#'why doesn't tommy just Say it' I remember what it feels like to not be able to spit the words out

[callsign-datura]

retired!simon who you get to know after his last deployment. he doesn't tell you about his past, he doesn't tell you about what his career was. all he tells you is that he's a troubled man. retired!simon who you fall in love with, despite his many struggles and closed-off behavior. retired!simon who skips the dating period. automatically claims you as his spouse once you both agree to be together. he's an older man-- in his words, "too old 'ta date". retired!simon who cooks, does laundry, keeps things straightened up on top of managing to remember every date that is important to you. birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, etc. retired!simon who never had his birthday celebrated as a child and doesn't let you celebrate it, but also never happened to tell you why. you just assumed birthdays weren't his thing. retired!simon who comes through the front door and calls out to you. "m'home, love,"

he pauses when he hears you giggling. you come down the hall with a cupcake and card in hand, and you immediately go to greet him. "welcome home, si," you say quietly, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "i know you don't like celebrating your birthday, buuut i just wanted you to feel special for once since you've been working so hard recently." your expression softens when his eyes twitch and he looks away. "i made cupcakes, and dinner's done..."

you trail off as he shrugs off his jacket with a pensive expression. "si? is something wrong?" you ask, reaching up to touch his shoulder. he grunts in response, but he's shaking. he's shaking because he forgot about his birthday, but now... now he remembers being scolded. he remembers having a beer bottle thrown at his head during a fight with his father, on his birthday. he remembers limping back to the safehouse, bleeding out, wondering if his birthday would also be his death day. he remembers tommy nearly overdosing on his birthday. he remembers everything.

he looks at you, his pupils dilated. your eyebrows quirk in worry, and you murmur his name as you reach for his face. he tenses once again but ultimately leans into your touch, his lips quivering and his hands shaking at his sides. retired!simon who decides it's time to tell you. sits down with you, and explains why he doesn't like birthdays. he tells you about his mother, his father and his brother. he's vague about it, but you listen nonetheless.

you listen so closely, and you even begin to cry. he's surprised that you feel so much empathy for him that you cry over his story-- and he's slightly moved by your compassion. he expects you to be angry that he never told you, but... "oh, simon," you whisper, your tone thick with emotion as you look up at him with tears in your eyes. "I'm sorry. i didn't know. that's awful..." and you embrace him so tightly his breath hitches. he leans into the embrace and tucks his face into your hair. "m'sorry, love. shoulda told you a long time ago."

you shake your head back and forth. "no, don't apologize. it's not your fault. i understand why you would feel as if you have to hide this from me," you begin. "but you can trust me. i'd never judge you. i love you and i want to help." again, he's moved by your compassion. he's silent for a moment before he utters, "okay." "take your time. you don't have to spill your heart out to me now. i want you to do it at your own pace..." his chest tightens. you're being so accepting, so understanding, and he doesn't understand why. he doesn't understand how, but he appreciates it. your warmth thaws his heart and his mind, once frozen by his trauma and his history. he wonders if you're really willing to stick around. he knows it's not easy to deal with him. he expects you to leave after he tells you everything, but you don't...

retired!simon who decides to celebrate his birthday with you from now on.

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[tobi-smp]

I don't want to hold anything against this specific person, because I Remember the discourse that lead to this and I know exactly how it could get passed around and warped (either through telephone or someone's own memory shifting with time).

that said, I never liked that discourse specifically Because it was a clear misreading of the text, and what better opportunity do I have to talk about it now.

the context was the bench trio therapy stream. tommy had been beaten to death by dream, sat in limbo for months, and then revived and told Explicitly that dream was planning on escaping prison and tormenting the rest of the server.

the mindset that tommy is in is that he Has to do something, but he's deeply traumatized by what's happened to him. he's Scared to go back to the prison, but he has no choice but to do it for the safety of everyone else in the server.

the "therapy stream" was bench trio Trying to do exposure therapy on tommy to help him work through his trauma in the lead up to attempting to infiltrate the prison. and the entire point is that they Absolutely Were Not actually helping.

what they were Actually doing was triggering tommy by exposing him to things that he was traumatized by, because they didn't actually know how to do exposure therapy and what they were trying to do wasn't healthy in the first place.

so the Context of this conversation is tommy desperately trying to just, Get Rid Of his trauma (something that is absolutely not possible) while entering a worse and worse mindset because he was intentionally triggering himself.

Likewise, the context for Tubbo's half of the conversation is that he Very Intentionally represses his own trauma, both from Himself and from other people. he puts himself in a little box that he buries under the floorboards and asks people to ignore the way the boards creak when they walk on him.

there's a million ways you could cut Why he does this. part it is his people pleasing, willingly pushing himself down for the sake of everyone else no matter how painful. seeing Himself as an accessory to the people he cares about, rather than a whole complete and important person. and in part because it feels Safer, it's Safer to pretend that nothing hurt him.

and Why that is is complicated. part of it is External. he doesn't Get to be angry about what he's been through, because the people he's angry At will just hurt him again. and if he thinks about how he's hurt then he Will get angry, so he just Won't Think About It.

and part of it is that I don't think he wants to process his trauma any more than tommy does. because it's painful, because he doesn't have the tools to actually work through it, because they aren't Safe so he can't afford to break down now (trouble is, there never Seems to be a "safe" time to think about himself).

they're the Repression Brothers. the difference being that tommy's at a different stage of it. not a Healthy One, but different.

tommy spent months not being able to put into words what exile was, what pogtopia was, was the final control room was. and he still won't be able to put it in plain words for some time from here.

but he's reached the point where he Can't ignore it anymore, but he still doesn't know what to Do about it. he's still frustrated with an (to an extent) Ashamed Of his trauma. he feels Lesser Than he was before and wants it to all just go away and go back to Normal.

he's doing this because he Has To, because he Has to be strong enough to fight dream. because if he's too scared to do it then he'd be sacrificing everyone else's safety.

he and tubbo are doing the Same Thing in different fonts, sacrificing their well being for the people Around Them, including Each Other.

so, lets go back to that moment that started all of this.

the exposure therapy was on the final control room section, with tommy working through having been killed by dream.

tubbo mentions that he died that night too, and tommy says something to the effect of "you did, but you have thicker skin."

this has been taken out of context to mean "you did, but I have it worse than you," when IN CONTEXT it means "you did, but you're stronger than me," or more accurately "you did, But I'm Worse Than You."

tommy does not see his trauma in the context of stupid apologist discourse. he sees his trauma as something that makes him Worse, as something he Shouldn't Feel. as something that makes him Weaker than everyone else, who Obviously are so much more put together than he is.

when he says this he's not saying that he's more important than tubbo, he's putting himself down in comparison TO tubbo.

and this is absolutely still harmful ! This is legitimately one of tommy's character flaws ! but it is Not the selfishness that people make it out to be.

it's tommy accidentally hurting other people by seeing Himself negatively. it's an unhealthy relationship with mental health, and a Realistic one considering the circumstances and setting.

likewise, it's Just As Much born from tubbo's own unhealthy coping mechanisms. tommy assumes that what happened didn't bother tubbo the way it did him because Tubbo wants him to think that.

Tubbo doesn't let tommy see how much he's hurting, which in turn feeds into this cycle.

tubbo assumes he Has to shove his trauma down for tommy's sake (for the sake of Everyone he cares about), and so tommy assumes tubbo was just Stronger than him and wants desperately to just shove his own trauma away the way tubbo seems to be able to.

this moment IS tragic, it IS an example of the two of them hurting each other. but it's BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH THEY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER !!!

Both Of Them are trying to be strong enough to protect the other, and it's Hurting Them. it's unhealthy, but it 's not Malicious. it's self-sacrificial not Selfish. it's not something they've done to each other but what's been done To Them by the world they live in. what they've done to Themselves trying to live in it.

this shouldn't have been a discourse moment, it should've been clingyduoers tearing each other apart in the street at the tragedy of it

[rcmclachlan]

Tommy Kinard, from a long line of Gloucester fishermen. Hence his penchant for ill-fitting jeans, flannel, and affection via bitchiness.

He and Evan are sitting on the little bench outside The Causeway waiting for their chowder—best in the country, hands down—when Evan, who's been quietly studying boats in various stages of winter wrapping across the road, suddenly asks, "Why did you leave here? It's awesome. The downtown area looks like something out of a postcard—"

"It does not," Tommy interjects. "Rockport's downtown, on the other hand..."

"—and the beaches feel like real beaches, even if they do smell like shit."

Tommy tilts his head back and inhales the heavy, but comfortingly familiar stench of low tide. "I left because the town's unofficial motto used to be 'Come for the heroin, stay because you've developed a crippling heroin addiction.'"

Unimpressed, Evan nudges him with an elbow, then jumps to his feet to get the door for a family of six who will be waiting at least a month for a table big enough to accommodate them to open up.

The Causeway is approximately the size of an elevator car. Despite its outward appearance, it's relatively new; it hadn't been there when Tommy was a kid. The little cinema next door had been, though, and he feels a surge of pride for the Williams family that it's still going after all this time.

"No, but seriously." Evan hunkers back down next to him. "Why'd you leave?"

"Why'd you leave Hershey?" Tommy counters.

The corner of Evan's mouth twitches knowingly. He's got Tommy's number in a way no one else does. "You know why I left. But you could've stayed here and done anything. Massachusetts might be even more progressive than California—I mean, it was the first state to legalize gay marriage. Plus, I know there's an air base nearby."

"Hanscom," Tommy says. "It belongs to the Air Force and I wouldn't have been caught dead joining them."

Evan gives him a dubious look. "But the Army was okay?"

"Don't you know, Evan? The Army is for real men," he says with a grin, putting an emphasis on it so Evan knows just whose words he's parroting. "The Air Force is for fa—"

"Yeah, okay, I got it," Evan says loudly, cutting a furtive glance at the people on the other bench, who are too busy looking at their phones and not talking to each other to pay attention to any casual homophobia. "You're gonna get us run out of town."

"Please, it's Gloucester. If anything, they'll probably join in."

Evan deflates a little, pouting, and Tommy is helpless against the urge to press a kiss to his hair. What Evan doesn't understand is that Massachusetts is like an impressionist painting: beautiful if you're standing back far enough to see the whole of it, but get closer and it's as ugly as anywhere else.

"My point was," Tommy continues, "I left because I needed something more than what this place could give me, same as you. And also I needed to be somewhere with a spring wind chill above -10°."

"You bitch if the temps hit above 70," Evan points out.

"I also bitch if the day ends in Y." Tommy shrugs. "Complaining is the official state sport, especially when it comes to the weather."

Checking his phone for the time, Evan heaves an impatient sigh and drops his chin onto Tommy's shoulder. He's too used to LA's food trucks to last a minute here. "There's so much here, though. Like, Worcester looked fun."

Tommy winces. "It's pronounced 'Woo-ster'."

Wide-eyed, Evan lifts his head. "You're shitting me."

"I shit you not," Tommy says. "And Worcester's okay. It's big, though. And a pain in the ass to navigate."

"What's beyond Worcester?"

"Nobody knows." He coughs out a 'fuck' when Evan buries an elbow in his gut.

Laughing, Evan echoes, "'Fahk.' There's the accent I've been hoping to hear. I mean, heeyah. Try and hide it all you want, Kinard, I know what you are."

"Okay, Hershey, I dare you to say 'water' like a normal person," Tommy can't help but tease. "Remember, there's no U or D in it."

Eyes sparkling, Evan presses close with a shit-eating grin and says slyly, "I'll show U where to put a D."

Before Tommy can shove him off the bench for that one, the door to the restaurant opens and a head pops out. "Order for Kinard?"

"Saved by the clams," Evan chortles, standing up when Tommy goes to grab the bag from the kid. He gives a long, luxurious stretch, and Tommy can't help but let his eyes be drawn to Evan's belly when his shirt rides up. "Where do you want to eat? We could go sit down by the beach. There's a big dahlia garden display there."

Huh. They still do that? That's actually kind of sweet, but Tommy has plans and they don't involve the public.

"If you don't mind a bit of light trespassing, we'll head up to Mussel Point. The view's well worth it."

Intrigued, Evan lifts his brows. "Trespassing? Gee, Tommy, you take me to all the best places."

That snark is nowhere to be found half an hour later when Evan's full of clam chowder and getting ruthlessly jacked off while the ocean bays at his feet, but Tommy doesn't call him on it.

[wandaslullaby]

idea

bestfriends mother!top! wanda x bottom!r

r's bestfriend and r go to a party where r's bsf hooks up with someone and r was making out with a random stranger. when its time to leave r's bestfriend tells r to go home and she'll join later (the bsf decides to hookup w the person)

r goes home pretty late to find wanda still up waiting for her daughter and r. when wanda sees r covered in light red hickeys, she can't help but feel possesive over the young woman.

I kinda of took a twist on it. I really hope you like it!

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Test Track || Wanda Maximoff

summary: it's time Wanda made you aware that lurking in corridors and perving on her isn't nice at all.

warnings: 18+ please don't read if you are a minor. overstimualtion, fingering, dom!wanda, manipulation kink, mommy kink, dark wanda.

You wasn't exactly up for going to a party but, Tommy was adamant that it will do you some good. Things have been a little stressful especially with Henry, your boyfriend that was rumoured to be sleeping around with Cassie Lang. You didn't want to believe Billy but you knew that Billy wouldn't lie to you.

"I think I might stay put. I don't really want to see Henry." You mutter under your breath. Tommy was in the mits of debating whether he should wear some eyeliner or not. Putting down the brush, he turns over.

"He might not even be there. There's no way that judgemental prick will be at Peter's party."

"Cassie is best friend's with Kate. Kate is best friend's with Peter. Of course she will be there."

Tommy signed, "I mean you could just stay with my mum? She's just going to be watching I love Lucy and complain about Dad."

You never understood why Vision, Tommy and Billy's dad left Wanda stranded. Wanda was the definition of an god especially the way she was built. Her figure was mesmerising, she always knew how to flaunt her curves and embrace her body. She was a little different to the other mom's, which is why you always hang out here.

Wanda wasn't judgemental towards Tommy, she embraced his differences a long time ago. She was the reason why Tommy was so open about his sexuality, Wanda even admitted that she had a love affair in the 80s.

"Would you mind? I honestly feel like I'll just be bringing the mood down and I know you want to try and impress Flash."

Tommy shook his head, "I'd rather you be comfortable and yourself then being someone you aren't. You know that you shouldn't hide your emotions or fake a smile for anyone."

You charged off the bed and gave Tommy a massive hug. "I love you. Please be safe and wear protection."

"You know I do." He laughed. "I'll just go tell my mum that you are staying. Do you also want to stay over?"

A whole evening with Wanda and the possibilities that were swimming in your mind shouldn't ever be vocalised. You knew that there was something different about you, but you never really questioned the tingly feelings that your clit felt when Wanda wore a swimsuit that one summer's day.

You could still remember the shape of her tits bouncing as she played volleyball in the pool. The wetness that stained your bikini from just watching her made your cheek blush and how you remember how Wanda only had to battled her eyelashes to let a moan rip through your lips.

"Y/N?" Tommy said, waving his hand in your face. "You okay?"

You shivered, "Yes, sorry. I was just day dreaming. What were you saying?"

"I was asking if you wanted to sleep over? The spare room is already made up and has pretty much all your stuff there already."

"Yeah I'll stay. I hope Wanda doesn't -"

You were cut off by the women herself, "I hope Wanda doesn't what?"

Frozen in place, the next sentence that left your mouth was definitely a clue that you were somewhat Infatuated by her.

"Y/N? Baby, are you okay?" Wanda giggled, watching you stutter over your words.

"All good, Miss Maximoff." you squealed out before slapping your hand over your mouth.

She just hummed at you, turning her focus to Tommy. "Are you ready to go?"

Tommy nodded, "Yeah. I think Billy is going to meet me there, I think he is going to pick up MJ and Ned."

Wanda frowned but her eyes sparkled with mischeif beneath deep-set eyebrows, "Aren't you going, sweetheart?"

You shook your head, "No. I was going to ask if I can stay here? I won't be a bother. I'll be here in Tommy's room watching reruns of Modern Family."

"Of course you can, baby. You are more than welcome to join me? I will only be alone otherwise."

"Yeah sure. I don't mind. We can watch I love Lucy." You say with too much excitement, causing Tommy to give you a weird look.

"Don't worry, baby. I've got plenty of activities we can do."

After a long, seductive minute Tommy excused himself. "I'm off. I'll see you all soon, please don't scare her away Mom."

"I think she will be just fine, Tommy. Go and have a great time. I'm sure when you are back, Y/N will be begging to never leave this house."

"If you say so." Tommy said, giving you one last hug before sprinting down the stairs. Once you both heard the door shut, Wanda left the room.

"If you know what's best, baby. You would follow and not sit there, with your mouth open." Wanda's voice trailed to your clit, making you jump.

You got up from Tommy's bed and followed Wanda's voice, you were slightly confused on Wanda's words and the fact that she has suddenly started to call you baby. Wanda has never called you that, she would only use that nickname to her own kids.

Once you made it down to the lounge, Wanda was already situated with your favourite snacks and drinks. It was like she knew you were going to stay.

"You aren't very well mannered are you? Lurking in doorways, staring at my tits and not to mention, the mess you made on my sun loungers last week? You are luckily that it smelt good, but disappointed that you didn't apologise to me."

You completely felt undone, beyond embarrassed at the humiliation you just receive from Wanda. Your legs began to wobble in fear, slightly mortified that she caught you red handed being a pervert.

"Nothing to say?" Wanda hummed. "You should probably start with getting your bum over here, and rest over my lap. Someone should treat you how to respect an older women."

You were too stunned to speak. Wanda's eyes began to glow in crimson red, a streak of light hit your head enabling you to walk towards her. You had no idea how you were walking towards Wanda, already bowing to her punishment she was about to give you.

"Now. This won't hurt as much as you think it would. I used to give both my boys this punishment when they were naughty, but since you haven't learnt anything that your lousey mother. It's time for you to really know what happens to bad girls that misbehave."

You obeyed her immediately, not quite knowing how your body was so obedient with Wanda's words but for the sake of your dignity, you laid across Wanda's lap clutching the blanket ready to accept fate.

Wanda began to admire your back, the way you arched was nearly as perfect as she wanted you to be. Your shorts began to detach from your body, feeling the cool air hit your bare bum. She bent down to give the back of your neck a gentle kiss before she slapped your bum with a paddle.

You winced at the pain, muffling your cries as Wanda repeated her action multiple times. The notes that were stuck between your lips were feeding Wanda into only punishing you more. She knew that moans were coming, the way your back arched for her was all the clarification she needed that you were just as she expected you to be, a curious little bunny.

"I'll only stop until you give me a moan, baby. I know you are getting a little agitated, the little patch of wetness forming on your panties is telling you that you should just admit. It's not good for silly girls to deny an orgasm." Wanda whispered, watching you squirm. "I really didn't want to punish you, baby but, how could I not?"

Wanda could hear the muffled cries, she knew that you were overstimulated already. But that only made her want to push you further, see how much she could unleash from you.

When you felt yourself being flipped over, tears were swimming in your eyes. Cheeks all red and puffy, Wanda favourite colour. She cooed you, stroking your cheek with her finger. "Oh my sweet baby. Is Wanda being a little too harsh on you? Is she not being fair?"

You nodded, sniffling as your eyes dropped to where her other hand was going. Words weren't coming out of your mouth, so Wanda assumed that her hand was good to roam. She was shocked by how bare you were, there was no hair in sight which made Wanda's mind burst into ideas.

As you were coming down, not letting yourself get into more of a state. Wanda made an 8 on your lower belly, humming a siren song that she learnt from a spell once. It was a simple tune that apparently lured young girls to give permission to anyone who sings the song access to their mind, soul and body. Wanda never believed in spells or supernatural until coming to Westview, a town that needed a little bit of colour.

"You have such a pretty pussy, baby. I can't believe that you are allowing me to admire it. What would Henry think? Watching how aroused you get from a 40 year old women? Such a naughty girl letting your best friend's mother touch you? Oh the looks you will get from your pupils when they learn that you perved over a mother. You wouldn't even last a day without getting called horrible names."

Wanda was purposely planting sick scenarios in your head, it was all part of the plan to secluded you from life, to only need Wanda. She wanted to fully feed horrible visions of your life if Tommy found out what you were doing. "What would Tommy think as I tell him how soaked you were for his mum? He only ever wanted a friend to have for his own but now, he can't. He would never forgive you for what you are about to let me do. You wouldn't want Tommy to find out would you?"

"N-Never... I won't tell him." You whispered, unsure on how you are allowing Wanda to get into your mind. It was like she was wiping away all the happy memories you had with Tommy replacing them with horrible memories of him hating you. "P-Please.. Don't take Tommy away from me. H-He is all I have..."

Wanda smiled, "That's a lie, bunny. You have me now. I'll be the one to make sure that your life isn't turned upside down."

"T-Thank you, Wanda."

"Let me just take your mind off all that for now? How about you just lay there, and let me take care of this embarrassing situation you've got yourself in."

You allowed yourself to let go, not letting any more happy memories fade as Wanda blew in your face. She waited until you were settled nicely, and slowly began to rub your clit. Wanda made sure that she wouldn't be to nasty, but to really work you to have the best orgasm of your life.

She began to lower her hand, cupping your pussy whilst using her thumb to rub against your clit. Circles were formulating rapidly as Wanda watched your eyes widen as she loosely slipped a finger barely inside, seeing how you would react. Taking her time with you, Wanda's finger wormed her way inside you. Taking in your walls as she explored further inside you, seeing how you would take not only her finger but her rising dildo that suddenly was rising.

Wanda pumped her finger heavy inside you, hearing the muffled moans from your lips as she accidentally let her another finger slip inside you. "You are doing so well, baby. I love how well you are taking my fingers, it's like your pussy was made for me."

You slightly moved your head up, watching Wanda's motions. You couldn't even blink before her fingers disappeared inside you. She continued to plump her fingers inside you, causing a heavy moan to escape your lips catching Wanda's stare.

"Do you want to see baby? Do you want to see how easily I can slide my third finger inside you?" Wanda cooed as she used her free hand to carefully caresses your neck. You watched as Wanda picked up the paste, continuously pumping her fingers inside you. You suddenly felt a nip that cause yourself to throw your head into Wanda's neck, you couldn't explain the sensation that was brewing inside you. It was as something was trying to escape but Wanda's fingers weren't acknowledging your need.

You clutched onto Wanda's hair, crying out for attention as Wanda went faster and harder inside you. The sensation was only building up, causing Wanda to hiss as you pulled her a chuck of hair out. You buried your face in her neck, moaning louder to see if Wanda can hear you but her eyes was so fixated on her fingers pumping you, that it took a loud scream to get Wanda to finally allow her fingers to hit your spot, and sink into the couch as she felt a monsoon of frustration flood her fingers. She felt your body let loose, and your hair slowly releasing her hair whilst you moaned into her chest.

"It's okay, baby." Wanda whispered, gently stroking your back. "Mommy's got you."

[theweewooshow]

Buck wakes up to his limbs being moved, to the mattress shifting with the weight change of Tommy getting out of bed.

He’s bleary-eyed as he lifts his head, a questioning sound leaving his throat before he’s even opened his mouth, trying to figure out why his sleep is being interrupted when he’s still so tired.

Tommy shushes him and leans down, kisses above his eyebrow—his birthmark, his favorite spot to kiss soft like this.

Buck looks up at him, his mouth trying to form the word stay.

Tommy kisses his forehead again and says, “Go back to bed, sweetheart.”

And Buck is tempted to sink back into the warm sheets and let sleep take him again because his body is sore and he’s bone-tired and weary after a tough shift yesterday, but then he hears the shower start up and remembers that Tommy switched shifts with someone from another shift so they could go to their kid’s dance recital today.

So he rolls over and sits up, stretching out his arms and his neck and his back, getting some of the kinks out before he drags himself out of bed with a groan.

He trudges downstairs to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He shakes the fog from his brain as he blinks at the machine, watching it sputter to life.

He pours himself a cup when it’s done and pours one for Tommy too, who he knows will be out of the bathroom soon.

He sips coffee from his mug, taking stock of what fruit they have left and what breakfast proteins they have in the fridge as he formulates a plan for breakfast.

He’s cutting up some bananas so he can make a Bananas Foster topping for pancakes when he hears Tommy coming down the stairs.

He smiles when Tommy slides up behind him, warm from the shower and smelling like Buck’s shampoo.

“Morning,” Tommy says, wrapping his arm around his waist, leaning his full weight against him, his chin tucked over Buck’s shoulder as he yawns into his neck.

“Good morning,” Buck says, turning his head to press a kiss to Tommy’s temple.

“Thought I told you to go back to sleep,” Tommy says, voice light and teasing as his hand travels across Buck’s chest to rest on his shoulder, effectively wrapping Buck up in him, making him feel held and warm and too many emotions for this early in the morning.

“You know I don't always like following orders,” Buck says, smirking as he returns to cutting up the bananas in front of him.

“Yeah, when you’re being a brat,” Tommy says, a fond sort of exasperation creeping into his voice. He nuzzles into Buck’s neck, his nose pressed against the bolt of his jaw.

“I didn't want you to have to eat breakfast alone,” Buck admits after a second, utterly incapable of being insincere when Tommy has him in his arms like this, when he keeps him close and just doesn't let go.

It’s one of his favorite things about being with Tommy, how when they’re alone together, Tommy always wants him pressed right up against him, no matter what they’re doing—whether it’s watching TV or cooking or doing laundry, he just always wants Buck close to him.

It was a surprising thing to learn about Tommy—how clingy he actually is. He seemed more aloof when they first met, but once he let Buck in, the shift was pretty quick. And Buck is absolutely not going to complain about that, not when he gets to have this whenever he wants.

He leans back into Tommy’s embrace when he finishes prepping the bananas, letting the warmth of Tommy’s body seep into him, letting his hands drift along Tommy’s arms around him, his fingers tracing up and down his skin.

“You’re sweet,” Tommy whispers, his lips pressing soft, deliberate kisses to Buck’s neck.

Buck would normally be more than content to stay here, wrapped up as he is—to turn his head and brush his nose against Tommy’s before their lips touch, to bring his hand up and curl his fingers into Tommy’s hair to keep him where he wants him, to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, to kiss him until his mouth is sore and red and the air around them is warmed through with the heat of their kisses—but they’re on a tight schedule this morning with only another hour or so before Tommy has to leave.

So even as he basks in the quiet comfort of this moment, he asks, “You gonna let me make you breakfast?”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, his mouth pressing firmer to the junction of his neck and shoulder. “In a minute,” he murmurs.

Buck hums in response, closing his eyes. He’s got no place to be but right here.

—

also posted on ao3!

[spenceragnewfics]

f!reader losing virginity to spencer ? maybe as "just friends" to help her "get it out of the way" but they really like each other.

So...this was supposed to come out on Spencer's birthday but work and life got in the way...sorry.

WE’RE JUST FRIENDS? | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader | 18+ MINORS DNI

(also, yes the girl in the photo has a certain skin color but it's not indicative of the reader. I try to make these open to everyone as possible.)

TW: Smut, oral (f! receiving), fingering, cursing, two idiots in love

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

DESCRIPTION: You have told you're best friend Spencer everything...well except two things. You're in love with him and you're still a virgin. Two things you never plan to tell him...until you do.

She never understood why people couldn’t just be friends. Opposite genders can be friends and not have any romantic feelings. Is it kind of hypocritical coming from her…yeah, but not totally. 

You see, Y/N has feelings for her best friend since college but is purely platonic with all her other male friends; Chanse, Shayne, Tommy, Ian, Anthony, and all the other guys at Smosh. She knows the main reason she’s attracted to Spencer and has been for years, he’s himself. It’s hard to explain unless you know Spencer but what made her fall for him…is him.

It’s not like her feelings are so intense she couldn’t date anyone else, in fact, she’s dated a couple of guys but they haven’t lasted for vastly different reasons. One thing has been one of the constant reasons for the break up, you don’t want to sleep with them.

She doesn't know why, but she has yet to date anyone who has made her feel comfortable enough to lose her virginity to, not wanting to regret it later on. That’s something she hasn’t told anyone, not even Spencer because she doesn't know how to explain why she hasn't yet. It’s something she never thought she would tell him until one night of drinks, pizza, and gaming. A semi-regular night for the two of them, especially after a long shoot week.

It was barely midnight, the two of them had been hanging out for like four hours at this point just talking, eating, and trying to beat the other at Mario Kart or play duos on Fortnite.

The night had gotten away from them after an epic Battle Royale about an hour ago where they celebrated with an extra drink and chatting. Like everything, somehow they got onto the topic of dating, both of them being single for almost, or over in Spencer's case, a year. That then delved into talking about more intimate stuff, “Honestly, I’m so fucking happy that I lost my virginity in high school. I could not imagine still being a virgin now. Too much pressure.” He quips after he makes a joke about the movie 40-year-old Virgin.

Y/N looks at him confused and lowkey, panicking, “Why do you say that? I don’t think it’d be that bad.” She confesses, sipping more of her drink. “Dude, when you’re in high school or college it’s all just part of the experience. You barely have dated anyone so there isn’t much pressure. Now though, fuck dude!” He says, rubbing his face in frustration at the thought and she looks down.

“There would be so much pressure at this point. You’ve dated so many people and at this point, it’s probably just you being in your head.”

“Or you’re scared to give it away and regret it. Guys losing their virginity is a lot more different than girls. You have to remember that, Spence. A lot more at stake too.” She looks at him, trying to show a stoic face but Spencer isn’t buying it.

Y/N is always someone who tries to show both sides of the coin but is usually more silly about it. Now, she’s being very serious and trying to act stoic, like she’s hiding something. It’s not something he wouldn’t have noticed unless they had been friends this long.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I know you’re all about being things neutral but this seems like a bit more than usual. What’s up?” She looks at him confused, trying not to get embarrassed and say something she doesn’t want to. “Nothing, I just think that sometimes this whole thing is oversimplified.” He raises an eyebrow, “You’re acting like you’re still…” He trails off when she looks down and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Oh my god! Y/N! What the fuck! I thought you and-”

“We were but I changed my mind. Every time I thought about possibly losing it to him I felt nothing but dread. Same thing with the other guys. I don’t want to regret it.” She plays with her fingers, not wanting to look him in the eye.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She looks at him shocked, “Why would I need to tell you? It’s personal but also how the hell do I bring that up?” She says before speaking in a silly voice, “Oh, Spencer, I gotta tell ya, buddy. I’m a virgin because I get major anxiety and overthink it to where I just haven’t done it.” She does a silly laugh that sounds a lot like Goofy.

“Okay, I get it. This is a sensitive topic, I’m sorry.” He apologizes, looking at her sadly and she feels her heart pinch. “It’s not that. I just…I want to. I want to so badly but I just get so anxious and overthink everything. Sometimes I think that it’d be easier to find someone to hook up with or just get an escort or something.” She looks at him, “Or someone I have been friends with forever basically and I trust more than anything.”

Spencer looks at her confused until she raises a brow and he gets the message, “Oh, you mean me? Really?” She nods, playing with her fingers again as she gets nervous. “Yeah, I mean. I know I wouldn’t regret it with you because you’re my best friend. I don’t think there is a guy I trust more than you.” She confesses, making his face light up.

“I would be honored. Holy shit, you won’t regret this. I promise.” He says, sounding like an excited young kid who just got picked first for baseball. She giggles at his silly antics before letting out a shocked yelp when he pulls her close. “So, are you more dominant or submissive or…” She shrugs her shoulders. Spencer shrugs his as well before putting his hand on her cheek, pulling her in gently before connecting their lips.

She puts her hand on his as her other moves into his hair. He sighs into the kiss as her nails scratch at his scalp, sending chills down his spine. Gently, he lays her down on the couch as his lips move to cheek then to her jaw, and landing lastly on her neck.

He feels his pants tighten as she lets out soft sighs from his lips on her sensitive neck. His tongue licks a long stripe along it before he sucks on her pulse point. Her hand pulls at his hair in response as she mutters out his name softly, the sound making him harder by the second.

Unknown to Y/N, Spencer was slowly coming to the realization of his own feelings for her. What he would always brush off as anxiety of her dating someone new and unknown to him has turned out to be jealously. Jealous that these random guys would take you out and not him. He finally has his chance to test the waters…well test a little more than the waters.

His lips continue to work on her neck but stop when she starts to giggle. “What, what’s so funny?” He asks, moving back a little and chuckling himself. “Your beard tickles a bit. I like it though.” She’s coy about her words, he smiles at her shyness before going back to kissing her neck as she giggles again.

This is nothing he’s felt before. The other girls he had dated and slept with were all serious about sex. They didn’t want or think that sex could be playful and fun but in this moment Spencer feels his heart soar. He’s pulled out of his trance as she tries to pull off his t-shirt, he helps her take the article of clothing off before slipping his hands under her shirt.

He holds back a moan just at the feeling of her lace bra, not even seeing it in person. She giggles before slipping the shirt over her head and swears his eyes are popping out of his head. “I knew you had awesome tits, but holy fuck!” He groans as he puts his face between them.

His warm breath fans over them, sending chills down her body before his warm tongue licks her lace-covered nipple. She bites her lip as he does the same to the other before pulling her bra down to expose the flesh fully.

A strangled moan falls from her lips when he wraps his around her right nipple. His thumb and forefinger play with her left, rolling and gently tugging it. She feels herself getting wetter with each tug as her hands tangle in his hair. He continues to stimulate her nipples for a while before moving down with open mouth kisses.

“Spence, you don’t have to-”

“I want you, now sit back relax and enjoy the show.” He jokes with his sassy smirk before kissing her plush thighs. She sighs comfortably at the feeling before laughing when he playfully bites her thigh. “Sorry, you just tasted too good not to have a bite.”

Her eyes stay on him as his beard tickles her thigh before he moves to be face-first with her pussy. His finger come up to spread her lips as she feels her cheeks heat up, not used to having someone see so much of her. Her thighs start to close but Spencer stops them before they can. “Don’t hide yourself. You’re beautiful.” He assures her as he licks a long strip up her slit.

The new feeling makes her eyes roll as she breathes shakily. He continues to give long licks before moving to suck on her clit. “Holy fuck!” She moans, her hands quickly finding a place in his hair as she relishes in the new feeling.

She had used vibrators and other toys but nothing had felt like this before. His tongue swirls around her clit a few times before sucking again. He moves a finger to her entrance, “I’m going to put a finger in. It might feel weird at first.” She nods, moving a hand down to his arm. She releases a breath at the uncomfortable feeling, her hand squeezes his arm.

“Are you okay?” He asks his finger fully inside. “Yeah, just feels… different.” She confesses as she starts to feel embarrassed. “It’ll feel better in a bit, just gotta get you warmed up a bit.” His finger thrusts in and out for a moment before he adds a second. She moans softly when adds a second and whimpers as they move. “Is it feeling better?” He asks, she responds with a sweet moan that makes his cheeks heat up.

His fingers continue going in and out, stretching her out slightly. His fingers graze the spongy spot inside her, “Oh my, do that again! Please.” She begs. The feeling made her see stars, who is Spencer not to please? His finger rubs the spongy spot as she starts to feel herself get close.

“Yes, yes, just like that-Fuck!” She screams when his lips wrap around her clit again. He licks and sucks intermittently while still playing with her G-spot as she screams his name. “Spencer! Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” She yells as the knot in her stomach snaps.

He licks and sucks her clean before sitting up. Pulling off his hoodie and pants. He aligns himself with her leaking hole, “This will probably hurt, but it’ll subside. I promise.” She nods as he slowly pushes in.

While the tight feeling makes him moan loudly, having been a while since he slept with anyone, Y/N bites her lip, the feeling being intruding and uncomfortable. Noticing her discomfort, he leans down and kisses her sweetly, trying to distract her as he continues to sink in.

Spencer is just a bit above average in length but more girthy than most. The stretch is something Y/N will come to love but for the first time, it’s a different feeling than anything she’s ever felt. Her face unconsciously skews in a bit of pain when he’s fully inside.

Leaning down, he locks their lips. His hips are still as he gives her time to adjust, the feeling of her wrapped around him is making it hard to keep still though. Her hands tangle in his hair once again and gently pull when she’s adjusted, giving them the okay to move.

His thrusts start out slow, letting her body adjust to the new sensations and the starting pain slowly melts away. He intertwines their fingers as he thrusts at the same pace. The gesture is small but is enough to make her feel safe and loved by the man on top of her.

It takes about a minute before Y/N starts to moan, “Faster, please Spencer.” She begs needing to feel more. It takes everything in him not to smirk as his hips pick up speed. “Oh god.” She moans, wrapping her legs around his waist to keep him close.

Spencer keeps a steady fast pace, his tip hitting her G-Spot as he moves his hips a little. The only sounds in the room are skin-on-skin, moans, and heavy breathing. The two are eye-locked, watching the other’s face and expressions.

“Shit, I’m close.” Y/N moans, feeling the familiar knot forming. “Me too, shit,” Spencer groans as his hand moves to rub her clit. “Fuck, Spencer!” She practically screams with the added sensation.

“Cum for me, Y/N. Please cum all over me.” He moans, his thrusts getting sporadic.  She screams his name as the knot bursts in her stomach and she cums on his dick. He groans as she clenches around him, making it hard for him to not cum inside her. He continues to thrust through her high before he starts to breathe very heavily.

“Where do you want me to cum?” He struggles to get out, feeling very close. “I don’t care.” She says, her voice very breathy. He pulls out and only strokes himself a few times before he cums on her chest.

Coming down from his high, the two look at each other and then laugh. “Oh my god, that was amazing. How the hell are you still single?” She jokes as he lays on top of her. “Just haven’t found the right one yet.” He says, his eyes looking at her softly as she runs a hand through his hair.

“Maybe you just haven’t been looking in the right places.” She smiles at him and he leans in, “Or maybe I just have been overlooking a certain someone.” he says before kissing her.

[crsssie]

'cause now I'm scared to love the thought of you the way you did with me

word count: 10.6k

summary: love, you know. you, simon knows.

The first time Simon ever met you, he had the aching feeling that he knew you already.

No, not the sense of deja vu you get in snippets throughout your life. He felt the strange sense that he had known you all his life and had done something to wrong you somehow. He's four. Four-year-olds should not know that feeling. Especially not the sense that somehow, he had broken your heart or betrayed you. He's never met you before — that much, he's certain. He'd know. You're his age, so it's not like this feeling can be from knowing you as an infant. He doesn't remember that far back.

You wave at him, grinning as you pull him off with his brother to hang out as your parents talk to his mom, and you show him what it means to play.

When he leaves later, you ask him if you're friends.

He gives you a blank stare.

You end up in his class later that year, his next-door neighbour and companion, walking home with him from primary school, asking him if he understood anything in class. You're not as bright as he is, Simon thinks. You struggle a little more with certain concepts, and you argue with the teachers over ways to do certain things. A contradiction of everything, he thinks. He mulls over what you are and what you are not. How do you feel simultaneously like a fifty-year-old and a five-year-old at the same time?

He tugs on you sometimes to calm you down.

"Stop it."

"But it's—"

He gives you a look and you huff.

Simon likes sticking by your place, but he also doesn't enjoy it.

When he goes home, dad beats him because he was with you again.

Can' have them findin' out abou' what I do. y' hear me?

The purple is hard to hide around you. You pry too much. You ask too many questions. You tug Tommy around too much and Tommy talks too much. You don't need to know what it's like at home for him. You ask too many questions about why he's wearing a turtleneck when it's already twenty-two degrees outside. You tug at it, offering one of your shirts, but he can't. You don't need to know. You can't know. You shouldn't know. For some reason.

He wants to hide it from you for some reason.

You seem to know anyway, blinking at Simon curiously as you push back his sleeve, staring at the purple.

"You should report him, you know?"

"Ma wouldn't like that."

"So you'd rather be beat? Is it not just a fear factor?"

You don't speak like you're from around there either. You have a mixed accent. Like you've been in an amalgamation of countries and grew up everywhere at once. You don't feel like you're from Manchester. You had moved, sure, but you're young. You seem to be a constant dichotomy between everything and nothing. What does it mean to exist to you? You stare off into nothing the same way his ma does. But time travel doesn't exist or whatever. It's impossible to be sent back in time. All of that is just science fiction.

Pondering. Is that the word?

"What are y' looking at?"

"I'm thinking." You hum, blinking back to life. "That cloud looks like a rabbit."

"No. Looks like a duck."

"Well, now that it's moved." You huff. "That one's a heart."

"That one looks like a dog."

"I don't see it."

"The four legs?"

"Hm."

"'kay, well, that one's a worm."

"See that."

"mhm."

Dad is taken away at one point. Simon returns home to police at his door, hauling his drunken dad out as another officer comforts his mom, and he leads Tommy inside.

"You Simon?"

"Yes ma'am."

"This Tommy?"

"Mhm."

"You won't need to worry about that man anymore."

"Dad." Simon says. "Dad."

"You won't need to worry about him hitting you anymore."

"He makes all the money. Where are we t' go?"

He spots your parents with his ma, and he wonders where you are.

"They said they'll take you all in." The woman tells him.

Your place isn't big enough for all of them.

Yet, when he's brought home to your family, the guest room is set up, yet he finds himself in your room when he can't sleep, staring at you quietly in the dark, watching as you rub your eyes tiredly and scooch over to make space for him.

He still fits in your bed at this point in time.

"Does that make us siblings?" You whisper, getting yourself comfortable as you tangle limbs with him.

Simon wants to say yes. He does. But there's something else he wants, he supposes. He pauses.

"Maybe."

Room for maybe not. Maybe yes.

Maybe it's a cruel joke that he failed to fall asleep with his mother yet knocked right out with you. He's not so lucky as to be able to do it, and he understands that he's a guest so he shouldn't get too comfortable with the host, but you seem to abandon all care and treat him as though you really were siblings. You share everything with him, and he doesn't get why it hurts when you do.

The maybe was a maybe yes to you, maybe.

The maybe was a no to him. It was maybe not.

There's something in his chest that twists uncomfortably when you treat him like a sibling, abandoning all care for it, and he understands that maybe it's what his mother felt when she had been with his father. He doesn't know how long he'll be able to squeeze here with you. Maybe he'll eventually grow to be too big. He knows he will. He's not supposed to be sleeping with you. He sees it in the way your parents shake the both of you awake in the morning with all the concern for you.

It's almost as if he shouldn't be friends with you at all.

Yet, you don't give him the ability to choose, telling your parents that it didn't matter because Simon was like a brother to you.

The concept of siblings should not hurt Simon as much as it does.

He nods along, and you lace your fingers with him and Tommy, telling your parents you're thrilled that you can finally have the brothers you've always wanted.

Your parents let it go and his mom apologizes for the case, but your parents assure her that it's all you and none him.

Simon keeps his fingers laced with you all the way until the two of you get to the classroom.

You don't mind the teasing from the kids, and in turn, Simon doesn't seem to either.

That's how you spend the rest of primary school, tangled limbs with Simon, tugging and dragging him around with you to different things, and he learns to grow comfortable in your presence. The strange sense that he's done something wrong eventually fizzes into nothing that he worries about. The certainty you have in your friendship keeps Simon afloat even when his family eventually moves into a flat nearby.

You hang out at his place after classes, doing homework with him, munching on snacks you bring from the local supermarket on your way back from classes, humming and chewing on the chips as you do homework.

You struggle less than Simon now.

It's like you know.

The strange feeling that you know everything yet nothing lingers despite the guilt leaving. You blink at him quietly and sleep over occasionally, humming quietly as you lay on the mattress on the ground, staring up at nothing.

You do not go through puberty the same way Simon does.

Simon hits a growth spurt in the early years of secondary school — bed suddenly too small, skin stretching out at the alarming pace he was gaining height, and you hold back laughter when he hits his head in the morning and you laugh from the air mattress. He grumbles as he heads off to wash up, and when he returns, you only smile at him like you know something and he doesn't.

He finds you stare at him with a lot more pride than you used to. It's almost like you're his mother staring at him grow up, and it makes him uncomfortable.

You still sleep in the same room as him because you don't seem to think of him as a threat of any kind.

The girls at school start noticing him as well — whispering happening around him of how he's grown so much and how he's "oh suck a looker" because of his height. You've always told him he looked real pretty. "Blond lashes are rare" you'd told him. "makes you look real pretty, Si". He had flushed red at your compliment, but only because it had been you. He had found that it would only be you. Everything you did, intentional or not, had caused more than enough flustered stumbling from him.

He supposes it is just the curse of a teen in love.

You squeeze his bicep when you pass him in between periods, waving bye to him as you're off to the classes you chose and he didn't.

It's in the periods where you're not by him that the girls like to step up to him and giggle, asking if he's free or if he's all alone.

He wonders if he should lie sometimes.

A no warranted a "well would you want to? what about me?" and a yes warranted a "oh surely you jest" so truly, Simon did not have much a choice. He'd prefer it if you just branded him at that point.

Branded.

You brand him?

He understands that whatever he had felt for you in his earlier years was a sense of yearning, and whatever he felt for you in the current years was most likely closer to love than it is a schoolboy crush. He finds it unfair to do that to you, though. You had only ever seemed to see him as a sibling or something adjacent, cheeks warm and lips curled upwards as you head over to his place with him after classes, helping his mom out with cooking if she needed it, heading home only after dark and making sure that Simon walks you there.

He's utterly and completely a fool for you, he finds.

You could tell him to steal the stars in the sky and he'd somehow find a way.

He finds that it's just a curse, maybe. He's stuck with you and he enjoys it because you had met him at four and suddenly everything you ever did became a benefit to him. You knew what he would do good in, and you knew where he could find a job. Everything from start to finish was as if you had preordained it all. Like you had known before the moment the two of you first met. It was as though you knew everything and were intervening. Some kind of angel for him.

"How was class?"

"Was fine."

He's the one who drags you into the store this time, fishing out cash as he hands you a pack of cough drops, raising a brow when you raise a brow at him.

"You're gonna start coughing soon."

"I still have leftovers from last year."

"y'know tha's not the flavor you like."

You hold a hand over your chest, pretending to be moved as he passes by with a ruffle of your hair.

"Si, you do care!"

"Think I didn't?"

"Maybe."

He follows you home to your place tonight. His ma isn't home and Tommy wanted some alone time with his girlfriend, so he settles at your place. It isn't as though he has no other friends. He's hard to approach because of the deadpan look on his face at all times, but he knows others. You worry that he doesn't so to ease the worry, he has other friends. He thinks about it a little. He only seems to care for what you say. It's been a while since his ma's words have worked on him. Though, he still avoids getting in trouble. She doesn't deserve that, and you'd probably give him a hard time if he really did trouble her in any sort of way.

"How was class?"

"Was fine." He sighs, spreading out his books on the table as you scribble away with yours.

How your hand does not fall off from the writing drives Simon up the wall. Writing has never truly been his strong suit — he's much more fit for his part-time job at the butcher's or fixing your parents' old car when they ask him if he knows what to do with it. He's much better with his hands than he is with his mind at times, but it's never stopped you from just breaking everything down into simpler concepts for him.

"Why d'you do it?" He had asked you once.

"Why wouldn't I?" You left the second part of the sentence hanging in the air.

Simon wonders if he could dare to imagine that the second half of the sentence was an "i love you" the same way that he seemed to love you with.

Though, he'd never know.

You beg your parents to let you spend the night with Simon at the turn of the century, the agreement being that he'd spend the night with you, settling on the floor or your room on an air mattress that he most definitely does not fit in, offering him your bed that's too big for you alone when you're sure your parents are knocked out. He finds himself tangling limbs with you once more, staring down at you as you blink up at him under the sheets, blanket covering the two of you as you open a flashlight. He blinks as you stare at him.

"What?"

"Yer really pretty, Si." You hum. "Can I touch you?"

"Ya nasty—"

"Your face." You mumble. "You can say no."

"'s fine." He mumbles, letting your hands map his face gently as he hums, observing as you seem to memorize something. Patterns of his skin. Your eyes gentle from the flashlight as you press your forehead to his. "You look scared."

"I'll live." You whisper, voice shaking.

You fall asleep in his arms that night, and he wakes up to you tucked under his chin snoring.

He doesn't recover from it.

You suggest him to join a military boot camp over summer after secondary since he wasn't planning on university, tilting your head and shrugging when he asks why. Would suit him. Maybe he'd like it. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. He doesn't need to pursue it. Besides, he doesn't have anything to do either.

"Thirteen weeks is a long time, angel."

"Angel? Well, then, maybe you should embrace what this angel's telling you to do."

He goes per your suggestion, and you send him off with his family and yours, grinning as he frowns at you at the doors with his duffle bag, blowing him a kiss as he fights the blush that snakes up his neck. When he emerges for one final look without his hair, you laugh and play with the new cut, humming quietly as you whisper that you'll be waiting for you after his three months.

He lets himself relax into your touch as your families stand to the side, and he whispers quietly asking you for a goodbye kiss as if he were off to war. He expects you to decline, but you press your lips to his forehead, humming as you lean back and admire the print that's been left behind from your chapstick, laugh on your lips as you reach to wipe it off with your thumb, too occupied with cleaning it off to notice the starstruck look on his face as he stares at you.

"Wait f'r me, won't you?"

"How could I not? As long as you send me off when you're back."

"'f course."

"Come back safe to me, Si. I'll miss you."

His body has muscle memory of everything. The boot camp is significantly easier than he thought it'd be. His muscles remember something he does not, maybe. He treks up and does stellar, ending up personally selected by his managing captain, asked if he ever thought about actually joining the military. He'd suit the SAS. He'd be a great addition to the team, even. He'd get all the military benefits and it doesn't seem like it'd be something that would warrant too much stress for him.

He doesn't know.

Despite his body's ability to survive in such harsh conditions, he finds that he doesn't really want to stay in that state of stress.

When he finishes, his captain hands him a number to call if he ever changes his mind, and he finds you in the crowd. He abandons all the military learning he's received in the last three months just to find himself in your arms once more. He barely cares that the friends he's made are whistling at him as he practically swallows you in his frame. You don't mind. He doesn't mind. It's not a problem.

"'m back."

"Welcome home." You laugh, running your hand through his hair as he buries his face into your shoulder.

"'m missed you."

"I missed you too, Si." You hum, peeking past his shoulder as you wave at his friend. "How was camp?"

"Y'wanna tell me why my body seemed to have no struggle with adaptin?"

You look to the side, whistling as he finally lets go of you, reaching over for his mom, humming as she welcomes him back home with Tommy.

"You have explainin' to do." He points at you, and your parents leave the two of you alone to start on dinner for Simon's return, leaving you in his room as you whistle and avoid his gaze, falling back into his bed with a huff and closing your eyes.

"How was bootcamp?"

"You knew. How did you know."

"I know everything, Si." You close your eyes. "Told you I was a fairy when we were kids."

"Yer less of a fairy and more of father time."

"Who knows. Maybe I'm just cursed with knowledge."

"A curse?"

"Or somethin'." You stare up at his ceiling. "How was bootcamp. Really."

"Offered a spot on the SAS."

"You wanna go?"

Simon turns to stare at you, taking a seat by the floor of the bed as he stares at you, and you turn to face him.

"Y' want me to?"

You stare at him, letting the water in your eyes speak for you.

"Oh, angel. don' cry." He whispers, hand reaching to brush the tears as he frowns. "I wasn' planning to."

"You can go." You mumble. "It's fine. I'm just scared."

"You? Scared?" He pinches your nose, humming quietly as you open your mouth to breathe.

"Yes. Me."

"'m not gonna go. I'll just meet you at uni."

"Simon Riley going to uni?"

"Got a problem with that, angel?" He lets go of your nose when the smile cracks at your face, and you roll over to laugh. "Think I'm too stupid for ya?"

"You wish." You hum. "You think I'd let you fall behind?"

"Never have." He hums, nudging you over as you roll to make space for him on the bed.

"So next cycle? Or are you gonna try somewhere else?"

"Might follow you halfway across the world. You'll fund me, won't ya?"

"Nah. Gonna make you pay rent at least." You swat at his arm playfully as he leans over you, humming as he stares down at you. "Glad your pretty face wasn't ruined."

"Think I'm pretty?"

"Just the lashes."

"Takes too much t' please you." He rolls his eyes, eyes landing on your stomach as your shirt rides up, humming.

"So, did they fuck a lot in the camp? Is it true? Did you guys have a barrack bunny?"

Simon flicks your forehead. "No bunny. yes fucking."

You hold your hands over your mouth, gasping. "tell me more."

"I didn't do anythin'."

"No way."

"Not losing my v-card to a bunch of men in the military."

"Don't know, Si. That sounds like a porno title. Virgin man gets gangbaned by five buff military men... or whatever it is the titles are formatted like."

"'m not even gon' ask how you know that."

You laugh, eyes crinkling as Simon stares.

"'s good to see you again."

"I missed you too." You hum. "I don't mind you going. Really."

"'s my decision to not." He pinches your cheek, glancing at the door as his mother calls for you both to go eat. "I promise."

"Send me to the airport tomorrow?"

"Of course."

You let Simon drive you around before driving you to the airport. You say your goodbyes to your parents at your place, thanking Simon with a grin and a squeeze of his bicep as he lifts all of your luggage into the back of the car. You gasp quietly at the fact that his muscles are harder than before, giving them a second squeeze as he rolls his eyes at you.

"You take that back!"

"Don't know what yer talkin' about."

You don't talk to him too much in the car, too preoccupied with staring out the window. Simon doesn't pry, used to the comfort of your silence when you need it. Besides, you're being sent off to somewhere where you'll be far from him. He wonders if that'll hurt him more or you. You're great, though. You promised you'd write to him, and he's more worried that somehow he will forget to write back to you and you will forget about his existence. You're too far away for comfort.

What if someone else lays eyes on you?

He helps you load the luggage, pulling it with him as you check for your passport, letting Simon put everything down for you, giving his forearm a gentle squeeze in thanks when you arrive with him at the gate. You let him wander around with you before you're supposed to board. He'll wring the final moments you have with him dry, he supposes.

You open your arms for him, squeezing him gently when his arms find themselves around your waist, squeezing you back.

"It's your turn to give me a goodbye kiss." You tap your cheek, tilting your head as you hum, and Simon mumbles under his breath, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he stares down at you for permission.

"You gonna kiss me properly? Real bold of you, Si."

"If you'd let me."

You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head as he brushes your bottom lip, staring, staring, staring before letting his lips brush yours gently, softly, and pulling away just as quick. Like a ghost of a kiss — lingering feelings that he can't quite pour out onto you yet because it wouldn't be fair.

"That alright?" He continues to stare at your lips, only snapping out of it when you notice boarding has started.

"More than alright." You reach up to give him a kiss on his cheek, humming as you take two steps back with your luggage. "I'll see you!"

"See you, then."

"Yer gonna let me study abroad without a boyfriend? How cruel of you, Si. Write to me!" You laugh, tugging your carry-on with you as you wave at him from the gate.

Simon stays to stare at you until you've disappeared down the corridor to the plane.

Then, his fingers find his lips where he had kissed you, and then the cheek that you had given him a kiss to.

Ah. He misses you already.

You write to him as promised. You send letters to him and he sends them back, sending you updates on how everyone has been, writing growing more and more illegible with the letters. He wonders if you're able to read everything he sends sometimes, but he eventually sends you a letter with the number slotted into his phone, and when you write to him that you'd be visiting on a certain date, you tell him to pick you up.

The first thing that Simon notices is that you've changed.

Not that you've ever been someone that he's found predictable, but you have changed beyond what Simon can remember from you.

"It's the air." You laugh.

He stares at you, uncertain if he really knows who you are anymore. Was he the one who was being left behind?

You mentioned that you'd never leave him behind.

"Y'sure changed."

"Cultural differences." You open your arms for him, tilting your head when he shakes his head at you.

"'m all smelly from work."

You frown at him.

"Maybe we both changed."

You spend the afternoon lodged at Simon's flat because you didn't want to go home. It's just a week or two, you tell him.

He hands you booze to drink, and you ask him how work has been.

"You still gonna join me?"

"I think I'm alright here."

He fears though, that by doing so, he's going to drift away from you.

"That's good." You grin at him. "If life ever gets too boring, come find me. I'm sure my friends would flip it if some guy who's like a hundred ninety two centimeters tall dropped by and called himself my best friend."

"You talk about me?"

"How could I not?" You tilt your head at him from the passenger seat, blinking slowly. "Si, did you forget about me when I'm gone? It's a little rude of you, you know?"

"I couldn't even if I was killed." He hums. "Your luggage's lighter."

"Mhm. Most of my stuff is with a friend who lives nearby." You grin. "Didn't want you to blow out your back for me."

"Couldn't do that if y' tried."

Simon wonders if there's something in the air when you come back to visit.

"You plan on stayin' there?"

"Maybe." You hum. "I quite like it."

"Leavin' me to fend on my own, huh?"

"It'd be unfair for either of us to do something all for the sake of the other. Your comfort comes before mine." You grin. "Get me a little something to eat?"

"Got dinner at 'ome." He hums. "Your favorite."

"What if it's changed?"

"You can't be sayin' that when you told me less than a month ago."

You laugh in the front seat, grinning.

"Dated yet, Si?"

"No." He hums. "This girl stops by the shop but I don' really like her like that."

"Mm." You tap your chin. "Broken no one in yet?"

Simon coughs at your choice of words, coughing as he catches his breath, your hand patting his back as you laugh.

"Bloody hell."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face when he catches a glance.

"Why? Y'been broken in yet?"

"Nope. Waiting for a certain someone to do the honors."

You laugh at the way he's red for the whole ride back.

Yet, he makes no real move on you back at his place. He hands you a glass of water and settles himself next to you on the couch, letting you show him the variety of items you've brought back to give him, grinning at him when he stares at the strange combination of things.

"Why'd you come back during such a shite time?"

"I wanted to spend the new year with you." You hum, blinking at the snow that's come with the weather.

"You didn't come back during summer."

"No." You close your eyes, throwing your head back. "I wanted to, but I decided not."

"Why."

You kick your legs over his, huffing as you grumble. "It was hard. Flying out the country's hard."

"Cuz of the thing, huh?"

"Yeah." You rest your head on his shoulder, staring out the window. "You got work these days?"

"Nah. Old guy's home with his family. Y' gonna go home?"

"No." You close your eyes. "Didn't tell mom n dad I'd be back."

"Yeah? Just me?"

"Just wanted to see you." You whisper, taking his hand and fiddling with his fingers.

"Y've gotten real handsy since ya left."

"Maybe I just missed you." You mumble. "It's lonely without you."

"Don't love y'er other friends?"

"Love you more." You whisper, finger smooth against his ring finger as you feel him tense up under you.

"Y'love me?"

"Si, I've known you since forever. Of course I do." You rest your hand on top of his, opening your eyes as you whisper.

"Oh, like that."

You don't breach the subject of love further than that, playing with Simon's fingers as he turns on the TV for a match, letting you get comfy with him under a blanket and eventually fall asleep. He stares down at you, voice tight in his throat as he rests his hand on your forearm, heart painful in his chest. Distance has given him no time to think if all he thinks of is you. But, it would be cruel to tell you of something that's long been his problem.

It is not your burden to bear.

It is not your portion to carry.

He rests his eyes as well, the two of you staying that way until late night, Simon first to rouse as he looks out the window.

It is dark outside.

You stir as he does, leaning back onto the couch to stretch out, and kick your legs out, and Simon holds your ankle to push it to the side. The snow creates the illusion of an empty street, and the black and white hurt each other in the lack of light, but you keep staring. It reminds Simon of when you were kids. The staring has since gotten better, but every now and then he catches you staring into nothing.

"Dinner?"

"Sounds good." You kick the blanket off of you, yawning as you follow him to the kitchen. "'m tired."

"Long flight."

"Mhm." You sit at the island, watching as Simon heats the food for you, staring at him as you lean on your palm. "Si, why did you never date?"

"Why should I?"

"Donno."

Simon takes out dinner from the microwave, placing it in front of you as he stares.

"Will y' ever tell me about the staring problem?"

"Probably not." You wiggle your hands comically as you grin.

"Don't do that again."

"So you hate me." You start at dinner anyway, thanking Simon as you chew on the food, scraping the plate in the end when you finish, grinning.

"How's Tommy?"

"Great. Getting engaged soon."

"Ooh! Did you help him pick a ring?"

"No. He went ring shoppin' with his girl." Simon hums.

"Wish you could show me."

"Get dinner with him sometime. I can arrange it. He comes over Friday nights."

"Can't I just grab dinner with him friday night then?"

"Next week?"

"Sure."

"I'll tell him."

"It's Christmas week." You hum. "Did you grab me anything?"

"No." He rolls his eyes. "Dinner wasn' enough?"

You pretend to think, grinning at him when he raises a brow.

"I'm kidding."

"Sure hope you are."

You wake up to a surprise on Christmas anyway, eyes glimmering when Simon serves you breakfast with a gift, kicking your legs as you gush to him about how he didn't need to. You give him a squeeze on his bicep as you ask him if you can unwrap it, pulling at the little ribbon and paper, grinning when you spot the headphones you've written to him about, bottom lip quivering as tears threaten to spill, and Simon rushes to brush them from your cheek, calling you a crybaby while he's at it.

"I should give something back to you."

"Yer back, hm? That's m' gift."

"But I like being with you too." You mumble, hand finding his as your thumb brushes his. "D'you want anything? Anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Simon stares down at your lips, humming as he raises a brow.

"Truly?"

"Use my body or whatever. I trust you." Your voice quiets the more you speak. "I'm all yours."

"Tell me to stop whenever." Simon's thumb finds your bottom lip, brushing it as he presses his lips to yours — hungry, decades of holding back overflowing and spilling into you, hands gripping the counter til his knuckles turn white, tongue shoved down your throat and a hum in his as you pant once he pulls off of you, staring as your eyes haze over and your chest rises and falls, lips parted as you blink to come back to him, bottom lip glossy from his saliva as he brushes it once more. "y'still with me, angel?"

"Mhm." You hum. "You sure you didn't go around kissing others while I was gone?"

"On my life."

"Surprising." You reach up to cup his face, thumb brushing his bottom lip as you hum. "Only ever kissed me, hm? Only wanna kiss me?"

"Bloody hell, what did going to uni teach ya?"

You laugh, humming as you squeeze his face. "How to flirt, apparently. 's it working?"

"No."

The red of his ears betray him.

You're everything except the title, Simon finds. You barely bother hiding the fact that he's allowed to do whatever with you, lounging on his couch and sticking by him at every moment, barely bothering to hide your boredom with the TV and working your knuckles into his back instead. He doesn't need to look to know you've got a shit-eating grin on your face when he groans as you work out a knot in his back.

"Yer real tight, Si."

"Yer pickin' up my accent."

"Maybe it's cuz I love you." You dig your elbow into the muscle, earning a groan from his lips.

"At this point yer just messin' with me."

"Maybe." You hum, exhaling when the knot's released itself, and you collapse on his back, grumbling.

"Get off 'me."

"Don't call me heavy, big guy." You sigh, peeling yourself off of him anyway, falling back to the other arm of the couch.

"You got knots?"

"Don't think so. Sure you're not gonna get hard all pressed up on my ass, Si?"

"Said you were free use f'r the week."

"Didn't think you'd jump to fuck me like that." You settle on your stomach anyway, letting Simon run his hands along your back, oil warm on his hands as you settle with watching whatever's on the telly (it's a football game. you're not the biggest fan, but better than thinking about the fact that you're practically moaning and squirming under Simon. You can't run from the consequences of your actions forever).

Simon fights every bone in his body to not spill over and take things too far, jaw clenched as he brushes the knot from your shoulder, pushing his thumb into it as you whimper. He hears you bite your tongue, and fight back a moan, and it almost comforts him to know that you're not too far off either. Though, he doesn't mention anything when you swat at him to stop, rolling over to lay on your back, staring up at him through your lashes, humming as he stares down at you.

"Minx."

"Freak." You laugh, chest shaking as you grin, eyes crinkling as he presses his hands on your waist, thumb pressing down to your ribs, humming quietly.

"If I were a cut of meat—"

"What fuckin' nonsense are you askin' now?"

"Entertain me, won't you?"

"I wouldn't cut you up."

"You'd eat me raw?!"

"'m no cannibal, angel."

"Just say you won't fuck me."

You're pushing buttons, Simon finds. You're testing to see how much it'll take for him to crumble and snap in your hands. Your hand rubs at his bicep in the mornings when you pass him, cheek squished with his as you point while windowshopping, fingers laced with his as though you were really on a date, and Simon finds that it's hard to fight the red that ruins the pale of his skin, crackling between the cracks of his skin from the winter cold, forced to play it off as the fact that it is cold out. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze back when you ask him to enter a store, and he tugs you back when you're wandering off course.

"Did yer cough start this year?"

"Not yet." You hum. "Worried I'm gonna get you sick?"

"No. Worried you don't like the flavors where you are."

"You remember." You mumble, staring as he hands you the stick from the grocery bag.

"Hard to forget."

"Not when it's only mentioned in passing."

You take the stick anyway, unwrapping one and pressing it to your lips, sucking on it as you squeeze at his arm, puffer coat zipped all the way up as you head back to his place.

Simon doesn't snap the entire time that you're back for the week.

He knows you're trying to get him too, but he's probably held back more than you have over the years, so not much really moves him to do anything anymore. You can try all you want, but truly, you can't do all that much.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Simon raises a brow from the island, blinking at you as you stare back at him.

"Not in the sex way. Just. Like when we were kids."

"You finally gonna tell me what all that staring you did as a kid meant?"

"Maybe." You place the dishes into the dishwasher, blinking slowly as you turn around to stare at Simon. "But I don't think you'd believe me."

"I'd argue against that. Can't tell me something insane."

"Oh, I'm sure." You mumble. "I'm sure you'd believe some made up war story from a world in the past."

"Is that what it was?"

"I don't know." You blink slowly, taking off the gloves and letting them dry as Simon stares. stares. stares.

Past your eyes and through your soul, like you're just a piece on display. Like he knows something you don't. He doesn't. Simon knows better than anyone that despite every single cell of his body crying for him to pour himself to devote to you, you would never accept it. You wouldn't. You wouldn't let him "throw his future away" all for the sake of you. Something stops you from letting him devote himself to him, and something stops you from just accepting that maybe Simon wants it and it isn't a side effect of being friends for so long.

There's a constant need to take care of him better than he takes care of you.

Simon finds it in the way you hand him a mug of water before bed, throwing the blanket over the two of you, flashlight resting between the two of you as you blink at him.

"You gon' tell me?"

"No." You hum. "But I'll tell you another secret if you tell me one. You first, though."

Simon doesn't keep secrets from you other than the fact that he loves you.

"I don' have any."

"None at all?"

"I tell you everything."

You blink at him from under the covers, tilting your head.

"Everything?"

Almost.

"Thinkin' 'bout signing up SAS." He whispers, voice cracking as he watches the grief crack past your eyes and your face drop. You don't mention anything, telling him it's fine as you collect yourself, swallowing everything back and smiling again.

"Yeah?"

"Thinkin' bout it."

"You gonna go? Really?" You whisper — scared. Simon knows you enough to be able to sense when you're scared. It's rare you even display such an honest emotion to him.

"Why don't you want me to?"

"No, it's just." You shake your head. "'m being paranoid. I'm just upset that I might not get to see you again."

"I'll see you between missions."

"I'm out of the country, Si." You mumble. "I can't visit all the time."

"I know." He mumbles. "but I've got to do sumthin 'n if not this, then I don' know what."

You rest your head against his chest, voice quiet as he runs his hand through your hair, pressing down to get you to relax for him.

"'m thinking about settling down permanently there."

Ah.

Simon seems to understand why you'd be so panicked at his enlistment. Truly, he wouldn't get to see you again, maybe. He'd be busy and if you start work, then you wouldn't get to see him at all. You can't write back to him if he's moving around, and his phone would most likely be off-limits in the service. Too little to do. Too little to hold on to. Maybe that is what you have feared.

"I'll tell you one more secret, then, Si." You mumble, hands finding his chest as you close your eyes.

"'s it, angel?"

"Tommy's gonna get married to her and then they're gonna have a boy." You close your eyes, and Simon feels you furrow your brows against his chest. "He's gonna be named Joseph. Joseph Riley. Sweet boy. Lovely, even."

"Why are you telling me this."

"Just." You whisper. "Just remember that."

You don't respond, going quiet for the rest of the trip, only giving him a hug at the airport and waving goodbye. You leave him your new address, smiling at him.

Simon doesn't know if he likes the silence he's left with when you're gone from his flat.

Yet, he's gone anyway, sending you letters that you can never quite send back, always too close or too far. He mails small things that remind him of you — tucks a photo of you into his helmet, stares up at the stars when it's night with a smoke between his fingers (that you'd scold him for) while the rest of the team joins him. He climbs up ranks — never stops writing to you. During the few times he has off, he returns to the empty flat and wonders how you're doing. You don't write back to him.

He wonders if you get his letters at all.

Yet, he can't stop to think. He can't stop. He just.

He becomes a Lieutenant.

When he's asked if he'd like someone to be at the ceremony, he briefly wonders if you'd fly over for him.

He doesn't ask you.

His feelings aren't yours to deal with.

Tommy and his mother help him pin it, but he'd wish that the hands promoting him to a higher position was you. It's to prove to you. It's to prove to you that he's fine and alive. Maybe it holds the same sentiment as when he writes to you. He's still alive, angel. He's still in one piece, even if you can't write back to him. He wonders if you still live there. Are his letters meeting a stone wall? Is it a brick wall that stands between the two of you? He'd break it down, but he doesn't want to risk the chances of you getting hurt in the crumble.

He returns home for Christmas one year, wondering if you'd be home. Tommy mentions sending you a wedding invite through Simon, and he stares. Really. Just stares at the wedding invitation. He doubts you'd answer. You feel like a ghost of his past. It's almost as if you had known that he'd never see you again when you had spent a winter with him. Like you knew. Like you wish he knew. Like when you pulled him under the blankets with a flashlight, you had known, maybe, that he'd be gone and you'd be gone.

When he sends the letter to the address you gave him, he almost worries that Tommy won't get a response back. (He slips an additional letter asking you if you'd like to be his plus one, but he doesn't have much faith that you'll respond to that one.)

Then, he's off and back to the military.

You meet him at Tommy's wedding.

You find him in the crowd, eyes lighting up as you sit next to him in the crowd, chattering excitedly about how you finally get to see him again. He listens to you talk. You've changed — as one does, and he has as well. Yet, he doesn't mind the change this time. You seem the same as before, sparkling eyes, only a little more mature. You look less like a kid and more like an adult now. You look pretty as you ever are.

"Missed you so much." You mumble. "So so much. Love reading your letters. Please never stop writing to me."

"You read em but won't send responses to my flat?"

"You didn't sell it?"

Simon shakes his head.

"Then I will. I'll write back to your flat." You mumble. "I just worry that your mailbox will overflow."

"Tommy takes care of it."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Alright." You grin. "You got a phone when you're off duty?"

He shakes his head.

"We'll stick to letters, then."

You sit with Simon at dinner. The wedding is nice. You're nice. Simon missed you, and he almost wants to ask if you've got a booking for somewhere because apparently you had tugged along with you a luggage when you first arrived and left it at the front for safekeeping. Maybe you'll ask him. It wouldn't be strange if you did. He has a day off, but you're more than welcome to stay as long as you want in his flat. He'll get you a copy of his key, even.

Maybe you'll give him a copy of yours next. He'd like to visit sometime.

"Si." You whisper, nudging him gently with the tip of your heel.

"Hm?"

"You got space in your flat?"

"I'll give y' a copy of the key. I gotta get back in the mornin'"

"You only took a day off?"

"'s just a weddin', no?"

"It's Tommy's wedding."

"Still a weddin', angel."

"Oh, should I be worried that you'll only take a day off for our wedding?" You squeeze his arm as you wave at Tommy and his bride.

Simon blinks at you.

"Y' did not just say that."

"Hm?" You tilt your head at him. "D'ya stop lovin' me over our break?"

"Who said I ever loved y'a?"

"The voices." You let go of his arm, going back to the food.

Simon takes you home after you get plastered at Tommy's wedding. He's never seen you drink so much, but to be fair, you didn't drink all that much last time you were at his flat. You seem like nothing to him as he carries you, letting you hang off of his shoulder as he brings you up the stairs, raising a brow at you when you beeline for his bathroom and throw up over the toilet.

"Regret drinkin' yet?"

"No." You rasp. "Fuck, no. Can't get alcohol this good where I'm stuck."

"Thought you loved it there."

"I only love being next to you." You start again, Simon sitting by your side as he holds your hair up. "Fuckin' hell."

"Yer slurrin' your speech, angel."

"Speakin' like you." You huff, crying. "I missed you, Si. Really did."

"Missed y' too."

You rest your palm against your forehead, eyes closed as you whimper. "'s lonely without you."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." You mumble. "Thought I could take it again."

"Again?"

"Again." You whisper. "And again. Si, I'm not made for casual I'm made for soul crushing devotion. God, I need to move on already. Why's it so hard to move on?"

"F'rm who?"

You turn to him, eyes glossy and red as you let out a laugh— pathetic. Almost as though you were laughing at yourself.

"'m not gonna come clean about that, Si."

"Never?"

"Maybe when you get married." You bend over the toilet again, closing your eyes.

"Though' it was we?"

You laugh. "If you survive."

"You always know somethin', angel."

"Hard not to." You throw your head back, furrowing your brows as you focus on breathing. "I'd like for it to stop, though."

"And how would that happen?"

"Can't. Cursed with the knowledge. Wish you could just fuck it out of me, honest."

You wake up to the worst hangover of your life — head cracking open down the middle as you sit up and rub at your neck, groaning as you stretch your back. Getting plastered at Tommy's wedding was probably not worth it.

"Hey." Simon hands you a bowl of soup, and you whimper as you press it to your lips, drinking.

"Thought you had to go."

"You looked like shite when y' went to bed."

You huff. "So you stayed back?"

"If not me then who?"

"I could've handled it."

"Wouldn' have wanted y'to." He hums. "Wiped your face down last night."

"Thank you, Si." You mumble. "You angel."

"All you."

"No. Not this time." You close your eyes. "Did I tell you anything?"

"Said you thought y'could take being alone again."

He leaves out the part where you had cried about him fucking you.

"Oh." You mumble. "'m just lonely."

Without him.

"Would you let me visit?"

"Shall I give you a spare as well?" You tilt your head. "Or do you want to do it classic style and break into my place?"

"A spare would be nice."

"Okie dokes." You hum. "You can go back in the afternoon. I feel much better."

"Won't let me stay longer?"

"I'd assume you can only stay for so long."

"Can ask for longer. The captain'll get it."

"You don't need to, Si."

"Thought y'missed me?"

"I do."

"Then let me stay. Allow yourself tha' much."

"Yeah?"

He nods.

You let him.

He sticks behind and wanders around with you, following after you with your bags as you point and shop, squeezing Simon gently, stopping halfway to feed him, your fingers nimble on your new device as you click.

"A cell phone?"

"Mhm." You rummage through your bag, frowning when there's a lack of something. "Forgot it."

"Forgot what?"

"I'll give it to you later."

You end up leaving it on Simon's bedside — something he returns to after deployment, brow raised as he reads through the album and the songs you've burned down for him. The letter you tuck behind the tracklist doesn't go unnoticed, Simon's first letter greeting him in the house from you as he looks through the rest of his mail. You've started writing back. Blue and black envelopes stick out from the whites of formal mail, and he flips through them, your writing familiar to his eyes as he sits back with a cup of water, reading through your responses to what he writes to you.

He feels childish writing to you sometimes. The pen feels a little too light for a hand that only knows the sword and not pen. Well, sword is wrong. Gun. His hands are much more used to the weight of a weapon than a quill.

It helps ground him sometimes.

His letters are most certainly darker than yours. You report about what you've been working on in school, sending him tickets to your graduation later in the year. You tell him that it doesn't really matter if he doesn't attend, but you wanted to give it to him anyway. The extra ticket is in case he actually found someone in the military to bring as a plus one.

It wounds Simon that you'd think he wouldn't stick with you.

He writes back to you, marking down your graduation and taking the day off in advance with his captain, nodding when asked if it's the same person he took the week off for last time.

"Must really love 'er, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Got a ring on it?"

"No, sir."

"Better move quick, Simon. Yer at the age where dating's all the storm."

Simon wonders if you'd agree to do long distance if he can't call you all that much.

You deserve someone who'll at least be there for you when you need it.

Yet, he lingers a little too long in front of the jewelry store, battered and bruised face in the reflection of the glass, staring himself in the eye as he wonders just why you had called him pretty back then. He's hardly pretty now. Mangled upper lip and scratches on his cheek — there is no trace of the "pretty" you had once called him. Though, his lashes stay the same, so he wonders if you'll still recognize if the only thing visible are his eyes.

He stares for a second too long at the jewelry store, stepping in and looking for something you'd like.

A ring.

"A nice dramatic gem for the engagement ring" you had told him once. Yet, despite it all, the sketches you had drawn for him had been a moderate gem. A ring that would remind you of how much he loves you — it had been a simple request. Even without the title of it all. You did not need to know what you were and what you weren't. If you had the certainty that one day the two of you would end up together anyway, then why waste the effort and consider or think over other people?

Simon understands you a little more now.

"Custom. If y'do 'em."

He pulls out the sketches you made as a child. Messy and childish ones — ones where it's a moonstone or pearly, never a diamond, and ones where Simon's handwriting as a child are visible to leave ideas for his own. You did not know. He did not either. But there's something quite assuring in just knowing. Simon knows you love him. It's quite a simple thing, really. You love him in the letters you write back, painful detail down to the point and making sure not to miss a thing. You love him in the trips where you're back, refusing to book a hotel and squeezing into his flat with him, limbs tangled in an intimacy that you've both grown comfortable in.

Simon loves you too. He loves you in the simplicity of having grown up with you — in the hair held up as you throw up, and in staying back when you won't let him but you need him. He loves you quietly the same way you love him. It's quite simple, really. It doesn't matter if you won't marry him or that you deserve someone better than Simon. All that really matters is that you want him, and he wants you too. There isn't too much other thinking he should do. You've always been more simple like that.

He writes you a letter back, asking if you want any particular flowers (not that he'll get the chance to read what you want).

He'll know what to get you when the time comes.

There's a sense of stability that Simon's learned to realize now that he's older or whatever. Settling down with you and retiring from the military won't kill him. He'll just open a nice little shop by where you live if he has to. You won't let him, but you trust him enough to let him make his own decisions now. It doesn't matter what you refuse to tell him. Time will tell him, and then eventually, you'll be honest. He just has to have faith or whatnot.

He brings the ring to your graduation, sitting in the back with your family, catching up with them. He wears a mask to hide the scars on his face and whatnot, but nothing outside of it. There's a sense of age that's crept up with him, and something weighs on his shoulders, but you'll work it out of him like you always have. Seeing you in your robes and throwing your hat is more than enough to let him forget for a moment.

There's a long life of him ahead on the battlefield if he decides upon it. He'd like something to go home to or meet up with halfway.

Preferably you.

He tucks the bouquet under his arm with the box in his pocket, meeting you halfway as you spot him in the crowd of people immediately, his name yelled and your friends abandoned for him, launching yourself into his arms as he catches you with an arm, humming as you squeeze his biceps, eyes lit up as you ramble to him. He watches you, eyes gentle and warm as his mind reminds him that yes, this is what bliss is to him. Simple, easy, bliss.

"Got you flowers."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, grinning as he presents them to you. "Can we get dinner at mine later? I'd go to the grad party but I missed you a whole lot and you probably have a hotel so—"

"You'll host me?"

"I live alone."

"Tha's unsafe, angel."

"So?"

"You wan' me to pick?"

"Nah. Takeout at my place, but I'll get to say I have dinner plans."

"And your parents?"

"They'll understand." You glance at the flowers. "You tryna tell me something with the single rose amongst all those yellows? Ooh, white carnations..."

"Maybe I am."

"You've gotten bold, Si." You laugh, squeezing his forearm as your parents spot you. "I'll send you my address. Love you lots, kay? See you in a bit."

Simon bends down to press his lips to your forehead, humming as he sends you off with a pat.

You seem to know too.

He enters with the spare key you keep buried in the depths of the crevice of a window, setting his luggage down as he reads your texts about where to stay and put his stuff. You live comfortably. He understands why you wouldn't want to move. His flat is significantly less impressive than this, yet you stayed with him every time. Considering it all, you probably could've just bought out a flat next to him if you really wanted to.

Maybe there is love in the way you simply choose to exist the way you do.

You return home a little later, makeup smudged and messy as you tell him you ended up in the backseat with some friends, but you managed to get home in one piece. You abandon the robe and hat, shaking out the bobby pins as you recite the local pizza place to Simon, pulling out a drawer with your makeup remover as you do.

It feels oddly domestic.

"Wh'd'ya want?"

"Just tell em my name. They know my order. Oh, tell 'em to make it a combo this time. You can ask them what options they have. I like the wings, but their salad isn't bad."

"This what you've been livin' off of in uni?"

"Maybe." You pause to yawn, shaking the bottle and pulling out cotton pads to get everything off. "They're good though, I promise."

"Trust you." He dials.

You're not wrong.

Simon sits with you on your couch as you tangle limbs with him, pulling the pizza out and letting the cheese stretch as you do, your TV turned on as you let him watch the game.

"Si, what do you think about me moving back?"

"Why? Y'live comfortable here."

"It's lonely without you."

"Yeah?" He reaches down to rub circles on your knee with his free hand. "Y'er so much better off here, though."

"We can just get a new place in Manchester." You lick your fingers, reaching for another slice. "I'll buy it. It can be a dowry or whatever."

"I couldn't let y' do that, angel."

"Why not?" You raise a brow. "I'm willing to."

"Then let me take care of utilities."

"If y'want."

Simon slides his hand up your leg, squeezing your thigh gently as you turn to look at him, pizza crumbs on the corner of your lips as he fishes something out from his pocket.

"If yer willin'—"

"Oh, hell, yes. Please." You grin.

"At least le' me finish."

"Sorry, Si." You hum. "Shall we reroll and rerecord?"

"'s fine." He hums, opening the box as he squeezes your thigh, humming quietly as he presents the ring to you.

"I can't promise bein' in bed with you every night, but I can promise an eternity of the time I have that is my own with you." He hums. "I'll come back to you in one form or another. I'll leave if y'want it. Anything you ask for, I will give. Marry me, angel?"

"Will I be upgraded to luvie if I do?"

"Anythin' y' want. Missus Riley, even."

"It's a yes, Si. Always a yes. Thought it was obvious when I said our wedding at Tommy's." You hum. "Let me wash my hands, though. Got crumbs and oil all over 'em."

"I'll wipe the ring down later. Gimme y'er hand."

You lick your ring finger, giving Simon your hand as he presses a kiss to the finger, delicate, gentle, soft before sliding the ring on.

"Looks real familiar." You observe the design, pausing when it hits you. "Did you keep the drawing I made back in Year 7??"

"Surprised y'noticed."

Your bottom lip quivers, tears welling in your eyes as Simon reaches to hold your head to his chest, humming as you wipe at the tears, chest shaking from laughter.

"Yer so stupid." You laugh, folding the last of your pizza and finishing it in a bite. "y'er such a bloke."

Simon pokes at your cheek, your hand flying up to swat at his as he hums.

"Yer bloke."

"Guh."

Two months later, Simon returns to help you move.

You sell the majority of your furniture and tell him you've got your eye on a nice little place a little more outskirt, but he tells you to pick where you'll be comfortable. He truly only needs to come home to you and it'll be enough. You kick at him and tell him at least to tell you whether it should be a flat or a townhouse or whatever. He settles with you as the two of you look into an agent, and eventually you find a place you both like to some extent.

You move back home to Simon, and you blink as you settle into the new place, keys in your hand as you squeeze Simon. You're back on the couch, legs kicked over his as your thumbs brush at his cheeks, staring.

“Heard Tommy’s baby is coming soon”

“Mhm.”

“Did they pick a name?”

Simon raises a brow at you when you tilt your head and blink.

“Joseph, luvie. Joseph.”

You laugh, cheeks warm as Simon hums.

"Yer still pretty as ever, Si."

"Even with the mangled lip?"

"Adds flavor." You grin. "Funny that we haven't gone on a proper date yet."

"Y'wanna go on a date? Bring your documents. We're off to get the civil ceremony."

"Wow, really can't wait f'r me to become Missus Riley, huh?"

"Waited long enough. 'm sure you've waited longer." He mumbles. "A whole life, even."

"Whole two." You hold up your fingers. "I'll tell you all about it after you finally break me in."

"Bloody hell."

You laugh, cheeks warm and eyes closed as Simon stares.

This, he understood.

You, he understands.

In this life, and whatever other he had.

You, he knows.

"Thinking?" You quirk your head to the side

"Thinkin' bout you, luvie."

"Yeah? You'll be doing that a lot more now, Si."

"Always have been."

[the-raindeer-king]

Part 1 Part 3

Part 2 to teen! Ghost (reader is mentioned to being smaller than the others, but is otherwise gender neutral. minor mention of child abuse.)

This has to be some kind of joke. Maybe Ghost has a kid, and didn't know how to tell you. Maybe it's some elaborate prank, and Ghost is in his room, decompressing.

But... Price wouldn't joke around about something like this, especially not when it comes to Ghost. The looks on Soap and Gaz's face only further confirm the truth, and the pit in your stomach only widens.

It's the way this kid - Ghost, Simon, - stares at you that makes you want to throw up. You knew Ghost didn't have a good childhood, that there's no family for him to go home to anymore. But to see the haunted look of fresh trauma in this poor kid's eyes, it makes you hate the world. He's just a kid.

Wiping your hands on your pants, you give him a small smile. "Hey, kiddo. You're not in any trouble," you say, voice soft and gentle as you approach. You crouch down by the chair Simon's sitting in, making yourself smaller in an attempt to make him feel better.

It's weird, seeing just how small Ghost used to be. You've only ever know him as the brick powerhouse Lieutenant, tall and wide, the biggest man in the room. It's feels wrong, seeing him as nothing more than a scared child, barely taller than you are.

"Are you going to call my dad?" he asks, and the undertone of terror in his voice makes you want to cry. It makes you want to find whatever shithole Mr. Riley has called home and kill the old bastard with your bare hands.

Instead, you shake your head, answering softly, "No, Simon. We're not going to call your father."

He relaxes at that, shoulders sagging in relief. You could honestly cry, heart aching for this poor kid who's been dealt such a shitty hand. Somehow you don't.

"I need to ask you a couple of questions, sweetheart. I just need you to be honest with your answers, okay?" you tell him.

"O-okay," Simon agrees, glancing towards the door, where Soap and Gaz are standing. Gaz has a look on concern on his face, eyebrows pinched together and mouth downturned. Soap, on the other hand, is staring so intensely at Simon you'd think he was trying to kill him with his eyes.

While you know that's not the case, if anything he's probably trying to figure out how to help, you can see why Simon looks so nervous. Trapped in a room with four adults, three of whom are burly men, it's a miracle he hasn't had a panic attack.

"MacTavish," you call, and Soap's eyes fly to you. "Run to the mess. Bring back a water and a pudding cup, yeah? Vanilla preferably, butterscotch if they're out."

With Soap gone, Simon seems to relax a little more, his gaze returning to you. You give him another smile, and the ache in your heart eases a little when you notice the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in response.

"Am I right to assume that you don't recognize anyone in the room?" you ask.

Simon nods his head in confirmation.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Simon's quiet for a moment, hands fidgeting together. You've never seen Ghost do that before, and you're not sure if it's a good or bad sign, but you don't call him out on it.

"Tommy and I went to bed, and... and I woke in that building, with the men with guns," Simon explains. He pauses, gesturing over to Gaz, "And then he came in and rescued me, and... then we rode in a helicopter back here."

You glance towards Gaz, who nods his head in confirmation. But that doesn't explain how Ghost suddenly became a teenager again. And if teen Simon is here, where's Ghost? All the variables make your head spin, and you need to be focused on what you can control right now.

It's Simon that brings you out of your spiraling thoughts. "Can I call my mom?" he asks meekly.

"No," Price answers, gruff and authoritative.

The sharpness in Price's tone makes Simon flinch, and you reach out to gently take Simon's hands in yours.

"You're going to have to sit tight, buddy, while we figure out how you got there. But I'll call your mom and let her know you're okay," you lie. The guilt hits immediately, but you can't bring yourself to deny him this small comfort, even if it's a lie.

"I can't talk to her?"

Simon's hands tighten around yours, when Price beats you to answer. "No. Enough questions."

[alchemistc]

Everything's so damn dark when the blindfold slips off that for a second she can't see a thing.

Don't panic. Don't scream. Don't hurt the baby.

Something groans at her feet and she startles straight into the pipe behind her head.

"'lo?" A voice asks, familiar enough to give her pause, and she wonders for a moment if this is a joke, if this is a trick, if this - "s'there?"

His words are slurred. A concussion, maybe, then. Great. Biggest man she knows and he's gonna be a useless pile of puke to her.

Don't panic, Maddie reminds herself, and then she starts giggling.

"Tommy?"

He groans an affirmative.

"Oh good. I feel a lot better about getting overpowered, now."

A hand grabs for her ankle and Maddie bites back a scream. It's Tommy's hand, big and warm and - fully unbound, which feels a little unfair. "Cunt drugged me," he says, then pauses. Squeezes her ankle. "Sorry for the language."

"No, it's, uh - I think it's warranted this time."

Maddie can't remember exactly how it'd happened to her. Had she been hit? Is she injured? She does a mental tally. Her lip feels swollen. Nose and eyes feel fine, though, so maybe she bit it? Neck, shoulders, all good. She's been bending her elbows and wrists just fine, she just doesn't have the leverage to do anything about the zip ties keeping her affixed to the probably pipe behind her. Hips, legs, knees. She wiggles her toes and in the darkness Tommy chuckles. "Everything accounted for?"

He must have done his own check while she was working through hers. She can hear him rustling around. "I'm still incredibly mad at you, but it's nice to hear your voice," she says, and Tommy goes still. "Tommy? All good?"

"...why are you mad at me?"

"Like you don't know?" Oh. Actually maybe she is more mad than she is glad. "You broke my brother's heart, idiot. I don't have any more room in my entire house for the coping mechanism he's come up with." She kicks, a little. Tommy grunts and shifts. "I hope that hit something painful and non-essential to our escape."

"He's - he'll be fine."

"What exactly is your definition of fine? Because it's been a few months and he's still bringing me baked goods on a bi-weekly basis."

"Bi-weekly like -."

"Do not get pedantic on me, Kinard. Two times a week. What's your status? Moving parts all still moving?"

"I think my balls have taken a vacation, but that's more a reflection on how terrifying you are than on this current situation."

Flippant. Sarcasm in the face of Maddie trying to get a full picture. Buck had called him funny and charming. Maddie's second kick doesn't land, but only because he's got a hand wrapped around her foot. "Once we're out of here, I'm gonna punch you in the face."

He hums. "For the balls comment, or the cunt thing?"

Maddie shrugs. Remembers that he can't see it. "Which part of 'broke my brother's heart' are you not getting?"

He sounds like he's moving gingerly. She can hear heavy bulky fabric rustle and she wonders if he's in three layers like usual. She could use something warm. "I - figured he'd be over it by now."

Maddie snorts. If she had to make a guess, Tommy glowers at the noise. "Dumbass."

And then it hits her. "The cunt? Skinny, brunette, pretty? Kind of...angular face?"

Tommy hums and takes her weight as she tries to kick again. "Sounds like her."

"Oh, Buck's gonna be pissed and embarrassed. She's rebound attempt number two."

Tommy's silent long enough that Maddie has to check in. He hums, and goes back to silence. "Rebound attempt?"

"If you hadn't noticed, we've actually been kidnapped, so maybe I can save your relationship afterwards?"

"I think she was trying to kill me," Tommy admits. "Otherwise why am I unbound in this shitty Saw knockoff?"

Maddie feels some extra pieces dropping into place. Oh, Buck is never gonna live this down actually.

"Can you overpower her if she comes in?"

"If she's not quick to try to drug me again. If I can figure out where the fucking door is. If -."

"A yes or no is fine. Pretty sure she's the Bay Butcher, if that helps you answer."

His pause is long. "...maybe," he says, and accepts the kick this time without block or protest.

[cjlouwho]

prompt: something where buck and tommy argue over gerrard. like, buck doesn't know how tommy could have been so passive, and tommy's like way over that version of himself or something. I know a lot of people don't want that to happen in the show, and I get it, but I'd like a fic version!

“I have never, in all my life, dealt with someone so- so... so evil!” Buck was pacing back and forth in Tommy's living room, just as he'd been for the last half hour since he arrived.

“Really, Evan? Never?”

“You don't understand, Tommy. Gerrard is, it's like he's targeting me, but not in a bad way.”

“There's a good way to be targeted?” Tommy asked from his spot on the couch.

Buck sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “It's like he- he wants us to be buddies, ya know? He thinks I'll be his puppy or something. H- He's treating everyone else like garbage except for me and it makes me feel really weird. He took me golfing, Tommy. Golfing.”

“You fit his ideal firefighter, Babe. He needs minions, he's gonna latch onto you.”

“What do you mean his ideal firefighter? What even is that?”

“White, strong, straight,” Tommy replied simply.

Buck raised an eyebrow. “What we did yesterday morning was very not straight.”

“Yeah, but does he know that?”

“Does he know what we did yesterday morning?”

Tommy tilted his head. “Evan.”

Finally, Buck plopped down on the couch, staring toward the blank TV. “I figured he knew after we went to the medal ceremony together.”

“It's not like we made out in front of the crowd. For all he knows, we're friends.”

Buck was silent for a moment. “I've never really talked about my personal life with him,” he admitted. “Didn't really want to. N- Not because I'm ashamed or anything,” he added quickly, looking at Tommy with wide eyes. “I'm not. I promise, I- I'm not ashamed.”

“I know, Evan.” Tommy reached over and gave Buck's hand a squeeze. “You're a very good ally.”

He glared at Tommy. “I'll never live that down, will I?”

“Nope.”

Buck grew quiet again, and Tommy was beginning to think the conversation was over.

Then Buck, barely above a whisper, said, “I don't want him to think we're just friends.”

“It's fine if he does,” Tommy replied. “I don't mind. Probably best that way, honestly.”

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. He turned more toward Tommy, his back leaning against the armrest. “What do you mean?”

Tommy contemplated his words before speaking. “Listen, I'm not telling you to be buddy-buddy with the guy. I definitely do not recommend that. I'm also not saying to turn a blind eye to all the crap he pulls. But, why make it harder on yourself?”

“Because it's living a lie, Tommy.”

“It's not lying if you just don't mention it.”

Buck huffed out a breath. “You want me to hide who I am? I distinctly remember that being the reason our first date ended so abruptly.”

Tommy let out a deep breath. “I'm not saying to hide, Evan. And that's not exactly the reason our date ended, you know that. I'm saying if there's been no reason to bring it up so far, why bring it up now? What he thinks about you doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of the growing frustration. “So, what? You wanna walk into Gerrard's office and say 'Hey, I'm bisexual by the way. Also, I'm dating that Tommy guy you worked with years ago. You know, the one you made fun of when you saw him at the medal ceremony?' You really think that's the best thing to do?”

“It's better than being his puppet like y-” Buck cut himself off abruptly.

“Like me?” Tommy finished. “That's what you were gonna say, isn't it?”

“Tommy, I-”

“It's true,” he continued with a shrug. “I was his puppet. I did whatever he wanted me to do and I didn't question it. Even after he was going to let me die in that explosion, I still stuck by his side. I don't deny that part of my life, Evan.”

“I wasn't trying t-”

“You know I apologized for all of that well over a decade ago, right? I feel like I remember us talking about that.”

“W- We did.”

“And I would never want or expect you to be who I was. You know that?”

“I know, Tommy, I-”

“And I'd never ask you to hide yourself, because I did that too and-”

“If you'd let me finish a damn sentence,” Buck snapped.

Tommy stopped, stared at Buck with pursed lips. A silent go ahead.

“I don't- I didn't. I... Ugh, Tommy!”

A pause, then. “That's what you needed to let out?”

“God, you're being so annoying right now!” Buck could feel his body getting hot.

“No, I'm trying to stop you from getting needlessly harassed at work.”

“By essentially cutting off a part of myself every time I'm there!”

“Evan, if your sexuality hasn't come up by now I don't see a reason why it ever would! It's not cutting off a part of yourself, it's just existing!”

“But I- I'm getting special treatment because he doesn't think that part exists,” Buck tried to explain. “I don't want to be his right hand man, Tommy. That might've worked for you but it doesn't work for me.” The words came out harsher than he intended. He knew it was a low blow to bring up something from so long ago, something long dead and buried. But Tommy had made him upset, and he needed to make Tommy upset too.

Except Tommy didn't get upset. He got quiet.

Somehow, that was worse.

A tension so thick you could cut it with a knife filled the air.

After what felt like an eternity, Tommy stood, letting out a sigh. “I'll be back,” he said, beginning to walk out of the living room.

“What- Where are you going?” Buck nearly shot out of his seat. “Are you leaving?”

Tommy turned back to him. “First of all, my house,” he said, motioning around the room. “Second, I'm going into the kitchen to get a drink.”

“Well, I- do you want me to leave?”

“I didn't say that, Evan. I mean, I'm not gonna block the exit if you wanna go, but I prefer to finish the arguments I get involved in.”

Buck sat back down. “Then I'm staying.”

“Good. You want water or something?”

Buck folded his arms over his chest. “With ice.”

“Okay.”

A couple of minutes later, Tommy returned with two cups of water in his hand. He held Buck's out to him, Buck taking it with a low, “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” They both took a few sips, then Buck stared down at the ice in his cup until Tommy started talking again. “You're not wrong,” he said. “Being his right hand man did work for me for a long time. It's not something I'm proud of, and I don't make excuses for it, but I also don't really appreciate it being thrown up in my face.”

Buck set his glass on the coffee table. “That wasn't fair of me, I- I know that. I was just angry. I'm sorry.”

“I probably should have tried explaining myself a bit better,” Tommy replied. “I'm sorry too.” He set his own cup down, then held his arm out toward Buck. “Will you come here?”

Buck didn't hesitate to move into Tommy's space. He curled up next to him, resting his head on Tommy's chest while Tommy wrapped him in his arms. “I can't help wanting to protect you, Evan,” Tommy said, pressing a kiss to Buck's head. “I know you don't need it, and I know it's selfish, but the idea of you getting harassed by that man for any reason, it- it scares me. I have,” he let out a humorless laugh, “I have never been as brave as you. I still feel nauseous every time I see the guy. But I never want you to feel like I want you to hide yourself, or that I want you to be like me. That's not what I meant.”

Buck ran his hand slowly up and down Tommy's chest. “I know. I- I get it. I've never dealt with a Gerrard before, not directly. Didn't think I'd ever have to.”

Tommy hummed. He ran his fingers through Buck's hair. “I will back whatever decision you make,” he assured him. “Whether you tell him or you don't, I am right beside you. I never want you to think I'm not.”

Buck propped himself up enough to be able to look at Tommy. “I know you are,” he replied, bringing a hand to Tommy's face. He stroked his thumb along Tommy's cheek, then leaned up for a kiss. “That's why I love you.”

Tommy sucked in a breath. His heart began to race. They'd never said those words before. Honestly, Tommy had stopped himself a few times, figuring it was way too soon.

But, as always, Evan burst through every door Tommy had locked up in his mind.

“I love you too, Evan,” he replied, and he hoped Evan could feel just how much he meant those words.

But, in case he couldn't, Tommy pulled him in for another, deeper kiss. Holding him close and tight while he wished they could stay right here in this moment for the rest of their lives.

When they finally separated for some air, Buck sat up straighter. “I'm going to tell him,” he said without an ounce of fear or hesitation. “Maybe not the way you suggested, but I... I want him to know I'm yours, and your mine, and screw whatever he has to say about it.”

And God, if Tommy thought he couldn't love this man anymore than he already did, there went Evan proving him wrong.

He nodded. “Okay.” He brought Buck's hand to his lips, pressed a kiss against his knuckles. “I'm with you. I love you.”

Buck smiled, wrapping himself up in Tommy once again. “I love you more.”

[magniloquent-raven]

Day 4: Supportive Boyfriends

and for my next (LATE, SO LATE) @bucktommypositivityweek contribution. KITTEN FIC.

(read on ao3)

**

The 118 doesn't have a baby box.

In fact there aren't any in the state of California at all. Buck looked it up, after Maddie's postpartum episode. When half his family was missing and there wasn't much he could do besides wait and... think about things.

So he thought about safe haven laws. Read up on the training seminars for first responders who want to be better equipped to deal with hand-offs. Read a bunch of other stuff he sort of wishes he hadn't. Spent the next week haunted by articles about abandoned children.

He considered talking to Bobby about it. Only partly to ask him if they should get a box for the firehouse. Partly because Buck wasn't sure how he felt about the whole thing, and Bobby always seemed to have answers. But he never worked up the nerve to broach the subject.

And now. Bobby's not captain anymore, and Buck really can't imagine Gerrard giving a shit about any of this.

So, they don't have a box. But.

Well, this isn't a human baby. It's not like the same rules apply.

Buck has to wonder if wires got crossed somewhere, because. Someone left a kitten. Outside the firehouse.

Buck was just going to grab something—he can't remember what—from his Jeep, when he spotted an unlabelled cardboard box on the pavement, up against the side of the building. His first thought was bomb.

Until it meowed at him. A tiny, high-pitched peep of a meow.

Kind of scared the shit out of him, if he's being honest.

There's only one. All alone in the box. A poofy grey thing wriggling around half buried in an off-white towel. Like a very ambitious dust bunny with big round blue eyes and skinny legs. It wobbles slowly over a fold in the towel with all the effort of someone scaling a mountain.

Buck crouches next to the box, and pokes a finger inside.

"Hey, buddy," he murmurs, holding very still while the kitten inches towards his hand and squeaks. It's unclear whether there are teeth in that little maw. That means it's really young, right? Too young to be left alone for very long.

Shit, how is he going to explain this to Gerrard? He's still got, like, 12 hours left on his shift, but someone has to feed this thing. How long can kittens go without food?

Oh, it does have teeth. Really teeny ones. They're ineffectively poking his knuckle.

Buck fishes his phone out of his jacket—with the hand that isn't currently being drooled on—intending to go to Google for answers. How to figure out how old a kitten is. How often do kittens need to be fed. Do cats get separation anxiety. He has a million questions.

Only he doesn't pull up his browser. He calls Tommy.

It's a whim. Barely a seed of an idea. But when he unlocked his phone the first thing he saw was their text history (he'd been complaining about Gerrard off-and-on all morning, and Tommy had been sending random updates about all the chores he'd been getting done—his last message was a picture of a mop with no context) and he just thought... Tommy will know what to do. Not in so many words, more a feeling. Comfort and certainty, just from seeing Tommy's picture in a little bubble at the top of his screen.

"Evan?" Tommy answers almost immediately, and there's a subtle undercurrent of worry in his tone. Buck winces. Right, calling out of the blue while he's at work would look. Bad.

"I'm okay!" He says quickly, all in one breath. Then pauses. The kitten squints up at him, meowing again, long and loud. Its whole fluffy face scrunches with the effort.

"...What was that?"

"Uh. That would be why I called, actually."

—

Gerrard is less of an obstacle than Buck feared he'd be. Because he's holed up in his office doing paperwork when Buck sneaks in with the kitten, and Buck's decided he has no intention of letting him know the cat was ever here.

Tommy promised he'd come get her.

Buck didn't even really ask, and wasn't planning on asking. Didn't have any plan whatsoever, in fact. He just wanted to know if Tommy knew anything about taking care of kittens, and suddenly Tommy's voluntarily sacrificing the rest of his day off to scope out vets and pet supply stores and whatever else Buck's helpless little friend might need.

He hung up hours ago and his insides still feel warm and goopy about it. He can't stop thinking about the gentle fondness that softened Tommy's voice after Buck explained the situation. Buck would wrap himself up in it like a blanket if he could.

Tommy's getting so kissed when he shows up.

In the meantime, Buck's sitting upstairs, working his way through the dozen or so tabs he opened up after googling kitten care.

He thinks the one he found might be around three weeks old (ears not quite unfurled, can't sheathe claws yet, legs unsteady but mobile). And possibly a girl. She did not care for being picked up and turned over, and the indignant squirming made it difficult to tell what's going on down there. But he's almost certain he's right.

She was shrieking up a storm about it, and he was worried if he took any longer she'd alert Gerrard. (She didn't. She did, however, draw the attention of about half the firehouse.)

"You are disgustingly cute," Chimney coos, scratching under her chin with the tip of one finger. She's lifted her head as high as she can and her eyes are squinted happily. Buck can hear her purring from across the room. "Yes you are. Hen, can you get a picture of this?"

Hen pulls out her phone. "Sure... why?" She asks, leaning over his shoulder to snap a picture and eye him with mild suspicion.

"Jee. She'll wanna see when I tell her about my day."

Her expression softens to a smile. "I'll text it to you." She taps her screen a couple times. "Just had to make sure you weren't planning on calendar campaigning again."

Chimney grins. "Nah, my calendar days are behind me. The only person who gets shirtless pictures of me now is my wife."

"Gross," Buck says without conviction. He narrows his eyes at the site he's scrolling through, swiping away a Join Our Mailing List! popup. "You guys don't think she's cold do you? Are her ears warm? It's only, like, 70 today and we don't know how long she was out there."

Hen and Chim exchange glances, and then, disturbingly in sync, look from the cat to Buck. Chim gives her ear a perfunctory poke, which she does not appreciate as much as chin scritches, "She's fine, man."

Hen waves a hand at Buck when he opens his mouth again, "We're medical professionals. And in my medically professional opinion. She's fine."

"Okay, but—"

"Hey guys, look who stopped b—uhhh. Is that a cat?" Eddie slows to a stop at the top of the stairs, blinking at the kitten on the couch. "When did we get a cat?"

"Couple hours ago," Buck says, still frowning at Hen and Chimney. "Where have you been?"

"I found him polishing the engine."

Buck shoots out of his seat. "Tommy!"

He only half-hears Eddie muttering, "Favouritism," as he scuttles around the chair to meet Tommy halfway between the stairs and the sitting area. Tommy has just enough time to smile—and it warms Buck, like it always does, with a spark caught in his chest for safekeeping—and say hi before Buck's on him, palms clapped on either side of his face, smushing their lips together.

He makes a bit of a show of it, dramatically swooping in, because he knows the big smacking MWAH will make Tommy laugh, and he likes the way that feels rumbling against his chest.

Buck taps their noses together. "Hey," he says, savouring the mirth sparkling in Tommy's eyes for a second before kissing him again, properly this time.

His brain goes sort of fuzzy when Tommy's palm cups the back of his neck.

Someone in the distance wolf-whistles.

When they finally come up for air Tommy asks, "What was that for?" a little breathlessly, which is doing things to Buck.

"Mmn...y'know. For being you."

Tommy raises his eyebrows, kiss-reddened lips curling fondly. "Okay."

"Hey, Tommy. Good to see you," Chim calls in a very pointed way.

Right, public setting. Workplace. Friends watching. Buck exhales slowly, and tries to think about anything other than how much he wants to bite that bit of clavicle peeking out of the collar of Tommy's shirt. Like the fact that Tommy's hands are warm, and he's sort of rubbing his fingertips over the short stubbly bits of hair on the back of Buck's head, and Buck's lips are still tingling a little, and—no wait, not that either.

Tommy pulls away first, which is probably for the best, but also very sad. The corner of his mouth twitches like he can see Buck thinking it. He curls his index finger and gently taps Buck's chin with the knuckle before he turns to the group.

"Howie," he says, not even pretending to be contrite in the face of Chim's mock-judgement. "Hen."

"Tommy." Hen fails to contain her smirk.

Some time during all the kissing, Eddie moved over to the couch. He's sat next to the kitten, watching her attempt to groom her paw with all the grace of a toddler who's only a little bit sure they know how to hold a brush. She keeps starting and stopping at random intervals, sometimes licking the cushion beside her, sometimes sticking her tongue out at thin air.

She's so cute it makes Buck's chest hurt. It's a little much while he's still loopy from making out with his boyfriend.

Then Tommy goes and crouches next to the couch so he can get eye-level with the kitten while she sniffs his hand, talking to her all calm and soft with smile-lines crinkling his cheeks, and. Buck might need to lie down for a bit. Like, on top of Tommy, preferably.

The kitten seems to like him too, and he really can't blame her when she crawls up Tommy's sleeve to perch on his shoulder.

She looks so much smaller cuddled up on Tommy. He reaches up to steady her, and she's almost entirely obscured by his hand.

God, is it wrong that he's getting a little hot under the collar about that? He just looks so strong and competent and at the same time, like, gentle. Buck knows how it feels to be touched tenderly by those hands, and apparently just seeing it happen does not affect him any less. In fact it's only added dimensions to his desires.

"I should probably get going," Tommy says, bringing Buck back down to Earth with a resounding splat.

He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it. He's right. The last thing Buck wants is for Tommy to have another run-in with Gerrard, and they don't know how long the old bastard's gonna be occupied.

"Mhm, run while you still can," Chimney pipes up. "Before our dear old captain smells an opportunity to ruin someone's day."

"He does seem to have a sixth sense for that," Eddie adds sullenly. Buck makes a note to ask him what that was about. Later.

"I'll walk you out," Buck says, trying not to sound like a pouting child. He's fairly certain he fails, because Tommy laces their fingers together and gives his hand a comforting squeeze.

He says his goodbyes, the whole time being careful not to dislodge the kitten while she crawls across his shoulders.

Buck goes through the list of kitten care basics he memorized as they make their way to the parking lot. It's...more than he thought it was, honestly. It starts to feel overwhelming as he goes on, and on, and on. He's running out of time to get it all out, and he feels like it's just now sinking in his huge this responsibility that he's dumping in Tommy's lap is.

"You're sure you don't mind taking her?" The question bursts out of Buck before they make it to Tommy's car. "W-we didn't really, I mean. We talked about it over the phone, but..."

"Yeah, now that I've seen her she does seem like a real handful."

The kitten yawns, and curls up into a tiny grey ball in the crook of Tommy's neck.

Well. Alright.

"It's just, t-they need a lot of attention when they're that young, and I kinda just, just dropped this on you."

"Evan." Tommy gives him a look. "Are you worried that you baby-trapped me?"

Okay, when he puts it like that. Maybe a little bit. But also now he's having complicated yearning feelings that he really should not be having this early in the relationship.

Buck's pretty sure he looks like a deer in the headlights right now, because Tommy's doing his damnedest to pretend he isn't laughing at him.

He tugs Buck's hand, leading him the rest of the way to his car.

The backseat is full of cat stuff. Containers of milk-replacement powders, and a shiny plastic litter box, and toys, so many toys, baggies of fake mice and feathery things, just. So much stuff. Piles of it.

"I called up a friend who used to foster kittens. She had a lot of advice. And then I got a little carried away."

"I, uh. See that," Buck laughs breathlessly.

"Over the phone, you sounded like this meant a lot to you? And I think I got really attached to the idea of...this. Taking care of her for you. With you." He sounds hesitant, like he's trying not to say too much, and Buck can't stand it—

"I love you so much," he says in a rush.

"Well, good," Tommy purses his lips around a smile, eyes bright and crinkled at the corners. He reaches up to his shoulder, like he's absent-mindedly checking to see if the kitten's still there. "Wouldn't want her to grow up in a broken home."

Buck huffs a laugh.

"And I love you too."

[mypoisonedvine]

Tommy’s teenage love, whom he got separated from when he went to france.. Sad, bitter and heartbreaking end for them.

But now years later he sees her again, and the tension is 👀👀

I know this doesn't have to be dark but of course I made it a little dark 🤣 tommy just can't take no for an answer...

warnings: DUBCON DARK SMUT 18+ ONLY!, yandere, infidelity/cucking, breeding

It wasn't until he tried to kiss you, and you backed away, that he really got angry. Up until that point, it seemed like he'd thought the life you'd made for yourself while he was gone was just a minor inconvenience at most-- but your resistance irritated him. You didn't remember being so nervous around him when he was upset.

"Why won't you kiss me?" he asked softly, and you weren't even sure how to answer that question... wasn't it obvious?

"Thomas," you mumbled, "it was nice to catch up, but..."

He tightened his fists as you trailed off, making you feel oddly trapped while standing in your own kitchen. "I kept my promise," he told you firmly. "I never loved anyone else."

"You can't be angry with me," you scoffed. "Tommy, we were children! We didn't understand what any of it really meant--"

"You didn't really love me?" he assumed sharply.

"O-of course I did," you sighed, "Tommy, of course. I loved you so much. But I grew up."

Your fingers absent-mindedly twisted your wedding ring around your finger, guilt stirring in your chest. If you were honest with yourself, you knew you never moved on from Tommy completely-- no one ever forgets their first love. But you'd managed to put it all in the back of your mind, telling yourself that was all over... until you saw him again. Your heart could've stopped, seeing him at your door; it was like seeing him for the first time all over again, even though you could see how unkind the years had been to him.

But you had to shove all those feelings down now, and think of your husband. "You should go," you whispered, "before he gets back."

"I grew up too," he sneered, taking a step closer that made your heart race for multiple, conflicting reasons. "You have no idea the man I am now. People do what I say or they suffer consequences."

You swallowed thickly, horrified to see the darkness in his eyes-- something totally unlike the gentle, passionate young man you'd known all those years ago.

"If I want something, I take it," he continued. "Doesn't matter if it's a horse, or a gun, or another man's wife."

"Tommy," you whimpered, "my husband will be home soon... you need to leave before he comes back."

He stepped closer again, grabbing you and holding you tightly against him when you tried to step away. "Good," he decided flatly. "He can see what a little whore you are when a real man takes you."

He shoved you down onto the table harshly, ignoring your whine of pain as he pushed the bowls and plates out of the way, most of them falling off and shattering; none of that bothered him, he was too busy roughly pulling up your skirts, unfastening his trousers, holding you down. "T-Tommy, please," you choked.

"I know," he sighed, "I know, you need me so badly. How long has it been since anyone properly made love to you, darling? He could never take care of you like I do."

Sliding his fat head through your folds, you choked on a little sob.

"You still get so wet for me," he grinned happily, "still dripping, just like I remember."

Truth be told, your body still responded to him... that couldn't be denied now. You had a natural urge to give in and let him take you, let him bring you the pleasure you hadn't known since he left; but your logic and your dignity kept up the fight, though it was pretty useless against Tommy's strength-- with only one hand, he held you down while he guided his cock to your entrance.

He sighed a heavy, dark sigh of relief as he sheathed himself inside you, relaxing all over like a burden had been lifted off of him. "Oh, love," he purred, rubbing your back soothingly to try to help you stop shaking. "Oh, I'd nearly forgotten... nearly lost the memory entirely of how warm you are inside..."

You, meanwhile, were whimpering and willing your legs not to shake-- you couldn't let him see how much you loved the feeling, how you'd longed to take him inside you again, or he'd never leave you alone.

"My beautiful," he panted, "my darling..."

Setting a rough and desperate pace, his hands grabbed greedily at your body, forcing you to bite down harder on your lip to keep from moaning.

"You wouldn't believe how I missed this," he breathed. "Thought of you every day in France-- only way I survived, thinking of you... said you'd wait for me, love..."

You tried to hold back your tears, all of this bringing back emotions you thought you'd buried forever-- I would've waited for you forever, Tommy, you wanted to say, I wish I had, but I was scared that I'd never see you again.

You didn't say it, though, because you wouldn't be able to keep yourself together. You were struggling enough now, impossibly conflicted by what he was doing to you. For years you'd imagined seeing him again, but it never went quite like this in your head.

"T-Tommy," you managed choke out, and he cooed your name back at you sweetly.

"I know," he offered again, "it's really me, love-- we're really together again. I won't let you go this time."

You hadn't been lying about your husband coming home soon-- maybe Tommy thought you were, as an excuse to make him leave, but you weren't. You sobbed in shame and fear as he unlocked the door and walked in, finding you two in the kitchen with the most (understandably) bewildered look on his face.

Tommy didn't even stop.

"Wha-- Christ?! Who the fuck are you?!" your husband spat out, stammering over himself.

"I'm Tommy fuckin' Shelby," Tommy growled.

"O-oh," your husband choked, stepping back shakily towards the door. You hid your face, unable to look at him, so you only knew he left when you heard the door shut a minute later. Tommy purred and leaned down to rest his head on your back, between your shoulder blades.

"Don't think he's gonna give us any more trouble," Tommy chuckled darkly. "Fuck, love, I'm so close already-- never knew how to control myself with you..."

The way he breathed against your skin-- that hadn't changed at all. You hadn't even realized you remembered it until you heard it, and it was like you were that girl again, the girl he loved so long ago-- but you weren't anymore, or at least, that's what you had thought.

"Almost ready to fill you up nice and deep, hm?"

"Tommy," you choked, tensing up under him, and he groaned happily.

"Can't wait for our little family, darling," he cooed, "all the babies we're gonna have-- like we talked about back then, remember?"

His thrusts came faster and harder, shaking the whole table under you, and you kept hiding your face so you could try to deny your pleasure. Maybe you could hide it from yourself, but it was useless trying to hide it from him.

"I know how badly you need it," he groaned, "how long you've wanted this-- I'm yours, love, all yours again. You'll never have to be away from me again."

You knew what that really meant was that you'd never get a chance to be away from him again. It scared you just as much as it comforted you.

He came deep inside you with a long, low moan-- and for a long time, he just stayed within you, catching his breath. He only pulled out so he could lift you up a bit, turning you to face him, and finally getting you to kiss him this time. You struggled to focus on kissing him back when you could feel his come running down your thighs.

"You were always mine," he informed you with a gentle whisper against your lips. "Doesn't matter whose ring is on your finger. You'll always be mine."

[hadesisqueer]

It's been a long time since I read any Marvel comics and even longer since I read any Young Avengers comics (I was more of a Runaways fan tbh) but I do remember that Tommy had a pretty bad background. Bad parents, in juvie, experimented on to turn him into a weapon-- yeah. And it seems like they're gonna stick with him having a worse background than Billy in the MCU because of this:

“It's underwater! There's a boy. It's a prank. They tricked him. He's gonna drown. It's a bad place. And the people, the family. There's no one to love him! He's got no one!”

Yep, it seems like they're giving Tommy the saddest backstory possible. The fact that Thomas Shepherd dies like this, being killed by bullies who'll never know they killed him is horrifying. And Tommy is gonna wake up to that. The kid is gonna go through hell.

It has a lot of potential for angst between him and Billy. And it could create a very interesting dynamic. I think Tommy and him will bond, but there's also potential for some resentment from Tommy's side. He gets reincarnated into the body of a bullied kid, with family that doesn't care about him and could be abusive. Meanwhile, Billy got two angels like the Kaplans as his parents, and now a cool gay ghost aunt. So there's a chance that this poor other kid might be like "Why? Why did you get all the good things while I got stuck with this?"

Also with his background being like that, I get the feeling he will most likely be the twin that considers Wanda his mom and Vision his dad, 100%. Eventually I really think Billy will see them as his parents too along with the Kaplans, but unlike Billy, Tommy doesn't get a new good, loving dad and a new good, loving mom. And we don't know if he'll fully remember Billy's voice as Billy did his (I think so). Maybe he will remember his voice, maybe he'll remember Vision's voice saying "We're very proud of you," maybe he'll remember Wanda's voice saying “A family is forever, we could never truly leave each other" or "Thanks for choosing me as your mother". Maybe all three. Maybe just one. In any case, this poor kid is probably gonna wake up wondering where are his brother or his parents and get stuck with the Shepherds and it'll be a 1000 times worse than what Billy went through and I really pity him.

[beanarie]

i never wanted water once part 3

tommy is also breakup baking, prompted by my dear @sanguinarysanguinity

tw: mention of parent death, mention of child abuse

part 1

part 2

~

Gutierrez eyes him on his way out of the locker room. "Feel like no one ever sees you anymore. You coming back to the pickup game or what?"

"Oh." Tommy gives his damp hair one last rub from the towel. "I wasn't planning on it, to be honest. Too awkward."

Gutierrez frowns. "Why?"

"You know," Tommy says, wishing he didn't have to, "Eddie Diaz. I broke up with his best friend."

"Diaz hasn't shown in weeks. Probably got injured. You know how that crew is."

And that. Well. He and Eddie were friends. They became tight very quickly in a way Tommy hasn't experienced with many people. He shouldn't have thrown a connection like that away without at least trying to salvage it.

He sends a text, a polite, generic one asking about his welfare. Worst thing that can happen is Eddie tells him to fuck off and he's back where he started. He fully expects to be left on read.

He does not expect Eddie to tell him he's moving back to Texas because he's given up on his son deciding to come home. Eddie invites him to a pre-going away dinner at a bar and grill before he goes down South for a few days to scout out homes. And, no, absolutely not. But Tommy proposes getting a drink, just the two of them. Eddie very validly explains that he can't spare the time, since he's already started packing up his life and he's working overtime to save up for a down payment. Tommy gets it. He does.

The day after the dinner, Eddie calls him. "Hey, man. I know we're like two ships passing in the night, but I didn't want to leave without a proper goodbye. I still got some more shifts before I move for good, but the time will go by quick. We'll just stay on the line, okay? Keep me company while I go through my kitchen cabinets."

"It's good to hear from you," Tommy says honestly.

"So yeah." Eddie hums. "Why'd you do it?"

"Text you?" Tommy says. "I heard that-"

"Kinard," Eddie says, unamused.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"You just didn't seem the type to flee."

None of you know me as well as you thought you did, Tommy doesn't say. That's not fair to any of them. "I wasn't, in the past. Well, I tried not being that. A couple times. It didn't work out."

"Oh," Eddie says. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"You've got shit."

"Haven't we all?"

"Hey, I am not denying that." Eddie chuckles. "Do you plan on dealing with it, or letting it blow up every good thing you find until you die?"

"Jesus, Eddie."

"What's the point in mincing words? You did something dumb and destructive. What kinda friend would I be if I let that go without saying anything?"

"So what's the weather even like in El Paso? Does it ever get below 100?"

After a groan, Eddie lets Tommy talk about his shit, about Texas, parenthood, and chess clubs, for the rest of the call. Tommy can't say that he'll miss him. He missed him already and now he gets to continue doing so. All of this sucks.

Tommy tries his hand at gnocchi made with ricotta, lemon, and pepper that subsequently almost causes a fistfight during B shift.

Demetra favors him with a warm smile, taking in the large box in his hands. "Tom, right? Welcome! What's all this?"

"Tommy," he says easily, impressed she remembered his name at all. He hasn't been to this slightly dusty community center in five or six years. "Uh, this is garlic knots and mini calzones."

"Well, hey. You're even more welcome than before. Come take a seat."

December is a stupid time to rejoin group, many of the participants close to the edge from a cocktail of seasonal depression, missing dead loved ones, and generalized loneliness. Tommy knew it would be like this going in. He counted on it. Everyone will have so much to say that there likely won't be any time for him to open his mouth. He's not ready to spill. It will help to just soak in the atmosphere of unashamed honesty for a while.

At his third meeting, Cal, a slender guy in his mid twenties with a curly mohawk, keeps bringing up his mother. "She never wanted me to enlist," he says, "and now that I'm back home and struggling, she can't stop being all 'I told you so' morning, noon, and night. She never says it, but she is thinking it."

"Is she?" Tommy finds himself asking. "Or are you putting something on her that isn't there?"

"Maybe so." Cal pops one of Tommy's fried ravioli in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "I don't know, I should probably give her a chance, think first about what she's actually saying before I react. But it's hard in the moment, you know?"

"Tommy?" Demetra says a minute later, making him feel like a kid being called on by the teacher. "How's your relationship with your mom?"

"Nonexistent. She died when I was fifteen." He crosses his ankles. "Fell asleep in the car on our way back from an away game and we couldn't wake her up. Heart attack."

Demetra frowns sympathetically. "That must've been hard for a kid to witness."

"I've seen so much worse since then. People shot in the head by machine guns, people covered in burns over most of their bodies..."

Demetra shakes her head slightly. "They weren't your mom."

He ducks his head, pressing his lips together. "True. It's just- That's not- It's not trauma. I don't fear falling asleep and not waking up."

"What do you fear?" Cal asks.

Being left, being hurt, being validated in his belief that no one will ever see him for all he is and choose to stick around. "Standard stuff, really. Clowns, taxes, drivers on the freeway."

He gets a pity laugh, a groan or two, and one outright glare. "Okay, okay." He exhales loudly. "Ending up alone by someone else's choice rather than mine."

"So you're cool with being on your own, as long as you're the one keeping everyone away," Cal says.

God, that sounds idiotic. "Yes?"

"You prefer it like this?" asks a woman about his own age wearing a green bomber jacket.

He shrugs. "It's not ideal, but as far as worst case scenarios go, it's okay. It's fine."

"It's spineless," says a gray-haired man with a Desert Storm hat.

Tommy doesn't flinch. "Yeah, that's kind of an inherent character trait. I keep thinking I got it licked, then it shows up wearing another face. Scared of my dad, so I joined the army and became someone he couldn't hurt anymore. Scared of people knowing I was gay, so I waited to come out until I was surrounded by brand new people. Scared of my boyfriend leaving, so." He pushes at the skin above his knees, kneading it. "So I left him first."

"You fall back," says Bomber Jacket. Her name is Annie or Angie. She has conflicted feelings about dating a man with kids. "It's easy to stop being scared when the thing that scared you is far away."

He hears Eddie. You just didn't seem the type to flee.

Demetra holds up a hand. Tommy's face must be doing something concerning. "No one here faults you for what you did to survive. Is it still serving you, is the question, or is that just what you're used to?"

He doesn't bake when he gets home. He drinks half the beers in his fridge and does a shockingly efficient job of cleaning his house, while drafting and deleting twenty-seven different texts. He then wakes up the next day, and goes to the pickup game.

Gutierrez scores four rebounds on him and doesn't shut up about it for the rest of their next shift. Tommy grumbles, and talks shit, and promises he won't have much to brag about next time.

[lennjamin-o7]

Gosh, I'm sure I'll get some discourse on this, but I'll just delete it if I do-

I feel like people forget that L'manburg tried to kill Technoblade.

Like, when they talk about the Tommy/Technoblade betrayal, some people act like Technoblade should have just walked away and shrugged off that Tommy joined the people who tried to murder him. And who still WANT to murder him. Like, remember, after the failed Execution, Quackity talked about how they needed to put killing Technoblade on the back burner because Dream was a bigger threat, but they still VERY MUCH WANTED TO KILL TECHNOBLADE.

Did Tommy know all this? No, he couldn't have known it. He wasn't there. And I think Tommy choosing to go back and make amends with Tubbo was the correct thing to do for himself. I don't think it was the best choice to abandon Technoblade in a crater surrounded by enemies that want him dead, but I do think that Tommy NEEDED to reconcile with Tubbo. That was always a step he needed to take. That's his Tubbo.

But, like, why does it seem like some people just wanted Technoblade to shrug and give Tommy a pat on the back and let him keep the axe? What kind of rational person hears "Actually, now that they'll have me back, I'm going to rejoin the group of people that dropped an anvil on your head! Their companionship is more important to me than your safety" and reacts positively?

Did Tommy say that, word for word? No. Again, he didn't know about all of the hurt L'manburg caused Techno. But that's the message his actions send. Tommy chose Technoblade's would be murderers. Tommy chose the people that would definitely try again to murder Technoblade.

Why would Techno take that positively? Why wouldn't he be angry? Why wouldn't he feel like Tommy doesn't see him as a person, only a means to an end? Whether you think his reaction of blowing L'Manburg up was correct or not, how could you expect Technoblade to be anything less than hurt and angry at that?

It confuses me.