth is held agape, as your eyebrows thread together and your eyes squeeze shut.

“Open, open those pretty eyes, I want to watch y’come apart for me.”

He whispered your name like a prayer, and each time you extended a little noise to his fragments of praise and adoration, watching you come undone on the counter of the bathroom you share.

“Gorgeous little minx,” he whispers as his lips brush against yours, breathing heavily against your chin and neck.

You feel the heat radiating off his thighs as they brush against your bare and silky clean-shaven legs.

He groans as your smooth folds envelop his needy cock, still throbbing and pleading for him to fuck you full again. Your sweat-slicked chest drags against his, breasts flattening as your arms loop over his neck. “Y’feel so fuckin’ good, love…”

“I lo—ve you,” you moan, choking on your own words. He sinks deeper into you, moaning in reply to your words, your thighs growing numb as he engraves his fingers into your skin. “God, Simon.”

“Like this pussy was made f’r me…” your husband sneers.

He slides back out, slamming into you ruthlessly, repeating the motion twice until he bottoms out. You cry out yet another moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck, those moans…” he chuckles. “Singin’ me a goddamn song, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

Simon growls, roughly sliding his hands underneath your thighs and pulling you towards him, pulling your legs further apart. You let out a ragged gasp as he hammers into you, his dick curving perfectly into a spot that causes your legs to spasm in his grasp. “Pl—,”

You let out a scream. A scream that was slurred, a scream of pleasure and pure high.

It ripped from you. Your orgasm. He still slams into you, wet sounds of squelching filling the entire bathroom as he fucks your climax back inside of your hole.

He applies more force into the spot that aching place that practically makes you squeeze around him.

He laughs. A brief yet whole hearted laugh. “Fuckin’ hell, that was new…”

“Y’ve never finished that fast before,” Simon breathed against your ear.”

“I’m sorry,” your cheeks flush and you cry out another moan as your skin sticks to his from your wetness.

“Don’t ‘cha ever b’fuckin sorry for that.” He says, hitching into the back of your cunt once more. He lets out a grown as he accidentally slams his knee into the cabinet below you.

“Oh—Oh fuck! Simon, d...-don’t stop! Please—fuck!”

At each thrust your breath hitched in your dry throat. You gagged on air. You gasped out his name.

He twitches inside of you, the veins of his cock bucking against your walls. Your knees buckle as Simon’s fingers clasp both of your nipples and he rolls the sensitive nubs between his thumbs and pointer fingers.

“My good girl makin’ sucha mess on me,” he chuckles. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your eyelashes flutter as you buck your pelvis into his hips.

“Oh, god—fuck…” he grunts. “That’s it, baby, my good little slut.”

“Jesus—‘m so proud of you, takin’ my fat cock in your small little pussy.”

You swallow the thick ball of spit clogging your throat. “Ye—yes, I feel so good,” you moan. “You—..make me feel so good. So big.”

“Y’did such a good job, baby.” Simon praises as he pinches your nipples.

“Give me your tongue. Out.”

When you comply, he takes your tongue into his mouth, swiping it with his own. You whine into his mouth as he sucks on your tongue, lacing his spit with your own. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, traversing through your mouth as he fucks you up against the counter.

“God—taste so good.” He purrs.

“Jus’ wanna break you.” A hand leaves your tit to swirl around your swollen clit, you squirm beneath him. “All mine.”

His pace grows slower, so you rock your hips into his to help, earning a deep and groggy moan to claw from his gullet.

“Cum in me, fill me up,” you beg, putting pressure with your thumbs into both sides of the base of his neck. “F—Fill my pussy up, use me…”

Simon’s hips thrust into you so hard the clutter of toothbrushes rolls off the counter and onto the floor—it feels almost as if the walls of the bathroom are shaking.

He let out a staggered, heavy breath. “Y’know how good my hard dick feels inside of you?” He encourages, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, then swing it back to let out a shuddered moan.

“So fuckin’ small ‘n tight around me.” Simon’s shins bang into the cabinets below you two. “Beautiful. So beautiful.” Your husband presses a kiss to your bottom lip regardless of your mouth being held ajar.

Your fucked out face etched with pure bliss only turned him on to the brinks. Even as he’s pounding unmercifully into your cervix, he watches your face as it twists into a mixture of pleasure and pain, the tip of his cock plummeting the one soft spot inside you.

Your heart pounds, as if it wants to push its way through your ribcage. You caress Simon’s muscled biceps that are adorned with ink markings reaching his wrists.

That familiar tightening at the lower bottom of your abdomen appears again, causing you to whine and dig your nails into Simon’s arms, your back arching as you wiggle your hips in his grasp. “That’s it, lovie, soak my cock.” He hums. “So damn proud of ye f’r takin’ me again.”

Simon pushes himself deep inside you. “Got me fuckin’ a baby in ye. Tha’s what’chu got me doin’ ‘ere. Want ‘vryone to watch your little belly grow with my seed? Let ‘em know who y’belong to?”

“C’mon, baby, cum nice ‘n hard on this dick. C’mon.”

You nod and moan. “Yours—only yours…” The coil in your stomach finally snapped, tears pricking your eyes and making their way down your cheeks.

“Take it, take it…Oh..shit..” He huffs and moans, rubbing over the bulge in your lower stomach. “That’s it…That’s it, lovie.”

Your cunt convulsed around him and he continued rutting inside you, rambling praises as your cum leaks down your legs and coats his pubic hair.

“Oh—oh fu..ck!” He moans, mouth being held open as his head flings back. Small whimpers leave him, god it’s adorable.

Simon releases into you, fingernails tracking into your waist, enough to draw small details of blood across your porcelain body.

Hot and heavy pants leave your husband’s open mouth.

“Absolute goddess, a feast f’r the eyes.” He respires sharply, helping you off the counter. Your hips collide with his again.

You twitch as your head slumps down on his shoulder, teeth nibbling and lips kissing against the flesh you can reach.

“So small on me.” He groans into your ear, sending a shockwave between your legs.

One hand stays splayed across the small of your back, while his other holds a bruising grip on your hip, thumb rolling a circular motion into your warm skin.

Simon takes you both back into your bedroom, laying you flat on the bed, watching hungrily as your tits bounce from the impact onto the velvety sheets.

“Oh-ho… those gorgeous tits…” your husband kneads your breasts in both of his palms, massaging the soft and tender flesh.

“Can’t wait to see ‘em swollen with milk, needy and jus’ beggin’ to be touched by me.”

Simon litters gentle kisses across both of your breasts, causing you to squirm and arch your back. He gently shushes you, dragging a palm through your soft and messy hair.

“That what’ya want, baby? Want me to milk your tits dry when they’re hard and full?” He drags his tongue along the curves of your breasts and up to the muscle of your neck.

“Mhm…please…” you murmur, trailing your hand up his spine to the nape of his neck, gripping his tail of blonde hair to pull his head down and crashing his lips onto yours.

He pushes his tongue past yours, then rubs the tip of it along the crevices of the inside of your mouth. Simon groans into your throat.

You both trade spit, fighting for a form of dominance with your tongues, which ends up in your defeat as usual as you both disconnect from each other's swollen and glistening lips.

“Simon, please…” you moan, tugging his hair slightly, earning a low growl from the larger male above you.

“Please what, baby? Tell me what you want.” He cranes, being hovered above you, thumbs still massaging your breasts as his cock slightly teases your throbbing entrance.

“Please let me suck your dick,” you slur, fingers teasingly tracing over one of the veins on the base of his cock. He huffs out a cloud of air that’d been surfacing in the depths of his lungs.

“Look at you, askin’ so nicely, how could I say no?” He practically purrs. “Like a personal little cockslave, aye?” A short chuckle leaves Simon.

“Sit up, on y’r hands ‘n knees. ‘M going to play with that precious pussy as you take me in y’r mouth. I want to watch you break as I bruise your pretty little throat with my thick cock.”

You feel something tighten inside of you at Simon’s filthy words, immediately lifting yourself up from your back flat against the mattress of your king-sized bed, you let one of his hands find your hair and tug your head back.

“Open y’r mouth, baby.” He purrs, brown eyes narrowed and looking down at you with pure love and lust. “Stick that cute little tongue out.”

Your eyelashes angelically flutter as you expose your tongue to your husband. He takes himself in his hand and slaps the tip of his cock against your tongue, making you clench your legs and wiggle your waist, a hum in your throat exiting and filling the room.

“Shit…sweetheart…the things y’do to me.” Simon groans. “Stroke me. Show me you deserve this cock in your tight little throat. Keep your mouth just like that.”

His words, his instructions—you submitted to him without hesitation or thought to mind.

You took your hand and swiped your slick from your cunt with four fingers, then rubbed it up and down his base a moment before wrapping your hand around his dick, earning a groan from him.

He was so big in your tiny hand, it turned you on to nearly your limits.

You rolled your wrist as you jerked his base up and down, once in a while thumbing at the needy slit at the tip of his cock. “Ah, fuck…Those small hands do wonders…” Simon moans, jerking his hips to match your thrusts up and down his shaft. “Such a good fuckin’ girl…so proud of you.”

It took everything in you to not pull this man forward and take him into your warm and wet mouth, but you knew he was in command, and disobeying him would result in orgasm denial. He was so incredibly good at edging you, it was torturous.

“Fuck—you drive me crazy, love…” he nearly whines as you massage his scrotum. You offer him a small open-mouthed laugh.

“Y’think that’s funny?” Simon pinches your cheeks together, a slight and incredibly sexy tilt in his head. “Don’t y’get smug wit’me, princess. Y’know who will win.”

You moan, feeling his fingers glide down to grip your jaw to tilt your head up once again. “You bein’ on your knees for me, huh, y’little minx?” He suddenly spits into your mouth and you shiver. Holy shit. He’d never done that before, and it drove you absolutely mad.

A deep laugh exits him. “Y’fuckin’ liked that, didn’t ya? Dirty little slut.”

Your thighs slam together once again and you grind against your skin, a whimpered gargle causing you to squeeze your eyes together in shame as you close your mouth. He prys it back open.

“Ah-ah, ah…” Simon hums lowly. “No—no. Don’t you swallow. Y’ve been bein’ so good.” He chuckles with a groan following it. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that, now, would we?”

“Tilt your head.”

You comply and he spits down your throat again, he feels your hand start to tremble against his cock.

“Good girl…” He adjusts his hand in your hair, tapping your fingers away. You press your hand back onto the bed.

He takes a step forward and drags the tip across your bottom lip, just dancing along the tip of your tongue.

“Go.” He commands, and you immediately lick a stripe down his twitching cock.

“Let me watch as you come undone on my cock,” he groans as he reaches his hand under you to play with your pussy lips.

You bob your head on his tip, your tongue dragging alongside the slit of his hole.

He hissed through his teeth watching you move down his shaft, licking up and down it. You were thankful not to have a sensitive gag reflex.

“Ah—that’s it…fuck…” he praises. “Your mouth feels so damn good around my cock.”

“C’mon on, baby. Take as much as you can. I’ll help ya.” He purrs.

You lower yourself down on his length and you feel him push you down until your nose meets with his fresh-clipped pubic hair and he bottoms out at the end of your throat, nearly engulfing all of him if he weren’t so big.

Tears run down your eyes as you whimper and squirm, begging for air. You gagging and moaning only increases his pleasure as you send vibrations to his cock.

“God…fuck…” his voice hitches as he toys with your clit. “I can feel your throat just clench around my dick as I stretch it out.” Simon groans.

“Just hold.”

“Hold—…Don’t…fuckin’…move…”

Simon moans as he slightly fucks the surface of your throat. “Fuck! I’m gonna cum…!” His fingers curl inside of your dripping core as you clamp around him.

He pulls you off of him by the back of your head, letting you fall on your back. You whine and sob from pleasure as he drags you towards him roughly by your ankle.

He manhandles you; grabbing both of your hips with a punishing grip to spread your legs out to his liking.

Your chest rises and falls at a rapid pace and you feel as though you might break when you feel him plummet into you once again. Your hands fall above your head, grasping the sheets with a devilish grip.

He bends over you, his dog tags dangling over your chest and bouncing tits as he roughly thrusts into you a few times. “Oh—oh…fuck…oh fff…—fuck….” Simon halts in motion to spill his cum inside of you, to which you cum not too long after him.

“Jesus H. Christ…” he mumbles, slowly bucking the juices back into you.

He lets out a prolonged and intense sigh, hand caressing the supple flesh of your cheek softly. “Jesus, lovie, y’r cryin’? It’s okay, sweetheart.”

His head lowers between your thighs to press gentle kisses against your trembling inner flesh. “Shh—shh…” He hums soothingly.

“I know…I know it hurts, y’r so sensitive to even me breathin’ against your tired pussy…” His voice softens seeing you let out a whimper as he blows his breath softly against your core.

“But you did such a good job, baby.” Simon praised you, pressing gentle kisses against your other inner thigh before taking himself up to plug your hole with his thumb as he pulled himself out.

Your husband connects lips with you once again, his hot breathing milking your mouth nearly in perfect synchrony with your motions.

“Want you to cum in my mouth,” you whine against his lips.

“Yeah?” Simon grunted lowly. “That’s what you want?”

You nod softly, and he sits himself on the bed, swinging his legs over and scooting towards the middle of the bed, his back against the frame.

“Show me you want it, go on,” he drags his hand up and down his length.

You crawl your way toward Simon, replacing his hands with your mouth, tongue grazing the tip as it swirls around the underside of the head of his cock.

“Just like that, baby, you’re in command.” He coos grimly, resting his hands on the rim of the bed frame. “Feels so good…”

Your hand pumps his length as your tongue licks a thick stripe of moisture from his scrotum to the tip of his aching cock, and he was making so many breathy noises. Bucking into your mouth madly.

“Mmm…f—ummm…” he practically snarled beneath you. “Makin’ me feel so good, lovie.”

“About to cum…” Simon grunts.

You already knew that—you could tell by the way his cock twitched inside of your mouth at each kitten lick to his slit.

He presses his head farther into the feathered pillow under his neck as he feels his orgasm approaching, a hand dripping off the frame of the bed to push a strand of your hair behind your ear as you take as much as you can of him down your throat without his assistance.

He chuckles hearing you gag on him as he abruptly thrusts himself farther into you before his cum spurts down your throat.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you hollow out your cheeks to swallow, slowly shaking your head side to side as you push him deeper down your sore gullet.

Simon lightly pats your cheek as he watches your eyes flutter shut. “Y’alright there, love?” He snickers.

Once your eyes reopen, his own fill up with patent devotion towards you.

“Ah, if only y’could see y’rself right now…” his hand strokes your cheek lovingly, lightly pulling the skin as if you’re the most fragile creature in existence.

“Blown out pupils—so damn cockdrunk from me, ay?” He cups your ass, pulling you off of his cock with a soft pop, drool dripping off your puffy pink lips and dribbling down your chin.

“Must b’absolutely knackered.” He swipes away the droplage with his thumb.

You open your mouth to speak but he calmly shushes you.

“Don’t speak, love, let me take care of’ya.” He hums into your hair before cradling you in his arms and swinging off the bed.

“Let’s get’ya to the washroom, ay? Have a warm shower t’untense y’body.” A soft kiss is pressed to your temple as he carries you back into the bathroom—that as you furtherly come off the high of it all, reeks of sex—and sets you atop the toilet seat a moment.

Simon turns the shower on as he has a hand extended out to run through your messy hair.

The water squeaking and spitting out assists you with slightly stirring out of your drunken state.

He picks you up once again after opening the glass sliding doors, stepping in under the warm water with your legs wrapped around his waist.

When the water beads down his shoulders and onto your nude chest, you let out a tiresome moan, your face hiding in the crook of your husband’s neck.

“I know, sweet girl,” he hums. “I’ve got’ya…”

Slowly, Simon sets you back on the floor, holding the small of your back as he feels your legs give in.

“Shit, baby, hold on to my neck. Can y’do that?” He whispers against your ear.

You mumble incoherent words. Your legs feel like absolute jelly beneath you as you raise your arms above your head. You clasp your hands over his neck and whine as he litters kisses over your jawline and cheeks.

“Good, there you are.” He praises gently. “J’s keep holdin on, I’ll wash y’up.”

Simon takes a bottle of shampoo, popping the cap and squeezing suds onto his open palm.

You flutter messy kisses along his stubble as he massages the soap through your hair, fingers kneading into your scalp and ends. God it felt amazing.

He continues the same process with the conditioner, then washing it out by turning himself around so you’re under the water. He umbrellas his hand over your eyes as he helps you tilt your head back under the streaming water.

You moan at his touch and gentle kisses under your ear and across your forehead as he rubs the rose pink loofah soaked in suds over your body, coating it in soap with gentle rubbings.

Simon makes sure to clean every lithe inch of your body before turning off the running water.

“A’right, lovie, can y’hold y’self up a few moments? Gon’ wrap ya in a towel.” He coos in your ear.

When you give him a small nod, he presses yet another soft kiss to your temple. You release his neck and frown slightly when he rolls it along with his shoulders.

“Ah—no, ‘tis fine, babe. Don’t y’worry your pretty little head ‘bout it, hm?” He chuckles, a solemn and deep noise truly coming from the barbed wire wrapped heart of your husband. “Ain’t a problem, really, ‘could hold ya up all day if you needed me to.”

Simon opens the sliding doors to grab at a towel resting on the rack above the toilet, wrapping you and himself up comfortably before you’re up in his arms bridal style.

Again, you’re back in your bedroom, he sits you on the bed and drags a pair of dark purple lace-trim panties up your legs, pulling one of his rolled up black t-shirts over your head and down your torso.

Simon fits himself in a pair of black briefs before helping you under the covers beside him, pulling you flush against his chest with one swift motion.

His hand brushed over your hair, pushing it out and away from your face, a guttural noise close to a chuckle escaping Simon’s lips at the sight of you kipped and drooling above his left pec, legs tangled with his.

He runs a hand through his wet blonde locks a moment before he situates you on top of him, palms resting over both of his shoulder blades with one of your legs straight and the other bent in the shape of an upside down ‘V’.

Simon’s hands cup your ass before his head leans back into the soft plumage of his pillow, blonde eyelashes fluttering closed to chase sleep.

#simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghostheartfelt writing #ghost cod #ghostheartfelt #ghost mw2 #ghost modern warfare #simon riley smut #ghost riley smut #mw2 #mw2 x reader #call of duty mw2 #mw2 smut

786 notes · View notes

whiteskullofroses · 6 months

Note

Hi! Can I pls request headcanons about being King Baldwin IV's wife? Thank you ❤️❤️

Heyyy thank you for the request ❤️ sorry this took long, enjoy!

❗THIS IS ABOUT BALDWIN IV FROM KOH, NOT THE ACTUAL HISTORICAL FIGURE❗

Baldwin IV's wife

(headcanons)

- Dear Y/N, from the day that the ring would be put on your finger and the vows spoken, you would be SPOILED. Gifts, flowers and rare bottled aromas from various civilizations all over the world would be given to you from your husband every day.

- This was because he wanted to show you how much he appreciated you and the love you have for him, but also because one of his love languages is gift giving. For example, if one day he wore a new necklace or perhaps a new pair of gloves and you complimented them, they would be yours the second after.

- He felt the love in your relationship and was aware that you'd never leave him however he was still terrified of you running away with another "better-looking" and richer man. You would oftentimes wake up in the middle of the night to find him breathing heavily and sweating because of a nightmare he had in regards to that.

- That's why reassuring him about such things plays a big role in the marriage. He is a strong and intelligent man, but sometimes his insecurities get the best of him.

- One of his love languages is also physical touch. When sitting at meetings with people of power and discussing problems, he would hold your hand under the table or put his hand on your thigh.

- He also relaxed around you even more than before, walking around without his mask, only in a veil.

- It is also important to mention that the people love you! Women look up to you and your loveliness, and men look up to your intelligence. You often receive compliments about being an amazing Queen to the people of Jerusalem, from nobles and so-called peasants.

- Your sister-in-law Sibylla ADORES you!

- Before she met you, she was filled with worry about the woman he was going to marry. She loved her brother and wanted the best for him, she wanted him to marry a woman with grace and dignity. So once you two got to know each other better, a huge weight was lifted off her chest.

- You and Baldwin would spend a lot of time together, whether that be him and you just laying in bed and talking for hours on end, or you watching him write letters for different kings and draw new ideas, admiring him silently.

- When you learned that he was French, but had never visited France you made sure that he would get to see it. You planned a trip for his birthday, which wasn't easy due to his condition however you made it work in the end.

- You made sure the best physicians in the country would accompany you throughout the journey to and through France, and once Baldwin learned of this surprise you had for him, he was over the moon.

- It was on this trip that he realized he didn't fall in love and marry just any woman, but a lifelong partner whom he could be proud of.

THE END.

#baldwin iv #baldwin iv x reader #kingdom of heaven #headcanon

353 notes · View notes

yxngbxkkie · 1 year

Text

stray kids masterlist

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

bang chan

stay with me

mornings with chan ✨

first love

surprises

drunk confessions #5

seven years of pining (hogwarts au)

baby fever

meet-cute

touchy

7 minutes in heaven

mechanic's shop

little date at the shop

miss you

freak accident

a tmi

long-distance

girl dad 🎀

not ready for goodbyes

lee minho

jealousy

new discovery

camping trip

don't let me love you

mornings with minho ✨️

picture time with 2min

drunk confessions #4

booty slaps

proposal

klutz

nye

telling the boys you're pregnant

new seat

pat down

seo changbin

no doubts

mornings with changbin ✨

simp for me

drunk confessions #2

bf texts with changbin ✨️

comfort

personal trainer

hwang hyunjin

dance practice

art exhibit

forbidden

ysl event

mornings with hyunjin ✨

butterflies

bf texts with hyunjin ✨

love in france? pt2

ramen in the cold room

just say you like me

gifts

like father, like son

night time visits

han jisung

amusement park

mornings with jisung ✨

second chances

bf texts with jisung ✨️

i love you

neck kissing

#1 3RACHA supporter

drunk confessions #3

lake house vacation

school boy crush

subby drunk

lee yongbok felix

you're home

a new home

ysl event

mornings with felix ✨

same glasses, different prescription

bf texts with felix ✨

sleepy boy

drunk confessions #1

who's on top now

pranking the husband

kim seungmin

karaoke night

mornings with seungmin ✨

baseball love

picture time with 2min

yang jeongin

embarrassing

secret secret

mornings with jeongin ✨

bf texts with jeongin ✨

ot8

valentine - hyung line maknae line

skz street racing au

too hot - hyung line

showing your 🍒 during an argument - hyung line maknae line

928 notes · View notes

runnning-outof-time · 7 months

Note

Hey, I love your stories so much, Thank you for your beatiful work❤️ “Did you even miss me?” With Tommy as much angst you can write maybe ?

Hi there, anon! Thanks so much for sending this in! I hope you like what I’ve done here! I tried to do as much angst as I could. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

Three Years

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of war

Word Count: 636

Summary: Tommy’s attempts to reconnect with (Y/N) don’t go as he hoped they would.

“(Y/N), wait!” Tommy called for (Y/N) as he hastily followed her out of the Marquis. She was still several steps ahead of him, the pouring rain not slowing her down one bit. “Stop fucking walking, please!”

“Why?!” she yelled back to him, slowing her pace down to see if he’d notice. Within seconds, she felt his hand on her shoulder before he spun her around to face him. “Why should I have to stop for you, huh?!” she asked, venom laced into her words as her angry eyes found his.

“I wanted to speak to you,” he answered her, keeping his voice level. He had no right to be angry.

“Speak to me? You finally want to do that?” her response was spoken in an incredulous manner. Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but she continued before he was able to. “Why the fuck did you even come to this pub? It’s one of the few that I can go to; where I know I won’t see you. But now you’re here, and you’re in my fucking face, and you’ve ruined my night!” she went on with her rant, her voice raising with each word she spoke. She didn’t care that she was screaming in the middle of the street though. This was what he deserved.

“(Y/N), listen…”

“No,” she shook her head, cutting him off again, “no, I’m not going to listen to you, Tommy. You lost your chance to speak when you didn’t come to visit me for three-fucking-years. I wrote to you, I worried about you every single day when you were in France, and then the war ended and I got nothing.” She paused a moment, taking a deep breath in hopes to stop her lungs from burning. Her angry eyes found his again, and she stared into them for a moment before asking the question that was burning in her mind: “did you even miss me?”

Every planned answer that Tommy was stacking up in his mind vanished after hearing her final five words. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and instead he stood there like a fool, his brows scrunched together and jaw slack as he let everything she just said sink in.

“You know what, I don’t even want to hear your answer,” (Y/N) broke the silence, dismissing him before he even had the chance to think of a response. She turned and began walking away from him then, leaving the lighted vicinity of the pub so that she could return to her home.

Tommy stood there and watched her walk away. He was itching to rush to her side; to escort her home so that he could ensure nothing happened to her. But he knew that she didn’t need him to do that. He also knew that him doing so would probably make things worse than they already were.

To put it simply: she was right. Three years was too long of a time for someone to be gone for. Tommy had his reasons, sure, but those put aside, he still hurt her. He hurt the woman who’d been there for him right up to the day he boarded the train for France. He hurt the woman that his mind would drift to while he was stuck in the tunnels and trenches. He hurt the woman he thought he’d have by his side for the rest of his life.

And now he had to come to terms with the fact that she was gone forever. He shouldn’t have came to this pub; shouldn’t have asked around about her and then intentionally sought her out. If only he’d known better…then he wouldn’t have been caught out in the rain. If only he didn’t let three years pass by.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @youtifulsunshinelixfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby blurb #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #k’s 3.5k celebration

375 notes · View notes

vettelsdarling · 10 months

Note

Heyyy I’m the one who req the Instagram ff and I loved it so muchhhhhh and I want to ask for another but where it’s like a mix of an actual ff but also an Instagram ff? So here’s my prompt: Mick and Reader are both going through tough times regarding their dads because Michael isn’t doing well and readers dad passed away when she was in her mid teens. She and him are best friends because of her dads connection to his dad and they grew up in close proximity. She comes to all his races (can u do it so that mick is racing for Mercedes instead of George??????) and she is his biggest supporter. After a lot of time, Mick confesses to reader because he’s liked her for a long time and reader agrees to date and they make like a soft reveal on Instagram! Thank youuuu Elllll

𝑫𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝑰𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒆𝒔

➪Interesting plot, I like it!

➪Again, I'm pretty new to instagram fics, so I hope I succeeded in bringing your vision to life.

➪Wasn’t completely sure what you meant by “mix”, but I hope this is what you meant!

Things to note:

❥I took some inspo from “Daddy Issues“ by TNBHD

❥You’re a famous ballerina, daughter of a famous lawyer and business man, Erik Klum (name is made up btw.)

❥You and Mick are 2 years apart

Pairing: Mick Schumacher x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, a lot of angst, a lot of daddy issues

Word Count: 4.1k+

“𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒐𝒐.”

Euripides once said, “To a father growing old, nothing is dearer than a daughter.” The saying might've been true, but you never got to experience it for yourself. You never saw him grow old. Your dear father never got to see his sweet little girl grow old either. You missed him every single day.

Backstory

Your father, Erik Klum, was a famous lawyer, who handled Michael Schumacher’s monetary belongings. That's how you got to meet Mick Schumacher. The famous Formula One driver's son. The two of you practically grew up together. His mother, Corinna, was like a mother to you. Your own died when she gave birth to you. Mick and Gina were like your siblings. They were near your age, so the three of you had no problem getting along.

Your father did his best to provide for you. He funded your dream. Ballet. Your mother was a ballerina who travelled the world to perform. That was how she met your father. He also funded any extracurriculars you had time for along with whatever pampering he believed you needed. He wasn't a mother, so he never really had a clue about what a daughter would want, but he always tried his best. Corinna was there to help him out at times, which you also appreciated more than anything.

When you were coming into your pre-teens, you were sent to a ballet boarding school. Your father had set aside enough cash to get you there, as it was a part of your dream to be just like your mother.

At the airport, everyone came to say goodbye to you. You were moving all the way to France to pursue your ballet. Mick and Gina both cried, but Michael assured them it’d be alright. Your father only cried tears of joy. The way he saw your mother in you made his heart give out. You didn’t think the last thing you’d ever hear him say was,

“You look just like her. I’m so proud of you, my little girl.”

You spent the first couple of years training hard and working your way up the ranks at the academy. The process was halted, however, when you’d gotten a phone call from your father followed by a message.

You couldn’t believe what you were reading. Michael was in a coma. Your father explained it’d happened due to a ski accident. He’d booked you a ticket home so that you could go visit. After all, Michael was like a second father to you.

When you got there, you saw the immense grief etched on everyone’s faces. It happened so suddenly. Nobody had seen it coming. Your heart ached, but you knew it was nothing compared to what Mick and Gina were feeling. The three of you hugged and cried for the most part of that day. You stayed for two more days, grieving with everyone before you inevitably had to go back to France.

You managed to keep your composure whilst at the academy. With the updates you’d get from Mick and Gina, you were reassured. Some time passed, and you’d heard that Michael was out of his coma. It sent a huge wave of relief and helped ease your mind when you were alone. You’d been prone to panic and anxiety attacks.

A couple of more years flew by, and you suddenly got a phone call from Mick. He never really called without texting you first, because he knew you had a strict schedule. Luckily, you had your phone when he called.

“Hello?” You heard from the other end of the line.

“Hey, Mickie, what’s with the sudden call?” You asked.

“You have to get home right now. I’ll explain when you get here. We bought you a ticket, your flight leaves early tomorrow.” You felt anxious. Fear started eating away at your feet, making its way up your legs to your stomach and to your throat.

“Okay,” you croaked. The line disconnected and you immediately ran off to administration to tell them you had a family emergency and had to go home for a while. They gave you two weeks, which in retrospect, wouldn’t be enough for what was to come.

When you came to the airport, you realized your father wasn’t in sight. It was just Corinna, Mick, and Gina. Your heart sank. Had something happened to your father? Your head started pounding.

“Hi darling,” said Corinna and tried to keep her composure.

“My dad… where is he?” You asked with a shaky voice, scared of what her response would be. Much to your dread, your suspicions were confirmed,

“I’m sorry, my sweet girl. I’m so sorry.” She didn’t even have the heart to tell you the words. He was gone. You broke down. Mick and Gina looked absolutely devastated for you. Your only driving force was gone. You were all alone. You couldn’t think straight. All you did on the car ride home was cry out to your father. You couldn’t believe that he was gone. It didn’t seem real to you.

When Corinna pulled into the lot of their place, soon to be yours as well, you got out with the help of Mick. Your head was too cloudy to walk by yourself. You could barely form a coherent sentence.

The funeral was the worst part. You watched as they sank your father’s mahogany coffin into the ground.

“Papa! No! Please don’t leave me, papa!” You screamed as you fell to your knees. You couldn’t take it. You never got to say goodbye to him. You never had the chance to say a few final words to him. He’d been taken from you without warning.

Mick and Gina helped you through the first two weeks, as you had to go back. Since you weren’t an adult yet, your aunt had gained custody of you, and you had to move from Switzerland to Germany. Moving away from all you’d ever known was tough on top of the death of your beloved father.

Years passed by at the academy, and you were a full-fledged Ballerina. You performed in various theatres and at famous events. You’d become somewhat of a household name in ballet. Many called you a prodigy, which you were. Your upbringing was based around ballet.

Present

You'd still kept in contact with the two Schumacher siblings during all the years you spent in France and Germany. You visited them sometimes for minor holidays, which always lifted your spirits.

Mick had started a career in racing, just like his father. He told you that he'd earned a seat at Mercedes. You had come to his races before. Several times, in fact, when he was with Haas. You were beyond ecstatic when you heard he'd earned a place in a dominant car for the new season. Next to Lewis Hamilton, no less.

You wore one of Mick’s shirts when he came out of the shower. His hair was dripping onto his chest, and he had a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Hey, you should wear one of my new Mercedes shirts to the race today,” suggested Mick. For a while, you’d had growing feelings for Mick, and coming to all his races only made him admire you that much more. He’d come to your performances as well, and it always made you happy to see him amongst the huge audience you normally had.

“Hmm, maybe. Won’t people be suspicious though? I mean, I’d look like your…” you trailed off, hoping he’d finish off.

“No, don’t worry about it! Everyone already knows you’re like a sister to me,” He chuckled and threw you one of his shirts. It had 47 on the back of it. Your heart stung briefly when he said that you were like a sister to him.

The Australian Grand Prix was a strike of luck for you, as your performance was in the same city. You were performing in Her Majesty’s Theatre later that day. You’d practiced ever since you heard about the gig.

“You should wear one of my leotards for my performance tonight. It’s only fair!” You joked, watching as he laughed along with you. Domestic moments like this were what had made you fall in love in the first place. You travelled with him constantly. It was hard to not catch any feelings. You could only wish for him to one day feel the same.

“You’re coming to my dad’s 50th birthday luncheon next week, right? Gina said she’d come. Corinna too,” you asked. There was no race the following weekend, so he agreed to come with no hesitation. You always baked a cake on your father’s birthdays to celebrate for yourself. Sometimes Mick was there to join you. This time was different. It wasn’t just baking a cake and singing a gentle birthday song for your father. You wanted to go all in. He deserved it.

“Klum… I don’t want you to overwork yourself with the luncheon, okay? Let me help you.” Mick was always really considerate of you, which was enough to make your heart melt into a bowl of soup. You wanted nothing more than to spend every single birthday of your dad’s with him.

“Mickie… you know how much it means to me. 50 is a special number. That’s you know… halfway.” You mumbled the last part, but it was loud enough for Mick to hear it.

“I know, I know. If you really think you can do it on your own, of course, I’ll let you. I’m just saying, if you need help; I’m here for you.” You nodded and smiled at him. He gave you a warm smile back. It felt like it hugged you.

“We should probably hurry up, though. We have to be there in time.” Mick quickly found some boxers and other articles of clothes to wear for the day. The two of you were used to seeing each other without any clothes on. It felt natural. Yet, your cheeks were still dusted pink. Whilst he got into his clothes, you found a skirt to go with his shirt. It was barely visible due to the oversized shirt, but you wore it anyway. With the outfit, you wore a pair of white satin high heels you’d been gifted by Jimmy Choo. Because you were wearing his shirt, Mick had coordinated his outfit to match yours. You knew the media would try to gossip about it, but in all honesty— you wanted them to.

When the two of you arrived at the paddock, cameras were already everywhere and ready to snap photos of you and Mick in matching outfits. The paparazzi were ruthless. Anything to get the latest inside scoop. Even though you were used to the attention, you hated having your private life revealed. It was the main reason you never told a soul where you lived. Only the Schumachers, your aunt, and some of the drivers knew. You had a long-time friend from the academy who also knew because she often came over to your place to take care of it whilst you were gone.

Luckily, behind you was Lewis. He got all of the attention with his fashion statement. You adored his sense of fashion, and so did the media.

“Viel Glück, Mickie,” you said when Mick got into the car. You gave him a hug and stepped aside for the engineers and strategists. You were incredibly proud of Mick for landing a place with the silver arrows.

It was lights out and you saw all the cars race almost as if they were synchronized. It reminded you of some of the dances you’d done in the past. Before you mostly did solos, anyway.

You watched as Mick went from P13 and worked his way up to P1. You couldn’t even believe your eyes. It was incredible. With only a few laps left, he was able to fend off the driver behind him and go on to finish on pole. Everyone went to the celebration and when Mick came over to hug all his coworkers, he saw you in the midst and pulled you in for a big hug.

“This is for Erik and my dad. I did it!” Out of excitement, he kissed your forehead harshly and went on to hug the rest of the crew. Though the kiss didn’t have any meaning other than that of Mick’s elated state, it meant the world to you.

The interviewer was none other than Nico Rosberg. He came up to Mick and asked a couple of questions about the competition and whatnot, before moving on to ask about you. Mick was a bit surprised, but he answered with what media training he’d been through.

“I think Klum and I both have a lot in common and we grew up together, so I see her as a little sister. She’s very supportive of me.” It was a perfect response in his mind.

“This is your first win, you must be very excited!” Said Rosberg.

“Naturally. I’m dedicating it to Erik Klum and my father. They are both such important people to me and have shaped me into becoming the man I am today. Well, the man who just won this race.” It was sentimental and all the tabloids would be sure to latch onto that.

A week later, you were out shopping for ingredients with Mick. You'd spent the night before decorating your house. Apparently, you hadn't been discreet enough.

Sportsgossipc

47,221 likes

sportsgossipc Ballerina Y/n Klum spotted grocery shopping with Formula One driver Mick for Erik Klum’s death anniversary. Are they cosying up together with a celebration?

user1 Is it just me or is this sort of disrespectful to “gossip about”

user2I was about to say the same thing…

user3 This is wrong… Erik died in January. It's for his birthday probably

user4 Leave them alone lol they already got so much shit to handle

user5 First of all: it’s Erik’s birthday. Second of all: If it were his death anniversary, why would you make it into a gossip story??? Third of all: “cosying up together with a celebration”? What is that supposed to mean?

When you came home and went to post a happy birthday post for your dad, you saw a dm from your friend. It showed you and Mick shopping. The photo itself wasn't upsetting in particular. No, the caption is what got you. Mick walked up behind you to see what you were doing. When his eyes locked with the screen, he was shocked.

“They have no right,” said Mick and hugged your waist. You tried to not let it bother you too much and instead posted a story about it, followed by a birthday post for your father.

y/nklum posted a new story, mickschumacher posted a new story

y/nklum✔︎

Liked by mickschumacher and 233,754 others

y/nklum You would be 50 today. I miss you every day. I know it’s been a while, but I will always mark my calendar on this day. Thank you for everything you’ve sacrificed and done for me, happy birthday papa❤️

mickschumacher Happy birthday, Erik❤️

ginaschumacher ❤️❤️❤️

You put your phone aside and started cooking. Gina and Corinna were going to arrive precisely at noon, so you had a good 3 hours to finish everything. You ended up letting Mick help you, as you realized there were way too many things to do.

As time passed, you got the food ready and the guests arrived. Everyone sat down by the table you had in your dining room. Next to you, you’d placed a nice portrait of your father. Before eating, a birthday song was sung in his honour.

“This is amazing, kids. You know what you’re doing!” Corinna complimented your cooking. Your usual meal was hotel food or restaurant food, but if there was one thing you could do well; it was cook. Your father had taught you from a young age, and the academy also required you to start cooking your own meals as you grew older.

“Thank you so much, Corinna, I’m glad you like it.” You smiled. Corinna was more of a mother to you than your aunt. You barely ever saw her even though you had to move all of your stuff over to her place. You spent most holidays with the Schumachers when you weren’t in France. After France, you got a house close to your second family.

“That reminds me! I found your father’s old wedding band in our storage. I figured you’d want it.” Corinna gave you a small box which contained the ring. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your cheeks. It was a beautiful gold ring with a tiny diamond in it. You hugged it and thanked her for it.

After everyone went home, you were left with Mick. He offered to clean everything so that you could take a breather outside on your patio.

After he’d finished cleaning, he met you outside. You sat on a wooden porch swing. Before taking a seat next to you, he admired how the sunset hit your face perfectly. You were beautiful. Your legs were crossed over each other and the way your face lit up when you saw him… he could barely contain his feelings for you.

“He was a great man.” Mick finally took that seat next to you.

“I miss him.”

“It’s only natural. I miss him too,” he replied calmly.

“I want him to know how I’m doing,” you whispered, trying not to cry any more than you’d already done.

“He knows. Trust me, he does.”

“Do you think he’s disappointed? Because I can’t sleep alone? Because I can’t sleep without having nightmares of him?” You leaned into Mick’s chest, hearing his heartbeat.

“Not at all. I think he’s proud of the incredible woman you’ve grown up to be.” He rubbed your back and pulled you closer to him.

“Will you stay with me forever?” You asked.

“Of course, Schatz.” Your heart started beating fast. It was the first time he’d ever called you a pet name. Usually, he resorted to your name, a nickname, or your last name. You acted as if you hadn’t heard it so that it wouldn’t create any embarrassing tension between you.

“I’m sorry. I’m being clingy and needy, aren’t I?” You sighed and looked up at the setting sun.

“Never, Liebling. I know that you’ve got daddy issues because I do too.” Hearing him say the actual term out loud made you want to bury your face in his chest and cry until you no longer had any tears left.

“My dad is still… well, you know.”

“Yeah… it must be horrible. I don’t know how it feels, but I’m always here for you.” You snuggled into him.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I had lost him that day. You’re really strong. You should know that. I will always be by your side,” Mick spoke softly.

“If you were mine, I would run away and hide from all of this fame and attention with you. We could enjoy our lives to the fullest extent.” You felt like your heart had stopped. You pulled away from him and looked him in the eyes,

“If I was yours?”

“I tried to keep it to myself… I know you probably don’t feel the same way. I’m an older brother to you, right?” He said with a hint of regret in his voice. You immediately cupped his face with both of your hands,

“You have no idea how happy I am right now.”

“You feel the same way?”

“Of course, I do! I’ve been in love with you for a while now.” You smiled.

“I’ve loved you since you first took off to the academy. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.” He pulled you over his lap and hugged you tightly as if you were a fragile little thing.

“I love you, Schatz.”

“I love you too, Mickie.”

A few months had passed before the two of you agreed to go public with your relationship. The timing was perfect because you attended the last race of the season. The two of you still had your reservations about going public, so you played a little game with your fans to see if they could figure it out from subtle pictures. Of course, many of the drivers knew a few weeks after it’d happened, but you’d asked them not to tell.

y/nklum✔︎

Liked by mickschumacherand 355,860 others

y/nklum Came to the show with flowers and carried my heels home for me after❤️

lewishamilton Show was great, keep it up!

landonorris I fell asleep but the parts I saw were amazing👍

y/nklum Why am I not surprised😒

charlesleclerc I know, I'm such a gentleman

y/nklum Hmmm🤔

user1 NOOOOO WE LOST HER😭😭😭 MOTHER NOOOO🙏🙏🙏

user2 crying rn

user3 my parasocial relationship is quaking💔

user4 It's Charles😭👍

user5 How do you know?

user4 Didn't you see the comment he made? It's definitely him💀

user5 Oh💀😭

user6 what in the soft launch-

user7 LMAO I CAN’T WITH CHARLES BEING SO OBVIOUS

user8 What abt Mick😭💔

user9 He said several times he sees her as a sister💀

user8 Could be lying🤷

mickschumacher✔︎

Liked by y/nklum and 538,924 others

mickschumacher Watched another amazing performance❤️ Had to leave early to prepare for a date though…

charlesleclerc Cool, wish I was that flexible😅

y/nklum Thanks💖

user1 Mick???? Soft launching???? Under a y/n post???? This makes no sense

user2 Wait is he referring to y/n or someone else wtf

user3 I thought y/n was dating Charles💀

user4 Bro everyone thought that

user3 Isn’t she though?

user4 Personally I think she is but idk

user5 Why is Mick soft launching at the same time as y/n😭

user6 Lmao he went to a friend’s performance and ditched it for a date💀

user7 rip y/n

user8 Charles is there for her though🥹❤️

y/nklum✔︎

Liked by mickschumacherand 379,688 others

y/nklum Thank you to the random stranger who offered to take a picture of me and him together❤️

landonorris That random stranger was me🙄

y/nklum No, you were the third wheel

user1 Nah that definitely doesn’t look like Charles

user2 Nvm that ain’t Charles unless he dyed his hair💀

user3 isn’t that Mick😭

user4 It looks a lot like Mick. I think it is him…

user5 But didn’t Mick say that he left her performance to go on a date?

user4 No, he said he left early to go PREPARE for a date. It could’ve been a date with her.

user6 I love the subtle Lando slander for no reason😭🙏

user7 If Mick posts something like this, we’ll know what’s going on and who’s dating who💀

mickschumacher and y/nklum

Liked by landonorrisand 836,190 others

y/nvettel Spending our 6-month anniversary skiing ⛷️ Happy 6 months, Mickie❤️❤️❤️

mickschumacher Happy 6 months, Liebling, I love you❤️

y/nklum I love you more❤️

landonorris Should’ve invited me when I actually wanted to third wheel smh

y/nklum Go skiing with Carlos

charlesleclerc Finally I don’t have to keep quiet about it anymore

y/nklum You came close to revealing it one too many times

lewishamilton Enjoy your vacation guys, congrats🙌

user1 I KNEW IT. FROM THE FIRST SOFT LAUNCH POST I KNEW IT.

user2 Jeez okay we get it💀

user3 I really thought it was Charles lmao

user4 I always thought they looked good together🙏

user5 childhood friends and now dating? This is the sweetest🥹❤️

user6 I can’t wait for the wedding pics

user7 They better get married

user8 Lando in the comments again😭😭😭

You thought back to when it all started, as you sat in the ski resort’s outdoor hot tub. It was just you and Mick in a hotel room, both hoping the other felt the same way.

You knew that your father would be proud. You’d fallen in love with a respectable man. A man that he got to meet and know before he passed. A man that you could call home because you could be in any hotel and still feel at home as long as you were with him. With Mick.

You also knew that if you ever were to have children, you and Mick would be sure to tell them all about their grandfathers. How one was a former world champion, and how the other was an unbeatable lawyer. They were both heroes. You’d convinced yourself. You could convince a couple of toddlers.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺— 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻.

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emeritusemeritus · 2 months

Note

HIII im so happy your requests are open you’re one of my favorite writers on here!!! i’ve been craving more twins x reader content and i’ve always wanted to see them pining after an oblivious customer at the shop like literally spelling it out for her and just her being a bit dense thinking that she’s just a valued customer 😀 love your work and hope you have a great week!!

Thank you so much!! This was an absolute pleasure to write, I really hope it’s okay for you! 🖤

Warnings: None? Mentions of implied kissing, reader is completely oblivious. Fred is as charming as ever and George is a sweetheart.

Word count: 1.8k

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had quickly become your favourite spot in all of Diagon Alley. It was vibrant and exciting, a draw for many witches and wizards without any hint of discrimination and it didn't hurt that the two owners were two of the most handsome men you'd ever seen, not that you'd dream of telling them that.

Your first visit to the shop has been an accident really, hunting down a perfect gift for your nephew who was just about to start his first year at Hogwarts. One of the owners, who you found out to be Fred had helped you find the most perfect gift that had been an overwhelming success with your nephew. The second time, he was slightly different than you remembered and you'd convinced yourself that you had just remembered him differently until the very man you'd been secretly thinking about since your first time at the shop walked out and greeted you with a big smile. That was the first time you met George, and unceremoniously found out that they were identical twins.

Since then you'd been back numerous times, sometimes for gifts, sometimes for more personal reasons and has even started dropping in on your lunch break just to chat to the twins as your friendship grew. They were abundantly friendly and chatty, so naturally funny and charming that it was easy to talk with them and they always made you feel incredibly welcome. Fred had invited you to the shop to share your lunch break together multiple times and you'd even found yourself hanging around as the store closed around you because George wanted company.

"I'm so excited!" Valerie, one of your best friends says enthusiastically as you step into Diagon Alley. She was from France and was educated at Beauxbatons, missing the cut off for the Triwizard Tournament by one year, something she was still peeved about. She was visiting you in London and she'd made you promise to take her to the place you kept mentioning in your letters.

You laugh along, seeing her excited face as you round the corner, walking past Ollivanders until the figurehead of the twins appeared up ahead, the brilliantly vibrant orange building standing out against the muted palettes of the other shops.

"Afternoon ladies," you hear from beside you, waking a grin spread across your face. Fred.

"Hi Freddie," you smile up at him, seeing his broad grin already stretched out across his face. His gaze flashes to Val and you briefly introduce them until your attention is pulled away by George who appears on your other side, already eagerly talking to you about the new product he'd been working on, the same one you'd offered to help with only the other night, pausing briefly to introduce himself to Val.

"Right Georgie, reckon we best get back to the paying customers," Fred says with a wink in your direction, pulling his brother away as they go back to assisting the other customers in the shop. George touches your shoulder gently as he squeezes past and gives you a sweet smile before heading off, immediately going over to a little boy and his mum who are looking at the Pygmy puffs. Your eyes trail towards Fred who's lingering around the love potion stand, trying to flog them to a group of witches who look to be around their third year. When he spots you looking, he gives you a little smirk and another wink, gesturing towards the love potions with a wiggle of his eyebrows. You can't help but smile, giggling a little before you look away, turning back to Val.

Her eyebrow is raised at you and her face holds a knowing smirk, already implying something.

"So what did they mean 'paying customers', are you not one?"

You give a little shrug, "they give me a discount, sometimes they let me test things, it's nothing really."

Her face says everything she isn't saying, she's delighted but judgy, as if she doesn't believe a single thing you were saying. You laugh and nudge her gently, "really, we're friends."

"Very friendly friends?" She teases with a wiggle of her eyebrows but you nudge her again and tell her to behave, not wanting to get into it, especially in a place that created and sold extendable ears, nothing was safe from the Weasley Twins.

She walks over to the Peruvian instant darkness powder, picking up a crystal and examining it in her hands with a smile on her face.

"So how can you tell them apart? You knew straight away," she says, casting her gaze over to you as she puts down the crystal and moves across to the next shelf, the display of wonderwitch products; carefully avoiding the puking pastilles on the way.

"Oh I don't know, they don't look that similar to me anymore. I suppose it's mannerisms mainly, Fred usually talks first and George is better at explaining things," you explain, stopping your eyes from wandering back to the owners.

"Hmm," she says with a smirk, still holding back what she was going to say.

Suddenly, the rolling ladder appears from the side with George clutching on to the steps, his smile splayed across his face as he appears.

"Pimple vanisher, yeah it really works," George says nodding his head, "tried it myself, well on Ron anyway. Ten seconds and your spots are gone."

"But how?" Val says, beguiled by the magic behind it. You stand back and watch, enjoying seeing George so effortlessly charming, showing what he'd created.

"Course, some of us don't need it do we y/n?" He says, looking up to you with a sweet smile, "must be good genetics."

"Or maybe I'm an avid Wheezes tester with a very rigid skincare routine," you play along, holding up the little pot of vanisher.

"That's a good sale!" He says with excitement, "want a job? Could do with prettying up the employees."

"Pretty sure you and Fred were trying to work out who was more handsome last night, I think you know you're pretty enough," you smirk, earning a chuckle from George.

"Clearly I won," he adds, flashing a grin at Val.

"What are everlasting eyelashes?" She says, picking at the pink and black box.

"Exactly what they say on the box," George flashes her a teasing smirk before pulling you closer to him by the hand, displaying you. "Want lashes like these? Make the boys really notice your beautiful eyes? Just need this box and your dreams will come true."

"You think she has beautiful eyes?" Val teases, goading George but it doesn't work, he bites back almost instantly, nodding enthusiastically.

"Wanted to put her photo on the box but she wouldn't let me," he chuckles with a little shrug before pausing for a moment and reaching up high for the little package of flirting fancies.

"Make any man fall at your feet with these, just one bite and they'll be smitten," he says, handing the neatly wrapped box to Val.

"Think you might have accidentally ingested one," she mutters, just quiet enough for only you to hear and covering it with a smile as she looks over the box. You subtly nudge her and she relents, but not before shooting you a wicked look.

"Anything you want, on the house," George smiles, flashing you one last look before rolling away and starting anew with his next customer.

"Right tell me honestly, how many of these have you given him?"

"Val! I told you we're friends," you say with a roll of your eyes.

"You might want to tell him that," she quips, nodding her head towards the space behind you. As soon as you turn, you're met with the rather solid chest of Fred Weasley.

"Ladies," he smirks with a dramatic bow of his head, his hand reaching up to touch your shoulder gently.

"You give all your customers this much attention?" Val asks with raised but playful brows, completely ignoring your glare.

"Only the prettiest ones," Fred replies, reaching out to grab the little pot beside the love potions. Val shoots you another knowing look with her eyes and you wordlessly tell her to shut up with your own, doubling down on the harsh glare.

"Kissing concoction," he says, holding up the little pot of almost clear liquid, "makes the drinker become longingly infatuated with the giver, just long enough to ensure only the best kisses will be shared. Made with real pearl dust as well."

"Maybe I could try it on you?" Val asks, suddenly getting flirty with Fred, "prove that it really works."

You don't miss the way his tongue slips out to meet his lips as he clears his throat, fidgeting somewhat uncomfortably.

"No can do I'm afraid, store policy," he smirks, recovering quickly with the banter.

"But if y/n asked?" Val says sweetly, smiling devilishly between the two of you, making you have to fight to stop your eyes rolling at her insinuation.

"Well she is a valued customer," he says with a pause, pretending to think, finger tapping on his chin, "but rules are rules and who am I to ever break them?"

You can't help but snort out a little laugh, knowing exactly how Fred Weasley felt about rules but you don't say anything, knowing it would only fuel the fire. He looks at you with a teasing smirk but you look away, feeling Val's gaze flicking between the both of you.

"You're so oblivious aren't you," she says whilst walking around the shop, keeping the Pygmy puff she’d painstakingly picked out tucked protectively under one arm.

“What do you mean?” You ask, frowning in her direction, pausing to grab a trick wand for your nephew from the basket near the till.

She shoots you a look, showing her disbelief, “let me think, they give you a discount, one of them has said in no complex way that you had beautiful eyes and perfect skin.”

“George was just,” you interrupt, only for her to look at you with a mild glare, not open to listening to your excuses.

“The other said he’d kiss you and that you were pretty, they clearly like you!”

“I just come in a lot, they’re good businessmen, you know flattery gets your everywhere right? You’re not gonna be rude to a valued customer,” you argue.

“You don’t have to be that friendly either,” she retorts with a sarcastic smile, checking out the pyro display in front of her, dropping the subject.

Your attention drifts away and you subtly turn to your left, feeling eyes upon you. There’s a brief moment where you realise that both Fred and George are watching you from the middle landing on the stairs, both leaning on the rail, before they notice that you’re watching them. As soon as you turn further, they instantly spring into action, pretending they weren’t watching you and spring into action helping the customers, almost comically so.

Your gaze shifts back to Val and you begin to wonder, could she be right?

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #fred weasley masterlist #fred weasley drabble #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #weasley twins x reader #requests

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hedgehog-moss · 1 year

Photo

^ Macron did not enjoy us symbolically shutting him up by banging pans on Monday, and today for his official visit to a small town in the South of France, the Police Prefecture banned pots and pans from city streets. They might have realised it sounded insane, because they artfully phrased it as “passersby are banned from carrying portable sonorous devices” (‘dispositif sonore portatif’—here’s the prefectural decree:)

I won’t blame you if you think that’s too dumb to believe, but TV news today really showed us cops in that town explaining to people that saucepans shall not pass, and old ladies grumbling as they relinquished the old pans they had planned on using for protesting. (My mum lives nearby and was devastated that she didn’t go. “I could have been fined for illegal possession of saucepan... a once-in-a-lifetime crime...”)

(The caption says pans are being confiscated.) The lady on the left went through all five stages of grief at the thought of leaving her pan in police custody, from denial (“seriously?”) to bargaining (“can I keep my tin can?”) and anger (telling a cop “oh, go fuck yourself” on national television in a beautiful Southern accent) then finally, sadly walking away to leave her pan and can atop a pile of other confiscated kitchenware.

People trolled them so hard with the “portable sonorous device” thing that the police prefecture eventually responded that this never meant pans at all, and if police officers banned saucepans it’s because they didn’t understand the prefectural decree. (That meme of someone sweating in front of two buttons and it’s “we admit we issued a laughable (and illegal) decree” vs. “we imply cops have the reading comprehension of an oyster”...) (I tried to find a link for the prefecture spokesperson’s defensive statement but couldn’t find it again :( But I found another article from today saying protesters threw potatoes and eggs at gendarmes so it was a worthwhile google search.)

Here’s a tweet with a video:

For a visit to a village of 4000 people, 600 cops were deployed to ensure Macron’s safety (from seditious kitchen utensils) (okay, and potatoes). Now we’ve got MPs raising philosophical questions like “Can you solve a democratic crisis by banning saucepans...?” and the Association for the Protection of Constitutional Freedoms saying the prefectural decree was illegal as it “seems to associate the act of participating in a saucepan concert with a terrorist threat.” I mean it’s outrageous but also you’ve got to laugh at the absurdist play we find ourselves in.

One last thing:

^ The last sentence of Le Monde’s article summing up today’s presidential visit was: “Macron interacted at length with teachers, sitting in a circle around him on chairs hastily set up outside in the school’s playground”—because trade unionists shut off the power in the building Macron was visiting, for the second time this week, which is always funny.

#frpol #< i finally went back and tagged these posts!

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sixth-light · 1 year

Note

*slides you money* I heard you were three seconds from a treatise on David Lange and Mururoa and the Rainbow Warrior?

BY POPULAR DEMAND (ok you and like three other people asked)...

The core fact that you gotta know if you want to talk about New Zealand and nuclear weapons is that campaigning for nuclear disarmament and maintaining a legal nuclear-free zone in our territorial waters has been the core of our independent foreign policy as a country for nearly forty years, since the mid-1980s. This developed over the 60s and 70s from a popular groundswell of anti-nuclear sentiment focused around continued atmospheric nuclear testing in the Pacific by France as well as visits from nuclear-powered (and potentially nuclear-armed) American warships. It evolved into government action; left-wing governments took France to court to demand an end to testing and sent naval frigates to the nuclear test area to protest with Government ministers on board.

This was crystallised in 1985 when a photographer was killed in the state-sponsored terrorist bombing of the Rainbow Warrior, a Greenpeace ship conducting protests at the French nuclear test site of Mururoa. The bombing was carried out by French spies who were decorated when they returned to France (after France promised they would be jailed) and led to a prolonged diplomatic rift between New Zealand and France. The subsequent passing of nuclear-free legislation in 1987, banning nuclear-powered or armed ships visiting our waters, led to New Zealand's suspension from the ANZUS (Australia, New Zealand, and the United States) military alliance. David Lange, the Prime Minister at the time, opined famously that "The only thing worse than being incinerated by your enemies, is being incinerated by your friends." The ban still has such wide bipartisan support that it's simply not on the table now for even our right-wing parties; infamously, in the early 2000s one Leader of the Opposition told an American congressional delegation that the ban would be 'gone by lunchtime' if he became Prime Minister. This wasn't the DIRECT cause of his eventual toppling but it certainly didn't help. Nobody else has gone near it since.

I am, however, excrutiatingly aware that while our nuclear-free stance is viewed internally by New Zealanders as central to our national identity - there's a well-known song and it was even controversially used this year in a beer ad as a signifier of national pride - nobody else remembers. Particularly the Americans and the French. Seared into my brain is Scott Brown (yes that one) arriving here as the new US Ambassador in 2016 and going on the radio to talk earnestly about how Kiwis didn't realise that nuclear fallout wasn't restricted by national borders, c.f. North Korea, as if anti-nuclear campaigning wasn't...well...see all of the above. READ YOUR GODDAMN BRIEFING PACKETS ON THE PLANE, SCOTT, IT'S A FOURTEEN-HOUR FLIGHT.

So what does that mean for the Locked Tomb books?

As the linked article about the beer ad notes, anti-nuclear protesting has been a site not only of national identity formation but specifically Indigenous protest in the Pacific. It is Pasifika peoples who have borne the brunt of nuclear testing and much of the early anti-nuclear movement in Aotearoa was led by Māori and Pasifika, and closely tied to the anti-apartheid movement which focused on the removal or restriction of Māori and Pasifika rugby players on tours to apartheid South Africa.

In Nona the Ninth, it becomes clear that John (a Māori man) and G- (whose ethnicity is not specified but 'reads' as most likely Māori or Pasifika in context), as well as their friends, blackmailed the US government for a suitcase nuke and eventually used it to bomb Melbourne, with John then causing nuclear armageddon around the world. This is, uh, emphatically not the same thing as "Twitch streamers [John & co] nuking New Zealand", as chill as I generally am with the eliding of detail for joke posts. This is a Māori man from and in New Zealand nuking first Australia and then the rest of the world.

This is, obviously, if you're coming from the historical context, hugely transgressive in a way I can only describe as a...horror of agency? The horror of saying, what if we were willing to do the thing that we identify ourselves as a nation as being against under all circumstances? What if instead of standing nobly against nuclear weapons, for reasons of moral indefensibility, we were the ones to pull the trigger? What if our culture and our people survived the apocalypse because one of us started it, instead of us surviving by virtue of being so small, so on the edge of the world, so carelessly left off world maps?

And as to why it matters that it's Melbourne - New Zealand has a...complicated relationship with Australia that's hard to directly parallel to anywhere else (it's sort of like Canada and the US but also not like Canada and the US in any way that Canadians or Americans ever interpret that statement in my experience). In particular, there is huge anxiety in Australia about New Zealand as a source of non-white (and specifically Māori and Pasifika) emigration to Australia. Australian immigration policy, while technically retaining free movement between the two nations, has grown more and more restrictive over the last twenty years. Right now the central point of conflict is a policy of deporting mostly Māori and Pasifika New Zealand-born prisoners back to New Zealand on completion of their sentences, regardless of how old they were when they came to Australia, resulting in a large body of traumatised people with zero community ties being dumped back here and - no surprises! - frequently turning to crime. There's A Lot Going On There. Added to which the Christchurch mosque shooter deliberately travelled here from Australia to carry out his terrorism. And yet also, hundreds of thousands of us live there and many more have relatives and friends there.

And Melbourne? Melbourne is like....the cool Australian city, if you're a New Zealander. Sydney is too big (the same population as our whole country!) and too...everything, Brisbane and the Gold Coast are tropical and so kinda weird, Adelaide and Perth? we don't know them, but Melbourne is aspirational. Melbourne is the kind of city Wellington and Auckland would like to be when they grow up, maybe. They have laneways and culture and a working tram system. But it's also a very...white kind of cool. The kind enjoyed by rich Pākehā who can afford to go on weekend shopping holidays there.

So yeah. John and G- and the crew nuke Melbourne and it's a nexus of all these tensions old and new, of who we think we are as people and as a nation, of how we relate to Australia which is our friend and nearest neighbour and our rival and our scapegoat (because they're the really racist ones, aren't they? If we say that loud enough, does it drown out the sounds of our own sins?)

It's a fantasy of power and a horror of it at the same time. I hope someone right now is writing a monograph on this, there's so much to dig into. But it deserves to be framed as what it is, as a response from a Kiwi author to our own history and identity. It deserves to be understood in context.

#the locked tomb #ntn spoilers #new zealand #history #nuclear disarmament

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brummiereader · 11 months

Text

PREVIOUS PART

A Ghost Of A Man (PART FIVE)

Summary: Things take a turn for the worse when the reader goes back to visit Tommy in the abandoned building.

Warnings: Language, supernatural themes, angst, violence

For the past few weeks you had regularly found yourself back at the abandoned building. Juggling between work, Uni and the dreaded assignment that you finally got finished, you would visit Tommy most days. During your time with him he would talk to you about his family and childhood growing up in Small Heath. You would often ask questions about the Peaky Blinders and the war in France, which at first he reluctantly opened up about. You had spent hours alone with Tommy in the old offices, at ease enough to confide in him your hopes and wishes for the future, he in turn had entrusted you with his gold pocket watch when you insisted on taking it to a Watchmaker after seeing it was no longer working. Often giving the other small touches, a hand on his arm, his palm on the small of your back, you were both now comfortable and content being within each others presence, grateful of the growing bond you had built. It was coming close to the date of Tommy's brutal death, soon he would be going back to 1922. You mentioned it to him once, only for him to get rather agitated, quickly putting an end to the conversation. For now this was your routine. But for how long could this last before one of you got frustrated with the way things were?

For the past few days you had been mulling over the idea of trying to find something...anything that could help Tommy for when he goes back to his time. He had told you rather hostilely to not go looking for any information which confused you, did he not want to live again? Being rather stubborn you walked into work with only one objective in mind.

" Hi Janette" you said as you turned on your computer.

"Hello you" she said giving you a huge smile.

" Erm, i have another favor to ask"

" It wouldn't happen to be about that gang, would it?" She said as she started stamping a stack of books on her desk.

" It's the last time, I promise"

" You know anything you need for Uni you're always welcome to go and do the research you need" she said smiling to you warmly.

Not exactly Uni research anymore with your assignment having been handed in over a week ago, this time it was personal research. You needed access to the newspaper articles upstairs, so with that in mind you nodded and thanked your boss as you headed up to the second level. To say Tommy wasn't consuming your life right now was an understatement. You was no longer frightened of the man you first met instead you felt drawn to him, you wanted to spend every hour of every day with him, did he feel the same?

Upstairs in the small storage room there was an old computer, and it looked like Richard had finally started photocopying and categorising all the books onto it. This would make your research easier, the only thing was, you didn't know where to start. There was very little recorded info about Tommy's death, and you was having trouble figuring out what to type into the search bar. The folder belonged to Campbell so you typed his full name in first. There was a few articles about the arrival of a new police officer coming to Birmingham to clean up the city, but nothing more. Then you remembered what Tommy said about how he was hired by Winston Churchill. You vaguely recalled your boss talking about how in London they recently discovered some old letters of correspondence from Churchill from the 1920's, now part of history they were published online for anyone to see. With nothing to lose you clicked on the article and downloaded them. There was over a hundred letters, sighing in desperation you painstakingly read through each one. After what felt like forever you came upon a letter with Campbells full name at the top. It was indeed a letter to the man himself. Reading through the correspondence it talked about a certain someone who could be of use. And then you saw it, the now familiar initials T.S. You knew it was about Tommy, it was too much of a coincidence to not be. If Campbell needed Tommy for something then maybe he could stop the attack by Sabini and his men. You knew by giving Tommy this information you would potentially never see him again, and with that you felt a huge wave of sadness come over you. Brushing away a tear you wrote down the information on a small piece of paper and placed it in your pocket. The real question now was, were you going to give it to him? You had grown fond of him and your visits to the abandoned building, you had developed a closeness to eachother, an understanding of who the other is. Could you really keep this information from him though, forever damning him to live between two worlds?

Arriving back home you felt drained with the knowledge that you had the potential missing link that Tommy needed to save his life. Trying to distract yourself you decided to do something nice for your friend, your lack of socialism the past month was evident, and you felt guilty for forgetting everyone else in your life, you hadn't even visited your 90 year old Nan in nearly over a month something you deeply regretted. She was the only family you was in contact with nowadays, your parents who you had a strained relationship with, living far from Birmingham. Taking out a bottle of red wine you had been saving, you decided to drown in your sorrows as you waited for your friend to come back home.

" Hey!" Your friend said as she opened the door.

" Oh hi, you ok?" you answered sitting up straight to face her.

" Good, good. Surprised you're home feel like I have barely seen you lately" she said sitting down on the sofa kicking her shoes off.

" I'm sorry Louise, I don't know where my head's been at lately. I'll make it up to you" you said with overly exaggerated pleading eyes.

" Fine, buy me food first" she said with a small giggle.

" Already done, and here " you said as you passed her the biggest glass you could find full of her favourite red wine.

"Ooh thanks, nearly forgiven" she said with a massive grin as she took the glass from you.

"And i promise, any movie you pick i won't give a running commentary the entire way through"

" Deal, but one last thing. You come for a night out"

" Fine" you said with a huff and a laugh as you handed her the remote control.

As your friend started flicking through movies, you arranged the food that arrived just 5 minutes before. Handing her plate to her you sat down getting comfy as you rested your plate of food on the cushion laying on your lap.

" Found one" your friend said.

" Ghost!?" You said dropping your fork, the title in large capital letters across the TV screen.

" It's a movie about a woman who's boyfriend is a gho..."

" Yeh yeh I know what it's about" you said cutting her off feeling a little flustered as you remembered the story line.

"Hey! You promised you wouldn't comment" your friend replied as she pressed play.

Sinking back into your seat, your appetite now gone, you reached to the side table taking a rather large gulp of red wine, you was going to need it.

A few days later you had reluctantly agreed to go with your friend for a night out, as promised. Before you did you wanted to visit Tommy. With a heavy heart you had come to a decision. You was going to give him the information on Campbell. You wanted the man you had begun to care for to live again, you would never forgive yourself keeping it from him, letting him spend eternity in that dilapidated building knowing he would always refuse to move on. Deciding to get dressed for night beforehand, you picked out a long black sleeved turtleneck top that you tucked into a camel coloured high wasted mini skirt, matching it with a pair of opaque black tights and your trusty black heeled ankle boots. You loosely curled your hair and put on a modest amount of makeup. Tommy's pocket watch now fixed you placed it in your coat pocket along with the paper of information on Campbell.

" You look hot!" your friend said as you walked into the kitchen. " But early though, it's only six"

" Yeh I just need to pop out somewhere, I'll meet you there" you said as you put on your long black coat and headed for the door.

" Alright, but you best be there!"

" I will, I promise" you called out as you shut the front door.

Sitting in the bus, you looked out the window at the darkening sky. Passing by Watery Lane you thought about the old lady, you wanted to go back and see her. You was curious to know more about her and why she would claim to be Tommy's grand daughter, and how she inherited the abandoned building after Tommy insisted it was not possible. Twenty minutes later you arrived at your stop, getting out you made your way to the building. You would never normally come this late, the lack of daylight was making it hard for you to navigate up the old stairs. Once you made it to the top you was thankful for the orange glow of the streetlights beaming through the second floor windows.

"Tommy" you called out as you made your way over to his office door, which was unusually shut. Opening the door, you jumped back almost falling over.

" Boo" Tommy said in a flat tone, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"Jesus Christ Tommy! You scared the hell out of me" you said clutching your chest.

" Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" he replied a smirk forming on his lips.

" Yeh well... Can you save it for the teens that come up here to drink their WKD. You said pushing past him breathless.

" WKD?" He mouthed confused.

Sitting on the edge of his desk you straightened out your coat recomposing yourself. Turning around to face you, Tommy's eyes widened.

" What the hell are you wearing?" He said brows furrowed.

" What? What's wrong with it " you said looking down at your outfit.

Lost for words, Tommy forcefully gestured with his hand up and down your body.

" Jesus Tommy, it's the twenty-first century, women can wear what they want. I'm going out with my friend tonight, I can't go out in jeans and T-shirt" you said slightly annoyed. Tommy's eyes locked on the visible shape of your legs he let out a scoff.

" You look like a whor.."

" Don't... don't you dare say it!" you said interrupting him as you pointed a finger at him.

Huffing he took a drag of his cigarette shaking his head still glaring at your legs.

" You know if a girl walked down the street like that back in my day she would have been.."

" Tommy!" You said, your eyes widening as you started to lose your patience. This was a great start to the night, Tommy's apparent mood becoming more evident by the second.

A small silence filled the room. You could feel his eyes on you as you picked at the edge of his wooden desk.

" So where you going?" He asked finally giving in.

"Just some bar in the town center"

" How long will you stay out?"

"Huh?" You said slightly amused at Tommy's question. " I don't know Tommy, until I want to go home. Would you rather I not go out?" you questioned sarcastically.

" Yes" he huffed under his breath as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

" Why are you being like this?" You said squinting your eyes as you tried to understand him.

"Just go Y/N, I didn't ask you to come tonight , you clearly have other plans" he replied annoyed, avoiding all eye contact.

Defiant you stayed seated. Ignoring his request for you to leave you took out the piece of paper from your coat pocket.

" Tommy I know you said not to look into it, but I think I found something that might help you for when you go back"

" Don't want me coming back, is that it?" He said cocking an eyebrow, a slight bitterness in his voice.

" Tommy... I didn't mean it like that" you replied slightly confused.

Another unbearable silence filled the room as you sheepishly looked at Tommy waiting for him to talk.

" I checked what you asked. The Garrison, it's no longer there, it's been turned into a corner shop, Tommy?... Tommy?" you said trying to catch his line of view.

" What is this Y/N, hm? What are we doing?" he said finally turning to face you, uninterested in the information you had.

" What are you talking about?"

Scoffing Tommy stared at you as he exhaled a cloud of smoke once more, his cigarette now hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Tommy, I think you should at least read it, it's about Campbell...I think it could wor"

"Just fucking stop alright" he said interrupting you, as his frustration grew. Standing up straight he let out a huff as he abruptly walked over to you.

" Tommy..."

" Look I have enjoyed your visits, they have been amusing" he said as he tilted his head. "A way to past the time, but now you need to go" he added coldly.

You stood there shocked, your eyes full of confusion. Why was he acting like this? Everything had been going fine. His hurtful words piercing you like a knife, you found your anger against him building up inside, about to burst at any given moment.

" What the fuck!" You said angrily as you pushed him away from you." I just told you that I have found something that may help you and then you tell me that this has all been a game for you" you said throwing the piece of paper at him." Amusing? Is that all I have been to you, a way to past the time as you said. You're lying Tommy".

"Stop Y/N" he warned you, pointing a finger at you as you approached him, so close your bodies were almost touching.

" What is wrong with you? Is this how you treated everyone. Use them, then discard them when you got bored. Like you did with the old lady on Watery Lane? For weeks I have convinced myself that you was more than the man I read about in those files, but you're just an angry sad bitter ghost of yourself" you replied your voice raising with each sentence, tears starting to fill your eyes.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted at you making you stumble as your back hit the wall.

" You've given up" you said tears now streaming down your cheeks. " You're a coward Thomas Shelby" you added as you clutched your arms around your stomach trying to comfort yourself.

" What the fuck did you just call me eh?" He said grabbing you by both your arms, pushing you back against the wall. " A fucking coward!" he fumed, his eyes now black, full of an anger that you had never seen before. The room suddenly getting colder...darker, you was petrified, his grip on your arms tightening.

" I'm not the one too afraid to live their fucking life" he seethed, as you looked down at the whites of his knuckles.

" You are afraid Tommy, afraid to move on... afraid to live again, what...who, are you waiting for? You sobbed.

His eyes narrowed at you as his squeeze got tighter.

"Tommy you're hurting me" you cried looking at his hold on you.

" You're just a stupid girl, bored with your own life. Why do you come here, hm? To fucking taunt me is that it, I think you like games too Y/N" he said clenching his jaw as he watched streams of tears fall down your cheeks. With little courage you had left, you looked up into his angry eyes, pleading him with unspoken words to let go of you. Suddenly snapping out of his anger Tommy looked down at his vicelike grip on your arms and let go stumbling back as he pushed your arm's away from him.

For a moment all you did was look at him, tears burning your skin, you was in utter shock. Tommy could barely look at you. Pushing past him you grabbed the paper you gave him out his hand and ran out the door not looking back. Just as you did you heard him call out after you.

"Y/N" he said quietly, shame riddled in his voice, as he sheepishly brushed his hand over the top of his head.

Ignoring him you ran down the stairs and out onto the street. You had just been a fun game to him. Just an amusement. What made him get so angry? His demeanor changed so quickly, you had never seen him so furious, not even the first time you encountered him in his office did he look like that. Were your words too much of a bitter pill for him to swallow? Or was Tommy the first one to inevitably crack, becoming too frustrated with the scenario you both found yourselves in?

Walking to the bus stop trembling from the cold air, your tears sticking to your checks you checked the times with blurry eyes. Realising you had missed the bus and with no one around to ask directions, you started walking the route back home. Alone in the dark, the cold chill of February numbing your hands you walked and walked the only thing on your mind, Tommy.

Wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, you realised you had walked onto Watery Lane. Slowly making your way down the street you stopped at the old ladies house, the warm light of her window welcoming you in. You approached her door and knocked twice. A few minutes later, she opened her front door and greeted you with a warm smile.

"Hello dear"

NEXT PART

Tag list: @theshelbyclan @babayaga67 @sysymei @nataliewalker93

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby #A Ghost Of A Man

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toms-cherry-trees · 4 months

Text

Don’t Hold My Hand (I’ll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 3

Summary: The day Thomas has been awaiting for is finally here and things don't go as planned. The first crack begins to show

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Tommy suffers a pain episode

Author’s note: I am so sorry this took so long! These past weeks have been terribly busy and I have been having a major writer crisis. Yet here we are and I hope you enjoy!

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark @zablife

《 Prev part -

Ever since their last encounter, Thomas’ attitude towards her shifted. Charlotte couldn’t say he respected her, for that would take more than a few harsh words and stern looks. But he seemed to have found something in her that piqued his interest. He still refused her help on the daily with the most basic of things, stubborn as a mule, or rather stubborn as a Shelby, but he granted her the ‘honour’ of a few words of conversation every now and then. And Charlotte used every chance she could to try and talk him out of his miracle doctor.

She brought up every argument she could muster, but they were all met with indifferent shrugs of the shoulders, dismissive waves of the hand and, when she pressed too hard, with Thomas turning his back to her and escaping her well intentioned words, seeking refuge in the safety of his veranda. Charlotte remembered time after time when she had to convince soldiers to follow treatment for their own good, to have their medicines and do the exercises and quit the alcohol and the laudanum. She never had to talk a man out of doing something, and definitely never a man like Thomas Shelby.

“Just tell me this, Thomas. Have you ever, at least once, met or even seen any of these veterans this doctor has claimed to cure?”

His silence sufficed as a reply.

The faithful day, Charlotte awoke with a bitter taste in her mouth and a heavy feeling in her stomach. A dull headache throbbed in her temples, since sleep had refused to find her, leaving her to toss and turn as the moon slowly gave way to the sun and the birds chirped in their branches. She did her best to carry on with her duties as usual, but every now and then she nervously glanced up towards the clock, waiting for the strike of 3 in the afternoon. The minutes felt too long and the hours too short. If she stared at the clock, the hands refused to move under her watchful gaze. But then she would turn her back for what felt like five minutes, and when she looked again, nearly an hour had transpired.

The doctor had sent beforehand some medicines that Thomas had to drink prior to the appointment. Charlotte had poured some onto a cup and stared at it intently, hoping that if she looked hard enough she could discern what exactly had been mixed into the ambary liquid, since the bottles had neither a chemist’s name nor any label. But other than identifying a hint of a sweet, herbal scent, she got nothing.

A taxi stopped before the gates just five minutes to three. Mrs. Gray and Charlotte both awaited in the foyer, standing side by side, to welcome the man who promised them the greatest miracle to be ever seen. They heard voices out the door, and Frances opened before he could knock. The second the doctor crossed the threshold, the bad feeling in Charlotte’s gut worsened.

The man before her dressed poorly. And not in the modest but clean way that most working class people did. His brown suit had definitely seen better days, perhaps better years too; frayed at the hems, the seams stretched out and the buttons hanging precariously from thinned out threads. Whoever had sewn in the elbow patches definitely had very little practice in tailoring. The shirt had taken a yellow hue from wear and time, and some bare threads hung from the collar. The shoes desperately needed a visit to the shoemaker, soles detached on the tips, the gap widening with each step.

Two women came with him, one on each side and just a step behind him, both with severe faces and strict postures. They dressed as nurses did, with the light blue dress and the Sister Dora cap upon the hair, but had black rubber aprons tied about the waist instead of the usual soft white linen she herself wore. Their appearance evoked more butchers than healers. Charlotte could certainly picture them wielding cleavers and with red splatters on their faces, not precisely from slicing meat.

Mrs. Gray shared her apprehensions, that much Charlotte could tell by the way the older woman lowered her cigarette slowly, one hand holding onto the ruby pendant hanging from her neck, twirling the gem between her fingers nervously. They both shared a tense and brief side glance, loaded with trepidation, when the doctor took Mrs Gray's hand and kissed it, his head lowered in a bow. She pulled away from his grasp delicately but firmly, the only betrayal in her collected facade being the slight narrowing of her eyes. He then tried to repeat the impish gesture with Charlotte; but the nurse’ hands remained firm behind her, not giving the audacious man even a speck of chance.

The doctor straightened, arms behind his back and puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. He appeared to not be unfazed by the tepid welcoming, although Charlotte easily noticed his barely concealed disappointment. Perhaps in other houses he had been received with tears and cheers like a hero who would save the day. She wondered if he had been sent off with the same enthusiasm after his magical treatments.

“Miss and Madame, I am Doctor Elias Keller '' He put a hand to his chest and bowed again, as if he were being presented to Queen Mary and her daughter in Buckingham Palace. “These are my assistants, Bertha and Henrietta” Both women nodded curtly once, still standing just a step behind Doctor Keller, like petty soldiers flanking a high ranking officer, ready to rush to do his bidding.

The man put out his hand again towards Mrs. Gray, mayhaps hoping for a handshake. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction, instead reaching for her cigarette case and lighting a new one. She took her time to take a long, deliberate drag and allowing the smoke to billow from her dark cherry lips before speaking

“I am Mrs. Gray, Mr. Shelby’s aunt. And this is Charlotte, Mr. Shelby’s private nurse” Charlotte had never heard her refer to Thomas as Mr. Shelby, but she understood the motive; she didn’t want to give Dr. Keller any chance of familiarity. As if she wanted, through subtle actions, to remind him of his position before he got too cocksure. In her line of work she had surely met one too many charlatans, Lottie thought, and she too could smell the rottenness in him.

Doctor Keller smiled, although the gesture looked perfectly practised and not at all sincere. Charlotte did notice that he looked her up and down out of the corner of his eye, and not in a bawdy way; quite the opposite, in fact. He seemed uncomfortable with her presence, a feeling that had appeared upon his face only after Mrs. Gray mentioned her to be a nurse. He fixed his bowtie, giving it a firm tug before addressing her

“A nurse, you say? You certainly don’t look like one, far too young you are. Perhaps a maid turned caretaker?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling with condescending amusement. Charlotte clenched her jaw, teeth nearly grinding in annoyance.

“War nurse, in fact. I served in convalescent homes and then field hospitals in France since 1916. I was awarded for distinguished service” She puffed out her chest at the last part. Even if her recognition strips and medal lay forgotten at the bottom of a drawer in her room she had the right to boast about them. She had earned them through hardship and sweat, and she would not let this mountebank look her down.

Doctor Keller’s lips tightened into a line, but he regained himself with such ease one might even doubt the gesture existed. He straightened up once more, his eyes fixated upon Mrs. Gray, every aspect of his posture and demeanour indicating he wished to keep Charlotte excluded from the conversation

“Well Mrs. Gray, I must not be delayed. Every second that I am not by my patient’s side it is a second lost. I am very devoted to them and wish to give them only the best of everything, including my time” Charlotte had to look aside to disguise a poorly stifled laugh. The man didn’t spare her a glance, but his guarding dogs both looked her down with a mixture of annoyance and indignation. The shorter, much older woman reminded Charlotte of her commanding matron in the ward when she first enlisted; they both bore a particular type of severity in their faces that could put generals to their knees. Charlotte had bowed her head before the matron; out of respect for her status and service, but she would not let herself be intimidated by the walking circus before her.

Mrs. Gray on the other hand, had Doctor Keller’s complete attention on her. The man kept trying to go up the stairs, but she kept trying to delay him just a few more minutes

“You have just arrived, why don’t we have tea in the drawing room? We can sit down and discuss what treatment are you planning to implement on my nephew” Her manicured hand came to rest on the doctor’s bicep, as if attempting to steer him away from the grand staircase. But the man, who mere minutes ago had presented himself as fulsome and flirty towards her, didn’t take her attempts kindly. He stepped away from her touch, straightening out his worn jacket.

“Mrs. Gray, I must go to my patient at once. I am a very busy man and see many soldiers like him a day. My time is of precious value and not to be so easily wasted. If you do not show me to his rooms I will be forced to leave and reconsider his position as my patient” He spoke fast, a shrill tone edging his voice, the perfectly polished facade he had brought with himself showing the first crack. He appeared nervous to not have the family’s support, surely not used to be resisted that way. Charlotte prayed internally that Mrs. Gray would push just a little harder, that she would stand her ground for a bit more, enough to scare this opportunist into running and never looking back.

But alas, Mrs. Gray relented, perhaps to spare herself of a round with her nephew when he found out she had blocked the way for his miracle doctor, or mayhaps because she too bore a miniscule sliver of hope that whatever they did to Thomas may work.

She gave Charlotte a look, a brief one, no more than a second, but loaded with many conflicting feelings. Her lips quivered from the effort it took her to not say word, and she had to remind herself mentally of her position within that house; just a worker, placed there to look after the Master of the house, not to give opinions or interfere with his businesses. Feeling her heart tighten, Charlotte led the way towards Thomas’ chambers. When they reached the double doors she pushed them open, allowing them inside before stepping in. But she found her path blocked by the older assistant, who crossed her arm on the threshold to hold her back

“Doctor Keller works alone. If he needs help he will have us. Please wait outside” The harshness of her voice matched perfectly that of her face, her broad frame firmly forcing Charlotte out of the room. Incensed, and perhaps frightened, Charlotte stood her ground, her shoulder pushing against the human wall that was the other woman.

“I work here. I am his caretaker. You will not touch a hair of his head without me there” She spoke perhaps with more passion and strength than her station required, but she felt an overwhelming need to protect Thomas. She could not let, on her best judgement, allow this swindler to beguile Mr. Shelby and endanger his life on false promises.

Just when she readied to perhaps commit acts unbefitting of her against that woman, Mr. Shelby spoke up, his voice calm but firm.

“Charlotte. It’s okay. Just go downstairs”

The assistant stepped aside briefly, allowing Charlotte a peek inside. Thomas sat in his chair near the windows, an unlit cigarette perched between two fingers. Doctor Keller kneeled at his side, holding his free hand in his own in a reassuring grasp. The sunlights poured abundantly through the panes, golden beams framing them.

“Charlotte. Please” He had never said please to her.

He nodded towards the doctor, and the man stood up, taking control of the wheelchair and leading Thomas away from the windows and from Charlotte’s view.

The last thing she thought she saw was a smile on Mr. Shelby’s face before the assistant slammed the door on her face.

Time moved painstakingly slowly. Hour after hour slipped away, the sun steadily making its way across the skies. Warm orange bathed the rooms towards the back of the house, shadows lengthening as afternoon gave way to sunset. Charlotte sat in the main room, a luxury she rarely granted herself. Before she laid a teapot of black currant tea which had not been touched, and biscuits she refused to eat. She had chewed her thumb in anxiousness, leaving the imprints of her own teeth on the pads.

At least five times during her wait, Charlotte made her way towards Thomas’ bedroom but stopped halfway through, doubting in her feet before slowly making her way back down. She wanted to go up and see for herself what they were doing; every fibre of her being urged her to. But at the same time she feared what she would see or hear there.

A half past six, the double doors closed with a dry thud, and heavy footsteps resonated in the stairwell. Charlotte scrambled from her seat, almost slipping on the fancy rug and knocking her hip against a side table as she rushed into the foyer. Somehow Mrs. Gray beat her to it, already standing at the foot of the stairs even though she hadn’t seen her around since the doctor’s arrival.

Doctor Keller marched down the stairs ceremoniously, his head held high, as if he had just rediscovered America. He had removed his jacket, and his yellowed shirt clung to his body with sweat. His assistants walked behind him, carrying his cases and a bag Charlotte swore they hadn’t brought with them. Their rubber aprons had been wiped clean, and for some reason, that didn’t sit right with Charlotte.

He addressed Mrs. Gray, once more his posture and actions disregarding Charlotte’s presence. The man took Mrs. Gray’s hands, and this time she didn’t push him back. His smile suggested reassurance and triumph.

“The procedure has gone well. Mr. Shelby is now upstairs in his bed, sleeping. He has been left exhausted and I suggest he is not disturbed until morning. I will return in a fortnight to repeat the treatment, and will continue to do so as many times as it is necessary, but I feel confident that progress will be seen before my return”

Mrs. Gray’s eyebrows knit together in worry, and although she didn’t grant the doctor the reward of a smile, she had lost some of the apprehension she bore in the morning.

“Can you tell me what exactly is it that you have done to him? What sort of treatment is this?”

Doctor Keller chuckled heartily, shaking his head while he patted her hand “Now Mrs. Gray, those are gruesome details that delicacies like yourself should not have to endure” Charlotte buffed at the last part. Mrs. Gray could be described as anything but delicate. And the comment obviously didn’t sit well with the older woman either, for she immediately dropped the doctor’s hands and took a step back.

“Allow me to see you out, Doctor Keller” Even in now obvious annoyance, Mrs. Gray displayed an affability that Charlotte envied; a possession and control of the emotions that very few mastered. The small group headed outside while the valet brought the car around. But Charlotte did not follow, instead sprinting up the stairs towards Thomas’ bedroom.

She peered inside quietly, walking on tiptoes. Every window had been opened, the room smelling of damp soil and autumn leaves, but the earthy scent could not entirely mask the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol. The breeze had scattered papers from the desk all over the floor, and she hurried to pick them up, knowing how much disorganisation ticked Thomas off. As she placed them on the desk, she noticed they had left a kidney dish forgotten, alongside with a syringe filled with a milkish substance. The needle, the length of Charlotte’s hand, was coated in red.

Slowly, fearfully even, she turned towards the bed. She didn’t know what she expected to see, perhaps a gory scene with blood splattered on the walls and pooling on the floor, or a massacre akin to those seen in the field hospitals in France. Yet she only saw Thomas, laying on his side and submerged in a deep slumber, dressed only in his sleeping shirt and underwear.

She approached him slowly, her keen eye noticing the layer of sweat covering his skin, hair sticking to his temples and beads rolling down the curve of his neck. She dampened a cloth in the basin and wiped his forehead, feeling his skin feverish to the touch. The corners of his mouth had reddened marks, as if they had been rubbed raw against something coarse. Frowning in confusion, Charlotte leaned back, moving to examine the rest of his body. She found nail marks in his palms, in lines of bloodied crescent moon shapes. Just as she moved to grab the first aid kit to clean them, she picked up a small but significant detail.

The sheets had been changed

That morning, the bed had pure white sheets of plain linen without any embellishment, and these had simple blue embroidery on the edges, intertwined with Thomas’ initials as laundry marks. Charlotte could simply not understand why they would change the sheets amidst such secrecy instead of asking her or one of the maids to handle it, and neither could she find said sheets no matter where she looked. Clearly, whatever had been spilled on those linens, the doctor and his devils in tow wanted to be kept secret.

Worry crept up Charlotte’s spine and clawed at her throat. She didn’t want to disturb Thomas’ slumber, not after seeing him sleeping better than he had ever done before. Yet she could not ignore her instincts, not when they screamed at her so loud they drowned every other thought in her mind.

So she sat by the bed and watched.

Waited and watched, while the sun gave way to the moon. A maid brought her food but she barely ate, feeling as if Thomas would burst into pieces or fade into mist if she took her eyes away from him for one second. Frances came near eleven, urging her to go to bed, but she only asked the older woman to take watch for a moment while she changed into her nightgown and robe. Even during the brief routine of closing the curtains and turning off lights she kept glancing towards him. But despite her best efforts she was only human, and the ever growing tension of the day had worn her out. She huddled in an armchair near the bed, a blanket around her legs and a small pillow supporting her neck. She had a book in her lap, but fatigue clouded her vision and foggied her thoughts. She swore she heard the grandfather clock chime 1 in the morning just before she fell asleep.

Charlotte woke up in a nightmare.

In the space between the land of dreams and the real world, guttural, horrific groans of pain seeped into her mind, making her hair stand on edge. Her heartbeat quickened and her feet chilled. She had to fight the drowsiness and exhaustion off her body and will her eyes to open. The room was illuminated only by moonlight coming from one curtain she had kept drawn back, casting phantasmagoric shadows on the walls. As her vision adjusted to the darkness and her senses sharpened, she sought the source of those sounds. Her first instinct was to go to the window, but she hadn’t moved a step when the grunts of pain returned, coming from very close to her.

Thomas doubled over himself in the bed, fingers digging on the sheets and his jaw locked tightly around a corner of the pillow, poorly attempting to drown his pained cries. Charlotte rushed to turn on a lamp, and when warm light bathed him, she let out a scream of her own.

Crimson blossomed in the back of his nightshirt, the stains growing like flowers along the length of his spine. When she pushed his shirt up, she saw bandages entirely soaked in blood, the coppery scent filling her nostrils. The flesh around them had reddened and swelled. Thomas kept writhing, only worsening things as whatever they had done to his back kept tearing open and bleeding anew.

His fingers dug into his own hair, pulling at the black strands in desperation as he muffled the screams by biting into his forearm. Somehow that grounded Charlotte, setting her back into the same steeliness that got her through the war. She rushed to the medicine cupboard and pulled out bottles, not even bothering to check the labels, for she knew what she looked for. The laudanum she kept at the very bottom, hidden behind all the taller bottles, had not been opened. She went to pour it in a spoon, but thought it better and instead poured it into a glass, estimating what dosage would put two adult men to sleep. With the amount of whiskey and other things Thomas consumed on the daily, she knew a spoonful would barely give him a tickle.

She climbed in bed next to him, trying to sit him up so he could drink. But Thomas seemed to be paralysed with pain, and even the tiniest of movements reignited the agony. Not a word passed his lips, only exclamations of pains mixed with heavy, slowly drawn gasps of air, for even the simple act of breathing had become a struggle.

“Thomas, Thomas, breathe. Breathe with me” She cooed soothingly, running her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress “I have your medicines. But you need to sit up a bit to drink” Her calm words fell on deaf ears, and she couldn’t blame him for not heeding her command. Charlotte wanted desperately to ease his suffering, but for that she had to move him, which would only worsen his pain. She hated she had to do it, but it was for his own sake.

“I am sorry about this” She murmured as she sat by his side, hooking her arms under his heavy body the best she could to pull him up. The scream he emitted was otherworldly, and she could only silence it by putting her hand in his mouth, letting him bite her flesh like a rabid dog. The pain shot up her arm but she ignored it, not moving until his jaw had unclenched. She had managed to prop him upright against her chest, with her own back resting against the headboard. His head laid limp against her bosom, and the still fresh blood stained her robe. But none of that mattered at the moment.

Charlotte tried to get him to drink with the spoon but he refused to open his mouth. Sweat now poured profusely down his face and neck, giving his skin an unhealthy glistening. Even in the faint light she could see his complexion had paled, but at least it appeared the bleeding had stopped. Charlotte forced the spoon past his lips, but he only splattered on it, spilling the laudanum everywhere. When she tried again, he shook his head like a child refusing his porridge. She sighed in frustration, and also because his weight against her made it hard to breathe.

“Thomas, please. It will do you good. I promise it. You will feel better”

Again, nothing. Every muscle in his body was painfully tense, and she could see the vein in his forehead popping and the pulse beating strong and quick in the side of his neck. She placed a tender hand on the side of his face, her thumb running up and down the sharp length of his jaw to ease the tension. After a few minutes she noticed a slight improvement and how his lips parted open. Lottie seized that opportunity and brought up the spoon again. And this time, he sipped the medicine.

“That’s it. Take it slowly. This will make you feel better Tommy”

The pet name escaped her without thinking, and honestly, she didn’t give it a second thought. His aunt called him that so often that it had simply slipped into her vocabulary.

Spoon by spoon, slowly and carefully, Thomas drank the laudanum. The medicine acted quickly, and soon the relaxation became visible in his body. His muscles loosened, his breathing calmed and his pulse returned to normal.

Minutes ticked by in peaceful calmness, a stark contrast to the abrupt awakening she had. A brief glance to the clock showed her a quarter to four. Still a long time to go before sunrise. And a lot to be done. The bed had been left a disaster, as had Thomas himself. She would not bother with the sheets but the bandages and his clothes needed changing. It took her some serious shifting and pulling to get out from under him, but at last Charlotte managed to lay him down, propped comfortably on some pillows. She laid him as comfortable as she could, since she doubted she would be able to move him again.

The shirt was a goner, so she had no qualms in cutting it to shreds to slip it off his body. The bandages soon followed, alongside the thick folds of gauze which were now blood soaked. The sight underneath stole the breath from her lungs

A series of wounds traced the length of Thomas’ spine, from lower to mid back. Perfectly lined puncture wounds, in pairs, going up at regular intervals. Whatever needle had been used surely resembled more an icepick, for the holes seemed to have been drilled in his flesh. Charlotte could not even fathom what sort of procedure Tommy had been put through, but now her other findings made sense. The nail marks on his own hands from where he has fisted them so tight, and the abrasions on his mouth, surely a leather strip or a simile had been put in his mouth as a gag. Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought how he had willingly subjected himself to torture of the worst kind just for a crumb of hope.

She washed him clean as best as she could in that position, rinsing away the blood and sweat. She didn’t have any medicines at hand to apply to the wounds, so she only rebandaged them, making a mental note to ring a real doctor the next day for some real medicines. Since the sheets could not be changed nor could he be dressed again, Charlotte laid some clean towels around him and tucked him tight with the blankets.

As she moved around him, she paid close attention to his face for the first time. Without that perennial scowl on his face he appeared much younger, even under all that messy hair and unkempt beard. His eyelashes were enviably long, casting shadows upon his high cheekbones even under the weak light of the bedside lamp. His nose had a straight slope, and his jaw a particular sharpness, noticeable despite the beard. He was objectively very handsome, a man girls would surely fawn over.

Just as she readied to retake her watching post, Charlotte noticed again the nail marks on his palms, now swelling up and the skin purpling. She took his hand on her lap as she cleaned it gently, wrapping a simple bandage around them. Just as she moved to stand, his hand gripped tightly the fabric of her robe, stalling her moves.

When she turned to face him, she realised Thomas had been awake this whole time. His eyes were open, and the ice had melted from them, giving way to a sharp shade of blue, vibrant even under the obvious exhaustion. His eyes fixed upon her, and they held each other’s gazes for a moment. Charlotte had stared into those eyes many times, and had read many hidden emotions behind the blueness, but that night she saw something new, something she never expected to see in him; vulnerability. Raw, deep, unsuppressed vulnerability. The first glimpse of the man behind the carefully crafted iron mask.

It felt almost wrong to be allowed to see the facade crack, like being made privy to a secret she felt unworthy of. At last, she lowered her eyes first, working on putting aside her medical supplies, just to keep her hands and her concentration busy.

“Sleep, Tommy” The words were hushed, her voice meant to be soothing, although he wouldn’t need much soothing with the dosage of laudanum she gave him “Rest will do you good”

Charlotte moved to stand, but he moved to grip her wrist instead, his hold firm but not hurtful. She looked up to him again, confusion lacing her features.

“Stay”

The words were spoken through great effort, coming out raspy and strained, but perfectly clear.

“I will not leave you. I will sit right by your bed” She reassured him, but he didn’t let go. In a sudden movement he pulled on her arm, throwing her off balance and tossing her rather unceremoniously on the bed, so that their bodies laid close together. She felt her heart rise to her throat, eyes wide and breaths quick at the sudden proximity. She wondered if the pain medicines had loosened Thomas’ inhibitions. Or perhaps he was just in desperate need of some of the human contact he often rejected.

For long minutes Tommy just stared at her wordlessly, not offering an explanation as to why he did that, nor letting go of her arm either. Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks, yet she could not look away from him either. The silence lingered until she chose to break the spell.

“Tommy?”

His fingers slid down from her wrist, lacing his hand with hers. His next words held a longing and rawness Charlotte didn’t believe possible in him.

“Don’t leave me alone. Not tonight"

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