#do people read things at 2 in the morning? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

willowsnook · 3 days ago

Text

When Love is Left Unspoken pt. 2 (MV)

max verstappen x reader

pt. 1 here

I could be talked into a pt. 3 if people want it

It had been a week since the Austin GP and forgetting about what happened had been impossible mostly because Max would not leave you alone.

He didn't reach out directly, but every morning this week, you had woken up to a new gift outside your door. Flowers, chocolate, coffee, pastries, clothing, etc. You had no idea how he even knew your address.

You struggled with what to do. On one hand, you had missed your best friend for a long time. You missed the inside jokes, the comfort you found in him, and supporting one another. But on the other hand, you couldn't stop thinking about how he threw it all away because he was scared of loving you. You had never been scared of loving him, even if you never said. Well maybe that was hypocritical.

Saturday morning an envelope accompanied the box outside of your door. You opened the box first, revealing a vintage RedBull racing bomber jacket that cost who knows how much. It was cute, you'd give it that. Opening the envelope you froze as you read the letter that sat next to a paddock pass for the Brazil GP.

I know you hate me and you have a good reason to but I will do anything to have you back by my side even if you refuse to look at me. Please come to Brazil, I know it's your favorite track. You can stay on Checo's side of the garage if it makes you feel better.

Love, Your Max

Brazil was your favorite track and in the past you had always travelled down early to experience the culture for a bit before the racing started.

You facetimed Carmen, hoping to talk this through with someone else.

"Hey girl, what's up?" She asked, clearly in the middle of a workout.

"Oh, I can call later if you're busy," you said and she shook her head.

"No, it's okay!"

"Max invited me to the Brazilian GP," you told her slowly and her eyes widened.

"Wow."

"I know, I don't know what to do."

Carmen was silent for a little bit, clearly thinking. "Is there any part of you that wants to make up with him?"

"Yes," you admitted quietly. "But I hate myself for even thinking that. I don't want to just forget about everything that happened and take him back with open arms."

"I don't think you necessarily have to forget what happened but maybe focus on the people you both have grown to be in these last few years. Maybe treat it like you are starting over."

"So you think I should go?"

"Selfishly yes of course," she said grinning and you couldn't help but smile back. "You don't even have to spend time with him. Just see how it feels to be around him."

After hanging up with Carmen, you texted the number Max had given you for his assistant in order to get flights and a hotel figured out.

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

You landed in Brazil on media day and didn't plan on going to the track until Saturday. Max was pulling out all the stops even when he couldn't see you as evidenced by the ridiculously nice hotel he put you in. The view was amazing and laying on the bed was a variety of your favorite snacks and drinks with a card that read "I'm so glad you're here -your Max."

The 'Your Max' thing was working even though you hated to admit it. You spent the next two days traveling around the city by yourself and then with Carmen.

Saturday rolled around and you found yourself nervous to be at the paddock despite Carmen's constant reassurances. You hadn't seen Max yet and you weren't really sure what to say when you did.

Funny enough, the first person you ran into when you made it to the RedBull garage was Christian Horner.

"Y/n!" He said surprised to see you. "It's been a while, how are you? You know my wife is obsessed with your tik tok channel."

"Ahh tell her I said thank you," you replied kindly. "I've been doing well."

"We're glad to have you back," he said and your heart swelled. "It's been a rough year for him."

"I'm not sure I can change that," you said politely and he gave you a look.

"You just being here might," he commented before leaving you to go talk with the mechanics. You wandered around the garage, catching up with a lot of people you hadn't seen in a long time.

Max spotted you as he was coming out of his drivers' room and his heart stopped. Of course he knew you were in Brazil, but he still wasn't 100% sure you'd show up. He didn't think he should approach you so he just lingered by watching you. You felt him watching you and looked over at him, trying to control your breathing and gave him a small smile.

He smiled back before being called off to get ready for the sprint. Leaning against the back wall you pulled your headphones and settled in to watch. Max was doing pretty good, battling with Charles for most of the race. Your face appeared on the broadcast and you smiled to the camera, giving it a small wave.

After the race you checked your phone to see that you'd been tagged in countless tweets.

@.username12312: Was that y/n y/l/n in the RedBull garage? I thought her and Max had a falling out???

reply to @.usernam12312 @.user345: Yeah they haven't been friends for a long time. It had something to do with Kelly

reply to @.user345 @.username12312: oh yeah, you're right! I always liked y/n better anyways

You were amused reading the speculation and decided to stir the pot further. While Max was doing interviews you found Checo in the garage and asked him to take a picture with you. The confused man agreed and you quickly posted it to your Instagram story with the caption: My favorite RedBull driver, good luck tomorrow!

Carmen and Lily both slid up with laughing emojis and you walked back to Max's side, trying to avoid the rain. It was really coming down now and you weren't sure if they would even be able to go out on the track. You found Max a little while later sitting against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. You sunk down next to him, holding your knees into your chest.

"Think you'll be able to go out there today?" You asked casually and he looked over at you, clearly excited to hear you speaking to him.

"I would say probably not," he replied. "Maybe tomorrow morning."

"How much longer until we know?"

"Another half hour would be my guess," he said. "I can call for someone to take you back if you want to leave now?"

"No, I'll wait," you said looking down at your phone. You sat in silence for a while and the rain was starting to make you very sleepy. Losing the battle with yourself, you rested your head on Max's shoulder and he stiffened.

Max smiled to himself as you dozed off and the two of you caught the attention of the cameras, the photo soon to be splashed everywhere online. Quali was called off and Max nudged you awake, reaching out to help you up.

"Ride with me back?" He asked hopeful and you nodded. You ran into George and Carmen on the way out and she gave you a knowing look to which you rolled your eyes at.

"You guys should come out to dinner with us," George said. "We're meeting up with Alex and Lily too."

You hesitated, not wanting to miss out but at the same time your social battery was dead. You could only handle so much social interaction before you were craving your warm bed to snuggle into. You started to give in and agree but Max cut you off.

"I think y/n is done being around people for the day so I'm going to take her back."

You looked at him surprised and the realization that he still knew you so well just added more fire to the internal turmoil you were facing. Bidding them goodbye, you followed Max out of the paddock and into the car he had rented for the weekend. The car ride was silent as well as the elevator ride up to your floor.

Max followed close behind you as you made your way to your room and it was starting to irritate you.

"You don't need to walk me to my room Max," you said and he looked at your sheepishly.

"I'm in the one right next to you."

"Are you fucking serious?" You asked frustrated. "I need space Max!"

"I just want you to be safe," he defended and you rolled your eyes.

"From what?" You exclaimed. "Oh yeah, your girlfriend I mean ex-girlfriend is from here. Think she's sending people after me?"

"I don't think that's funny," he said, eyes darkening. "Sue me for wanting you close to me. I'm not going to apologize for that."

"You are the worst," you bit out before shoving into your room, slamming the door.

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

Stepping out of the steaming shower and back into the bedroom you glanced worriedly out the window. You wouldn't necessarily say that you had a fear of thunderstorms but they tended to make you uneasy.

Trying to distract yourself you put on South Park, your favorite show to watch in a hotel, but it didn't work. After a couple of booms you were still on edge. Sighing you got up and left your room, hoping a small walk around the hotel would ease your mind. By the time you made it back, Max was leaning against the wall by your door, waiting for you.

"Can't sleep?" He asked and you nodded.

"The storms."

"You always were scared of them," he teased and you scoffed.

"I'm not scared of them!" Right as you said that, a streak of lighting flashed by the hallway's window followed by a loud crash of thunder. You jumped a little and Max smirked.

"Come on," he said gesturing back to his room. You hesitated and he sighed. "We both know you won't fall asleep alone to this."

Giving in, you followed him into his room. It was a carbon copy of yours and you were amused to see South Park playing on his tv. He climbed into his bed but you stopped short; the scene in front of you reminded you of so many times before. When you traveled with him back in the day you'd often find yourself in his room at night hanging out. You always fell asleep and woke up in his arms, neither of you ever saying anything about it.

Max sat up in the bed looking at you, he knew what you were thinking.

"Y/n," he said softly as he watched you wipe a tear from your eye.

"This is so hard Max," you said, voice breaking. "How am I supposed to just forget?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not even like you broke my heart that day," you said meeting his eyes. "You had chipped away at it for so long that there wasn't even anything left to break."

Max's heart dropped and he moved over closer to where you were standing, so that you were now eye level.

"I was so scared back then y/n," he said and you put your head into your hands. "So scared of failing that I did things I shouldn't have done, like pushing you away to protect myself."

"Protect yourself from what?" You said, looking back at him.

"Your unconditional love," he said sadly and you tried to compose yourself, taking a deep breath.

"You acted like nothing happened, I watched you move on with your life," you accused, whispering to him.

"I did not move on, I was a mess. I couldn't eat or sleep for months and I latched on to you in whatever way I could through your videos or podcast. Every picture or video you saw of me was strictly PR."

"But you never reached out, not once in these past few years," you said, starting to grow angry with him.

"Neither did you!" He exclaimed.

"That's not fair Max," you retorted, moving away from him.

"Isn't it though? You accused me of moving on but I watched you do the same. I watched your popularity grow, watched you start to travel around the world, watched you post with other guys. You didn't need me to be happy."

"I needed my best friend!" You yelled and he flinched. "I needed you to be there to call when I got a new deal! I needed you to be there to lean on when I had self doubt! You ruined everything Max. I could never be truly happy celebrating something because in the back of my mind I was thinking about how you should have been there with me!"

Max squeezed his eyes shut, sitting down on the bed.

"I don't know how to fix this schatje," he whispered and you flinched at the term of endearment. "Everything has been so dark for so long. I am okay with you hating me forever. Because even if you just look at me, it'll be a better day than what I've had."

Sniffling, you stared into his red rimmed eyes. "I want to forget about you so badly Max but I can't."

He smiled softly at you before patting the bed.

"Please sleep here tonight, it will make me feel so much better knowing you were well rested. I'll sleep on the pull out couch," he said standing up.

"Just sleep in the bed with me," you said sighing, wiping the tears from your face before climbing into the bed. Max slid in next to you, leaving a healthy distance between the two of you and you drifted off to sleep.

The sound of his alarm woke you up at 4:30 and you groaned sleepily. Max's arms were wrapped tightly around you, his head buried in your hair as he refused to open his eyes.

"Max, you have to wake up," you said and he mumbled incoherently into you. You pried his hands off your body and stood up, stretching. He watched you lazily from the bed, wondering if this was a dream.

"I'm going to go get ready and then I'll meet you back in the hallway in 30 minutes okay?" You asked him and he nodded. Leaving his room you headed back into yours to get ready for the day. Your eyes were still a little swollen from last night but that was nothing a little makeup couldn't fix.

Pairing the new RedBull jacket with a black jeans you gathered all your stuff before texting Carmen about what had happened last night. All she responded was that we would discuss it in person and sent a winky face.

Max looked more awake standing out in the hallway and you both left for the track.

Qualifying was a mess to put it simply. Crash after crash after crash. It was spiking your anxiety to watch and you were just praying that Max would make it out unscathed. He did make it without crashing, but not without controversy.

You grew furious as you watched everyone in Q2 get to finish their laps following Lance's crash except for Max and Esteban. This made him miss out on Q3 for the first time in forever. You knew he was pissed when he got out of the car and his eyes met yours for a brief second. He talked to his engineers before grabbing your hand to drag you with him to over where he had to do interviews.

Standing behind the reporter you watched him try to contain his anger.

“If a guy goes straight into the wall, it is a straight red,” he said. “I don't understand why you need to take 30, 40 seconds for a red flag to come out...”

His voice was rising as he said it and both you and the reporter braced for the impact of whatever he was going to say next. He started to say something but then looked over at you and stopped himself, taking a deep breath before waving off the question.

“I don’t care in all honesty, it is so stupid to talk about. It’s ridiculous.”

He answered a couple more questions about the race happening later and you waited patiently. Christian came to join you and gave you a knowing look.

"I told you that being here would make things better," he said with a glint in his eyes. "I'm giving you credit for him avoiding more community service."

Things got even better after that with Max winning the Grand Prix in what you could only describe as a complete masterclass.

As the celebrations wrapped up, you and Max found yourselves alone in the quiet of the garage, both still processing the day's whirlwind. He glanced at you, a hesitant warmth in his gaze.

Max reached for your hand, gently holding it, as if afraid you'd slip away again. "I'm glad you came, I've needed you here for a long time."

"I'm still not sure where we stand Max," you said unsure of how to deal with what you were feeling.

"As long as your standing next to me, I'll be okay," he said cheekily and you smiled. You knew that your relationship had a long way to go but maybe, just maybe, it was finally starting again.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen

261 notes · View notes

idorukiss · 2 days ago

Text

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Rafayel would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and im working on making similar ones for the other boys too!

1,051 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Xavier ・ Zayne ・ Sylus

There have been many different things in Rafayel's life that inspired him when it comes to his art, But nothing took control of his heart so intensely as much as you have. Like a whirlpool you shook him to his core from that first meeting, and all he wants to do is capture you on his canvas for eternity.

It really was quite the blessing with how willing you were to become his bodyguard- not only can he keep you within arms reach but you can also protect him from all the shady people after his life. Like killing 2 birds with one stone, except you were so much stronger and beautiful than any stone he’s ever set eyes on before

He absolutely felt like a flirt to you at the start with all of the compliments and casual physical touch between you guys, He just loved to say how amazing you are while enclosing you in a deep bear hug. It was strange at first you'd admit, but it never felt like he was trying to make any passes at you or act like he was expecting anything in return. Perhaps that's just how he acts with people he trusts?

When Rafayel isnt painting, you two spend a lot of time outside finding inspiration all around. He usually has a sketchbook with him scribbling away anytime he sees something interesting- the landscapes, pretty flowers, or even a parfait you guys got to share. You’ve seen some of these sketches as he works on them, it always amazes you how much detail he can capture with so few lines.

He never let you fully flip through the sketchbook however, claiming all sorts of reasons why, like that the drawings were scared of the sunlight or you had to go through many trials to be worthy. It was obvious how much he cherished it and you respected his wishes, though it would be nice to reminisce on some of the good times you guys had together again. Though its not like your phone wasn't filled to the brim with photos already

Late one night, you stop by his place to make sure he didn't need any motivation to finish a painting for a deadline set the next morning. You have confidence he could make it in time, he always did, but you want to help him as best as you can otherwise. When you arrive you spot a stunning completed painting and a Rafayel sleeping on the sofa below it- both stunning as they're illuminated by the moonlight.

Taking it upon yourself to clean up his supplies a little, just enough to not be a walking hazard of course, you spot his precious travel sketchbook on the floor. Surely he wouldn't mind if you took a little peak in it, you'd love to see how he finished the last landscape you guys saw before he locked himself up to work. As you flip through the pages you see so many familiar sights from your time together so far, but scattered around them filling maybe even more pages was many drawings of a person. Of you. All surrounded by hearts and little notes about things you've said.

When did he have a chance to draw all of these? Is this how you look to him?? Questions race your mind as your face flushes at the image of him intensely scribbling in the sketchbook as you dance around the beach being dumb. You decide to grab a pencil and add your attempt of a sketch of him in the back, signing it with a little heart of your own. It’s nowhere near his skill level but something that captures how you feel, and maybe he would get a chuckle out of it once he spots it.

You don’t realize when the casual acts of affection he started out with turn slightly more romantic- going from linking arms together to holding your hand, and you swear you feel him press little kisses on the top of your head every time he wraps his arms around you. But you don't hate it, in fact it makes your heart flutter every time you realize it

Rafayel often messages you at the most random times to meet him somewhere, usually it was because he found a stunning view and wanted to share the experience with you. Sometimes he would even show up at your apartment to whisk you away, and every time it filled you with joy. These dates and every moment you get to spend with him fill your heart with so much warmth.

One particularly warm night you were woken up by a call inviting you to the beach near his studio. It was worth crawling out of the bed at an ungodly hour, not only for the view but for him. While you were admiring the waves, he couldn't keep his eyes off you as a cautious pinky is hooked around yours. Two faces flush as you look at him, it lasts for only a moment before its interrupted by your watch.

Your face falls as you read the notification “It looks like I got a last minute mission in the morning…I guess this means I have to head back already.” As you take a heavy step to start walking away he reaches out to stop you with a pleading look on his face “Wait, don’t go yet” “Rafayel…. I’m sorry, I really am. This night- everything was wonderful, it really was” “Can’t you just stay the night?” He wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck “Please just stay the night, I don’t want you to leave.” Your heart flutters as you wrap your arms around him in return “Okay, I’ll stay for you my sweet painter”

He is the most clingy man you’ve ever met, constantly torn between wrapping himself around you while peppering every inch of skin with kisses and diving headfirst into hundreds of paintings with you as his muse. His studio would be covered in nothing but paintings of you if he didn't have to focus on his commissions.

He sculpted out a place in your heart that held him, and in turn you've devoted yourself to him- loving him with every fiber of your being

#love and deepspace #rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel l&ds #rafayel lads #irodruwrite #just sylus next before i can move onto the next lil series of drabbles teehee #budding relationships

28 notes · View notes

auntie-histamine · 1 day ago

Text

My therapist just sent me this article, and I think it should be required reading for everyone who's feeling scared this morning. Tumblr won't let me put the whole article under a readmore, so I've included a shorter, edited version below. I highly encourage everyone read the full article, especially as I couldn't include everything here that I wanted to.

Please be aware that I will not be interacting with comments and/or reblogs, unless it is to help with directing to resources mentioned in the article. I am grieving too, like many of us, and I don't have the spoons to facilitate anything more. Read, share, and get organized.

The below are selections the article "There is hope - 10 ways to be prepared and grounded for another Trump presidency" by Daniel Hunter from Waging Nonviolence.

1. Trust yourself I started writing this list with strategic principles (e.g. analyze your opponents weakness and learn to handle political violence), but actually the place to start is with your own self. Distrust fuels the flame of autocracy because it makes it much easier to divide. We can see that in the casual nature of Trump’s rhetoric — telling people to distrust immigrants, Democrats, socialists, people from Chicago, women marchers, Mexicans, the press and so on. This is a social disease: You know who to trust by who they tell you to distrust. Trust-building starts with your own self. It includes trusting your own eyes and gut, as well as building protection from the ways the crazy-making can become internalized. This also means being trustworthy — not just with information, but with emotions. That way you can acknowledge what you know and admit the parts that are uncertain fears nagging at you. Then take steps to follow through on what you need. If you’re tired, take some rest. If you’re scared, make some peace with your fears. I can point you to resources that support that — like FindingSteadyGround.com — but the value here is to start with trusting your own inner voice. If you need to stop checking your phone compulsively, do it. If you don’t want to read this article now and instead take a good walk, do it.

2. Find others who you trust Hannah Arendt’s “The Origins of Totalitarianism” explored how destructive ideologies like fascism and autocracy grow. She used the word verlassenheit — often translated as loneliness — as a central ingredient. As she meant it, loneliness isn’t a feeling but a kind of social isolation of the mind. Your thinking becomes closed off to the world and a sense of being abandoned to each other. She’s identifying a societal breakdown that we’re all experiencing. Under a Trump presidency, this trend will continue to accelerate. The constant attacks on social systems — teachers, health care and infrastructure — make us turn away from leaning on each other and towards ideologically simple answers that increase isolation (e.g. “distrust government,” “MAGA is nuts,” “anyone who votes that way doesn’t care about you”). If Trump wins: Get some people to regularly touch base with. Use that trust to explore your own thinking and support each other to stay sharp and grounded. I’ve written an agenda for such gatherings right after a Trump win that you can use.

3. Grieve No matter what we try to do, there’s going to be a lot of loss. The human thing to do is grieve. If you aren’t a feelings person, let me say it this way: The inability to grieve is a strategic error. After Donald Trump won in 2016, we all saw colleagues who never grieved. They didn’t look into their feelings and the future — and as a result they remained in shock. An alternative: Start by naming and allowing feelings that come to arise. The night that Donald Trump won, I stayed up until 4 a.m. with a colleague. It was a tear-filled night of naming things that we had just lost. It wasn’t anywhere near strategizing or list-making or planning. It was part of our acceptance that losing a presidency to an awful man means you and your people lose a lot. Ultimately, this helped us believe it — so we didn’t spend years in a daze: “I can’t believe this is happening in this country.” Believe it. Believe it now. Grief is a pathway to that acceptance.

4. Release that which you cannot change Under a Trump presidency, there are going to be so many issues that it will be hard to accept that we cannot do it all. I’m reminded of a colleague in Turkey who told me, “There’s always something bad happening every day. If we had to react to every bad thing, we’d never have time to eat.” Chaos is a friend of the autocrat. One way we can unwittingly assist is by joining in the story that we have to do it all. Unaddressed, this desire to act on everything leads to bad strategy. Nine months ago when we gathered activists to scenario plan together, we took note of two knee-jerk tendencies from the left that ended up largely being dead-ends in the face of Trump: - Public angsting — posting outrage on social media, talking with friends, sharing awful news - Symbolic actions — organizing marches and public statements The first is where we look around at bad things happening and make sure other people know about them, too. We satisfy the social pressure of our friends who want us to show outrage — but the driving moves are only reactive. The end result wasn’t the intended action or an informed population. It’s demoralizing us. It’s hurting our capacity for action. Public angsting as a strategy is akin to pleading with the hole in the boat to stop us from sinking. Symbolic actions may fare little better under a Trump presidency. In whatever version of democracy we had, the logic of rallies and statements of outrage was to build a unified front that showed the opposition many voices were opposed to them. But under an unleashed fascist — if it’s all you do — it’s like begging the suicidal captain to plug the hole. Let me be clear. These strategies will be part of the mix. We’ll need public angsting and symbolic actions. But if you see an organization or group who only relies on these tactics, look elsewhere. There are other, more effective ways to engage.

5. Find your path I’ve been writing scenarios of how a Trump presidency might play out. The initial weeks look chaotic no matter what. But over time some differentiated resistance pathways begin to emerge. One pathway is called “Protecting People.” This might mean organizing outside current systems for health care and mutual aid, or moving resources to communities that are getting targeted. Further examples include starting immigrant welcoming committees, abortion-support funds or training volunteers on safety skills to respond to white nationalist violence. Another pathway is “Defending Civic Institutions.” This group may or may not be conscious that current institutions don’t serve us all, but they are united in understanding that Trump wants them to crumble so he can exert greater control over our lives. Each bureaucracy will put up its own fight to defend itself. Insider groups will play a central battle against Trump fascism. You may recall government scientists dumping copious climate data onto external servers, bracing for Trump’s orders. This time, many more insiders understand it’s code red. Hopefully, many will bravely refuse to quit — and instead choose to stay inside as long as possible. Institutional pillars understand a Trump presidency is a dire threat. Then there’s a critical third pathway: “Disrupt and Disobey.” This goes beyond protesting for better policies and into the territory of people intervening to stop bad policies or showing resistance. Lastly, there’s a key fourth role: “Building Alternatives.” We can’t just be stuck reacting and stopping the bad. We have to have a vision. This is the slow growth work of building alternative ways that are more democratic. Each of us may be attracted to some pathway more than others. Your path may not be clear right now. That’s okay. There will be plenty of opportunities to join the resistance.

6. Do not obey in advance, do not self-censor If autocrats teach us any valuable lesson it’s this: Political space that you don’t use, you lose. I’m not coaching to never self-protect. You can decide when to speak your mind. But it is a phenomenally slippery slope here we have to observe and combat. Put simply: Use the political space and voice you have.

7. Reorient your political map A Trump presidency reshapes alignments and possibilities. The bellicose, blasphemous language of Trump will meet the practical reality of governing. When you’re out of power, it’s easy to unify — but their coalition’s cracks will quickly emerge. We have to stay sharp for opportunities to cleave off support. Even if you don’t want to engage with them (which is fine), we’ll all have to give space to those who do experiment with new language to appeal to others who don’t share our worldview of a multiracial true democracy.

8. Get real about power In Trump’s first term, the left’s organizing had mixed results. It was elections that ultimately stopped Trump. This time will be much harder. The psychological exhaustion and despair is much higher. Deploying people into the streets for mass actions with no clear outcome will grow that frustration, leading to dropout and radicalized action divorced from strategy. Trump has been very clear about using his political power to its fullest — stretching and breaking the norms and laws that get in his way. The movement will constantly be asking itself: “Are you able to stop this new bad thing?” We're not going to convince him not to do these things. No pressure on Republicans will result in more than the tiniest of crumbs (at least initially). It will be helpful to have a power analysis in our minds, specifically that’s known as the upside-down triangle. This tool was built to explain how power moves even under dictatorships. In our country, pressuring elite power is reaching its end point. Power will need to emerge from folks no longer obeying the current unjust system. This tipping point of mass noncooperation will be messy. It means convincing a lot of people to take huge personal risks for a better option. As a “Disrupt and Disobey” person, we have to move deliberately to gain the trust of others, like the “Protecting People” folks. Mass noncooperation does the opposite of their goal of protection — it exposes people to more risk, more repression. But with that comes the possibility that we could get the kind of liberatory government that we all truly deserve.

9. Handle fear, make violence rebound Otpor in Serbia has provided an abundance of examples on how to face repression. They were young people who took a sarcastic response to regular police beatings. They would joke amongst each other, “It doesn’t hurt if you’re afraid.” Their attitude wasn’t cavalier — it was tactical. They were not going to grow fear. So when hundreds were beaten on a single day, their response was: This repression will only stiffen the resistance. Handling fear isn’t about suppressing it — but it is about constantly redirecting. Activist/intellectual Hardy Herriman released a studied response about political violence that had some news that surprised me. The first was that physical political violence hasn’t grown dramatically in this country — it still remains relatively rare. The threats of violence, however, trend upwards, such as this CNN report: “Politically motivated threats to public officials increased 178 percent during Trump’s presidency,” primarily from the right. His conclusion wasn’t that political violence isn’t going to grow. Quite the opposite. But he noted that a key component to political violence is to intimidate and tell a story that they are the true victims. Making political violence rebound requires refusing to be intimidated and resisting those threats so they can backfire. (Training on this backfire technique is available from the HOPE-PV guide.) We can shrink into a cacophony of “that’s not fair,” which fuels the fear of repression. Or we take a page from the great strategist Bayard Rustin. Black civil rights leaders were targeted by the government of Montgomery, Alabama during the bus boycott in the 1950s. Leaders like the newly appointed Martin Luther King Jr. went into hiding after police threats of arrest based on antiquated anti-boycott laws. Movement organizer Rustin organized them to go down to the station and demand to be arrested since they were leaders — making a positive spectacle of the repression. Some leaders not on police lists publicly demanded they, too, get arrested. Folks charged were met with cheers from crowds, holding their arrest papers high in the air. Fear was turned into valor.

10. Envision a positive future We’ve all now imagined storylines about how bad it might get. We would do ourselves a service to spend an equal measure of time envisioning how we might advance our cause in these conditions. As writer Walidah Imarisha says, “The goal of visionary fiction is to change the world.” In my mind if Trump wins, we’ll have to eventually get him out. There are two paths available to force him out. The first: Vote him out. Given the bias of the electoral college, this requires successfully defending nearly all local, state and national takeovers of elections such that they remain relatively fair and free. Winning via the path of electoral majority has a wide swath of experience and support from mainstream progressive organizations and Democratic institutions. It’s going to be a major thrust. In my scenario writing I’ve explored what that strategy could look like, including preparing electoral workers to stand against last minute attempts by Trump to change election rules and even stymie the election with dubious emergency orders. They don’t obey — and go ahead with elections anyway. The second strategy is if he illegally refuses to leave or allow fair elections: Kick him out. That means we are able to develop a national nonviolent resistance campaign capable of forcing him out of office. I’ve written several versions of this: One where large-scale strikes disable portions of the U.S. economy. If you recall from COVID, our systems are extremely vulnerable. Businesses running “just in time” inventory means small hiccups in the system can cause cascading effects. Sustained strikes would face deep resistance, but they could swing communities currently on the fence, like the business community, which already is concerned about Trump’s temperamental nature. Trump’s own policies might make these conditions much easier. If he really does mass deportations, the economic injury might be fatal. In another scenario I explore another strategy of taking advantage of a Trump overreach. Autocrats overplay their hands. And in this imagined scenario, Trump overreaches when he attempts to force autoworkers to stop building electric vehicles. UAW workers refuse and keep the factories running. Eventually he’s unable to stop them — but in the process he’s publicly humiliated. A very public loss like this can cause what Timur Kuran calls an “unanticipated revolution.” He noted many incidents where political leaders seem to have full support, then suddenly it evaporates. Kuran’s analysis reminds us to look at Trump’s political weakness. Political hacks like Lindsay Graham appear to be sycophants — but if given the chance to turn their knife in his back, they might. This means exposed political weaknesses could quickly turn the many inside Trump’s campaign against him. That feels far away from now. But all these remain possibilities. Practicing this future thinking and seeing into these directions gives me some hope and some strategic sensibilities. On the days when I can’t sense any of these political possibilities (more than not), I zoom out further to the lifespans of trees and rocks, heading into spiritual reminders that nothing lasts forever. All of the future is uncertain. But using these things, we’re more likely to have a more hopeful future and experience during these turbulent times.

#uspol #us election #trump #waging nonviolence #daniel hunter

31 notes · View notes

gliphyartfan · 2 days ago

Note

hey idk if requests r open so sorry if they arent

but can u do a story with yandere chain and there darling having a kid or smth like that yk like the kid being born or jut a 2 year old and there papas

thanks for reading have a good day or night!

Requests are erratic. But I suppose if I’m 100% not in the mood for requests, I’ll make sure to announce it.

But I’ll settle for 5 requests for now. Don’t wanna overwhelm myself 😅

(Also just to make it clear for anyone confused. Any hero not of age is OF AGE when they are used in requests or headcanons such as this! I know most people would already know that. But we know it takes a few to start spoiling the bunch.)

Anywho, as for your request? Sure!

(Does it count as Yandere if they are just being lovey dovey and good boys to her?? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

—

——

—

It was one of those long days where exhaustion clung to (y/n) like a heavy blanket, and even the simple act of cradling her little one felt like it required the last bit of energy she had left.

The baby, nestled in her arms, shifted, letting out small, sleepy murmurs as she swayed gently. Her mind drifted, still full of the lingering thoughts of household chores she hadn’t managed to get to, stress gnawing at the back of her mind.

The others were busy with errands outside and she could bother them any more than she had.

She had to clean the bedrooms, cook lunch, sweep the floors-

But just as those worries started to creep in, one by one, her husbands began appearing, each moving seamlessly, quietly, as if on a silent mission.

Warriors was the first to approach, and with a softly spoken request and consent, took the baby from her arms with a warm, understanding smile. “Here, just rest. I’ve got them,” he murmured, rocking the little one gently, his eyes warm as he watched she hesitated for a moment before, a tired smile was on her face.

“Sit, love,” Twilight urged softly, his hands guiding her to a comfortable chair.

Once she was settled, he knelt down, already reaching for her feet, his hands firm but gentle as he started massaging out the tension in each tired muscle. “You‘ve been standing on your feet all morning,” he added quietly, his gaze warm but focused as he worked out each knot, his calloused fingers moving with expert care.

(Y/n) genuinely had to bite back the noise about to escape her mouth when he started rubbing a particular knot from her foot.

she leaned back practically distracted by the sudden foot massage, when a delicious scent filled the room, and Wild entered, balancing a tray with something warm and savory.

He kicked up a stool and sat beside her, lifting a spoon of the food he’d prepared. “Just a bite,” he coaxed with a gentle smile, “you need the energy.” Each bite was perfectly seasoned, she made a noise of delight and pouted when he took to long to bring the second spoon full up.

Around the room, (y/n) noticed Legend sweeping the floors. “No dust on MY watch,” he muttered, but she could see the flicker of concern as he glanced over to make sure she was comfortable.

In the kitchen, Hyrule was busying himself with dishes, scrubbing each one with a focus as though it was the most important task in the world. He’d always been attentive, caring deeply about the small things, and today was no exception.

Sky brought over a warm cloth, gently dabbing at her temples and face, his touch tender as he said, “Just a little to help you relax.” His gentle care, along with the warm cloth, soothed her further.

Wind was tidying up the clutter around the living room, quickly and efficiently placing baby toys and scattered items where they belonged. He winked at her as he passed, humming under his breath and giving (y/n) a playful smile to lighten your spirits.

Four slipped a warm blanket over her shoulders, adjusting it to keep her cozy as he murmured, “You always make sure everyone else is comfortable. Let us do the same for you.” Before heading off to clean the bedrooms.

And finally, Time appeared, his hands moving skillfully as he ensured everything in the room was settled.

When he was certain everything was in place, he stood behind her chair, bending down and gently wrapping his arms around her, placing small kisses on her head before mentioning he’ll go set out the laundry.

Between Wild’s gentle feeding, Twilight’s careful hands massaging away the ache, Warriors sitting with the baby within immediate eyesight,

Along with the comforting company of everyone working around her, the stress of the morning slowly melted away.

With one last bite from Wild’s spoon and Twilight’s hands easing a final knot, (y/n) could feel her body relax fully.

Warriors handed the baby back to her, carefully adjusting a pillow for support. “There we go, just right,” he said softly.

As the baby cooed and settled back against her, she sighed, not even recalling how she felt before all this pampering.

“I’ll make your favorite for dinner tonight.” Wild said as he got up to take the tray away.

Oh yes, life was good today.

#yandere linked universe #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #yandere lu #lu time #lu sky #lu wind #lu wild #lu legend #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu four #lu hyrule #yandere linked universe x oc #linked universe x y/n #yandere linked universe x reader #gliphy answers anon

25 notes · View notes

creweemmaeec11 · 6 hours ago

Text

Dark Horse Painted White Part 3

Pt 1 Pt 2

Hero couldn't help the feeling of guilt clawing at their throat. They were at such a loss! They'd tried so hard to be nice to civilian this morning, but it was as if the nicer they were, the more Civilian seemed to hate them! They didn't understand what they'd done so wrong!

Despite their loss of appetite, hero ate their omelette to avoid being rude, before doing the dishes like they'd promised. They wiped down the table, and even spotted a broom behind the fridge they used to sweep.

When their civilian host still wasn't back yet. Hero awkwardly lay back down on the couch, not daring to touch anything else they might get in trouble for. It was very rare they ever got the opportunity to sleep in like this, nevermind have free time. What should they do? It's not like they had time for any hobbies. What did normal people do with time off?

Hero continued staring at the ceiling. They'd checked their phone a half dozen times. No new assignments or instructions from their boss. They hadn't even gotten any paperwork passed off to them yet. They received nothing but radio silence, all their time meant to be dedicated to protecting the Civilian.

Finally, after what felt like hours of staring at the wall, hero heard the door at the end of the hall open and the clacking of claws approach. Immediately, they sat up to attention.

Civilian rounded the corner, holding a notebook and a pen but their eyes stayed trained on their phone as they typed with their other hand.

"Here," they said, tossing the two items onto the coffee table, "make a list of stuff you want picked up at the grocery store,"

"Wait, what?"

"Food, hero," civilian deadpanned, "unless you plan on eating all of mine while your here?"

"N-no, of course not! But-"

"Then get to writing," they quipped, before turning and heading to the kitchen.

Despite their confusion, hero did as they were told, writing down a list of things they could think of that didn't take much preparation.

Civilian came back a few minutes later, looking at the hero expectantly.

They stood up off the couch, handing the notepad back to their host, "Please let me pay, for all of my stuff at least-"

"Do you have cash?" Civilian asked as they started typing on their phone yet again.

"Only $20, but I can send you the rest-"

"The twenty is fine," they replied. They weren't giving the hero any sort of link to their accounts. Civilian's eyes finally left their phone screen to begin reading the list. Something in their face seemed to shift as they read the items.

"Is something wrong?" Hero asked nervously.

"We just have a much simmilar palette then I would have expected," they replied, tone a mix of begrudging and in awe.

Hero wanted to ask why, but they bit their tongue, "are we going to go pick this stuff up?"

"No, I'm having a... uhm, *friend* pick it up for me," Civilian replied, snapping a photo of the notepad before dropping it back down on the table.

"So, what are we going to do today then?" Hero questioned.

"Nothing," the other replied, tucking their phone back into their pocket.

"Nothing? What do you mean nothing?"

"As in we aren't doing anything..." Civilian explained in confusion, "I canceled my plans,"

"But..." hero hesitated,"what should I do then?"

The civilian bit back the comment of telling the hero they should leave, if not for it being a waste of breath, then for how genuinely confused the hero sounded, "Uhm... I don't know? Whatever you want? You didn't bring anything with you to keep you occupied?"

Hero looked a bit perplexed, "uhm... no? Should I have?"

"Well... I would have thought so... never mind. It doesn't matter. I'm sure you can find something on TV at least,"

"Oh, yeah okay, sure,"

"Queen," Civilian whistled, "remote,"

Hero watched in wonder as the large white dog ran to grab the remote, bringing it over to the Civilian.

"Good girl," they praised, taking the item from the dogs mouth, "Tell me your favourite channels and I'll find their numbers for you,"

There was a beat of silence. The lack of answer caused the Civilian to glance over at the hero with a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"I... I don't know.... I'm not familiar with any of the different channels. I haven't watched anything other then the news in years,"

Civilian's face simply shifted into even more confusion, "uhm.. okay... well you can get youtube on this TV too. Do you watch anything on that?"

"Uhm, no... I don't think so," hero shifted awkwardly, "Maybe you could reccomend something?"

"Uh..." Civilian stuttered, suddenly strangely flattered hero would trust their judgment and taste to make a suggestion.

They cleared their throat. Nothing coming from a hero was any sort of compliment.

There was no way they were going to be sharing their actual preferences with hero!

"Yeah, sure I guess," Civilian shrugged. They'd share shows they thought were okay, but not their favorites. "But what do you even do in your spare time?" They asked as they navigated through the channels on the TV.

"Uh, well," they chuckled dryly, scratching the back of their head, "I don't exactly have a lot of spare time. Evil never rests as they say, and that usually means neither do I,"

Civilian internally rolled their eyes. What a drama queen. There was no way hero wasn't exaggerating. Because sure, this city did have it's fair share of criminals, but there was no way a major crime took place nearly every day. Three times a week, max.

"Plus, if the city holds any big public events, I always need to be there in case a villain decides to show up. That mixed with all the press conferences, fan meet and greets, training, street watch, you know... and any time I have leftover gets used up by finishing all the paperwork the other officers don't get done," the hero gave a forced laugh again, "in fact, I think this morning was the first time I've gotten to sleep-in in..." they blinked, "I can't even remember..."

The hero glanced up, realizing they'd been rambling and were about to apologize but the look on the Civilian's face made them stop.

Civilian was looking at them with an incredulous, shocked expression.

"Of course it's all worth it!" Hero sputtered.

"Sounds like you need to put your foot down" Civilian scoffed, turning back to the tv. So what if they'd been wrong about hero's daily life? Just because they didn't live like royalty? If anything, heros probably deserved to be working so hard, for all the problems they caused, it served them right not to have any free time! If they wanted to throw their life away for some meaningless agency, what did villain care?!

"Maybe you're right, but.... I'm a bit of a people pleaser" hero chuckled again.

Civilian side-eyed them, "you don't say," they scoffed, before carelessly tossing the remote next to the hero on the couch, "Give this channel a try for now. If you don't like it, just change the channel till you find something,"

"W-wait!" Hero sputtered, quickly jumping to their feet.

Civilian's feet regrettably stuttered to a stop. They turned their head, glancing over their shoulder at their unwanted guest.

"What?" They snapped, failing to hide the annoyance in their tone.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room?"

"But... I'm supposed to keep an eye on you? I can't really do that if you're in the other end of the house with the door closed..."

Civilian grumbled. That had been the entire point.

"Fine, I'll work in the kitchen," they amended, before heading to their room to gather a few things.

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

The house had been quiet for the next few hours, the only sound being the soft murmur of the wTV in the other room, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

Hero immediately jumped to their feet.

"Please, let me get it!" Hero asked quickly, coming up behind the Civilian who was about to open the door, "just in case,"

Civilian rolled their eyes, scoffing under their breath, but they didn't argue, stepping aside to let the hero grab the handle.

The door opened to reveal no one, only multiple grocery bags on the front step. The hero poked their head out further, looking around, but they couldn't see anyone.

"Uh..."

The Civilian didn't say anything, instead pushing past them to begin bringing the bags inside. Quickly, the hero scurried to help.

"Was that your friend?"

"No, my groceries just teleported onto my doorstep," Civilian replied sarcastically as they began taking things out and putting them onto the counter.

The hero chuckled humorously, "No, I mean, where did they go? Why did they run off so quickly?"

"Maybe supervillain got them,"

"What?!"

Civilian gave them an incredulous and unimpressed look, "they were *busy* hero," they explained, rolling their eyes.

"Oh, right," Hero replied, clearing their throat awkwardly, "Well, it sure was nice of them to pick up everything for you,"

*that's what they get paid for* civilian thought to themselves.

Once everything was put away, they let out a sigh.

"I need to take Nova and Queen out for a walk. Be ready to go in half an hour," Civilian stated matter-of-factly before disappearing down the hall and into their room.

19 notes · View notes

happymeishappylife · 1 day ago

Text

Like many of you are, waking up to the news this morning was shocking, saddening, and worrying. And while I am a believer of getting every last count, the numbers don't look strong enough to flip these results, as unfortunate as that is. But unlike 8 years ago where I felt miserable, lost, and unable to focus, I don't feel that way this time. Maybe thats because I got ready for work, just like I always do. Maybe thats because I know I will be talking to people who voted for this today, even a couple who didn't like the guy.

But overall, I am ready to keep fighting. And what this election has shown me more clearly is that we have to fight, but we also have a lot of work to do. The polarization in this country is ripping us apart and we need to fix that before we can fix the country. And to do that we need to do 3 things:

1. We need to build our communities back.

We are at a point with politics that people have made them their entire identities and thats all they consume, feel, and react to. We need to instead find a way to connect people to people. And we need to find the things we enjoy so we can get to know our neighbors as people with interests and not just people living on our streets. We need to raise each other up, help where we can, and we need to celebrate others achievements. That will help in this scary time and hopefully bring us back to a civility to discuss the heavier topics without making it feel like we need to attack each other or rip each others throats out.

And how do we do that?

2. We need to get people offline.

The 24 hour news cycle, political podcast and constant commentary is not healthy for anybody. Not only because it keeps everyone in a constant state of anxiety, but also because it traps people in their echo chambers and lets propaganda and radicalization breed into minds of otherwise normal people. And we are all susceptible to propaganda, don't think you are immune because you are on the other side. Its also getting worse by the spread of misinformation, AI, and bad actors who want to divide us and make us hate each other.

Now of course, we should be paying attention to what our leaders are doing, but we don't need to read every tweet or hear every soundbite. Instead, pick two times a day where you are ready to consume the news for 30 minutes or an hour. And don't take one source as gospel. Hear the news event, and double check other outlets to see how they are reporting it. Find the actual recordings and not just the clips. Because sadly, there is not a reputable news source anymore. And after that time, go do something else you love so you can start connecting to people in real life and relax which help the mental stress.

And yes, being online helps organize these events, but in person events will benfit us so much more. So please, find a way to disconnect from the virtual world and find a way to connect to real people again.

3. We must engage people to do their civic duty.

And no, I don't mean converting them to your side because everyone gets hostile about that. I am talking about, getting them engaged in the process at all because I have a sneaking suspicion that like 2016, a majority of Americans didn't vote at all this time.

But how do we do that?

We don't wait four years. In fact, this goes for people who are politically active too because we keep turning out every four years, but ignoring the elections where our votes really matter and affect the most change which can help make all of us feel like our vote does matter.

So start with your Town/City council. You don't have to watch the hearings/meetings (because they are arduous, trust me, I attend them), but read the news the day after, find out what they discussed, voted on, rezoned. Do you like it? Great, vote to keep those people on the councils. Don't? Vote them out. These elections happen every year and also involve ballot measures that affect your taxes and community. Understand the process and get involved here first, then your county, state, and them the federal. Then it won't be intimidating to get into and it won't be as polarizing.

And you may think 'but why should I vote for the superintendent when I don't have kids in school or the agricultural commissioner when I am not a farmer?' Do you want our society to be taught well or poorly? Do you want our food to be ethically produced or make us sick? You don't need to know the ins and outs for every issue or position but you can at least make sure qualified people are in those roles to make those decisions and not just people hoping for a platform.

So don't despair. I know thats hard today. I know it will feel desperate right now, but we can't give in. We can't give up. And we can survive this.

#us elections #building community #helping each other

19 notes · View notes

silkendress · 2 days ago

Text

Bitten Bullet

Previous Chapter First Chapter Next Chapter

-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 2: Just You

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 8k Words

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Read on AO3

You stare blankly at your phone.

You lay flat on your back on the bed, almost completely swallowed up by blankets, your phone screen the brightest light source in your dark room.

It’s the night after Simon gave you his number. It’s the night where you are wracking your head for what to text him for the first time.

In your mind, you have to text him tonight. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t want his company. Yesterday you tried to think of something to say too, but nothing clicked.

You stare at your phones virtual keyboard, your thumb hovering over letters but never pressing them. You’re on the screen to send Simon something.

You wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s awake like you; if he’s a night owl or has difficulty sleeping.

The thought of him sleeping puts the thought of him without his mask in your head. You wonder what he looks like under there. You wonder if he’s waiting on you to text or call like how you’re waiting for your nerves to settle to do one of those things.

You’ve been laying here for what feels like hours.

Maybe just a simple text telling him it was you—so that he could save your number in return—was enough.

That’s what you end up going with. You make sure to include your name and some mildly identifiable information—‘the one that works at a bookstore, you walked me home again yesterday’—and hit send before you become too embarrassed.

You click the power button on your phone to make the screen go dark and you bury yourself under your blankets, your heart pounding as though you just ran a marathon.

When you wake in the morning you pace your morning routine as not to rush. You were putting off checking your messages due to nerves. It wasn’t as if the slower you went would change anything, but it made you feel better to put it off for now.

You make up your bed. You brush your teeth. You shower. You don’t check your phone.

It isn’t until you’ve dried off and redressed that you finally built up the nerve to see if Simon replied to you. He did. There’s a tornado of butterflies in your stomach.

‘Got it.’ Was all he replied. You felt oddly relieved, you weren’t sure what you were so nervous about—Simon didn’t seem the type to be a texter, anyway. That was fine, you were certain many people weren’t. You were just pleased he responded at all.

Your phone hangs loosely in your palm as you walk to the kitchen to have something for breakfast. Thoughts pass your mind, all about Simon.

Another day passes. You fall back into a mundane routine. You haven’t texted Simon since, you’re not sure how to initiate conversation with him, despite your borderline desperate longing to do so.

Chloe told you earlier today that she would be with her sister for another two weeks, that her sister and the baby are healthy but she just wants to be with them. Chloe sounds happy, you’re happy for her.

It’s yet another late night that you can’t sleep. You’re in a cocoon of blankets trying not to stare at your phone—you remember reading somewhere about ‘blue light’ and sleep disruption. It takes a few minutes of you laying as still as a statue until you drift off.

A booming, revving noise makes you jump awake, gasping for air.

The motorcycle again. Your phone is in your hand before you know it.

‘I heard a motorcycle just now. Was that you by any chance?’

You hit send before your doubts can creep up and paralyze you. You hastily click it off and set it on the nightstand to lay back in the bed.

You’re not sure exactly how much time passes between that text being sent and now, just that it feels like forever. Now that you thought of it, you suppose someone would have to pull over first to do anything on their phone on a motorcycle.

You were expecting the notification ping of a new text message, so you jolt upright when your phone begins to ring.

You stare at the now lit up screen of your phone with wide eyes and lips parted in mild shock. On the third ring you snap yourself out of it and make yourself answer.

“Hello?” Your voice wavers and you clear your throat. You mentally wince.

“Hey,” the low sound of him on the other end gives you excited jitters. “Did I wake you?” He sounds careful, a barely-there softness to his voice that makes your hands get increasingly fidgety.

“No, no. I’m just a light sleeper, is all.” You mutter, huffing out a soft laugh in a nervous reflex.

He hums, and then there’s silence.

Not quite silence but close enough because Simon isn’t saying anything. You think you can hear the soft rumble of an engine in the background on the other end. You wonder if he pulled in a gas station to refuel, or if he returned home for the night but decided to call you before heading in.

You think Simon is alright with it—the lulls in conversation. You could relate to an extent, you were quiet too, but he definitely was more self-assured than you. He never felt the impulse to unnecessarily fill the silence with chatter.

You’re so deep in thought that when he speaks again it almost makes you flinch in surprise.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your mouth feels dry, you have to swallow before you can speak. “Uh, no, I have work—“

“Day after?” Flat and to the point, he isn’t deterred one bit.

“Yes. I-I’d be free then.” Your heartbeat feels like a drum.

You hesitate before asking; “Why?”

There’s a pause, you can’t tell what Simon is thinking, only that his reply is spoken bluntly.

“Got a second helmet yesterday.”

The day is bright and beautiful, the sky is blue and the warm sun is a welcome contrast to the chilly autumn breeze. Your eyes are trained on the road and your ears are especially attuned to anything that sounds like a motorcycle.

After the call Simon texted you a time and a place. You spent the entirety of yesterday thinking about today, and now you were fiddling with your hands in an attempt to dissipate the nervous energy in your limbs.

Here you were about to get on the back of a bike owned by a man you had a chance encounter with at a bar—a man you had grown increasingly intrigued by and even tentatively fond of, but that was beside the point. You think you’re being more daring than you ever had in your entire life precisely because you were becoming keenly aware of the fact your comfort zone was suffocating you.

It doesn’t change the mild absurdity of the situation.

‘I don’t even drink.’

You find yourself checking your phone periodically for the time, Simon would be coming in a few minutes.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. But then again, you couldn’t believe you met Simon at all, let alone kept in touch with him.

He wasn’t a stranger anymore, he was an acquaintance now, surely. You still had so many musings about him, curiosities that had yet to be sated; but you held back. You didn’t want to overstep a potential boundary.

But that didn’t change the fact you curious about him.

You wanted to get a close look at his tattoos. You wanted to know the story behind each one—assuming there was one to be told—and when he got them.

You wanted to know what his laugh sounded like.

You wanted to know what he looked like.

You wanted to know if he wondered about you like you did him.

You wanted to be able to say you knew him, not just an awareness of his existence but a deeper knowledge of him as a person.

You waffle back and forth with your thoughts. ‘He’s the one that offered to take me on his bike,’ you remind yourself in intervals. It works for calming your nerves, but only for a short while.

Your mind combs over things about Simon you do know.

He’s in the military.

He likes motorcycles.

He smokes.

He always wears a mask.

He, for some reason, is keeping in contact with you.

And he is also about to pull up to you.

Your mind belatedly catches up with your senses. You hear the revving first then you see Simon—and the bike—in the distance.

It’s like all of your self-soothing methods were for naught. Your stomach flutters with frenzied nerves and you shift your weight on your feet repeatedly in an effort to shake off some of the jitters.

A part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually show up.

You don’t know much about motorcycles, you couldn’t tell what kind it was by looking at it. It was black and shiny, the metal bits of it reflected the sunlight.

Simon looks in his element on it. More than competent. Your legs feel wobbly.

He rolls up and his boots settle on the ground, then his heel pushes out the kickstand. You can tell it’s a motion he has done many times before, there’s no hesitation or carefulness to it.

Simon flips up his visor. His eyes take you in, lingering for a moment on your fidgeting, gloved hands—the gloves he gave to you—then back up to you.

He dismounts his bike, a lazy cadence to his movements. Your face feels warmer all of the sudden.

His helmet comes off much the same way, he’s wearing a mask like you expected, and denim jeans and a thick hoodie. He rests the helmet on the seat of the bike for now. In the sunlight his cropped blond hair reminds you of straw.

“Nervous, are you?” He nods down towards your hands. You tuck them in your pockets.

“A little, yes.”

He grunts. “Don’t be,” he meanders to the back of the bike and opens up the trunk box attached to it. “I won’t be goin’ above the speed limit. Not while you’re with me.” His tone is almost protective. You’re not familiar with that tone general, it makes your insides feel fuzzy.

He pulls out another helmet. Your heart rate doesn’t go any slower.

Simon comes over to you with the helmet tucked underneath his muscular arm. Your hands are about to extend outwards to take it from him, but he takes another step forward.

He takes the helmet from under his arm holds it out. “Gonna put this on ya now.”

He says it slowly, almost tentative. His eyes are so intensely trained on you that you almost feel self conscious. Your mind swims, a vast sea of uncontrollable thoughts.

Your brain catches up in slow motion. Simon interprets your silence as a green light to continue.

It’s no-nonsense and straight to the point, but for you it feels like an eternity. You are paralyzed in place and looking straight ahead to avoid his gaze—straight ahead just so happens to be his broad chest, which fills up most of your vision.

He’s careful yet swift with placing the helmet on your head, his gloved thumbs brush over your cheek incidentally as he settles it on you. His palms almost encompass your entire face.

‘His hands are big.’ You realize helplessly.

It wasn’t like you’ve never seen his hands before, it just was that there was something about having said hands in such close proximity that made you starkly aware of their true scale.

You don’t have to wonder if there’s callouses or nicks on his hands, you’re so confident in your assumption that it would be more of a shock if there wasn’t.

It wouldn’t stretch your imagination too far to twist the brief, unintended contact into the image of him cupping your face instead. Your stomach swoops and you mentally berate yourself, mortified.

He demonstrates how to flip the visor up and down and how to take it off yourself. You find it remarkably difficult to absorb his instructions even despite your apt attention.

Then Simon’s eyes narrow questioningly down at you. Your heart lurches for a moment, he must have said something that should have prompted you to answer, but you were much too preoccupied with dousing the fire growing in your face and breathing slow to steady the rabbit-kicks between your lungs.

“Listen, if you’re not up for this—“

“I-I want to.”

You surprise yourself with your sudden insistence. The words tumble from your mouth inelegantly and rapidly. You truly wanted to crawl under a rock in that moment, you felt as though your desperation for human connection couldn’t have been more obvious. Rationally you knew that your blurted out reply could be understood as mere excitement, but you weren’t being very rational right now.

Fortunately, you don’t spiral further into self-deprecation as you are not given much of a chance to, not when Simon utters a single word that has your mind scrambling for a reason you’re not certain of.

Simon’s head slants ever so slightly, a look in his eye that you’d almost call amused. “Good.”

Something in the timbre of his voice reminds you of the fact that very soon you will be in the closest proximity you’ve ever been with him—or with any man for that matter. Hugging your male family members didn’t count.

He takes one step backwards away from you before turning on his heel and approaching the bike to put his own helmet back on.

“Alright,” he starts with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you pay attention. “When we go around corners don’t lean. If we get on the road and you’re too nervous just tap me and we’ll pull over, won’t be able to hear you that well unless we’re stopped.”

His speech isn’t harsh but it demands attention. Your eyes are wide, you’re nodding along. You wonder if he’s done this before—give people direction. It sounds like it. You are reminded of his job, military, he told you.

“Understand?” He crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head at you.

You nod. “I understand.”

He tips his head slightly forward in a single gesture of acknowledgment, seemingly pleased with your answer. He goes towards the bike, one hand on the handlebar and the other near the back.

Then, with an effortless amount of strength, he tugs the bike forward along with the momentum of taking a large step. The kickstand rolls up and away.

Your mouth goes dry when some ancient, primitive part of your brain shudders in delight. You shift your eyes away and downwards at your feet, burning and mortified.

Simon settles himself on the bike, his long leg easily swinging over the side. He then motions you to come over with a single croon of his two fingers. Your heart is a drum.

With every step to him your nerves rise in anticipation, excited and electrified. You’ve never been on the back of a bike before.

When you come around to the side of the bike you pause. You find yourself once again thinking of how his presence will be adjacent to yours once you sit down behind him.

“Just swing your leg over it.” He supplies, acknowledging your hesitancy but being unaware of the deeper source.

You make yourself do it, lest you tick him off to the whirlwind going on inside your head.

You had to throw your leg wider than you were expecting, your shaky legs didn’t help you much. You were fearful that you would lose balance, but somehow scrambled on the back of it in one piece.

Your knee brushes against his hip incidentally, it’s barely a second of contact but you jerk your leg away like you had been burned regardless.

With how hot your face was feeling, you might as well have been.

It was an almost uncomfortable contrast; the heat of your body yet the chill on your skin due to the breeze. Your palms felt clammy in your gloves.

You pressed yourself as far back as you could on the seat, which wasn’t much considering the minuscule amount of space you were working with. The way you were seated was a bit awkward, it would be all too easy to scoot yourself forward to get more comfortable, but then you’d be pressed against his back.

“Settled?” Asks Simon. You nod, but then sputter when you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.” You clear your throat.

There’s a pause that stretches on long enough that you were worried you said something wrong somehow, you begin to analyze your conversation up until this point to try and figure out what, but before you can begin combing through your memories in earnest Simon speaks up.

“You can hold on if you need to.”

For a moment you don’t know what to say.

“Okay.”

And Simon just waits, almost expectant. He gave you the go ahead to hold onto him,and now he’s seemingly waiting for you to do exactly that. You weren’t even on the road yet.

He said you could. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to.

You move in increments. Your hands reach out slowly in front of you, slow enough that you don’t think Simon is aware you even are. Then you lurch forward, and there’s no discretion about it.

You move up in the seat, your arms hover over his sides, and—

Two hundred-something pounds of muscle suddenly becomes less abstract.

He’s solid. You can’t even wrap your arms around him entirely. You feel dizzy.

Your hands are laid flat and stiff over his abdomen, you can feel the steady rise and fall of him as he breathes. You imagine his heartbeat, strong and anchored. Not at all like yours, which was pounding with an almost frenzied electricity.

He shifts a little in his seat, he’s only getting comfortable but you are panicked that he’s attempting to nudge you off, so you lift your hands off him.

His hand, which completely wraps around your wrist, comes down to reposition your hands where they were previously.

It’s so fast yet so absentminded that you are convinced it’s more of a reflex than a conscious move.

He says nothing. You say nothing. Your palms rest against him.

The engine roars especially loud suddenly, you jump against him in surprise.

Your stomach swirls with nerves.

“Hold on.” His voice is raised just enough so that he can be heard over the noise. You find your fingers curling to clutch onto him when the bike begins to slowly move forward, turning to pull out into the road.

You cling ever tighter.

Any and all semblance of personal space is disregarded when he begins to ride in earnest.

He doesn’t go over the speed limit just like he promised, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were still trembling behind him. You hug onto him tight when he goes on the highway. If it bothers him he makes no show of it—verbal or otherwise.

You feel even smaller pressed up against him like this, his broad back filling your vision to the point that if you wanted to comfortably see what was in front of you, you’d have to try and sit up and look over his shoulder.

The sound of the wind whipping past you is almost static to your ears. You’re caught between two separate strains of nerves, one from anxiety over being on a bike for the first time, the other from the rapid pace of your heart thanks to the sturdy man you were clinging onto for support.

It makes your hands jittery and your stomach swoop. When you go around a turn for the first time your hands squeeze him like your life depended on it. You doubted it bothered him, considering how he eclipsed you in every way.

He comes to a stop at a red light.

“How are you holdin’ up?” His calls over the hum of the engine, his helmet muffling the sound somewhat.

“Good!” You call back to him, moving one of your hands to give him a small, yet shaky, thumbs up.

His chest rises and falls sharp and quick, a short chuckle. You can’t hear it. It makes your heart feel warm nonetheless.

As the ride goes on your nerves melt away bit by bit. You find comfort in Simon’s solidity.

It was when you relaxed somewhat that it dawns on you that you had no clue as to where he was taking you—if anywhere at all. He didn’t really specify anything other than a time and place to collect you.

Time ticks by, the feeling of Simon’s presence so close to your own becomes increasingly familiar. It still doesn’t rid you of the occasional fluttering of butterflies in your stomach, much to your chagrin. It wasn’t an awful thing to feel small in such a way with Simon—far from it; the issue was how embarrassed it made you.

You went out of your way to ensure your thoughts never crossed that line you drew for yourself, but as you were holding onto his broad midsection it became an increasingly daunting task.

So lost in thought you are that you do not notice that he has turned into somewhere until the bike goes slower than you were expect. You sit up just a little in your seat in an attempt to look over his shoulder the best you could.

It’s a quaint little restaurant. A sign with chalkboard written on it sat out in front of the entrance, informing potential patrons that they were still serving breakfast.

He parks the motorcycle. Then he waits, and waits. It isn’t until he shoots you a glance over his shoulder that you realize he’s waiting for you to get off the bike first.

You dismount as carefully as possible, but you can’t shake the feeling you look awkward regardless, like a newborn filly. Once both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground Simon follows.

You are reminded to take off your helmet when Simon does. Once it’s off your head you hand it to him, wordlessly waiting for him to confirm your assumption that he just took you to breakfast.

He takes your helmet with two of his thick fingers hooked into it, then he’s placing both helmets back in the trunk box. Your eyes dart from him to your feet in random intervals. You were still wrapping your head around the idea of breakfast with Simon.

You’re not certain of what to say, if anything. Thanking him right at this moment felt too presumptuous, so you hold off on that. When he clicks the box shut he regards you for a moment, observant.

When your eyes meet you give him a small smile, it’s more of a reflex if anything. Whatever was there disappears, his posture eases.

“C’mon.” He beckons with a nod of his head towards the building. Looks like you were having breakfast after all.

You are quick to follow. You notice his steps are slower to make up for your shorter strides.

Subconsciously, you are walking closer together than before. You notice it only when the fabric of your jacket brushes against him. You flinch and yank your arm away. You’re about to sputter out an apology.

But Simon remains impassive, almost as if nothing unusual occurred, like you didn’t accidentally cross over into his personal space.

The thought of your hand in his is an unbidden one.

Simon opens the door for you. You tell him ‘thank you’ in a hushed tone as you skitter inside.

The inside is just as quaint as the outside. There aren’t many people within, it’s small but not claustrophobic. The primary decor is wood and earth tones, the scent of coffee drifts across the air invitingly.

“Any preference?” You blink up at him, momentarily at a loss for what he was asking.

‘Seating preferences,’ you realize belatedly. “No.”

You and Simon end up seated at a table in the far back. Simon takes the seat facing the entrance.

He’s leaned back lazily in the chair across from you, It was sturdy enough to hold his weight. His legs are spread in nonchalantly and his arms rests across his thighs. His eyes are half-lidded.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him.

This is also the first time you are acutely aware of Simon’s legs. They’re thick and long, his denim jeans cling to his limbs as his legs stretch the material out. The jeans weren’t tight or form fitting, just that he was so well-muscled he ended up filling most of the space in them out.

His voice startles you out of your observations. “Get whatever you want.”

You feel embarrassed, even though Simon can’t read your mind it doesn’t stop the heat crawling up your neck. You sheepishly lean forward in your seat to skim over the menu, your hands still neatly folded in your lap. Then you glance up at Simon.

“Thank you.”

He simply nods.

“I like this place.” You suddenly say.

Simon cocks his head. “Do you, now?” You ignore how the rough timbre in his voice gives you pleasant butterflies.

“I do. It’s very…” Your brows knit together as you search for the word. “…Rustic. I like it.”

“Had a feeling you would.”

You force yourself to read the menu to help you get your mind off of your increasing body temperature.

“What will you be getting?” You ask after a minute or so of comfortable silence.

Simon doesn’t bristle, but you can’t ignore the almost exasperated tone in his voice, like he’s had this conversation before and is already bracing himself to have it again.

“Nothing.”

You peek up at him. He holds your stare. He eases a little when you don’t push the subject any further.

His following words are more neutral in tone, a clear change of subject. “Get what you want.” Simon points to the menu with his eyes.

You do exactly that.

Eggs, potatoes and bacon sounded delightful, so that was what you ended up getting.

You just ordered, so there still would be some time until your food came.

This was uncharted territory for you. You’ve never been on a bike or had a man take you somewhere to eat, two new things in a single day; that was a very welcome rarity for you.

“Do you come here a lot?” Now that you were in such a setting with Simon you found yourself more conversational than usual. There was a desire to know more about him, no matter how mundane. He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

Simon lightly shrugs his shoulder. “Not that much.” He answers. “Just enough to know the food’s decent.”

“Well, thank you for taking me.” You mumble sheepishly, not quite certain on how to word it.

“Should be thanking you for coming with me.”

There isn’t trepidation in his tone but there is a sort of carefulness there that you can’t place. You’re not expecting it, so you can’t help the way your eyes widen. You nod quickly, not wanting your surprise to be mistaken for something negative.

“I got to try two new things today thanks to you.” It slips out easily, without much thought.

His eyes crinkle somewhat. “Liked the bike, then?” There’s the faintest twinge of pride in his tone.

You like it, you like the thought that he takes some measure of satisfaction in it; it humanizes him and gives more clarity to the jagged edges of his exterior—it doesn’t sand them away, just makes them more legible.

Your lips twitch in a brief smile. “I was scared at first, but yes, I did.”

“You’ll get used to it.” You don’t have the time to register the potential implication there before he speaks again.

“What’s the other one?” Your confusion must show in your face, he elaborates. “You said there were two new things.”

‘Oh.’

The soft clatter of a plate being set down before you makes you jump. You are quick to hastily apologize and stammer out a thank you to the waitress, she only smiles at you and gives an apology of her own for startling you before leaving.

You didn’t even realize you slipped and admitted that, now your mind was working overdrive to figure out how best to word it. There’s an awkward beat of silence until you pick up your fork. You take a bite of potatoes first. It’s more than just decent, it’s delicious.

“What’s the verdict?” Simon asks wryly.

You chew and swallow before speaking. “Very good.” You reply cheerfully. Simon seems pleased.

He then looks at you expectantly.

There wasn’t really much point in dancing around it, you already brought it up by accident, the issue was how to say it without earning potential judgement.

“The other new thing was this.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Never been taken to dinner, either?”

You shake your head. You poke at the food on your plate, growing increasingly self-conscious. Simon catches it.

“Not your fault some bastards don’t know how to act.” Despite his flat delivery it’s reassuring. You find yourself feeling less insecure. You don’t get the impression that Simon is a man to sugarcoat or utter empty platitudes, so you are appreciative.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know, though.”

Simon cocks his head at you, intrigued. “Wouldn’t know?” He asks, parroting it back at you.

“Wouldn’t know.” You confirm, taking another bite of your eggs. You don’t realize that you just implicitly admitted you’ve never had a boyfriend until you’re taking a sip of your water.

For an imperceptible second you freeze before forcing yourself back into motion. In this situation it would be better to just move on and ignore it, but that still didn’t stop your face from feeling like a bonfire.

You think Simon recognizes the implication immediately, but he doesn’t look surprised at all. You’re not certain of how you feel about that.

What you are certain of is the relief you feel when he doesn’t press on about it, but you still feel a tad mortified. If he’s put off by your lack of romantic experience he doesn’t show it.

Maybe it’s the desperation to change the subject that makes you ask Simon;

“So, what do you usually get when you come here?”

That simple question kicked off a sort of back-and-forth conversation between the two of you, which the questions becoming increasingly mundane as it went on.

The questions are asked by you, and Simon answers, then waits for you to give him an answer in return before you toss another question at him.

What kind of music do you listen to?

Favorite color?

What about your favorite season?

Cats or dogs?

Things of that nature are thrown back and forth between you two. You’re pleasantly surprised that Simon is entertaining you.

You decide to push your luck and dip your toes into more slightly personal questions—nothing inappropriate, of course. Simon doesn’t hesitate.

Early bird or night owl?

When’s your birthday?

Have you ever rode with any of your friends?

Simon sits up a little. “What, on the back of it?” His tone is so incredulous that you fail to suppress a giggle.

“No, no, just in general.” You amend. Simon leans back in his seat once more.

“No. Just you.” Just you. No one else. You wonder if he was simply solitary or if there was something else—maybe both. You brush off the warmth blooming in your chest.

You think about what kind of friends Simon would have.

“Doubt they’d be interested.” He continues. “Don’t think any of ‘em even ride.”

“Ah. I’m assuming you don’t have breakfasts with them either?” It’s more of a joke than a question.

Simon answers regardless. “Sometimes I do,” you can’t discern the look that’s in his eye. “But nothin’ like this.”

You cock your head at him, curious. “Never took them here?”

“No.” He confirms bluntly.

“Just me?” You ask. His dark eyes stare at you intently. Your heart pulses.

The entrance to the restaurant opens and Simon’s eyes dart to the door, severing the intense connection briefly. Then his sights shift back.

“Just you.” He replies without skipping a beat.

You look down at your plate just to give yourself a reprieve from the lingering intensity of his stare. You’re almost done with your food by now.

His voice dips a bit lower in a light tease. “I was going to ask you if you ever had any other men walk you home, but I already know the answer to that one.”

Your face awash with warmth. “What’s the answer?” You manage to speak.

You notice the corners of Simon’s eyes wrinkling, the pitch black in his eyes almost look warm for a flicker. Your heart aches with every pulse. He says it in the same tone he had when asking you if you liked his bike.

“Just me.”

Simon ends up paying for your breakfast. You insist he doesn’t have to, but he insists that it’s not a problem. You acquiesce.

He opens the door for you as you’re exiting just like he did when you were entering.

“I’ve got a place in mind to take you to, if you’re up for it.” He has already retrieved the helmets from the back of the bike.

You nod immediately.

Simon was right, you were getting more accustomed to being on a bike already. You still clung onto him for support, however. You were able to appreciate things that you couldn’t before due to your fear; the cool wind blowing past, the auburn trees lining the road.

You cherish what little time you have left being so close to him.

Time that slips by too fast even when you’re holding it tight, because before you know it he’s pulling in somewhere and slowing to a complete stop.

You glance around. It’s a park, if not secluded. You don’t see any other vehicles parked. The trees in the vicinity are so red they might as well be torches.

“It’s beautiful out here.” You say aloud, dismounting the bike.

Simon takes your helmet and puts it along with his in the trunk. “Thought you’d like it.” Unless your ears were deceiving you, you detect a hint of cheekiness there. You’re not used to it coming from Simon, he sounds as dry and flat as usual, but it’s there’s an element that’s foreign to your ears. You cherish it.

You smile sheepishly and turn around to get a better view of the trees in the vicinity. “Do you like coming here a lot?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Sometimes.” He sounds indifferent.

“Oh, hopefully I’m not being invasive or something—“ You begin to stammer, the words tumbling out almost reflexively.

Something in his expression softens. “You’re fine.” Simon replies. You relax a little, but not by much due to how you’re chastising yourself.

You force yourself to brush off the negative self-talk when Simon comes over to stand next to you. Once he’s there he’s grabbing something out of his pocket. A box of cigarettes, you realize.

You’re busying yourself with admiring the trees, you hear the sound of fabric shifting. A comfortable silence envelopes you both. It isn’t until you notice Simon’s hand moving up to his face that your eyes shoot over to him.

He hooks his thumb up and under his mask, underneath his chin. You blink and suddenly you’re staring at pale skin where midnight fabric used to be.

There’s light-colored stubble on his jaw, you catch a scar running there and up, it disrupts the natural growth pattern of his facial hair.

There’s a scar on one side of his upper lip—the same side the other scar on his jaw is—it is vertical and goes from the seam of his lips to seemingly all the way up, maybe even to his nostril. You can’t tell, his mask is still dipped low enough to obscure his cupids bow and the rest of his face. It intrigues you because you’ve never seen a scar like that before.

His lips themselves look like how you expect, slightly chapped and maybe a bit redder than usual from the cold.

You make yourself dart your eyes away. It would be rude to stare.

But then holds the cigarette between his lips, and you find yourself paying as much attention as possible through your peripheral. He feels in his pockets for a lighter for a fraction of a second before he’s bringing it up and setting the cigarette alight.

It isn’t long before the scent of nicotine follows.

And the two of you simply exist in one another’s presence like that for a little while. Nothing is said because nothing needs to be at the moment. You think about how nice it is to have someone be effortlessly content with you. There wasn’t any song or dance you had to do while tone deaf and out of rhythm just to keep away the dreaded labels of ‘odd’ and ‘strange.’

It was just you and Simon.

He says your name. You turn to look up at him.

“Yes?” There’s a pause there, you watch his lips thin out into a line, the motion is almost imperceptible. It’s a welcome strangeness to see a portion of his face now. A small part of you that you bury deep hopes that the sight won’t be unfamiliar one day.

He brings the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes are far away.

“In a month or two I’m gonna be gone for a while.” Smoke pours out his mouth in wispy coils. You turn your head to look at him. He’s still looking at the autumn trees.

“Oh.” You try to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“How come?” You ask, then realization dawns. “For work?” The question is asked carefully.

“Yeah.” He confirms after a stilted pause. He takes another drag.

“I’ll be back.” He says after a beat of silence. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at the moment.

You don’t want him to leave, but that was just the reality of things. Sensibly, you knew that a month or two was still a lot of time, but just like the time you clutched as tight as you did Simon on the bike, it would slip away before you knew it.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” The words sort of pour out, like water from a stream. There’s no question about it, you’ll wait for him; there’s no harm in it. It wasn’t like you’d be putting anything or anyone on hold.

Simon finally looks down at you. His eyes are cavernous, searching.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for or not, only that he looks away from you and back to the trees. He doesn’t say anything else.

The subject leaves a lingering melancholy in the air that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You make an attempt at further conversation to shift the tone.

“You’ll be here for Halloween.” You state, not quite sure where you’re going with it.

Simon only grunts in reply.

“Do you think you’ll be here for Christmas?”

Simon stills for a moment. “Not sure.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“Like what?” He sounds mildly amused.

You think.

“Something with a skull or skeleton on it.” You eventually decide.

“Have jokes, do you?” He says dryly, though not offended.

“Not a joke. But I have an actual joke to tell.”

“Go on.”

“What do you call a pile of kittens?”

“You tell me.”

“A meow-tain.”

He actually snorts through his nose, you even see the scarred corner of his mouth quirk up in a ghost of a smirk, he’s more endeared by you than the joke itself. “Not the worst I’ve heard.”

You beam up at him, and the silence is comfortable yet again.

It’s a minute until next he speaks. “I know what I’ll get you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll see at Christmas.”

Something about the rustling of trees and the soil being stamped underfoot is soothing.

After Simon put out his cigarette and lowered his mask back over his mouth he asked you if you wanted to walk around the park for a bit, which was how you and him ended up walking on one of the short trails.

Simon walks closer to you than usual. You don’t think you’re imagining it, not when you incidentally brush against one another at sporadic intervals.

Neither of you make a move to put some distance between one another.

It’s the distance—or lack thereof—that makes your mind wander.

You think about that day at the convenience store, the night at the bar, and the othernight at the bar when he walked you home for the first time.

You think of Simon, the scar on his jaw and the muteness in his obsidian eyes. The oddly stable monotony of his voice. Big hands that put your helmet on for you for the first time.

You didn’t expect him to show up.

Not when he standing on the other side of the street, not when he came into the bookstore to give your freezing hands gloves, not when he pulled up on his bike.

When does it stop being chivalry?

It was a dangerous thing for someone as sentimental as you to ask.

You didn’t want to smother. To desperately clutch so tight that it suffocated. Having false hopes flood your heart almost always ended with you drowning, so as always, you just took what you were given.

You’d mentally reprimand yourself for every skipped heartbeat and flutter in your stomach, and you would convince yourself that it would be fine if Simon suddenly stopped talking to you one day. Drifted away, further and further until he was a stranger once more.

Your heart was soft and bleeding, too easily bruised for your own good, that’s why you always got so hurt. It was why in spite of having a lovely day you now found yourself hurting.

So you bury down your desires of companionship and the word-you-refuse-to-say with a shovel that’s so well-used it might as well be another limb—

A single, thick arm shoots out and grabs you by the middle.

You are caught before you fall forward on the cold earth. So lost in thought you were, that you tripped over a pebble.

“Watch yourself, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. Your mind is in utter disarray.

‘It was just an off-handed term of endearment, let it go.’

It slipped out from his lips without thought, it didn’t have to mean anything, you’ve heard people use that word before, it didn’t have to mean anything.

It’s difficult to let it go when his strong limb remains wrapped around your waist. He waits until you steady yourself before slipping his arm away.

It’s just as difficult to forget about the effortless strength he exerted to pull you upright before you fell over, especially when that ancient sense hums in delight at such a display.

Your heart pounds hysterically despite your best efforts.

“Thank you.” You mutter quickly. He gives a single, curt nod.

You wait until your pace returns to a normal rhythm before speaking again, you want to put as many syllables between you and that term of endearment as possible.

“Did you ever read that book?” You can imagine the green cover and gold lettering clear as day.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What was it about?” Try as you might, you could remember the letters but not the specific ones which formed the title on the book.

“Mythology.” You blink up at him in mild surprise.

You didn’t take Simon as one who would be interested in that subject. “Oh! Do you usually read those?”

“No.” He answers flatly, “Wasn’t my first choice. Just wanted somethin’ different.”

“I understand.” You do, you truly do.

A beat of empathetic silence washes over the two of you.

“Do you read a lot?” You carefully store the bits of information about him in your mind, in hopes that one day you’ll be able to paint a fuller picture.

“Not often.”

You shoot a curious glance at him. “Oh, so what do you do in your spare time?”

Simon says nothing for a moment. He’s searching for an answer, you realize.

Eventually he responds. “Wait.”

You blink at him, momentarily puzzled by his response. ‘Wait for what?’ Your gaze says. He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

You see two birds foraging. Further down the trail is a little babbling brook. You exclaim your enthusiasm for both, and for every other thing which grabs your attention on the path. Simon only gives you an endeared scoff in reply.

You can’t help but feel dispirited when the trail eventually loops back around and you see the parking lot in the distance. You can’t help but feel a bit childish; not wanting the day to end just yet.

When you reach the bike you stand awkwardly next to it for a moment, waiting for Simon to retrieve the helmets for the final time today.

Simon comes over, the length of his shadow swallowing yours. While looking down at you his brows crease briefly. You are frozen in place when his free hand comes up to your head, slowly and gingerly, giving you time to flinch away. You don’t.

It’s too easy to imagine him cupping your face. That’s twice now that you’ve imagined that. The lump that forms in your throat following that thought is nigh impossible to swallow.

He pulls his hand back and he flicks his fingers so fast that it barely registers that he plucked an autumn leaf from your hair. You’re too caught up with what just happened to feel even remotely embarrassed over that.

An unknowable feeling dawdles around between you. You’re staring forward, avoiding looking up to meet Simon’s eyes, directionless.

You manage to choke something out to break the silence. “Thanks—“

“Don’t mention it,” Simon’s reply is swift, yet no less understanding for it. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You decide to just give Simon the directions to your home to drop you off. You trusted him at this point.

The ride there felt too short despite being a good distance away.

Simon only speaks to confirm he was at the right house, and then he’s pulling over to let you off.

You linger on the bike a second longer than needed. Simon doesn’t say anything or look over his shoulder to wordlessly tell you to get off. He sits there with you.

Your arms are still wrapped around him.

You shake off the urge to give him a final squeeze goodbye. Eventually you do get off the bike, and you take off your helmet. You’re about to give it back to him until he stops you.

“Keep it.” You blink at him, and tuck it under your arm instead.

You stand there aimlessly while you try to think of what to say.

“Thank you. For all of this.” There’s a quiet that settles between the two of you. It isn’t an unwelcome one.

Simon hums in reply after a time.

“I…” Your words slip past your lips and out of your head. Simon stares at you intently, waiting on every syllable.

“I appreciate it.” The words fall flat on your tongue, they barely scratch the surface of how you feel, but you hope he understands how much this day spent meant to you.

“I really enjoyed today.” You mumble, staring down at your shoes.

“Likewise.” He replies. Your lips twitch in a smile that never fully forms.

“Text me when you get home.” You blurt out. Simon simply nods.

And just like how you lingered for a second too long with him on the bike, Simon lingers a second too long with you.

“Talk to you soon.” He says after a moment. You wonder if he was going to say something else. You make yourself nod in agreement.

“Bye, Simon.”

You watch him leave, your eyes stay on him until he’s out of view.

You’re already laying in bed about to drift off to sleep for the night when you hear a high-pitched sound from your phone on the nightstand.

You swipe at the screen, your half-asleep eyes burning uncomfortably with the light that floods your vision when you open your phone. When you read Simon’s name you’re rubbing your eyes to help them focus on what he texted you.

‘Sleep well.’

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Looks like this will be more than 2 chapters after all!

I also wanted to thank everyone who liked and reblogged the first chapter, the positive response really motivated me to finish this. It really means a lot!! 🫶💘

I actually read an article and watched a video on how to use kickstands on bikes, there’s always a possibility I described something wrong, but I hope that can be overlooked!

The plan is to ramp up the romantic intensity a lot in the next chapter. (This story will still shift to an explicit rating once we get there.)

Thank you so much for any and all likes and reblogs! Please feel free to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost x reader #x reader #reader insert #⤜stories #⤜suggestive #⤜Call of Duty #⤜Simon Ghost Riley/Reader

16 notes · View notes