#really feels like we have taken about. twelve steps back with this

[astriiformes]

"I'm using [extremely gendered term] gender-neutrally!"

Cool, I do not interpret it gender-neutrally at all and you might want to reconsider why you feel like adding an "I do what I want" tagline to your post makes you perfectly comfortable making other people -- and in particular, trans people -- uncomfortable

[artdcnaldson]

okay but PLEASE elaborate on Olympics!Art AU

TeeHee

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), feral obsessive behavior, infidelity

A/N: And you would do it too, that’s all I’m saying. Also IMPORTANT note: I love Tashi, she is a mother to many. However this fic has a very obsessive reader who just wants to fuck a married man, at Tashi’s expense

Maybe you were a bad person.

You’d met Art and Tashi Donaldson before— a year back at an event held for Tennis’ rising stars. That was you, some other guys who had done well in the Juniors, a girl from an Ivy League, and more people that fell into the blind spots of your interest..

You must’ve looked so sweet in your formalwear, approaching the couple with shaking hands so you could say just how big of a fan you were. You had no ill intent then, not when you were face to face with two people you’d idolized since you were twelve and watching the Junior US Open. That night you’d taken a deep breath as you stared at the ceiling of your home, feeling like you’d made it.

Sure, Art was handsome, and you’d lived the past decade harboring a massive celebrity crush on him, but he was married, he was untouchable. Art Donaldson oozed that sweet, devoted husband shtick. Anniversary posts, birthday posts, Valentine’s Day posts, Mother’s Day posts. He had a daughter, he posted about how much he loved being a dad.

You were fine accepting that your fantasies of fucking Art Donaldson were strictly fantasies. But that was before you qualified and had to see him every fucking day.

Art Donaldson, who held open doors for you, who talked to you casually, like he might an old friend. Art, who stood in the long line in the food court with you, ate something he probably shouldn’t have, and asked that you don’t tell Tashi.

And you’d smile conspiratorially, and assure him his secret was safe with you. The implication being that you’d keep that secret, and more. As many as he’d ask you to, really.

You’d see him on a practice court, running drills with his wife, and feel the heat of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. You’d turn away, focus on your own game, practice until your hands were aching and sore.

“Where’s Mrs. Donaldson?” You asked one night after you’d been sexiled and had to sit out in the hallway waiting for your roommate to finish up. Art leaned against the wall, standing tall above you, so you had to crane your neck. You liked that point of view, on your knees looking up at him, you wondered if he liked it too.

“Oh, she’s staying in a very nice, very expensive hotel room with our daughter right now,” he said with a grin. “As soon as my events are done, that’s where I’ll be too.”

“Oh,” you said, bringing an easy smile to your lips. “Well, we’re all glad you’re here now.”

“We?” He questioned.

You gave a coy smile, batting your lashes so sweetly. “Maybe just me.”

There was a strange expression on his face for just a moment. Then he laughed like it was nothing. He wished you a goodnight and good luck in your matches the next morning, and disappeared into his own room.

You medaled in women’s doubles. They published photos of you and your partner biting the silver between your teeth. That same day, Art Donaldson took home gold. You were there to see the very end of his last match— every single collision of racket against ball, every step, every grunt of exertion. Your thighs clenched as you watched, fists balled up in the fabric of your skirt.

You wanted him in a needy, desperate sort of way. Like a groupie for a rock band, or a virgin being sacrificed on a mountaintop. You watched him celebrate with a kiss from Tashi and felt that same need like an open wound. Jealousy was festering in you like a rot.

The dive bar wasn’t what you’d expected. Something Art had found with a quick google search and a few minutes with a translation app. He’d knocked on your door to invite you, wearing the beaming smile of someone on top of the world.

“So you’ll come?” He asked after he told you all about it.

“Mhmm,” you said, heart hammering against your ribs. “I’ll come.”

And there you were— in a dress that hardly qualified as such— standing so close to him that you could smell his expensive cologne. His arm would brush yours, he’d glance over and apologize with a warm hand to your arm. You’d clench your thighs together and peer at him through your lashes. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.

A few of the other players disappeared to play darts, or watch the late night coverage of the other sports still competing. You stuck by Art’s side, happily allowing his attention to fall on you completely.

“I saw parts of your doubles final,” he said finally. He was drinking a brand of beer you’d never seen before— something local, you supposed. “You looked beautiful out there.” Your eyes lit up, and then he added. “The way you were playing, I mean— it was phenomenal.”

“Well, I’m no gold medalist,” you said. You let your hand rest on his arm, and looked up at him. The fingers on your other hand toyed with the edge of the medal, warm from where it had been flush against his chest.

He swallowed. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, but he didn’t discourage it. Not one fucking bit.

It wasn’t lost on you that Tashi wasn’t there. Not that it was really her type of venue, from what you had gathered. It wasn’t lost on you that Art Donaldson was at a dive bar, drinking random Brazilian beers, instead of celebrating with his wife, with his daughter. Fuck all those posts on his instagram— if he really was a good husband, a faithful one… that’s the only place he’d want to be.

“I saw your match too. I ran right over after my ceremony to watch,” you confessed. It was hard to concentrate on anything else— you were standing so close to him that you were nearly pressed completely into his body.

His lips twitched in interest. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mhmm. It was incredible. You were so dominant out there, just taking what was rightfully yours.”

He swallowed again, gravitating closer. Your tits were practically spilling out of your dress— he probably got the perfect eyeful when he eased you closer with a firm hand on your lower back, when he looked down at you through blown pupils.

“You looked so fucking hot out there, Art,” you said, lips brushing against his jawline. “You can’t even imagine how it felt sitting there, watching you win. How turned on I got… how wet.”

Art exhaled a shuddery breath. “Jesus Christ.”

It must’ve been a while since he had someone want him this bad, you thought. Clearly he needed it— needed a pretty, sweet thing to tell him just how much they wanted him. You could be that. You could do that.

“I’m not wearing panties,” you whispered in his ear. His grip on you tightened and you had to suppress a giddy smile. “You can feel if you want. I won’t tell.”

He swore under his breath and glanced around. Everyone was too occupied or drunk to give a shit about what the two of you were up to.

He grabbed your hand, pulled you away into the bathroom. You looked pretty even then, in the flickering lights, sat up on the edge of the sink eagerly awaiting his attention.

When he wrenched your thighs apart, he was greeted by the pretty sight of your glistening cunt— sticky with arousal and need. His hand fit there perfectly, right where you needed it.

“Fuck,” you gasped. His fingers rubbed through your slit— wet and hot and aching for him. Your head fell back, knocking against the dirty mirror. “Want you to use me— whatever you want, just take it.”

And you meant it too. This was your teenage idol— a man you’d touched yourself to the thought of countless times. He owned your body, your sexuality, as much as you did. It was only fair he took from it whatever he pleased.

You watched with hungry eyes as he fumbled with the button of his pants, then shoved them down just enough to free his dick.

Your mouth fucking watered with the need to feel it on your tongue, nudging against the back of your throat. You weren’t opposed to begging— you nearly started before you got it into your hand.

Warm, thick, pulsing. Precum beaded at his tip, so you smeared it around the sensitive head of his cock with your thumb. He groaned, bucked into your fist once, twice before he moved your hand.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he said, slapping the inside of your thighs. You obeyed wordlessly, spreading yourself out invitingly. He pressed closer, so you felt him rutting his dick against your pussy, coating it in your arousal. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

The words came out with equal parts disgust and awe. He probably thought you were a slut with the way you were throwing yourself at him. You wished he’d just call you that, spit it in your face.

Your cunt pulsed with need, aching to be filled up finally. The culmination of years of fantasizing. Art pressed himself against your entrance, sinking himself into you with the slow reverence of a man who liked making love.

He buried himself inside of you and had to stop moving to keep from cumming then and there. He was a perfect image of restraint— the way his fingers dimpled the flesh of your hips in a bruising grip.

Art wanted to be a gentleman— to give you time to adjust to the size of him, to ease you into it and let the pleasure be a slow, soft burn. He pulled out nice and easy, slid himself into your wet, throbbing cunt. That was all fine and good, but you knew it was just pretense. You were laid out and wanting, begging for him to use you as his own personal toy.

“I’m not your wife, Art.” You met his gaze, locked your ankles around his waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The first thrust, the first real one, knocked the air from your lungs. That silence didn’t last long— because you got what you wanted— he was really fucking you, bullying his cock into your pussy with the same need and desperation that you felt.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve— fuck— you’ve got no fucking self respect, huh?” He pounded into you, leveraging his grip to pull you against him, really impale you on his dick.

The moan that escaped you was pornographic. If he kept talking to you like that, if he kept fucking you like that, you’d cum.

“You don’t even care, do you? This fucking pussy’s squeezing me so tight— you fucking love this,” His voice was strained, interrupted by groans and pants.

You moaned, eyes rolling back. “Love this,” you echoed. When you looked down, at the sight of him splitting you open, of the ring of creamy arousal circling the base of his dick, you felt dizzy. Like you were standing on top of a tall building and looking down. Sort of out of body, tethered in the present by brutal thrusts into your pussy and the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies joining.

Your fingers moved between your thighs, rubbing needy and insistent at your clit. So close to finishing that you wanted to cry and just ask to start over again, that you’d savor it more a second time.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned suddenly. You felt him start to pull out, to leave. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— not yet, you didn’t want it to end like that. “I have an IUD,” you lied through your teeth. You used your legs, pulled him closer, deeper. “Just keep going, don’t stop. I’m right there.”

He moaned against your throat— holding you tight, fucking into you with animal need. Your fingers moved against your clit with an insistent need. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge. Your moans so loud that Art had to put his medal between your lips to shut you up.

And you were so pliant— letting him drill into your aching, used cunt, your mouth tasting like metal. You felt his rhythm falter— one, two harsh thrusts that knocked muffled moans from you until he came, painting your insides thick, creamy white.

He stayed buried inside of you for a while— panting, doing his best to catch his breath. You spat out the medal and it fell back against his chest, spit slick and shining. You reached up, ran your fingers along his face, reverently, sweetly. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and you tucked it away with delicate fingers.

When he pulled out, you felt that sinking feeling of loss and jealousy in your chest. He redressed in silence, turned away like he couldn’t stand to look at you, or the mirror. Shame rolled off of him in waves that you wanted to brush away.

It wasn’t bad, you’d assure him. You’re a tennis star, you’re the greatest in the world. You should have whatever you want, whenever you want it.

But you didn’t say that. You just tidied yourself up as best as you could and slipped back out into the bar. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.

[forhappysake]

"Because I love you."

A/N - Guys I'm really into these sappy pieces recently. Pls feel free to send requests for something else if inspired. Also, I might be doing a pt.3 to Teach Me at some point, I just have to pick where the story is going.

Summary - A showdown with an unsub leaves you in the hospital. Spencer can't help but feel guilty. Could almost losing you push him to confess his love? (spoilers: yes it does)

Warnings - spencer x reader, BAU level violence, some angst on Spencer's part, fluff, and a love confession

You stared down at your hands, battered and bloodied from your futile attempts to fight back. Caught off guard during an interview with a man who was only supposed to be an eye witness,  not the unsub himself, forced you to fight for your life. By the time the neighbors heard the scuffle and called the local police to come to your rescue, you figured you looked like you’d been through seven rounds of an MMA fight. Your head ached, your eye was swollen shut, and you nearly cried in agony with every breath as you were certain you’d broken a rib. 

After a tense standoff with the local police, the unsub was in custody, leaving you on the floor with your many wounds. You managed to stand yourself up and walk out the door to the waiting ambulance, only to collapse into the EMT’s arms. You felt yourself being loaded in the back of the vehicle as they started an IV. As consciousness drifted away from you, you couldn’t help but wonder where your team was. 

***

You awoke in the hospital to the steady sound of your heart monitor beeping and muffled conversation from outside your room. Your bloodied clothes had been traded in for a hospital gown at some point, and your midsection was bound tightly with some sort of bandages, you assumed to keep your rib in place. You managed to open your good eye in an attempt to find the source of those muffled voices. Your eyes landed on Emily and JJ speaking in the corner of the room, voices hushed. 

“He can’t blame himself. None of us saw this coming,” Emily said, her voice stern but laced with concern. 

JJ shook her head. “He feels terrible, Emily. I’ve seen him come in and out of here crying three times in the last two hours. He rarely cries.” 

Who could they be talking about?

Emily looked at the floor in silence, trying to formulate a reply. JJ cleared her voice to speak again. “They’re partners, Emily,” JJ said, “Of course he’s going to blame himself.” 

Spencer. 

Deciding you’d had enough of eavesdropping, you did your best to sit up, only to let out a whimper when a sharp pain pierced your side. JJ and Emily turned to face you, surprised looks on both their faces. 

“Hey, just lay back,” JJ encouraged. She rushed to the bedside, placing a soothing hand on your arm.

“How long have I been asleep?” you asked. 

Emily shook her head, “Only twelve hours, which isn’t very much considering what you’ve been through. I’ll tell the doctors you need another IV and some pain medication.”

As she turned for the door, you shook your head, “Emily, wait.”

Emily turned to face you, coming to stand at the foot of your bed. “What is it?”

“Where’s Spencer?” you asked. Emily looked to JJ, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. You and Spencer had always been close, as partners and friends. 

“He’s been going back and forth between pacing the parking lot and the lobby for hours. I can’t imagine how many steps he’s taken,” Emily joked. “I’ll go get him for you.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and JJ to catch up on what you’d missed in the last few hours. 

JJ explained what happened after you’d passed out: how the unsub was in custody, finding another victim in his basement, and the team realizing that they’d sent you out to interview the lunatic on your own. “We just thought he was going to give you some information about the case. We had no reason to think that he was the one who-”

You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t think so either. It’s why I agreed to go alone. Nobody’s at fault.” 

JJ nodded, a solemn look on her face. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. We were all so worried once we connected the dots. I was telling Emily - I haven’t seen Spencer so stressed in years.” 

As if on cue, both you and JJ turned to the sound of rushed footsteps coming down the hallway. Spencer’s tall frame was running (no, sprinting) down the hospital corridor. You felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips as he burst into the room, hair danging in front of his eyes and clearly out of breath. 

He approached your bedside, leaning down so he could be face-to-face with you. You could only see him with one good eye, but you did your best to smile to show him that you were doing alright. You brought a hand to his face, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of his eyes so you could see him more clearly. “Hello to you too,” you joked. 

“Y/N-” Spencer started, the tears quickly gathering in his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve gone with you. I should have known that-” 

“That the guy who called into the tipline was actually the unsub? Spencer, be logical. None of us knew. I was just telling JJ, nobody is at fault.”

A single tear fell down his cheek as he examined your injuries. With each scratch and bruise he found, he felt another crack forming in his heart. He hadn’t protected you. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was your partner. Your best friend. He loved you, that he knew. He’d forced that love to be as platonic as he could make it, trying to avoid ruining your perfect friendship. It was moments like this that made that more difficult than ever, as he tried to reckon with his love and his guilt. 

Your bruised hand was still cradling his face. He could feel the bandages against his stubble, and he cursed himself again. It was only then that the other presence in the room became known to him. JJ stood on the other side of the bed, another knowing smile gently painting her lips. Spencer knew what he had to do. JJ knew what Spencer had to do. He looked at her, his eyes subtly asking her to leave the two of you alone. JJ took the hint with a small nod, leaving the room without another word as you and Spencer continued to examine each other. 

“So, JJ’s filled me in on what I missed,” I said, breaking the silence. “Sounds like a pretty exciting half day,” I joked. 

Spencer shook his head, pulling away from your hand. He didn’t go far, though, intertwining his own with yours as he leaned back from the bed. “I was worried sick,” he said. 

“I can tell, Spence,” you said, trying to prop yourself up with your pillow. “You really shouldn’t have been. You know I always come out of these things relatively unscathed.” He raised an eyebrow at your statement, taking in your swollen and bruised features. “Well… maybe not unscathed. Alive, at least,” you quipped. 

An eerie silence fell over the room. You could feel the tension increase as the gears turned in his head.

“But what if you don’t someday?” he whispered, his voice far away. You looked over at him, his eyes fixed on your heart monitor and the gentle green lines rising and falling accompanied by the signature beep-beep-beeping. 

You squeezed his hand in an attempt to bring him back down to Earth. “I’ll always come back, Spencer. It’s what you and I do. We come back alive for each other.” 

The tears that had pooled in his eyes earlier spilled over his cheeks as he let out a small whimper. He leaned down, gently wrapping his arms around you as he wept. “Hey, it’s okay Spencer,” you tried to calm him. 

“No, it’s not. It-it’s not because,” he trailed off. You could still feel his shoulders shaking as he cried. 

“Why, Spencer?” you asked once more. “Please, you can tell me anything.” 

Suddenly his sobs slowed. He pulled back from your embrace, taking in your features. Bruised and battered as you were, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He felt like his heart was going to explode. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the words came tumbling out. “Because I love you,” he said simply. 

Your jaw dropped open at his words. While you should’ve seen this coming, nothing could prepare you for the way your heart jumped. If it wasn’t evident from the expression on your face, the heart monitor picked up its beeping, nearly doubling its pace. The sound wasn’t lost on Spencer, who frantically looked at the screen.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, quickly walking to the monitor. “Did I upset you? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve just felt this way for so long and if I keep pretending like I don’t-”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in minutes. “I love you too.” 

The look on his face was priceless, and you wished you could have taken a picture, but you did your best to engrave it on your brain forever. His brown, teary eyes brightened in a moment, a glimmer of hope shining from within. “You do?” he asked. 

You laughed, allowing your head to fall back on the pillow behind you. “Spencer, I volunteer to work with you during nearly every case. We split a room every week. I only wished that you’d said this sooner so we could’ve split the bed, too.”

He stared at you in shock. The tears in his eyes long forgotten as a smile crept on his face.

A soft laugh left his mouth as he leaned down to you once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, careful to avoid any injured area. “Well, I promise that next time we can,” he said. “And,” he started once more, “I’m never letting you go anywhere by yourself again.”

You smiled up at him, running your fingers over his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[kingkat12]

fuck you (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, angry sex, oral sex, extremely foul language, angst, toxic relationship, accidental creampie, reader should run

summary: being in a relationship with Roman Godfrey has its perks, but is he really telling the truth?

word count: 5,304

a/n: this is part 2 of long legs (link here), enjoy!! wrote this over a span of three hours because this idea has been stuck in my head lol

I didn’t take Roman for a liar until recently. 

Because up until now, everything had been perfect these past few months; I’d spend every Saturday at his place, sleeping next to him, having breakfast with him, and then taking our routine stroll through Clifford Park just for the shits and giggles. I loved that more than anything in the world— At one point, I had to stand on the look-out for park patrols, holding my laugh while he etched our initials into the lamp we had stood beneath that night we became official. 

Our time together had been incredible so far. He had taken me out on elaborate dinners, and then refused to let me get out of bed the next morning before twelve because of his new ‘closeness-rule’; “I’m not detaching from you until noon,”

And who was I to say no? Especially not when it felt this good.

Now that I had his undivided attention, was the centre of all his affection and his designated person to call at midnight, I felt like I was floating. 

Up until last week.

Roman had showed up on my front door with his signature smirk to pick me up for dinner, dressed in his classic Armani suit, hair styled back. “Ready to go?”

I couldn’t help but smile, getting up on my tippy-toes to kiss his cheek— I was always so damn happy to see him. “Yeah, I just have to grab my shoes. Come in,”

A soft blush became apparent in Roman’s cheeks, stepping into my apartment as I disappeared back into my room. “The place is right around the corner, so don’t stress,” 

“Yeah, I know!” I said from the other room, rummaging through my collection of shoes. “We could stay at my place tonight, actually, so we don’t have to grab a cab to yours! Thoughts?”

Roman hummed, leaning against the wall in the hallway. Something told me he wasn’t so into that idea.

I stopped in my tracks, grabbing a pair of shoes before I came back out. "... No?”

Roman ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a slight chuckle. “I don’t know, I just… I like my bed,”

I couldn’t help but feel confused, but I brushed it off— maybe this was just a Roman quirk I hadn’t seen yet? It was probably not that deep. Right? Shrugging, I put on my shoes, grabbing my keys and my purse on the dresser. “Alright...? Cab fare’s on you, then, because I lent the rest of my spare cash to a friend earlier—“

In a swift motion, Roman snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him as I yelped in surprise. He let out a warm chuckle at the look on my face, leaning down to capture my lips in a sweet kiss. “Either we get going now, or I eat you for dinner. I’m fucking starving,”

Giggling, I pulled him in for another kiss. “Fine. I’ll be dessert, then,”

Roman let out a satisfied sigh against my lips, excitement shimmering in his green eyes as he grabbed my hand, leading me out of the apartment.

However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something weird was going on. As he led me through the restaurant with a hand on my back, I realized this was the moment where the wheel in my head had started to turn. Even as we sat down to eat, the question of why he didn’t want to stay over at my place started gnawing at me. 

I had all my things at my place— My makeup, my shampoo against frizz, my clothes. I always had to walk around with my stuff if I was planning to sleep over at Roman’s place, feeling a bit like a nomad because... he hadn’t given me a drawer at his place yet. 

The mind-wheel continued to turn; why hadn’t he offered me a drawer? We had been official for months. For a man that was so damn adamant about being okay with a committed relationship, the more I thought about it, the more I started to see the cracks in the facade. Was he inadvertently telling me he didn't want to be in a commitment anymore?

Roman’s voice brought me back to reality; “What?”

Fuck. Had I been so swept up in my thoughts? “Pardon?”

“You’re not saying anything,” he said, putting his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

This is where my guilt started gnawing at me as well. Why was I even thinking these thoughts about the sweetest boyfriend I had ever had? “Oh, nothing, just...” And suddenly, it dawned on me that there was one thing that would ease my mind about this issue; “Just wondering if you’d want to meet my friends soon. I’ve met some of yours, but you’ve never met any of mine.”

Roman’s eyes widened slightly— I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t watching his reaction like a hawk. With a chuckle, he pulled away from the table, wrapping his long, slender fingers around the cutlery once more; “I’ve met your friends,”

“Only in passing,” I mumbled, reaching out for my glass of water. “I’d like them to know the man I’ve been talking about for months. And I think you’d like them.”

Roman nodded, turning rather quiet. Something about it made my pulse quicken.

“Okay,” he eventually said. “I’ll meet your girls.”

I let out a shaky breath of relief, sipping my water with a bright smile on my face. Maybe I was just overthinking this, as always? “What do you say about next week?”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And next week rolled along— today was the day. I had told my girls that Roman said yes to meeting them at our favourite bar downtown, and I was now checking my makeup in the elevator up to his penthouse. I couldn’t wait for them to finally get to know the man I was so crazy about, because honestly? I was dead tired of having to defend our relationship to them.

And I also didn’t like that it was starting to sound like they were right about him all along.

As the elevator doors opened and I knocked at the entrance, I held back a jump of excitement— I couldn’t wait. However, my excitement quickly died down when Roman opened the door, dressed in…

A white t-shirt and his pyjama pants?

At first, I let out a short chuckle, leaning up to give him a kiss. “Rome, get dressed! Silly man,” I made my way past him, putting away my stuff on the dresser nearby. “We’re supposed to meet my friends in, like, twenty minutes!”

The sigh Roman let out had my heart dropping in seconds. “Yeah, about that...” Something about the dead expression on his face gave me a hint about his next words; “Is it okay if we take a rain check? I don’t really feel like going anywhere tonight.”

My smile fell. “... Are you serious?”

Roman shrugged, reaching out to pull me into a hug, leaning his head on top of mine. “Well, they’re your friends, I think they’ll be fine if you just show up,"

I didn’t hug him back— I stood still, holding back the urge to push him off of me. “But... you didn't even have work today,”

“So?” Roman kissed the top of my head, stroking through my hair. Was he perhaps hoping that the affection would dull my disappointment? “It’s been a bit of a lazy day, sure. Everyone needs those. But don’t let me stop you from having fun with your friends, you should go!”

I put my hands on his shoulders, prying him off of me. It felt as though my heart had sunk all the way down into my heels. “You... said you’d meet them,” 

Had this been any other instance, I wouldn’t have cared— I’d have told him to stay in, that it was okay, but it was really bothering me now. Maybe Roman hadn’t changed after all? Had I deluded myself into thinking he had just for the sake of being with him?

“I know, but we can take it another time. Right?” With a sigh, Roman reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Why are you getting so upset about this?”

No— this was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you really asking me that?”

Roman didn’t even look confused, just... annoyed. “Yeah?”

I had to put a lot of energy into not letting my lower lip give in to a quiver. Standing in front of the man I loved, feeling shut down and upset, I finally let it out; “Do you know I don’t even have a key to your place?”

Roman furrowed his brows, clearly not expecting those words out of my mouth. “What does that have to do with anything?—"

“The one time I left a toothbrush here, you returned it to me!” I balled my fists, hating that this was making me feel like a whiny child. “You don’t want to sleep over at my place, you don’t want to meet my friends, and the one time we ran into your mother, you introduced me as your friend!” Saying it out loud only made it more clear to me. This was not okay, nor was it normal.

Roman’s eye twitched— it was obvious that he didn’t like to be confronted about this head-on. He shook his head, looking further annoyed and uncomfortable as his gaze wandered around the room, refusing to meet mine.

“The only thing that has changed, is that you’re no longer fucking those women with the ridiculously long legs!” I said, feeling my tears press up on me. 

This was it for Roman— he groaned, turning to me with a rather angry look on his face; “What the fuck is up with you and your hang-up on the long legs?—“

“Because, Roman, those women were beautiful!” I cried, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “And maybe you’d let them keep their toothbrushes here, because maybe it would be easier for you to embrace someone you think is on your level!” 

Seeing the stunned expression on his face, I angrily wiped away the tear that had rolled down my cheek, grabbing my stuff. I reached for the door, taking one last jab before making my leave; “I should’ve left with Peter when I had the chance,”

It was in this moment that Roman put his hand on the door, slamming it shut with all his might. The bang echoed through the apartment, making me jump and look back at him with wide eyes of shock; the look on his face made my heart threaten to beat out of my chest.

Roman’s breath came out in short, ragged motions, chest heaving with anger. The way his eyes widened with fury had me worried, and his lips shut tightly into a line as his jaw clenched— I had to take a step back. I should’ve known better than to provoke a man like this. 

“If you need a key to know that I’m crazy about you, then I might have to rethink what I’m doing here with you,” he said, his words coming out like a low growl. “Are you that fucking insecure?”

“You make me insecure!” I let in a big heave of air, flailing my arms around as I tried to find the right words. 

“Yeah?” Roman snarked. “Well, if I’m so fucking horrible, maybe you should go back to Peter! Go ahead!”

Had I not been so terrified, I would’ve cried all over again. “Fuck you,”

Roman’s eye twitched once more— “Fuck you, too,”

“Fuck you!” I couldn’t help but grow more and more agitated; I had never been this hurt in my life. “Fuck you and your snoring!”

Roman’s lips parted in confusion, quickly retaliating; “Oh, yeah? Fuck you and your incessant need to be late to everything!”

“Am not!” This was starting to make my blood boil. “Fuck you and your stupid suits!”

Roman seemed to be feeling the same; “Fuck you and your heels!”

“Fuck you and your hair!” 

Somehow, I felt like this fight was shifting into something else.

“Yeah? Well, fuck you and your short fuck-me dresses!” Roman took a step away from the door, nearing me with dangerous steps. “That’s just not appropriate to wear in my fucking office!”

It didn’t take long until this had turned into a screaming match. “Fine, I will wear nothing but baggy jeans and enormous sweaters, even during the summer! Would that make you happy, asshole?” 

Roman groaned; “You’re such a fucking bitch, do you know that?” he yelled, nearly hovering above me. “Of course it wouldn’t, you know that’s not what I meant!”

“What the fuck do you want me to wear, then?!—“

A beat. “What about nothing?”

It didn’t take long for the both of us to understand what was happening, our eyes widening at the same time as it dawned upon us. It also didn’t take long until I flung myself around his neck, our lips meeting in a fiery, angry kiss. Roman lifted me up in no time, my legs wrapping around him. 

“Fuck you,” I breathed in between kisses, feeling my heart beat against his as he carried me further into the apartment.

“Will do,” he said, reaching his bedroom in no time with his long steps. Roman laid me down on the bed, wasting no time crawling on top of me. 

I was still unbelievably angry at him— but somehow, those emotions had turned into flashes of passion. Something told me that our relationship wouldn’t last at this rate, and it only made me more desperate for him. With tears in both our eyes, we somehow managed to get out of our clothes in between hungry kisses, not wanting to be apart even for just a second.

I let out a tiny sob as he kissed down my stomach, feeling my anger simmer in my chest, raging through me like a storm. Roman was so damn infuriating, but I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. I really, really didn’t want to let him go— was this how we would end?

My back arched off the bed and I let out a soft gasp as I felt him lick a wet stripe up my sex; somehow, the pleasure was starting to feel like a relief from the tornado of feelings ravaging my insides. Feeling his tongue trace tight circles around my clit was way too damn overwhelming at this moment, making me want to cry out in more ways than one. “Rome—“ I breathed, feeling another sob bubble up in my chest.

However, it quickly died out as he sucked down on my clit, lapping me up, making me feel like I was on the brink of pure ecstasy. 

Roman knew how to dull down my brain. He knew, and he knew it very well. Right now, that was more of a blessing than a curse.

“Rome, come back here,” I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his soft hair. “I can’t— I want you close.”

Roman hummed, his wet lips never leaving me as he made his way back up my body with kisses along my stomach, my chest, my collarbones and my neck. “Thought you hated me,”

I looked up at him, meeting his hard gaze as his lips hovered inches above mine. “Not fully,” I whispered, reaching forward to touch his face. Sometimes, it was hard to believe someone so beautiful could be real. “Only a little.” My hands traced his brows, the curve of his nose, the hollow of his cheeks, touching him as though he was made of glass.

And something about my softness seemed to affect Roman— his green eyes rounded out, looking down at me with an unintelligible emotion I hadn’t seen in him before. Leaning back down, he kissed me once more, no longer able to hold back.

With his chest pressed against mine like this, I couldn’t help but feel soothed from the absolute agony coursing through my veins. I was so, so scared that this would be it, that this night would determine whether or not we stayed together or not— and right now, I put away all our differences, all our hiccups, everything that was damn right infuriating about him, because at the end of the day... I loved this man.

And I hated myself for it.

I let out a gasp as he entered me, giving in to a sigh of relief against his lips. Nothing could ever top this feeling, nothing and no one could ever make me feel this good, and I knew it.

“Fuck you,” Roman whispered against my lips, his breathing further challenged by the feeling of being engulfed by my wet heat in this moment, rolling his hips against mine. “Fuck you for driving me crazy like this.”

Feeling his cock deep inside of me like this was enough to make me submit, my fingers going into his hair as I let out a shaky moan. “Fuck you, too,” I wrapped my legs around him, wanting him closer, feeling my breath hitch in my throat as his thrusts soon enough grew more rough. 

Roman reached down to grab my hips, making me meet the harshness of his thrusts. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood for being gentle— he wanted to take his anger out on me, and I was going to let him, whether I wanted to or not. 

A deeper, darker part of me loved this. Loved this feeling of having no control, knowing I had no say in what he was doing whatsoever. I could only tighten my fist in his hair, holding on as he continuously thrust his cock deep into me, letting out a string of breathy curses and moans. 

I could feel my legs getting sore as Roman suddenly said something that made my heart stop; “I love you,” he breathed, his grip on my hips tightening. “Stay with me.”

What? What was going on? I let out a cry, letting my body go limp to take his thrusts. My eyes widened as I realized that in this moment, I suddenly had power over our relationship, probably for the first time ever. I could decide whether or not I wanted to stay— he was begging me.

However, it was incredibly hard to make such an important decision when my legs were trembling and my whole lower body was in a state of the highest euphoric feeling on earth. “Liar,” I eventually said, my anger flaring up again at the memory of the events this past month. “You don’t love me, Rome... A-Aah—“

Angered, Roman pulled out of me without warning, flipping me over on my stomach. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, making me wince, as he used his other hand to prop me up to make it easier for him to enter me again. I let out another cry of both pleasure and anger, grabbing at the bedding beneath me as he spoke; “It’s you... For me, it’s only you... Shit,”

Roman let go of my hair, allowing my body to go limp beneath him. With the little power I had left, I instinctually moved my hips to meet his thrusts, wanting more. 

This was possibly the biggest mind-fuck I had ever been through, my brain shutting down as I felt his dick slide in and out of me continuously. My tears continued to press up on my eyes as I felt my orgasm building. “I loved you,” I breathed, feeling his hot, laboured breath against my shoulder and his hair brushing up against the crook of my neck. “I loved you, so, so much…”

It dawned on me that I really, truly did. I had loved him, but I couldn’t love him anymore. 

As Roman grabbed my hips, somehow shifting the angle of his thrusts, I let out a cry as he brushed up against my sweet spot— this was enough to drive me over the edge, coming harder than I probably ever had before. I muffled my string of moans against the bedding beneath me, feeling a tear roll down my cheek, completely spent and overwhelmed.

It didn’t take long before Roman came as well, the harshness of his thrusts coming to a halt as he spilled into me. My eyes widened at the feeling— we’d been so swept up in the moment that we forgot about the condom. Fuck.

I heard Roman’s breath hitch as he pulled out of me, taking in the sight of his cum slowly leaking out of me.

It made me shudder— crap. I rolled over on my back, feeling how much my thighs and hips ached. It was a strange feeling, accompanying the satisfaction of post-coital rapture. I also couldn't piece together whether I liked the feeling of his cum seeping out of me or not. Had the relationship not been in this state, I probably would've found it rather... hot. 

I watched Roman’s chest raise up and sink, his green eyes meeting mine. None of us knew what to say, the sound of our panting filling the room. 

As everything started to dawn on me, I wiped away my remaining tears, sitting up in the bed despite knowing the cum might stain his sheets. Fuck the sheets. “I should go,” I mumbled, not meeting his eyes anymore. “My friends are probably waiting...”

With a sigh, Roman shifted on the bed, laying down next to me. His fingers reached for my arm, hoping to pull me back down and into his embrace. “Stay,”

I looked back at him, unsure what to feel. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say; “No,”

Roman’s expression remained unchanged, possibly expecting that answer. “I’ll go with you, then,”

“No,” I got up, looking for my clothes that had been scattered somewhere on the floor. “I need to go the pharmacy, get a plan B, and then meet my friends. I don’t have time for you anymore.”

That was definitely something he hadn’t expected. Roman sat up, lips parted in confusion as he watched me get dressed; “What is that supposed to mean?”

I felt my lower lip tremble as I got hit with a newfound sense of clarity. “I’m not getting what I want in this relationship. This isn’t good for me. So until you get your priorities straight, I’m leaving you,” As I finished getting dressed, I turned to him. “Thanks for this, Rome... Have a good night.”

Leaving the bedroom with tears in my eyes, I did my best to hold back yet another sob. I quickly put my shoes on, not wanting to waste another second in his ridiculously big penthouse. I wiped away the mascara stains on my cheeks in the hallway mirror when Roman appeared, back in his clothes.

“Just... Let’s talk about this, okay? Let’s not make a rash decision,” he said, nearing me. “We can make this work. Give it some time.”

It was hard to look at him right now, especially when he looked this sexed-up. I didn’t even want to answer him, making my way to the door.

“Come on!” Roman was starting to sound more desperate, reaching out for my wrist. “This can work!—“

I turned around, my gaze hardening. It was so damn hard to resist him, and I needed to get my decision confirmed. “Say it again,” I said, knowing what would ensue.

Confused, Roman’s brows furrowed; “This can work...?”

“No,” This was it. This was the moment. “Tell me you love me, now that we’re not in bed. Mean it.”

Roman froze, and it was clear that his mind was working overtime. I held my breath, hoping that I would be proven wrong, that this was something we could overcome. However, with a shaky breath, Roman let go of my wrist, taking a step back. He lowered his head in newfound shame, giving me a silent approval to leave.

Sighing, I felt as though my heart had broken into a thousand tiny pieces.  How was it possible that I had let him disappoint me over and over? “Thought so,” I took one last look at him, feeling a sob build in my throat. “Bye, Roman.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It had been a week since I had seen Roman, and it had been a week of pure agony. I hadn't stopped crying, having to take a week off of work, buying takeaway dinners every day because I didn't have the energy to get out of bed most of the time. 

Agony. Pure agony. 

Quite frankly, it made me feel ridiculous. I couldn't believe that I had let myself fall apart because of a man. But this wasn't an ordinary man— This was Roman. The previous-love-of-my-life Roman. Man-of-my-dreams Roman. How could I expect myself to be okay after a breakup like that?

Waking up on Saturday was even worse. The day I would usually have to follow his ridiculously cute 'closeness-rule'. The day we would take our stroll in the park. 

However, a small voice in my head asked me; why can't you just do that yourself? And that was exactly how I ended up back in Clifford Park under that same lamp as usual. A small part of me hoped he would show up, but another part of me went into a tiny panic over that thought. 

I stretched out my hand to let my fingers run over the cold metal where Roman had etched in our initials. In truth, I had found it quite stupid when he had suggested to do it— it was something kids did, teenagers, not grown adults? However, in this moment, I couldn't help but realize how romantic it was. That we were eternally etched onto something, a tiny memory of us and what we used to be. 

The lamp was starting to feel like a tombstone for a beloved, and I wiped away the tear that rolled down my cheek, not necessarily loving the thought of crying in public. Forcing myself to leave, I lowered my head as I passed by a man with a rather familiar scent, trying not to think too much about it. But my curiosity got the best of me— I turned around, watching the man in the familiar coat turn back around. Had he looked at me too? Was that who I thought it was?

I immediately sped up. I shouldn't be here.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Another week had almost passed, and I was starting to feel better. I had found out that the ache in my heart could easily be subsided by a glass of wine or a day out with my friends, but nothing could fill the hole Roman had left in my soul.

However, I had hoped that I would feel better about the whole ordeal at this point. Who needed a man that couldn't commit? Definitely not me.

... Definitely not. 

It was a Friday now, and I had just gotten off of work. I was getting ready to leave for drinks with my friends once more, seeing as that was the best remedy. And when I heard a knock at my door, I opened it without a second thought— it was probably one of my girlfriends asking to borrow a pair of shoes, as always. 

Meaning, when I saw who it was, I completely froze as my lips parted in shock.

There he was; Roman let out a shaky breath as he met my gaze. His hair wasn't styled, lying in soft waves over his forehead, and he had ditched his usual suits for a casual, formal look. Typical Roman— he couldn't even show up looking like a normal human being. Ever. 

However, I wasn't about to complain. I held my breath, unsure what to say or do. 

And suddenly, he spoke up; “Did you know I failed math class?”

I couldn’t help but let my jaw fall, giving him a look. "... What?” Is this really what he chose to say right now? It was definitely not what I had expected. 

Roman shrugged, not meeting my gaze anymore. “I had to redo it over and over again, probably up to three times,” he mumbled, putting his hands into his pockets. "When it comes to important things, I usually fuck it up. Majorly. And it seems to apply with... this as well."

My knuckles were turning white by the sheer force I was holding onto the door. It felt as though I couldn't breathe, turning to stone. 

"I'm also bad at sharing," Roman continued, looking up from the floor. "Really bad. And I'm sort of legally not allowed to give out spare keys to anyone, because of security reasons my company has put in place. So I'm sorry that it didn't cross my mind. But, wait, hold on—" He pulled one hand out of his pockets, reaching out his palm to me. 

And there it was. A key. With a shaky hand, I took it into mine, trying not to pay too much attention to the feeling of his hand against mine after so much time apart. 

Roman let out a relieved sigh, nodding to himself. "The thing about the toothbrush... Fuck, I've been thinking about it endlessly, and I see how it looks now. I genuinely thought you'd probably want it back, it didn't even hit me that you might've wanted a toothbrush at my place, and I have nothing against that. It's... cute, actually,"

I let go of the door with my other hand, putting the keys into my front pocket. I did my best to steady my breathing; I hadn't been this overwhelmed in a while. "Roman, I didn't expect you here—"

"—And the thing about my mother," Roman was practically rambling on at this point. Was he nervous? "She's insane. I don't introduce her to anyone, actually. If she found out we were dating, she'd probably put you through hell and back to see if you'd be the right fit for the 'future of the company', as she says. I wanted to spare you. So, again, sorry. Should've cleared that up."

Another shaky breath escaped me, not knowing what to say. 

Roman nodded to himself, glancing around the hallway to check that we were still alone. "And... I freaked out about meeting your friends. I have an inkling that they hate me, which they sort of have all the right to do," 

"Oh, Roman," I took a step forward, mostly out of pure habit. I had to stop myself from reaching up to his face and stroke through his hair. "Why didn't you just... tell me?"

Roman shrugged, looking rather embarrassed. "You didn't tell me that it bothered you,"

I sighed— he was right. "I'm getting a deja vu. I thought we were supposed to better at communicating, now," 

"I know," Without being invited in, Roman stepped into my apartment, checking it out. It was so typical of him to assume that he would be welcome despite our fight, but I couldn't help but find it sort of... attractive. Arrogant man. I closed the door behind us as I watched him, crossing my arms over my chest. It looked like he wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, sticking out his hand to bump the lamp on my ceiling as though he was bored; "Did I ever tell you I love this place?"

Grimacing, I rolled my eyes. The time he didn't want to stay over at my place was still lingering in the back of my mind. "As if,"

"No, I do," He turned to me, a tiny hint of his signature smirk appearing on his lips. "It's just that your bed is ridiculously tiny. Did you ever notice that I'm longer than your bed?" 

I scoured my brain for that information, flustered. How was it possible for someone to be so charming? Giving up, I shook my head and admitted defeat. I wasn't going to win this mental battle against myself, and I knew it. I wanted him here, whether I admitted to it or not.

Allowing his smirk to grow, Roman's green eyes shimmered with hope. "It seems this will take a while.... Looks like I might have to spend the night,"

I bit back a smile— bastard.

[lundenloves]

IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE, I MEET MY FATHER WHEN HE IS A CHILD

〔 yeah this had no idea being as emotionally intense as it was, and for that, i will take a swig of this wine i’m drinking. a rhône red. this is based off the poem by nikita gill — and dedicated to all the girlies who relate. i love you, you are seen. 〕

˗ˏˋ i have a lot of requests in my inbox. i’ll take ages to do them because all of my time is stolen by the ceiling whom i stare at lovingly. it’s been really rough lately folks, i won’t lie.

⇀ warnings of brief abuse mentions | 1.7k

dad!simon masterlist | masterlist | taglist | request info

A father and his youngest daughter. Simon and his youngest daughter. A concept so simple but also complex. The last one to need dad, the last one to be embarrassed of him, the last one to scoff after consoling kisses to her temple, the last one to say bye to him and the last one to move out. Every of his efforts landed enough for surface satisfaction, though not deep enough to reject tears over TikTok slideshows. Father quotes, embedded between photos of old and new paintings, some of animals hugging and others of people. 

What if you met your father when he was a child? It said, eleven words that joined together to create a swell of pity in her stomach. The clock turned three and darkness welcomed the girlhood routine of small houred upset. 

In another universe,

I meet my father

when he is a child. 

Her chest hurt. She hadn’t said bye to him, too busy on the phone with her friend. Undoubtedly another teenage drama, one that lasted only an hour at best when saying goodbye could’ve taken mere seconds and lasted forever. He stood in her door frame, camouflage clad and knocking to enter. 

“Bye.” She’d mumbled, now touching her shoulder at the invisible feeling of his hand. A touch that she had learned meant love from her father, his calloused fingers padding twice before pressing a kiss to her cheek and walking out. He always closed the door behind him, a fatherhood instinct he had picked up from the years. 

She viscerally pictured his youth. An image near scolded into her brain from the single photo she had seen. Stood without a smile, hand raised to bite on his nail. He was small against his older brother who looked just the same, a distant hand placed on Simon’s shoulder. It was something that she thought about often, about how even in his childhood she hadn’t seen one smile.

It was telling.

We play catch in the woods

and as we play he tells me

he isn’t allowed to cry

but sometimes the world 

hurts him and he doesn’t know

what to do with all that pain. 

One tear fell. She could hear the young voice, something so untainted but so far from happiness. A nonchalance sprouted from a young age, said with a shrug and a wide eyed stare — something like an animal in headlights. Her own childhood easily caught up to his, passing him by without a look back. The boy dropped his arm and watched her walk by, dark circles made home under his eyes and the bruises on his arms harbored, making their place known for years to come. 

So I give him the shoulder he needs to cry on. 

And he does. He does 

Until the tears are done. 

Her lip tasted salty, one or two more tears dropping for the thought of her father at her age. Still and silent, an observant soul with a foul temper. One tested more than he would’ve hoped or had energy for — if not his father, then school peers, finding joy in persistent teasing for his solemn stares and aggressive responses. 

It was something he had carried to adulthood, to parenthood. Dropping the bag of trauma at the door and doing his best to avoid the handle, locking the door and throwing away the key to avoid stepping near or on anything delicate. Anything that could set him off, for anger and upset had been merged into one. Because it wasn’t right to be emotional, it wasn’t right to cry or show visible turmoil because that’s not what men were like was it? Nevermind a five, nine, twelve or sixteen year old boy. 

Tears were the crime, anger was the fine. Even now, his rare despair came laced with anger and she couldn’t help in finding similarities to herself. She was her fathers’ daughter. Her smile, her eyes and her cry. Silent. Her ears went red the same way his did, her pitch raised when on the defence and her tears came at night when no one was around to see them. 

Like now. 

As she lay in bed, wiping tear-stained cheeks in a house bought from what was ultimately Simon’s life. Every deployment it seemed far fetched to assume he wouldn’t come back, though it was easy to forget the very real possibility. His texts kept her mind from wandering too far, a simple text of good morning or night. Something he knew was reassuring, because as much as she was his daughter he was also her father. 

Afterwards, I buy him ice cream 

and I listen to his laugh, 

the glowing warm laugh

of a child who knows he is safe. 

Isn’t it weird how you can feel it in your chest and stomach when something really hurts your feelings? A sinking feeling, one that you can’t seem to shake until your head decides to alleviate you of the weight. Her head spun at the thought, her father as a child and this continuous feeling — something that happened so often he almost found comfort in it. 

Familiarity runs a person. It’s undeniable, anything merely familiar is a driving point for the average individual. Though it was easy to forget the definition was different for everyone. For some, it was being born into a burning house with spits of fire. The inclination to find a human equivalent of petrol just to start a riot, finding home in forever arguments and turbulence. Simon was scared that’s what he would create, a lineage of trauma and anger. 

But he hadn’t. Not to the extent he was worried for anyway, instead, his girls were extended parts of the warmth he feared yet craved so deeply. The feeling of safety was a necessity growing up, it’s grounding — something he wasn’t a party of privilege to and it made his daughter sob. 

It made her sob how his hugs were forever tainted by his childhood. A fear to hold both arms tight in favor of a one armed distancing method, one that was abolished when drunk and she received his longing. Constant drunken smiles, laughs, hugs and words of affirmation. Her phone was pulled from the bedside table, scrolling to find his contact and phoning him without a second thought. 

It was even later where he was, but still the phone barely had a chance to ring once before he had answered. “Hi, you alright?” Voice hoarse from sleep, forever in concern. 

She imagined him sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes with a mighty frown across his brow. One that would soften as she began to cry down the line, “I feel bad I didn’t say bye to you.”

“You did.” He’d almost laugh instantly, his own attempt to lift her up from thousands of miles away. “Don’t cry over it.” A pause. “It’s late where you are, eh?” The creak of his bed sounded over the phone and she knew he was getting up to start his day rather than go back to sleep. 

I wish someone could 

have done that for him. 

She hated it. The way he would throw emotion away by retreating to his room for days after coming home. It was something she hadn’t paid any attention to being younger, but the older she got, and the older he got, it became obvious. The undeniable anxiety in his shaky hands, all pent up worry from being so still on the field releasing. He couldn’t hold a mug for days, growing red faced out of frustration and subsequent embarrassment over the inability to do something so simple. 

“Are you alright dad?” She’d ask, watching from the threshold as he clinked the ceramic against the counter — a crass sound filling the room and then his puff of anger. The tea spilled across the surface, his fist encouraging the flow with a thump against the marble. “I’ll get it.” Voice quiet, wary eyes catching his own.

His jaw tightened at her presence, pushing both hands up through his hair and down to rub his face. “No, it’s—” He cut himself off with a timely blink. “Sorry.” He motioned to the spillage, taking steps backward to lean against the surface behind him, instantly zoning out. 

Sometimes he wanted to cry. 

But it didn’t ever happen. 

Been a kind, safe place

for the child he used to be. 

Would it have made a difference? 

Would it have made a difference? 

The worst feeling in the world was that of neglect. The feeling of loving someone so hard, on your knees in front of them begging for them to love you back, and yet, only receiving a familiar feeling of disappointment running cold in your veins. Nothing but abuse and torment, the pining for warmth becoming redundant against each icy spit. It was worse coming from someone you looked up to. Anyone from a friend to a sister and a brother. But worst of all. A parent. 

Because there was something devastating about the lack of parental love for a youth. Those key years are knocked for six by the physical blows and emotional hits. It shapes you. Molds each crevice in your brain to whatever badness it feels, manifesting in forms of wrathful anger or complete silence, a primal human instinct to protect yourself. 

Not that it ever worked. 

It never does. 

Instead, it works in tandem with the abuser. Silence aiding an escalation of the inevitable. But one or two hits isn’t so bad, right? The purpling of your cheekbones feels like home and it’s not something you can ever leave.

Simon recognised that from a young age. 

And if the tears hadn’t been beaten out of him and he was able, he would’ve cried. Ten years old, yet his tears had already run out.

But would it have made a difference?

as always, comments are reblogs are highly highly appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then, i’ll fall down a hole.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta

i cant tag more than 50 people, so will tag in comments!

i tag x reader as it’s your family with him, your daughter.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen

TW: NSFW, angst, possessive language, verbal violence, BDSM mention

In nothing but a towel, Ludlow strides to answer the door. You, still naked, shriek and run for the bedroom, certain there’s about to be a bit of a fucking disturbance.

“Morning, Dr. Bitch! Didn’t know you made housecalls?” Tom’s pseudo-jovial tone is nothing less than gloating. 

You stumble back out of the bedroom, at least covered by your threadbare blue paisley robe, to find Dr. Julian Mercer on your threshold bearing a massive bouquet of deep red lilies. The tension between the two men is palpable as an electrical storm, and a lump of dread lodges in your throat. The last thing you want is these two getting into a fight.

When Julian turns his sharp gaze to you, you can’t help but feel guilty, even though you’ve done nothing wrong. Gone is the sweet, caring doctor, something entirely more primal in his place. This is a man who perceives an interloper has touched what’s his.

“I see I’ve come at a bad time,” he says, a flash of his bottom teeth visible as he clenches his jaw.

“Nah. We were just having some breakfast. Want to join us?”

Julian takes in the remnants of the pancakes on the table, as though he can almost see exactly what you two had been up to. Well…your disheveled, half-dressed state probably said enough on its own. 

Instead of answering Tom, Julian’s eyes roll up from the messy table and lock onto your own. “Did you fuck him?” 

You are completely taken aback by the invasive, growled question, suddenly nervous and shifting on your feet. For a moment, with Julian’s intense gaze trained on you, you forget that Tom is between the two of you and that you’re safe. But, if Tom wasn’t here…you shiver at the prospect. 

Julian looks like he’s going to go full Jason Vorhees on your ass. You open your mouth to speak, but Tom cuts you off. “Don’t think that’s any of your business, Dr. Bitch, but if you must know..” 

“Tom,” you say quietly, encouraging him to shut the fuck up and stay out of this. 

Instead of pouncing across the room and sinking his teeth into your carotid, Julian sighs, his face drooping just like the sad flowers at his side, and shakes his head. “I understand.” 

Why do you always end up feeling like an asshole at the end of these debacles? Maybe it’s because you are the asshole. By the way Julian looks right now, it certainly seems like it. 

“Oh, poor thing.” Tom rubs salt in the wound. “Cry me a river.” He turns to you. “Are you really gonna fall for this crap?” 

“Tom…” You try again, but it falls on deaf ears.

“There, there, Dr. Bitch Boy, you’ll surely find someone else who is dumb enough to let you tie them up and hurt them. Consensually! Mustn’t forget the fine fucking print…” 

“You know,” Julian says, twirling the bouquet stem in his long fingers, dripping dew on the doorstep. “It’s a safe, rewarding practice between two mature adults. But, I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that, Officer Ludlow.” 

Tom chuckles. “Oh, wouldn’t I? Some of us can tie a woman up and make her scream without inflicting pain.” 

Julian looks, immediately, to your wrists, where sure enough there are still discolored leather marks marring your skin. He stares at you like you just kicked his puppy except the puppy is actually him. You wish you could be a bitch for once and not care, but you’re just a softy like always, staring back with what you hope reads as an apology written on your face. 

Julian looks back at Tom, expression changing drastically into something dark. “There are marks on her pretty skin.” 

“Uh huh,” Tom agrees. 

Julian, the fucking idiot, steps up to Tom, and you instinctually nudge yourself between them. You know how this ends, although you’ve never been on the receiving end of a testosterone tug of war; you’ve seen plenty of friends and relatives go through it. You put a spread palm on Julian’s chest, and look up at him. “Julian..” 

You can feel Tom’s wayward grin behind you. 

“You should be careful, y/n. This ogre is going to hurt you. You should stick with someone who actually knows what he’s doing.”

“I think we did just fine,” snipes Tom. “And we’re going to do it again too! Thanks for stopping by!” That is when Tom bodily lifts you out of the way to slam the door in Julian’s face.

A second later you hear your poor neighbor peeking out. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s just fine, ma’am, so sorry,” you hear Julian answer. “Here. I want you to have these.”

In your mind’s eye, you can just see Julian, chivalrous and well mannered, handing Mrs. Thompson the beautiful bouquet.

“Oh! What a nice young man you are!”

If only Mrs. Thompson knew. 

“Tom, I’d rather not have Julian know about this…” you gesture between the two of you. 

He leans on the doorframe, probably to shut off your rational brain again because that’s what happens, and cocks his eyebrow. “You’re just planning on keeping me a dirty little secret?” 

“What? No. That’s not what I mean. I just don’t want him to know the details.” You cross your arms over your chest without really meaning to, and you know he picks up on the hostility. “Jesus, you just like, shouted everything right down the hall.”

You look at your wrists, the faint red marks. You can’t help but think on what Tom said with such taunting venom. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What?” He asks, head tilting. “No.” 

“You said..” you take a minute to collect yourself. “You said that he would have to find someone else dumb enough to let him tie them up.” 

Tom skips right past your point, eyes narrowing. “You let him tie you up?” 

“Once? Sort of? But he freaked me out, so I asked him to stop. And he did.”

The look on Tom’s face is pure fury. “That little fucker could have done anything to you!”

The fact that Tom seems to think you are incapable of taking care of yourself only adds gas to your own burner.

“Look. I know you don’t like him, but he’s not a criminal because of what he likes, ok? Something…happened to him. He can’t fucking help it.”

“Yeah, I bet. Baby, I see this all the time in my job. These assholes are master manipulators, and they always have a fucking excuse. Oh my nanny touched me so I do terrible things. Bad shit happens to all of us. It doesn’t give anyone a fucking pass to hurt other people. You are so sweet and pretty and good…God. You are just the sort of soft little treat these guys live to gobble up.”

“I’m not a child, Tom. I obviously know there are bad men.” You’d certainly met your fair share of them. “You’re treating me like I’m an idiot. Julian stopped when I asked him too.” 

“And what if he doesn’t the next time? What if he keeps going? What if he hurts you?” He sounds like all those things would affect him more than they would you. 

Your knee jerk response spills from your lips before you can even think about it. “I don’t need you to protect me.” Even if this is exactly what you want, what you’ve always wanted, deep down. 

“Well that’s too bad, sweetheart, because I’m gonna. I’m not going to let anyone ever hurt you.” It’s not fair, the flood of warmth this inspires. From your head to your toes, and it feels so good you know you can’t trust it. Because when he inevitably breaks this promise, like all men do–it will destroy you. 

The moment shatters slightly when he can’t help but add, “Especially not Doctor Dumbass. What do you even see in him?” 

A part of you is so annoyed you’re even having this conversation, you can’t help but needle him. “Tall, handsome, single doctor who actually has manners. Silly me.” 

By the way Tom’s eyes narrow, you know the arrow hit home–and you kind of hate yourself for it. “It’s all a mask, honey. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. It’s a mistake to trust that guy.”

For a moment it jars you, that Tom is basically implying you’re going to sleep with him and Julian at the same time and potentially hurt them both, which means he thinks that lowly of you—he’s also saying, again, that you are too dumb to see through Julian’s “mask”. It makes anger flare inside of you, hot and bright. “Then I guess that's my mistake to live with.”  

You don’t really notice he’s inching toward you until you have to crane your neck a little bit to look up at him. The message in his dark eyes reads consuming, angry, possessive. A thrill perks every hair on your body. “Then I guess I’ll just have to convince you not to make mistakes.” 

“And how are you going to do that?” You ask, rolling your eyes, more than a little annoyed at this overt sideshow of the ol masculine who’s dick is bigger. 

He tucks a loc of hair behind your ear. “By fucking you so often you forget Dr. Bitch exists.” 

You don’t absolutely hate the sound of that, too-empty cunt giving a painful throb, toes scrunching up as that wickedly warm sensation travels from face, clavicle, chest, and then down your entire body, soaking you in lust. In this moment, you remember why you can’t fucking stand Tom Ludlow: because he is everything you need, everything you want, all wrapped up in a tall, laviscious package delivered right at your doorstep. 

A part of you wants to tell him that you don’t want anyone else but him–and a part of you would literally rather die than hand him your heart on a platter like that.

Worse yet, you’re afraid he can practically see the conflict warring in you. He sees too much, with those hawk-sharp obsidian orbs, cutting into you without mercy. He moves closer still, caging you against the wall with his corded arms on either side of you, his muscled torso that may as well be a brick wall, for all the luck you would have pushing past it. “How many times I gotta tell you, baby?” he says, his voice low, steel cased in velvet. “That I want you to be mine?”

He should be menacing, but this beast of a man leaning over you just fills you with need. You don’t know where you get the courage or the cheek to answer, except maybe it’s your lady parts finally getting their say, “You like to talk a lot, Tom Ludlow. Maybe you’d better show me?”  

He drops to his knees in front of you, kneeling at your feet, looking up almost reverently like you’re some sort of diamond encrusted statue of his chosen faith. He listens so well, silent as a mime, pressing his face into the thin robe over your rib cage, nuzzling and inhaling. Taking you in as if he means to memorize the smell of you. 

Deft fingers unwrap the tie at your waist, and he presses the lapels of your robe open with flat palms, guiding his warm skin along your own—the tender, soft stretch of your stomach. You shiver pleasantly when his grip lands to cup the curve of your waist and he kisses your bare skin, soft and wet and sigh worthy. 

Suddenly all you want in the world, is to lay this man out in your bed, and maybe never leave it. Why did Julian have to pop your perfect little bubble you’d so happily been in together? You try to move, wanting to take his hand and lead him to your bedroom, but he pins you against the wall with one of those big hands over your belly. 

“Tom…”

You kind of hate this, in the light of day, how he can still turn you into a needy, whiny bundle of nerves and weakened flesh, with zero self-respect. Every inch of your treacherous skin sings out that you do belong to him.  

“I know, sweetheart,” he says against the dip of your hip, and somehow this does soothe you. “But I’m about to get to the best part…” He tickles the curls of your mound with the tip of his nose, before nuzzling in to lick your aching slit. Your knees nearly buckle; if not for his strong hands on you, you absolutely would have melted into a puddle on the floor. 

“Fuck. Wait…”

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbles against you, tasting you again. “Take it like a good girl, y/n. I didn’t get to finish my breakfast.” 

He savors your taste for only a moment before becoming the man starved, pressing his face into the valley of your cunt and drinking from you like you’re the last spring of water in a dry desert. He pins you to the wall with bruising force as you and your pussy sob on his mouth, holding your lower half steady, lifting you almost off your toes, while your upper half claws and thrashes and pulls and probably leaves ugly marks in his tawny skin.

You try to say something, but it comes out as gibberish, a jumble of yesyesnonopleasejesusfuck. Too quickly, you near that release of clenched muscle, the symphony of your undoing, and he needs to slow down or—

He latches onto your clit with his mouth and sucks, tearing something more than an orgasm out of you. Something that makes you see crackling black stars, makes drool run down your face, makes a scream that will remind your neighbor of night terrors. 

Your legs do give out, but it doesn’t matter, because he lifts you in his arms and impales you against the wall, just in time to catch the last fluttering spasms of your release. He gives you no chance to recover, thrusting into you with his mouth latched to yours, devouring you with furious kisses and ruining you with his unrelenting cock. He does not stop until you cum again, almost against your will, or at least, in spite of yourself. It is as though he knows things about your body that you never fathomed possible on your own, knows just how to angle his hips to hit your gspot every single time. You’ve never been able to cum with just penetration alone, but his girth and curve and wicked skill combined make his cock a forceful weapon built for your cunt’s destruction. 

You cling to his broad shoulders like a limpet as he carries you into your bohemian nest of a bedroom, falling down amongst the colorful pillows, still inside you. Here on the soft mattress he takes you slowly, looking into your eyes and every time you try to close them, desperate for some reprieve from the intensity of it all, he demands your full attention again with his big hand on the side of your face. “I want you to know exactly who’s fucking you so good,” he tells you without a shred of humility, hooking your leg over his hip with a hand on your thigh, so that he can go even deeper. 

“As if I could forget,” you pant, the first real sentence you’ve managed since the start of this maelstrom. 

This makes him smile down at you, though there is a sharp edge to it. “Good. Because you’re mine now, baby girl. Don’t you ever forget it.” He does not even think about pursuing his own release until you’ve given it up one more time, with his filthy mouth working magic on your nipples and his hand between your legs plucking at you clit while he fills you. Only once you cum on his cock again does he let himself go right with you, and you see how close to the edge the entire time he’d been. 

Breathless in the afterglow, you lay in his arms as he traces the curve of your shoulder with his fingertips, lifting the fine hairs all over your body. It makes you shudder against him for the umpteenth time, burying your face deeper into his shoulder. The divot in his shoulder, that feels like it was made just for you. He smiles down at you, smug, yet somehow also soft, his lips on your forehead making a slow warmth lick through you from head to toe. 

“You’re tickling me,” you teasingly complain as he makes the gooseflesh rise again. 

“Just you wait.”

JesusfuckingchristIcannoteven…

Maybe you say it aloud, because he rolls over you with a wolfish smile, sweeping your hair out of your face as he sits up over you on his elbows. “Tom…” you pant, worried that he, in fact, is going to rock your world all over again. You don’t think you’ll survive it.

“I wear you out, sweet girl?”

You giggle underneath him, hooking your leg over his. “For now.”

“Good.” Again, that warm smile that makes you feel like you have fireworks lighting off through your veins. “You gonna think about me tonight?”

You wonder if he’s worried about you going to work–with Julian.

“Every time I try to sit down.” He loves this answer, his smile widening to an all out toothsome grin. Men. 

You don’t even know how you’re going to make it through your shift, because you’re fairly sure you’re never going to walk right again. 

He kisses you in one of those sloppy, wet, noisy, toe cramping kisses that he loves to give, and then lays his sweaty head on your chest. “What was Kansas like?” 

You giggle, running your fingers through his short, damp hair, loving the little shiver that you get from the feel of his strands on your sensitive fingertips. “Lots of farm fields and more cows than people.” 

He shakes you with his laugh. “And? Anything you liked about it?”  

You think back for a moment, to all the painful bruised memories of your childhood. “Our neighbor had a sunflower field. They were beautiful. We loved to climb her fence and run through it in the evening, get lost in the wonderful earthy smell.” You close your eyes, remember your sister's rare happy faces, remember falling in a giggling heap when you’d crash into each other, blinded by the tall maze of thick stems. 

He smooths a thumb over your cheekbone. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, y/n.”

“Ah, that’s not true,” you tease. “There are a million other me’s.” 

His fingers dig into your side momentarily without warning, making you squeal and writhe. “Are they ticklish, though?” He muses.

“Stop it.” You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss his palm. “I have to take a shower.” 

“What a coincidence, me too.”

“Are you going to behave yourself?” You ask him, grinning at the faux innocence in his eyes. 

“Scout’s honor.” 

You’re very right about the whole ‘not walking the same’ thing. Tom insists he has to carry you into the bathroom for your safety because of how wobbly you are when you stand. It fills you with rejuvenated heat, the way he lifts you like you’re a small, precious thing and lays a juicy kiss on your forehead. 

“Bath or shower?” He asks, turning on your tap while you lean on the sink. “Probably shower, right? Fucking like rabbits on top of a bath is a recipe for disaster.” 

“Are you trying to impress me?” You ask him, unashamed of your eyes being consistently glued to the bare, lean muscles of his back and ass. You are only half talking about his knowledge of female hygiene. 

“A little.” 

“It’s working.” 

“Goody.” He grins at you over his shoulder, testing the water on his wrist as if he’s about to bathe a skittish cat. “I think I have it at a temp you’ll like.” 

He leads you into the shower with a steady arm around your waist, making sure that you step in and out without faltering, tugging you firmly against him while the warm water heats your conjoined bodies. He’s half hard again, pressed against your back, and it makes you giggle. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even think my teenage boyfriend had this much stamina.”

“Your teenage boyfriend ain’t got nothin on me,” he teases, kissing your temple. 

“No, Sam certainly doesn’t hold a candle to you, Tom.” 

He insists on washing your hair for you, and his big fingers are absolute heaven for the scalp. You even groan a few times in pleasure as he massages and lathers. “That is cosmic,” you tell him, resting your weight on his chest. Once again, you wonder what would inspire any woman to cheat on this delectable man behind you. 

“Want me to do the rest?” He asks while he smooths the soapy water out of your ends. 

“You first,” you tell him, maneuvering around so that you can wash him. 

“How can I refuse?” He asks, leaning down to kiss you. 

You grab a couple pumps of your sensitive skin body wash, not wanting him to break out in case of allergies, and start on his chest. You haven’t really gotten a chance to feel his body, yet. Sure, you’ve seen enough to last you many nights and then some, but touching is a different story; he’s planes of mahogany, slick, rocky lake floor, one long sensory buffet for your fingers to touch and squeeze and rub. 

His hands on each side of your waist tighten as you get lower, and once you’re at his hips his cock is standing hard and proud. You can’t help but grip the length in your fist and get him nice and lathered, tease him with soft touches that make his breath hitch and heighten. “Does that feel good?” You ask him, staring up through your eyelashes at his heady expression. 

“Amazing,” he grits, cock pumping into your hand a little bit of its own accord. “Think it’s my turn, though.” 

Terrorize Tom Ludlow, expect to get it back times ten. That’s what you’re starting to learn as he runs frictionless fingers over your nipples, makes you twitch and squirm and whine. The soapy lather adds an extra sensation to his touch, something that has you needy and wanting again in no time at all. You arch against him when he follows the path of running water down your stomach, over the mound of your cunt. “Does that feel good?” He mimics, grinning against your soaked hairline. 

“Fuuuck,” is all you can answer at the moment, your every nerve ending a slave to his hands. This man is going to be the death of you.  

“Your filthy fucking mouth,” he teases, and you can feel him grinning against you, the imp of satan that he is. It’s completely not fair, and you reach for him again, pumping him in time to his magical fingers sliding against your slit. 

“Oh,” he groans, bracing himself against the wall, caging you in, and you feel some satisfaction that at least you are not the only one going to pieces again. He catches your mouth in a sultry wet kiss, his thick fingers circling your clit. He’s slowing down, and you make a sound like an angry kitten against his lips. 

“What’s wrong baby?”

“You…are an evil man.”

“Me?” He is still grinning, but it's strained at the edges now. 

“Diabolical.”

“Mmm.”

“A menace.” 

He laughs, a grating sound that ends in another moan as you stroke his impressive length from root to tip, his girth utterly filling your hand, circling the contours of his glans with your thumb. You’re not sure if it’s really ten inches–all you know that he is your perfect fit. However, a part of you is grateful you’re not doing that right now–even just hands is almost more than you can stand. 

He lets out a shaky sigh, his forehead pressed to the top of your head as you touch each other in rhythm. He’s sped up to meet you again, almost as though he can’t help but move in time with you, the way you both seem to have a knack for finding the right timing together. There is something special in that, you know. Something cosmic, something terrifying if you think about it too much. So you’re not going to think about it now. You’re just going to feel, and let this man have his way with you for the umpteenth time in the past twenty four hours. You really have lost track. 

“I need you to cum for me, beautiful,” he says—not want, but need. Needs you to cum for him. Like he needs to breathe air and eat food and wear sunscreen. 

Both of you falter a little, teetering on the edge of orgasm, but it doesn’t matter because even the simplest touch, stroke, rub has you both spasming in the other’s hand. He spills over your belly, and the water washes it off your skin in pearly rills. You collapse against him, smiling, chafed and sore and aching but never happier. “Wait,” you say quietly. “Thought you said you’d behave? Scouts honor?”

He laughs. “I wasn’t in the Boy Scouts.” 

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part fifteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

-

Angeal has never been quite as aware of the exact dimensions of the Buster Sword as he is now, heading up to Lazard's office. Though the weight has become almost a part of him, a comforting presence on his back, it feels like… more.

He'd not quite resigned himself to possessing and carrying a sword he couldn't really use - it was just something that… was. It was a legacy of sorts, and there was nothing all that burdensome about it. But it still was a fact - the Buster Sword was one of a kind, and even studying the records of Sephiroth's masterful swordplay would never help him manage it. There was no one and nothing that could teach him how to use something that was, most likely, designed to be nigh unusable.

But apparently Sephiroth himself could.

"No," the man had said after half an hour of doing things with the sword Angeal never could've figured out on his own. "You can't fight with it like with a more reasonably-sized sword. But you can fight with it. Question is… do you want to?"

Does he want to, huh.

"Come in" Lazard calls at his knock, and Angeal steps into the man's office. "Angeal, good. Want to explain the rumours of Genesis' chasing Seconds out of floor 49?"

Angeal clears his throat, smiling a little. "Well. We didn't wreck the training room this time?" he offers, taking the chair in front of Lazard's desk and flipping it backward.

"You three were banned from using it for a reason," Lazard points out flatly.

"And yet we were asked to assess Sephiroth's capabilities. Hard thing to do, without fighting him," Angeal says and sits down, straddling the backrest between his knees and sighing. "Not that there was much of a fight."

Lazard's expression darkens. "So his abilities took a hit."

"Worse," Angeal admits. "He stopped holding back. At all."

"... He'd been holding back?"

"All his life, I expect," Angeal admits. "For… understandable reasons, considering his upbringing. Whatever personal reasons Sephiroth had to hide the full extent of his abilities, he's forgotten them."

"Hmm," Lazard hums, watching him closely. "And yet he didn't trash the training room, again?"

"No, just our confidence," Angeal laughs ruefully and shakes his head. "Sephiroth just spent two hours schooling us in the basics of swordsmanship. Literally - he gave us a tutoring session."

Lazard blinks and then leans back. "Well," he says, sounding surprised. "That's certainly…"

"Out of character?" Angeal asks with an arched brow. "You have no idea. When Genesis told me his memory had taken a hit, I was expecting him to show the usual signs. Confusion, reticiece, defensiveness, antisociality… and he did, to some extent. But nothing like I was expecting - and then we got to the training room, and it was like a switch was flicked."

"Memory recalled?" Lazard muses.

"Maybe. Mostly I think it was just that he found something he knew, really knew, in his bones," Angeal says. "He might've forgotten who knows how much about his life - but not how to fight. And since he's lost whatever motivation he had for holding back… it looks a lot like he just got a lot better."

Lazard hums. "And that might be a problem," he concluded darkly. "Should people take the wrong idea from it."

"Oh yeah," Angeal agrees.

"Where is Sephiroth now?"

"Genesis took him out of the building - they're going clothes shopping."

"... Genesis and Sephiroth?"

Angeal grins. "Sephiroth has become aware that his coat doesn't fit comfortably," he explains. "And Genesis knows the best tailor in the city, apparently."

"If it's the same one I use, he does," Lazard says, fiddling with his cuff and then leaning back. "Alright, so we don't have to worry about Sephiroth not being fit to fight. Just the… implications and rumours of his current status. Maybe a solo mission to get him started…"

Angeal grimaces. "I don't know if leaving him to his own devices is the right call here," he says.

"He's always been a solo fighter," Lazard comments.

"To no one's benefit. And he's lost a lot of memories."

Lazard concedes the point there with a sigh. "Well, you and Genesis have known him longer than I. I bow to your superior insight. How do you suggest we proceed?"

"A joint mission, something simple, monster extermination in the slums, maybe. There's never a shortage of that," Angeal says. "Sephiroth with Genesis or myself. Depending on how that goes… well, Genesis suggested throwing a bunch of Seconds at Sephiroth."

The director looks up. "... How do you mean?"

"Students, cadets, a squad. Whatever," Angeal explains, folding his arms. "Someone to teach. And I have to say I agree. Sephiroth seemed to really enjoy schooling us, and he seemed the most like himself when he was doing it."

Plus, Angeal knows from experience that teaching is the best way to learn, really. That's how he'd risen in ranks just ahead of Genesis - because the Thirds and the other Seconds kept asking him for pointers. Nothing quite like having someone relying on you to make you rise to the occasion, is there?

"He's never offered to lead a squad," Lazard points out.

"And there were probably reasons for that," Angeal agrees. "Whether he remembers those reasons anymore is a different question. It's worth consideration."

"But don't you think that will just make the rumours worse?" Lazard asks, leaning forward again and steepling his hands. "Making him interact with other members of SOLDIER?"

Angeal shrugs. "Sephiroth's different now," he says. "And with all due respect, I don't think that's something we can hide long term. Thankfully, not a lot of people know him that well," he mutters and then adds, "It would be a great thing for the SOLDIER program, if Sephiroth taught even one personal student. He is, after all, the best of us."

He's not quite as bitter about it as Genesis, but… seeing Sephiroth use the Buster Sword like he'd been doing it for years almost made him cry. So there's that.

Lazard draws a slow breath and then exhales. "I'll get you your monster extermination in the slums, after Sephiroth's leave ends," he says and turns to his computer. "We'll discuss the rest after."

"That works. Thank you, director," Angeal says and stands up.

Lazard nods and then asks, "How is he? What's your honest opinion?"

It's a little too soon to say, but there's only one answer, really. "He'll be fine," Angeal promises and turns to leave.

Sephiroth would be fine. They'd make sure of it.

[emelinexxxxx]

Please excuse any bad grammar or spelling mistakes and thank you so much if you even consider reading this as this is my first time writing anything really. 💗

(This is like a five x reader fanfiction kind of thing and please don't hesitate to message me on Pinterest - Emily x / nems_xxx - message me on Tumblr if you would like me to write any things like this for different umbrella academy scenes.)

You're head is heavy as you rest it on your husband's shoulder, both leaned against the tiled subway walls and your hands intertwined. The pile of blackened twigs and ashes that was once a fire was now long gone out and the train draws nearer. Five stood, pulling you to your feet and planting a soft kiss between your brows. "Let go back," he says between kisses, "to the greenhouse."

"The one with the strawberries?"

"Mhm, the little house and forests around it. We could stay there for a little while."

You pull away for a moment, "Wait, are you suggesting we give up? Just forget about the end of the world? The apocalypse?"

"Not give up. Just rest, sleep in a real bed, have a warm shower, take a break from this - from everything."

"Maybe. Just till we figure out a way to save the world."

He grins, oh I hate that smile you think to yourself. "What persuaded you?" he asks

"The strawberries." you reply, laughing as he plasters your face with kisses.

"They were good weren't they?"

"They were amazing."

The train slows to a stop and you step on, his arm falling around your waist as you nestle against each other on the rigid train seats. Like clockwork, as you have for the last six years. Six years and two days.

Somehow it feels longer than that, though still an insignificant amount of time compared to the apocalypse. You remembered first meeting him; clambering out of the rubble and debris, grime and tears staining your cheeks. You were only twelve, just a little kid, all alone in the end of the world. Until he found you. The two of you did everything together and you knew each other better than anyone. After forty five years utterly alone if it weren't for five, how could You not fall for him? It must be fate the two of you had told yourselves You grew old together and turned back into children together. Now looking at him you could see him falter a little, the weariness present in his green eyes. He looks at you for a moment, "Dolores?"

"Mhm?" you reply, meeting his gaze.

A small smile plays on his lips, "Just enjoying you." he pulls you into a kiss as the train pulls nearer to a halt and you stand up, foreheads pressed together as you smile shyly. The two of you have been married for somewhat forty one years but it still feels new and exciting, every joke hilarious, every little touch amazing. For some six years everything had been normal, and though neither of you had your powers it was worth it. Though as all good things do, it didn't last long. Now your trapped in time again. At least you're together.

At least you're together.

At least you're together. The exact thing the two have you have told yourselves every single day for six years. Six years with no human contact except one another. Shouldn't that prove it's fate? The two of you are destined to be together, in every timeline, ever since the day you met - ever since the end of the world. You twist the ring on your finger, the wrought metal and tiny glass shard gleaming. Five had wanted to give you a proper ring, you could remember him panicking about how it wasn't a real diamond or gemstone or was made of scrap metal and how you laughed as you cradled his perfect confused face. Because to you that ring was the most beautiful thing in the entire world, and you had never taken it off since then.

As you wake suddenly, the train slows to a halt beside another tiled subway station. The only difference between this and the last one is the spots of moss and coils of ivy that cover the grime coated stairs. You hurry off the train, tugging Five's hand as you race toward the greenhouse, him following in pursuit. Much as you loved each other, you both looked awful. Five's hair was unnaturally long and the stubble on his chin was oddly noticeable. Your own hair was tangled and unwashed, and your fingernails had half an inch of dirt trapped beneath them. A part of you felt guilty; when Five mentioned staying here a part of you agreed, wanted to give up and stay here, trapped in time as the rest of the world falls away. But that couldn't happen, you had seen the apocalypse and the bodies and you had heard the screams of the living. In that moment you could sense it, the small cloud of colours fading, their aura's faltering, insignificant in comparison to the horror they had felt. You were one person, they were billions.

[queenie-official]

Chapter Twelve: ‘A Royal Scandal’ Bridgerton Au!Anakin

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

a/n: angst 😀 seatbelts on 🗣️

News travels fast everywhere, that was a fact. everybody loves a good piece of gossip. Now royal gossip- that was like a rare jewel that everyone wanted to buy. if you could take that rare jewel, copy it and give one to anyone willing to buy it you would be rich. so when a new tabloid came out just to write about what went down at parliament it truly didn’t come as a surprise.

Lady whistledown was the name of the anonymous writer who stepped up to the plate. you’d never heard of her. no one had, but her paper spread everywhere very quickly. Padme had been the one to bring the paper to you, it was exaggerated for sure but none of it was necessarily a lie either.

you could feel her eyes on you as you read over the paper clearly trying to figure out wether she would have to comfort you in anyway. but for some reason you found yourself calm? maybe numb was the better word. Lady whistledown’s paper did a good job at laying everything out in a way to keep people hooked, you could admit that as an avid reader. she also brought up some good questions that you had a feeling the rest of the Ton where definitely asking.

as a royal you have to learn to exist under the microscope of your people, that came with the job. but this felt different. this was more than just your people, this was all the neighboring kingdoms as well. ‘how could the murder of a king go unnoticed?’ ‘would there be a more severe punishment for something so large?’ ‘how can we ensure this won’t happen again?’ ‘if there was already a attempt on the new kings life can we really say any of the royals are safe?’

this was more than just a scandal it was a political nightmare. how do you even begin to address these issues? and even if you did how to you prove what you say to be true? you couldn’t say it won’t happen again because it very well could. endless streams of these thoughts swirled in your head as you finally looked up to meet Padme’s gaze. there was nothing but pure concern on your best friends face as she looked over you, searching for anything. sadness, fear, anger but there was nothing. you just sat there and did nothing, which to her was more concerning then if you did freak out.

“y/n?” she reached over and took your hand into hers as she spoke. it was all too much, you felt like you could snap under the pressure at any moment. the current numbness the only thing protecting your sanity. you don’t say anything in return, afraid that if you speak you’ll break.

overnight this was printed, overnight it seemed the entire world new what took place yesterday. Padme continued to stare at you sympathetically, silently debating whether to speak again. though in all honesty there wasn’t much else to say, there wasn’t anything she could say.

you stand up from your seat and she quickly follows suit, pulling you into a hug before you could get away. you stay like that for just a moment before pulling away and walking silently out of the room.

you knew it was wrong. you knew of all times to have people at your side, now would be the best time to do so. but you couldn’t help it, isolating yourself the same way you felt emotionally. it was like you where punishing yourself further for something that wasn’t even your fault, it was easier then facing reality.

to let yourself scream and cry felt to hard, if you let yourself feel that way- let yourself fall. you weren’t sure you’d be able to stand again, or breathe properly. Not on your own anyway, and that was even scarier, letting people in to help build you back up. What if you lost them? those support beams taken from you, you’d hit the ground hard. truly unable to get back up. no you couldn’t let them in, it was easier this way. so that’s what you did.

pushed them away, it was difficult not just because it was hard for you to shut them out but also because Padme and Anakin in particular where very stubborn individuals. honestly you where pretty sure they were working together, you’d tell the guards not to let her in the castle only for her to visit you in your study as if the order hadn’t been given at all. not even Braeden stopped her, and when you’d asked he’d simply reply he was given an order to allow her to visit at all times. there was only one other person who could give an order of such authority to him so you knew exactly who to blame.

Padme’s persistence was futile, it become a routine at this point she’d visit against your wishes and join you in your daily tasks. speak to you even though you refused to speak back, she acted as if everything was normal even though it wasn’t. it was infuriating but if you reacted you knew it would be the final push that broke you. Anakin was just as bad if not worse, he lived with you after all.

no matter how big the castle was it never seemed big enough with how easily he’d find you. try to get you to talk, to look at him. but you couldn’t if you looked at him you knew you’d cave. so you did your best to make sure he was almost never in the same room as you. but Anakin was a relentless person, if the stories he’d told you about him and Obi-Wan where anything to go off of you shouldn’t be surprised.

there was something else as well. he was growing just about as frustrated as you.

you where standing in your undergarments, Eleanora placing on your petticoats in silence. she wanted to say something but if padme couldn’t even get a word out of you she doubted she’d be any different.

to occupy yourself- more like torment, you reread Lady whistledowns tabloid as well as the new articles that had come out. questions of when the situation would be addressed publicly as well as who’d be replacing the council members began to rise more and more you’d noticed. “Get Out” your head snapped up to the person who’d let themselves in your room before quickly looking back down.

Anakin had let himself in and was staring directly at Eleanora when he spoke, you where silently grateful he hadn’t been looking at you because you weren’t sure what you’d of done if eye contact was made. you watched through your peripheral vision as she bowed to him and then exited the room closing the door behind her. now it was just you two, and you still hadn’t even finished getting dressed. but there he stood, arms crossed and staring directly at you.

“you cannot ignore me forever” he’s met with silence, you can feel the Tension in the air begin to grow stronger. “at least look at me” he steps into your field of vision but you quickly advert your eyes. “y/n” he reaches out for you and you step back, you hear him sigh frustratedly. “i am not leaving until you speak to me, and it’s not like you can exit the room dressed as you are so there’s no where to run” you huff but do not speak.

if only ignoring him was that easy, but you are very quickly reminded as to why you’d refused to be in the same room as him. for some reason you found it much harder to ignore his pleas than Padme’s, perhaps it was something about his voice that just tugged at your heart as if he himself controlled wether or not it truly broke. “why are you doing this?” the question was so simple and you knew he knew why just as much as anyone did. shockingly however no one had bothered asking, and the way he asked. the pure desperation in his voice, like it physically hurt him to see you like this. it was all too much and he’d barely done anything at all- that angered you.

you felt it boil up, everything you’d been feeling and pushing down swirling together to make a crimson red. “just leave!” you shout, it came out broken and raspy not haven spoken in so long. “leave me alone.” you added your voice deepening in a attempt to come off more commanding then you where. “no.” you take a sharp breath in at his calm answer biting your tongue so you wouldn’t shout again. “i said to leave.” you state trying to stay as levelheaded as you could.

“you can’t even look at me as you say that” he scoffed, why was he making this so difficult. “Anaki-” you’re cut off by him, a sudden bout of anger and frustration of his own taking over. “i will not leave you! i cannot leave you! not like this, while you’re so broken. those shattered parts of you trying to cut whatever they can.” his voice grows louder with each sentence, hoping that if he screams loud enough you may actually hear what he was trying to say to you.

“you may not love me y/n but i love you.” you feel the air knocked out of your lungs, snapping your head up to meet his face as you try to process if you’ve heard him correctly. “i’ve fallen in love with you.” his voice cracks, tears welling in his tired eyes. he looked like he had been getting about as much sleep as you. you felt your heart break and swell. “i’m in love with the lonely girl who cries out for company, a warmth shrouded in a cloudy mist calling for help.” why had you been pushing him away, your own vision began to blur as tears burned the back of your eyes.

warmth engulfed you, and you fell completely into his hold. “i love you, let me help you… please.. let me love you.” you sobbed at his words. the dam finally breaking, you let yourself feel not just for your own sake but for his, for Padme, for Eleanora. he pulls you in tighter, afraid to let you go in fear you’ll push him away again. you cling on just as tightly, shaking from each cry. everything was shit but it would be okay. you would be okay. he was there for you and he wasn’t going anywhere, not without a fight. you had a support system and it was time to let them do just that, support you.

“I love you too.”

part 13

Tag List: @luvvfromme @gatekeepingirlboss @bimbo-baggins86 @iluvanakinskywalker @bby-imasociopath @curlycarley @burnthecheshirewitch @misscaller06 @sweetcheesecakesblog

LOVE CONFESSIOOOONN🗣️🗣️🗣️ I REPEAT NOT A DRILL WE GOT A BRIDGERTON LOVE CONFESSION FROM ANI 🎉🎉 (don’t know who noticed and who didn’t but the way Anakin shouts his confession after telling reader to shout it to him so he can hear her and know she means it in chapter 7👀 just a fun little detail i wanted to point out 🥰 and don’t think reader forgot about that either🌝) chapter 13 i will hopefully have out tmr🧍‍♀️don’t @ me on that tho 👩‍🦯👩‍🦯anyways i hope you huns enjoyed Xx<3💋💋

[writingpei]

felix | 필릭스: soulmates

when your friends from college were shocked to discover that you had never, ever been attracted to anyone you've met before, you realized that maybe there was something wrong with you.

you hadn't lied. you were out at night, a couple drinks in your system, and when they looked at you with wide eyes and itchy throats from so many questions, you were taken aback.

“not even when you were much younger?”

no.

“but what about high school? everyone gets a crush in high school!”

the last thing you thought about in high school was romance, not because you forbade yourself from it, but because it never crossed your mind at all.

“not even in college? this is crazy…”

much less in college. work was piling up on your desk, and you didn't even have time to sleep properly, let alone pay attention to someone else.

that conversation haunted your mind for many days. you had never thought much about your (non-existent) love life, and how weird and abnormal it seemed to those around you, an anomaly in the form of a person.

the hustle and bustle of the city was overwhelming, but it was just another day for you. your head was down, avoiding unnecessary conversations with anyone, those conversations roamed your mind for many days.

the path to your regular coffee shop where you always got a latte was already memorized in your head, taking the same path and stepping where you always stepped every day.

your head was full, and minho seems to have realized that days before he actually asked you anything.

“what is wrong with you these days?” he asked in his usual tone of voice, sassiness escaping his lips as his hands worked quickly to make your order.

minho was your barista, he had always made your coffee since the day you first stepped inside the place, a few months before.

“i’m very, very confused” you confessed, sitting on the stool at the counter, on the opposite side of him.

“about what?” he asked, sliding the warm cup with the good smell that always brings you comfort and the fog that rises from it.

“is never being attracted to absolutely anyone i've ever met normal?” you asked quietly and looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed.

minho stops for a few seconds and blinks, deep in his thoughts.

“i don't know. how old are you, twelve?” you roll your eyes as soon as he says this, throwing your arms up on the counter and sighing.

“20…” you whisper back, putting your hands over your face to hide the shame gnawing at you.

“oh” he says, and even without seeing him, you can tell he's holding back a smile. “that’s… that’s different”

“is it weird?” you ask, desperately wishing he'd say no, but when you take your hands from your face and see him, his slouched posture propping himself up with his elbows on the counter, you know he's going against what you expect.

“kinda, yeah” he replies. “but have you really, really never been attracted to anyone at all? no one ever stood out to you?”

it is then that the brown hair you know so well appears in your memory. cheeks washed by a sea of ​​freckles and red lips you could never escape.

you are in an almost state of shock for a few seconds, mind completely dominated by the inherent figure of the boy inside your memory.

“have you thought of anyone?” minho questions, but even with open eyes, you can't see him. it was like you were in a trance, coming to a conclusion you definitely didn't want to come to, feeling your heart beat faster for something you didn't want it to.

“hum” you begin, trying to pull yourself together within reality. “if you thought what i asked you was weird… this is even weirder…”

“minho!” someone behind the counter calls out to you loudly, taking their attention away from you.

“what is it, jisung?” he asks, already irritated.

“we have more orders, you need to help me” the dark haired boy complains, steaming some milk nervously.

“can’t you see i’m busy right here?” minho retorts, offended frown etched on his face. “go on, i’m free to listen”

“um…” you look at him and then at the boy who was now making shots of espresso at a speed you couldn't imagine was possible. “sure…” you says uncertainly, then taking a deep breath and thinking about where to start. “there is this guy”

when you suddenly stop talking, minho approaches with his arms on the counter, as if you're telling him a secret.

"ok…?" he encourages you to continue.

“i know him since i was a kid”

“wow, that’s cute” minho says, putting his face in his hands. “like a puppy love or something?”

“no, no” you say. “i… i never met him, like, ever”

minho is visibly confused again, eyebrows rising.

"what do you mean?"

“i’ve never met him in my life”

“but that’s not possible. how do you know him then?”

“through my dreams” you try to explain yourself, but the words being said out loud make you extremely self-contious and realize the craziness that was spewing from your mouth.

after a few seconds of silence and awkward looks, minho finally responds. “well, that’s unusual”

“don’t you think i’m weird?” you ask, taken aback by his lack of reaction.

“because of this? not much. because of the amount of sugar you put on your coffee sometimes? hell yeah”

“i really like sweets…” you slump back in your chair and he just crosses his arms, rolling his eyes slightly.

“tell me more about this guy of your dreams. what's he like?" minho's interest had images of the boy popping into your head so quickly you felt dizzy.

the shy smile that appeared on his pink lips, the low voice when he spoke to everyone, the false and treacherous memory of his house, his bedroom, his school, his clothes.

his name was felix, and you don't remember exactly when or why you started dreaming about him every night, but you know it was when you were very young.

he lived with his grandmother in a large but simple house in the middle of an open field, and he had to walk a long way on a completely empty road to get to school. he was shy but not aloof; he cared too much about everything, actually.

the dreams were very strange, it was like you entered his body and lived in his skin. the warm sweatshirts he liked to wear warmed you up, and his grandma's food that was so delicious that it seemed too real to be just a dream, coming from your imagination. you soon found out that he had the same birthday as you, and every year the dream of that night was the most awaited one, the taste of the birthday cake his grandmother always made became a concrete memory in your head.

by your teenage years, you thought you were going crazy. he could only be a figment of your brain. you never told your parents out of shame, it was like those imaginary friends you have when you are a kid, but yours appeared too late in your life. it didn't make any sense, the dreams were extremely real, the feelings too. you never managed to talk to him, because it was in him that you resided, inside his body and his mind, in an unbelievably strong connection. you tried several times to write small messages in notebooks or walls that you were trying to channel everything you wanted to say, but in the next day's dream, their presence had already been erased, washed away by time.

the moment things took a different turn and you were sure it was real was when a communication began to exist between the two of you. well, sort of, at least. it all started when you woke up one day with tears running like waterfalls down your cheeks, a huge heart ache. you couldn't understand what was going on and what had upset you so much, having just woken up from a dream, but the feeling was so raw and present that it couldn't be anything. he had to be sad and it canalized on you too.

it went on. at completely random times of the day, you would feel an intense urge to laugh, cry, smile, sleep. it was as if his strongest feelings crossed a threshold and flew straight to you.

it wasn't uncommon for dreams you had just sitting in front of a mirror, staring at felix's complex. your fingertips tentatively touching everywhere on his face, feeling the soft, delicate skin beneath your skin. the constellation of freckels on his cheeks made something inside you bubble.

with time you decided to let it go. the strange feeling that consumed you every time you saw him or thought about him started to scare you, that's why lately you refrained from looking in any mirror during the dreams, and also avoided talking, not wanting the thick and deep voice to reach your ears more than it should. you tended to pull away from him even if he didn't know it. whenever you woke up, you tried to keep your mind off felix's memory as much as you could.

that's why you never considered looking for him. the burning fear that maybe he really didn't exist always scared away the idea of ​​looking for him. you knew where he lived, where he studied, you knew everything he liked from the posters spread across the walls, the books in his shelves, and the video games in his room. but you also knew that you couldn't bear the weight of the truth of knowing that he wasn't real, that the boy never existed, so you closed yourself off from him, starting to sleep less every day so that your dreams would be cut short, and that's how you met minho, the need for coffee that entered your life from the exhaustion and fear that dominated you.

“he, well… he's…” you started to say, but couldn't finish, intending not to let your mind linger on him any longer than it should. “better let it go, minho. guess I'll be a weirdo forever then"

minho sighs and walks over to the pastries counter, pulling out a cookie and holding it out to you.

“take it here,” he says, and you take it from him reluctantly.

“are you feeling sorry for me?” you ask, feeling slightly offended.

“no, definitely not…” he trails off, but you know he's lying.

“thanks for the free cookie” you shrug, biting into the candy.

“anytime” he answers and starts making espressos.

in the following days after this conversation the world appeared to be moving in slow motion. the clouds hung low in the gray sky as if they were weighed down by the heaviness of the gloomy days. the dreams were brief and impersonal as you were sleeping less and less. all you wanted was to be able to escape his life, the deep feelings that invaded your heart without your permission, the melancholic hue of the days that passed slowly.

that was a day like any other, classes were endless and you felt a sense of lethargy settle over your head like a heavy and slow clock. all you wanted was to get back to the comfort of your own home, but when the teacher asked for a few more minutes after class to explain an assignment, you knew you were going to miss the subway.

when class finally ended, your steps were dashed down the street, heavy drops of rain hitting your skin until you found shelter inside the subway tunnels, running to catch the one that was coming. your luck was clouded like the weather outside, the sound of rain echoing like an endless song.

your effort was in vain, as when you arrived the train had its doors closed, the sound of metal on metal emerging as it began to move. a weight was somehow lifted off your shoulders, a sense of being a spectator, watching the world move around you without really being a part of it.

everything suddenly went quiet, and your eyes were unconsciously drawn inside the train, when you see a pair of eyes you never imagined you would see.

your heart raced and burned in your chest as his eyes lock with yours. you feel unable to move or breath, dizziness taking over your body. in that moment, it was as if time stood still and all that existed was the two of you. he seems to have been surprised as much as you, but he wasn't frozen, on the contrary, he took steps to get closer to the train window, but it was too late. the starting noise became deafening, and it felt like it was being pulled away from you.

maybe you were imagining things, the lack of good nights sleep finally catching up to you making you hallucinate. your mind raced with questions and your emotion were a jumbled mess. you couldn't get your mind off his brown hair that he started to grow out, or his cheeks adorably rosy and covered in freckles, his favorite gray sweater that looked more comfortable and handsome than ever, seen on his body.

when the train passes again after a few wasted minutes, you have to force yourself out of the seat and onto it before you miss this one too. the drive home is consumed by a stunned silence, and you think you've finally lost your mind.

when you leave the station, the rain starts to wet you quickly doesn't bother you. you're too in shock to worry about getting soaked, and now more than ever you want to get back to the safety and comfort of your home.

out of nowhere, the rain stops all over your skin and a shadow looms over your head. being pulled out of your thoughts, your gaze rises to see an unfamiliar umbrella being held over your head, and when you turn your back to see who was protecting you from the rain, your thoughts almost gave out.

it was one thing to see felix in the mirror, through a filter, a thin line that separates what is possible and what is not. it's another thing to see him so close, this time inside his own body. he blinks at you several times, as if trying to check if he's seeing correctly or not.

“excuse me, um…” he starts to say and scratches the back of his head with his free hand. his deep voice cuts through your chest like a blade, that velvety voice that has sent a shiver down your spine more times than you can remember. “i know this might sound crazy, but have we met before?” he asks, but you don't answer, you can't. it's like your lips are glued together. “in my dreams, i mean” he explains.

his big, hopeful eyes wait for an answer, he unconsciously leans in closer to look at you more closely. you give in to your instincts however and your fingertips fly out to touch him on the cheek, the familiar soft skin coming into contact with your skin.

the truth of his existence is overwhelming, and you can't stop the tears shyly welling up in your eyes. “you're real…” is the only thing you manage to get out, and your other hand comes up to his face, cupping his cheeks.

a look of relief appears on her delicate features, and he snuggles into her touch.

“you're real. i cant believe it. I've dreamed about you my whole life,” you whisper to him, voice muffled by the raindrops hitting the umbrella over your head.

“i never thought i'd actually find you in real life, it's surreal” he speaks softly too, a smile that wasn't able to be repressed appearing on his lips. “i came looking for you here because i remembered your address from the dreams. i also dreamed of you my whole life, i just… i just couldn’t keep imagining you and not being able to see you in front of me”

discreet tears run lightly down your face, and he gives you a weak smile.

"it's like all the pieces of the puzzle are finally falling into place" he says, placing his free hand on your cheek the same way you placed it on his earlier. "i don't know how to explain it, but being near you feels like coming home"

you finally crack a big smile in his direction, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes light up with it.

“i feel the same” you say, and the feeling of the rain hitting your face quickly appears.

felix lets go of the umbrella that was in his hand and snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you into a warm, tight hug.

“that's nice” he whispers in your ear, and you don't hesitate to hug him back. “because to me it feels like all my dreams came through”

skz as romantic tropes masterlist

taglist: @leeknowinggg @vumiixlyy

[topguncortez]

What to Expect | Chapter 4

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: The dagger squad comes and visits your students at school. You and Jake share a steamy moment in your bedroom.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: pregnancy, vomiting, cursing, mentions of infidelity, fighting, spotting, cramping, fear of miscarriage.a filler before the DRAMA

Jake probably broke every single traffic law as he sped through the dark streets of California to get to the Kazansky house. He was still in his sleep shirt, boxers, socks and slides, not bothering to put on proper clothing as he got the text from you. You didn’t use the distress signal often, in fact there was only one time in the whole five years that Jake was with you that you had sent a ‘mayday’ text to him. It was when you got into a car accident and were being taken to the hospital. Jake felt like his heart stopped in his chest as he left work to get to you. And right now, he had that same feeling in his chest. 

He hardly put the car in park, as he ran to your front door. You opened it before he had the chance to knock. You didn’t say a word as you grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bathroom on the first floor of your parents house. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Jake said, looking you over. 

“I-I know Doctor Miller said it’s normal, but I’m still spotting a-and I feel like it’s not normal,” You cried and Jake’s heart broke, “It’s not enough to be concerned but I-I don’t like it.” 

“Oh, pretty girl,” Jake said and pulled you into his chest. You sobbed into his chest and he shushed you, running his hand down your back, “If you’re really that scared, we can go back to Doctor Miller.” 

“I just saw her last week,” You sniffled, “She said the same thing.” 

Last week was your twelve week scan, and you had told Doctor Miller that you were still experiencing some spotting. She did a full pelvic exam and ran more bloodwork, but she told you the same thing she had two weeks prior, that nothing was wrong. Jake wasn’t able to join you because he had work but Bradley had been there with you. 

“What can I do?” Jake asked, grabbing your face in his hands, and brushing a tear from your cheek. 

“My head hurts,” You whimpered, “I’ve been getting headaches every single day.” 

“Come on,” Jake grabbed your hand and opened the door. 

The Kazansky house was decorated beautifully for the Christmas season. Sarah took her time making sure every little decoration was done perfectly. A large Christmas tree was placed by the fireplace that twinkled with lights and ornate ornaments. Tinsel and garland were wrapped around the railing that illuminated the steps of the grand staircase. Jake walked to your room, which you had also decorated for Christmas. He led you to your bed, and pulled back your covers. It was still made, telling Jake that you hadn’t even been to bed yet. He wondered how long you stayed up worrying about your unborn child. 

“Lay down,” Jake instructed, and you wordlessly followed. You got into your warm king bed, and Jake walked around to the other side. 

He slid in under the covers, and pulled you into his chest. You closed your eyes, feeling the familiar heartbeat against your skin, and breathing in the scent of his body wash. Jake always smelled like the earth after it rained with a hint of jet fuel. He lazily ran his hand up and down your spin, trying to calm you down. His other hand danced slowly on your hip, until he reached down and pulled your leg over his hips. You used to sleep like this against him all the time. It was familiar, comfortable. You let yourself relax against him, until you felt his hand on the back of your neck. 

“It’s okay,” Jake said as you tensed up. His hand rubbed lightly at the skin, and you could feel the tension in your head cease, “I got you,” Jake leaned down and kissed your forehead as he lulled you into a dream filled sleep. 

— — — 

You weren’t sure why you were nervous. Maybe it was the fact that you are about to have eight aviators in your classroom. Five of them seemed to have the worst filter that you had ever witnessed in your life. Ever since Jake had met Owen a couple weeks ago, he had been asking when he could come back and visit the class. You had to get permission from your principal, but you decided to turn it into a science lesson and have them talk about what it’s like to fly. Your dad was always on board to come talk to children. He said it was how recruiting the next generation starts. 

Your kids were currently at recess as you waited in the front office for your father and the dagger squad to show up. Ice asked what uniform you wanted them in and you said to surprise them. Alyssa was making copies for her class, when she looked up and saw the group walking in. She smirked and let out a low whistle. 

“The hunk squad is here,” Alyssa said and you looked up at the front door. Jake was the first one you saw, donned in his summer dress whites. 

“Oh god,” You said, and Alyssa chuckled. 

“Ooo baby daddy looks good,” She nudged you and you rolled your eyes, “Who’s the one in the flight suit?” 

Your eyes landed on Phoenix, and you smirked at Alyssa, “Got a lil crush?” 

“Shush,” Alyssa blushed, “You can’t be the only one with a pilot. I gotta go get the kids. Get me her number,” You laughed and nodded as the dagger squad walked into the front office. 

You clapped your hands and smiled, “Ready to meet about twenty-five nine year olds?” 

“Oh hell yeah,” Fanboy said and Payback smacked his stomach, “Sorry. . .heck yeah.” 

“We had a briefing on language, they should be on their best behavior,” Your dad said as you led them down to your classroom. The kids were starting to come back and fill the halls of the Second Grade wing. Alyssa was going to bring your two classes in last so you could surprise the kids with the aviators. You had even gone and pulled out some of your fighter jet decorations, putting them up over the christmas decor. 

“Alright, you guys sit up here,” You pointed to the chairs at the front. You could hear the laughter of your kids and smiled, “I’m going to control the rugrats before they come in.” 

You looked at Jake and he smiled at you. You looked away quickly and Jake frowned. You hadn’t even said anything to him since the other night, and he was confused. He knew that your mood swings were rough at this point, but you were starting to give him whiplash. 

“Alright, aviators,” You said as you stepped out in the hallway, seeing your second graders lining up against the wall, “This is your teacher speaking, and we have some very special guests waiting inside our classroom. You all need to be on your best behavior and use your good manners. Alright?” 

“Alright!” You kids responded. 

You smiled, “Goodness, gracious-” 

“GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!” 

Bradley smiled at the door, hearing the voices of young children. He remembered the time at your old school when he came and played the piano for your class. He played ‘Great Balls of Fire’ and it quickly became the call and response for your class that year. It warmed his heart at the fact that you still used it. Jake looked over at Bradley and glared at him. Coyote could see the way Jake was throwing daggers with his eyes at Jake, and kicked his chair. Jake looked at his friend confused, but Coyote pointed to the door as a bunch of wide eyed second graders started filling in. Jake sat up a bit straighter and fixed the white cap that sat on his knee. 

“It’s Mister Jake!” Owen gasped and pointed to him. Jake smiled and lifted his hand in a wave towards the little boy, “I told you he’s real!” 

“Whatever,” Another boy said and shoved past Owen to get to his desk. 

“Lil dickhead,” Coyote whispered and Jake nodded. 

Once all the kids were seated, you walked to the front of your classroom, “Alright my little aviators, as you can see, I have brought some friends in to help with today’s science lesson. I present to you, the commander of the pacific fleet, Admiral Tom Kaznasky, callsign, Iceman.” 

“Is he your dad?!” An excited second grader shouted as Ice stood up. 

Ice chuckled, “I am her dad,” You nodded and sat down at your desk. Jake was the closest to you, and he looked at you, sending you a wink. You rolled your eyes and focused on what your dad was telling your class. Each member of the dagger squad introduced themselves and said their callsigns. 

“Why is your name Bob?” One of your kids, Eli asked. 

“It’s my callsign,” Bob answered. 

“Yeah. . .but why?” 

Bob opened his mouth but Jake answered instead, “It means Badass on Board.” 

You groaned, closing your eyes as you heard the gasps from your kids. 

“He said a bad word!” 

“That’s 500 hundred push-ups,” Hondo said, and patted Jake on the back. 

At the end of the presentation, the Dagger Squad taught the kids how to build paper airplanes. It was the sweetest sight as you looked at your classroom and saw the various members sitting next to your second graders. You held your tea mug in your heads as you sat on top of your desk, watching everything. 

“How are you feeling?” Jake asked, coming up and resting against the desk next to you. 

“Better today,” You said, taking a sip of the hot drink. 

“Ginger tea?” 

You nodded, “Mrs. Hernandez down the hall said it helped her during her first trimester.” 

“It gets better soon,” Jake said, “Rachel said that her favorite part was the second trimester. Things calm down with the morning sickness and nausea, she had a lot more energy, she wasn’t huge-” 

“Finish that statement, I dare you,” You pointed your index finger at him. Jake held his hands up in defense and walked away from you with a cheeky smile on his face. 

“Attention aviators!” Ice said, stepping in front of class, “Your TopGun training is over. It is time for your final hop! This is for the trophy, and the chance to get your name on the plaque.” 

“You heard the Admiral!” You said to your kids, “Line up at the door!” 

You took the kids down to the gym, where they were going to throw their paper airplanes to see who would go the farthest. It was meant to just be the kids, but you noticed some of the dagger squad had also made paper airplanes as well. You chuckled as Fanboy and Payback argued about whose design was better. The paper airplane TopGun challenge was something Ice did back when you were in grade school. You looked forward to it every single year growing up, and you continued the tradition when you became a teacher. 

“Aviators, line up on the line,” You said, and watched as the dagger squad members stepped up, “The little aviators, line up on the line.” Some of the dagger squad rolled their eyes and let the second graders step up to the painted lines on the gym floor. 

“Okay, in three. . . two. . . one. . . take off!” You yelled and twenty five paper airplanes went soaring through the air and landed at various spots in the gym. Jake and Bob were on the other side, looking for the top five farthest planes. 

“Aviators, form up, so we can give out awards!” Ice smiled. 

The daggers had to help the little ones to stand in a proper formation, which caused some protest because certain kids wanted to stand by their friends. Once Jake and Bob picked up the top five planes, they walked over to Ice and Maverick. The “trophy” was just a goodie bag with some candy and a first in line pass for lunch. You read the top four names and had the kids come stand up at the front of the formation. 

“The top Aviator, who will get the trophy and their name on the plaque  is. . . . Owen!” 

The little boy’s eyes lit up as he ran to the front of the formation. You handed him his airplane and the goodie bag. Once the formation was “dismissed” some of the kids asked the aviators to sign their airplane and play with them in the gym. It warmed your heart to see how good they were with kids. You couldn’t help but imagine what it’ll be like in just a short six months when you give birth to your child. You could see it now, barbeques and parties in your parents backyard, the Dagger Squad showing up with more gifts than you would know what to do with. Jake had a bright smile on his face as he jogged around the gym, trying to avoid the dodgeballs being thrown at him. 

“He’s good with them,” You said as Rooster walked over to you. 

“Yeah, I’ll give him that,” Rooster sighed and put his hands on his hips. You noticed he was wearing his khaki uniform today, something you knew he hated with a passion, but you loved how he looked in it. 

“You look good, Bradshaw.” 

A smirk rose on his lips as he looked at you, “I am good, Kazansky, very good.” 

You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved him, “I gotta get the rugrats rounded up.” 

“Can I do it?” Rooster asked and you nodded, “Goodness, gracious!” He yelled and all the second graders stopped in their spots. 

“GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!” They responded. 

“Okay, now that’s fucking cool,” Bradley said. 

“That’s five hundred!” Hondo pointed at him. 

You chuckled, “Line up, aviators! Time to return to the carrier.” All your kids quickly ran to line up by the wall like you have taught them to. You did a quick headcount making sure you got all of them, “My second graders, what do we tell the Dagger Squad, Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky for coming in today?” 

“Thank you!” They all responded. Ice’s lit up with a smile. 

“You are very welcome,” Ice said, “Chief Hondo is going to hand you your wings as you leave. I hope to see you all very soon!” 

“Jessie, lead them to the class,” You said to your line leader. He nodded and walked towards the door of the gym. Some of the aviators waited by the door to give them high fives, as Hondo gave them stickers that looked identical to the gold wings pinned to some of their uniforms. You felt an arm drape around your shoulders and turned your head to see Jake standing next to you. 

“I’m glad Owen won,” Jake said. You narrowed your eyes at him and then gasped. 

“Jake, you didn’t. . .” You said and Jake sheepishly pulled out a paper airplane from his pocket and handed it to you. You read the name and shook your head. 

“I watched him push Owen into the door when they went to get more construction paper from Ally’s room.” 

“Thank you,” You said and held the paper airplane tightly in your hands. You looked Jake up and down again, really taking in the sight of him in his uniform. You bit your lip and took a step forward, whispering in his ear, 

“Come over tonight.” Jake opened his mouth to say something, but you kissed his cheek and headed to where your class was. 

— — — 

Jake came over that night like you told him too, but you gave him a specific time to be there. You had known your dad’s night time schedule since you were old enough to read a clock. Iceman was always in bed by 9:30 and asleep by 10. You had used that knowledge to your advantage, and became very good at sneaking around the house at a young age. So Jake arrived at your house at 11:30, and parked down the street like you told him too. You also had him come through the garage door because it was on the opposite side of the house from your parents bedroom. 

Once again, you didn’t say anything as you grabbed Jake’s hand and pulled him through the house. You made him take his shoes off and hide them in one of the storage closets in the garage. He stumbled a bit through the dark house and you shushed him. It felt like deja vu from that night twelve weeks ago, except this time you were pregnant and you both were sober. 

The second you got to your room, you closed the door and pushed Jake up against it and kissed him. Jake froze for a second, but kissed you back, placing his hands on your hips. Your hands tangled in his perfect blonde hair as you kissed against your door. 

“Wait,” Jake said, pulling away, “What are we doing?” 

“Fucking,” You said and leaned into kiss him again but he stopped you. 

“What?” 

“Ugh,” You groaned, “Doing the same thing we did to get me knocked up.” You leaned in again and this time Jake didn’t stop you. He gently walked you towards your bed, his lips never leaving yours. When the back of your knees hit your bed, he picked you up a bit to lay you down on the mattress. 

The past week you had been having vivid dreams of Jake and waking up every morning desperate. You knew that your hormones were raging, but you didn’t think they could get you like this. And seeing Jake in his dress uniform today was not helping you at all. Your hands roamed Jake’s body, going down to the hem of his shirt, and tugging it up his perfectly sculpted body. Jake only broke the kiss to take his shirt off, leaving him in the jeans that hugged his thighs and ass perfectly. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” You said, pushing his shoulder so he’d lay on his back. You climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. Your hands ran down the valley of his pecs, and Jake watched with hooded eyes as you kissed down his chest. He groaned as your tongue swirled over his nipple, your hips lazily grinding over his hard on. 

“Jesus, what has gotten into you?” Jake asked. You sat up quickly and Jake couldn’t believe his eyes as you started crying, “Whoa hey, what’s wrong?” 

“I hate you!” You cried and hit his chest with your fists, before crawling off of him. 

“What did I do!?” Jake asked, his eyes wide as you pulled your knees to your chest, “Y/N, love, what did I do? Did I hurt you?” 

“You asked me what has gotten into me! You got into me! You knocked me up! And now I just wanna rip your clothes off and smack you at the same time!” 

Jake tried to bite back a smile as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. You didn’t fight against him as you cried into his neck. He knew that this would pass almost as quickly as it started, and you’d be laughing about it in no time. When the sniffles subsided, your fingers twirled around the dogtags on his neck. 

“Jake,” You asked softly. 

“Hm?” 

“Do you think we can go get ice cream?” You looked up at him with puppy dog eyes and Jake smiled down at you. 

He kissed your forehead and said, “Of Course.”

taglist: @materialgirl01 @cherrycola27 @love2write2626 @averyhotchner @maddievevo @xoxabs88xox @nagygreta @bioodforbiood @violyn20 @abaker74 @misshoneypaper @callsign-joyride @auroraboreallisfine @thedroneranger @rosewritesitout @nobody7102 @bradleybeachbabe @wildxwidow @cm27078 @caitsymichelle13 @whisperofsong @bonitanightmxres @maverooster @mizzzpink @khaylin27 @shawnsblue @shelbycillian @sexualparkour @thenewdaysalreadyhere @fandom-princess-forevermore @double-j @momc95 @buxkybarnez @paige-alexandra-may @coffeebooksandfandom @86laura11 @some-lovely-day @ohemgeewhat @itsmytimetoodream @emmaelix @springholland @atarmychick007 @okiegirl24 @i3k2ts @gassyandsassy1 @happierbelle @lemoonandlestars @captain-beskar @celestialeviereads @kandierteveilchen

THE TAGLIST IS FULL. DO NOT ASK TO BE TAGGED CAUSE YOU WON'T BE.

[starglitterz]

THE STARGLITTERZ GALA !

— a milestone event !

one fine day, you receive an embossed letter in the mail. on the envelope, your name is written in grand gilded letters, swooping cursive gleaming gold against the parchment. upon breaking open the teal wax seal, the contents slip out: it's an invitation?!

☆ 𝐓𝐇���� 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : you are hereby invited to ‘ THE STARGLITTERZ GALA ’ , a monumental masquerade designed for our attendees to find love. for one night and one night only, you shall dance and make merry alongside others on our exclusive guestlist. we pride ourselves on making some of the most historic matches at our soirée, and we eagerly await more blossoming romance this year. do rsvp for a night to remember under the glittering stars – we hope to see you there ♡ 

☆ 𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : this is a request event to celebrate reaching 5k followers! i will be taking 15 requests in total, one for each of the prompts below on a first-come first-serve basis. do send in the number of the prompt you want + the character, as well as two back-up prompts in case the first one is already claimed. you can also send in any extra details that you wish to be added into the fic, though their inclusion is up to my discretion. ( my inbox can be found here. ) requests will be closed once all the prompts are taken. all the prompts will be set within the fictional event of the starglitterz gala. the pronouns in the prompts below are interchangeable ( as in it could be either the reader or the character in either position ). this event is strictly sfw but may have suggestive content. mutual requests will be prioritised. i will fulfill the requests at my own pace. do feel free to send in an ask if you’re confused about anything. hope you have fun at our soirée ♡

☆ 𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒 : tis i, lady quill herself ! HAHAHA okay naur i can’t take myself seriously TT but anyways yes!! thank you all so much for 5k, i say this every time but this blog quite literally would be nowhere without my followers. i appreciate you all sm, thank you for being with me as i developed my writing and hopefully also grew a lot as a person :’) i hope you enjoy this event, i had a lot of fun putting it together :]

☆ 𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘

#1 — meet me at midnight : your partner has to find you before the clock ticks twelve in order to kiss you at the stroke of midnight. -> WRIOTHESLEY

#2 — walk but in a garden : strolling through the lush gardens of the mansion, you bump into another attendee who also stepped out for some fresh air. -> NEUVILLETTE

#3 — drunk-dazed : someone’s had a little bit too much to drink and is a lot clingier than they were before. -> CHILDE

#4 — from the start : even with the mask amidst the sea of faces, they’d recognise you anywhere. -> NEUVILLETTE

#5 — slow dancing in the dark : though you may not be the most talented dancer, all eyes are on the two of you as you waltz through the ballroom. -> WRIOTHESLEY

#6 — one kiss : stolen kisses in the grand corridors of the mansion, hidden away from prying eyes. -> LYNEY

#7 — moonlight sunrise : the sky is beautiful tonight, but in their eyes you’ll always be prettier. -> GA MING

#8 — greedy : they want one too many dances with you, and only you, refusing to dance with anyone else. -> KAVEH

#9 — let’s skip to the wedding : love at first sight ends up with a ring on your finger by the end of the night and the promise of your dream wedding to come. -> AYATO

#10 — daydreaming : despite being in an arranged marriage, the two of you have attended this event together in the hopes that it will bring you closer. -> DILUC

#11 — something about you : you’re not really hoping for much at this dinner, but after flirting with almost everyone, it seems like you’ve caught this one person’s eye… -> XIAO

#12 — could this be love? : you’ve never had a relationship before, but you’re pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach as they whirl you across the dance floor is exactly what love is meant to be. -> GA MING

#13 — partners in crime : you and your ‘partner’ decide to crash the ball for no reason, but end up getting swept away by the festivities. -> HEIZOU

#14 — save your tears : when you bump into your ex at the gala, it spells trouble [ at least until a new partner steps in to save the day. ] -> SCARAMOUCHE

#15 — heaven sent : the soiree seems to be a blessing in disguise (not!), for you were able to bump into your greatest enemy and even share a dance. -> SCARAMOUCHE

© starglitterz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[mxtantrights]

famous dc! au (dick's version)

TRACK FOURTEEN (DELUXE VERSION): I'M YOUR MAN / GIVE A LITTLE BIT

It's Winter holiday time in Hollywood and nothing feels like the holidays. Maybe its the building feeling of homesickness inside of you, or the feeling of change in the air. The sun is out and its way hotter than you're used to this time of year.

You really miss the snow. You miss the snow angles you would pass by on the street. And the snowmen that were falling apart but made with love with scarves and carrot noses.

You've been dating Dick Grayson for six months now, and he's taken you by surprise at each turn. When you needed to take new head shots for another project you wanted to apply to he helped you out-meaning he offered to take you to a professional studio and drop twelve hundred dollars on you. You of course made sure that didn't happen and made him take the pictures himself.

Another time, he offered to shut down the aquarium to take you just because you were having a bad day. It was a really kind and generous offer but you couldn't imagine inconveniencing anyone because your boyfriend is Hollywood's heartthrob.

Today just felt different. It felt like you really didn't want to be in the state of California at all. And if you saw another palm tree you might throw up. That's why you've stayed inside your apartment all week. Dick has been over all week too but you can't keep coming up with excuses about why your skin hasn't seen the sun.

A knock on your bedroom door raps and you know it's him. You tell him to come in. The door opens and in walks your boyfriend. But it's strange. He's dressed in a coat and a scarf.

He has Haley in his arms. You sit up in bed with a confused look on your face.

"Dickie?" you ask.

"Yes darling?" he asks, teasingly.

"It's eighty nine degrees outside." you say.

Dick hums, "no I don't think it is."

"You're gonna faint from the heat." you counter.

Dick shakes his head, "It's actually snowing outside, so I don't know what you're talking about."

You look at him then. Maybe he's trying method acting? You get up from the bed and pull back the curtains, back facing the window ready to prove him wrong.

"I need you to look outside Dickie." you say.

"Oh I am." he says with all the confidence in the world.

You turn around to point outside to the green gras but your eyes are met with nothing but white. White? You pull open your window and stick your head out. It's still hot. But there's snow on the ground.

There's snow on the ground?

"What going on? Why is there snow on the ground? It's hot." you speak.

"I know you were missing home so I thought I'd bring a piece of it here." he explains.

Your whirl around all at once. Then you're running over to Dick. You wrap your arms around his neck and embrace him fully. Your legs wrap around him barely and he holds onto you.

"Thank you so much, you are the best person I've ever met and I can't believe you did this for me. You're the best, Dick Grayson." you gleefully say.

He hugs you even tighter.

"I know, I know. But I also promised the kids that they could come out in about twenty minutes so if you wanna make the first snow angel we have to go right now." Dick says.

You let go of him and run to your closet. Your hands push and pull the hangers and the clothing inside. That's when you realize you don't have any coats. It's California!

"I don't have a coat!" you shout.

"Oh you don't need it. It's artificial anyways." Dick says.

Then he's grabbing your arm and pulling you out of your apartment, down the steps and out into the backyard. You happily fall into the snow on your back and swipe your arms and legs.

Dick watches from above as the smile that he had missed this past week finally forms on your lips.

-

Dick thinks it can't get any better than this. He's got the warm sun on his skin, the water at his feet and the love of his life right by his side. He looks over at you, only to find you not there. He looks around frantically thinking he lost you.

But his eyes catch you at the bar talking to an older woman. Of course. You are so charismatic and charming. She's laughing at something you said and you're smiling at her.

You look over at him and his heart melts. You tell him that you're coming, he tells you not to rush. You turn back to your new friend.

Dick lets out a sigh of relief. He doesn't care what position he's in on the charts right now. Or if enough of his merchandise is selling. Or if the latest roll out is going as projected.

All there is to think about is you and the island sun.

"I made a friend!" you shout as you run over to Dick.

He laughs, "I can see that."

"That was fun. She wanted to paint us." you explain to him.

Dick looks at you with a funny look, "Naked?"

"No! She just liked how we looked against the sunset. She wanted to know if you'd be okay with it, so I came over to ask you." you wrap your arm around his waist.

He places a few kisses on your hairline, "I'd like it. Tell her yes."

He watches as you turn around and give a thumbs up. He can't help but smile at you as you do. For the first time, being in love isn't something he wants to shy away from or feels the need to be embarrassed about.

Love.

Huh.

"She also said she knew your dad." you speak up.

Dick is pulled out of his trance right then and there. He looks down at you with his full attention now. You look mildly confused why he seems to attentive.

"The woman back there? The woman you were just talking to?" he asks.

You nod your head, "Yeah but I mean, don't people say that all the time? How can you believe it's true?"

Dick looks back to see the woman again, but she's gone. Bruce has never told him anything about his first love and yet Dick feels like the universe doesn't leave room for coincidences.

He turns back to you, "I could always ask him when we get back. He's due to tell me some stories from the past anyways."

"Aw, that's sweet. Maybe we can find your dad someone!" you smile.

"Maybe..."

-

Dick sets the tea down on the table in front of him. His father, Bruce, comes walking around the table and sits next to him on the couch. He sets down his own mug on the table-coaster provided via Alfred.

"So, I think I ran into your first love while I was on vacation."

Bruce almost chokes on his drink. He looks over at his son slowly. Dick notices that Bruce has gone somewhat still. And not his usual still where he's still processing details and making observations and what not.

This was new.

He was unfocused. Fazed.

"What do you mean by that?" Bruce asks.

"I mean when I was on the beach, there was a woman there. She said she knew you." Dick explains.

Bruce sits up, his back straight like a board. He tries to look unfazed, like he's just passing the time with this conversation but Dick can tell this is probably one of the most important conversations he's had in a while. Or at least one that he's firmly committed to.

"Describe her." Bruce commands.

Dick can't help to wonder what the hell happened between the two of them. He's never seen Bruce so on edge before. Dick goes on to describe the woman he saw. With each detail that flies out of his mouth Bruce shuts his eyes, turns away, and shifts his body.

"Bruce what's going on? I thought you said that you didn't fail." Dick asks.

Bruce scoffs, "I said that to give you confidence. I failed, miserably and hard."

Dick slinks back into the couch. He lets out a breath of air and crosses his arms across his chest.

"Well, what are we gonna do?" Dick asks.

Bruce looks over at him, "What do you mean?"

"How are you gonna get the love of your life back?"

[call-me-maggie13]

I’m bored and the guys at work are being goofy so here’s a list of no context things I’ve heard from The Boys™ recently.

“Call me a fake lesbian but I don’t really like girl in red. Clairo? Love. WILLOW? Besties. Hayley Kiyoko? Lesbian Jesus. But Girl in Red and I don’t really vibe. Sorry.”

“Maybe I’m losing my mind, but I wanna bite that truck.”

“Aye, watch your language.” “Will it do a flip?” “What?” “Watch it’s gunna do a flip!” [flips manager off]

“Have y’all heard about the Zuckerberg V. Musk fight? Okay let’s debate. Kanye or Swift, who would win? Actually. That wouldn’t be fair, Kanye never stood a chance. Okay. Obama or Trump? Fists only, no weapons.”

“Do you ever wonder if grass can feel? Like. What if it screams on a frequency I can’t hear every time I step on it? What if the fresh mowed grass smell is actually grass tears and blood?”

“I know we all agreed, but…”

“If lightning struck me right now, would y’all try to save me?”

“Sometimes I’m like ‘Hozier is a god.’ And sometimes I’m like ‘Hozier is just some guy.’”

“Someone threw away a black American Express card. Can I keep it? It’s not expired.”

“I’m not allowed to set off fireworks anymore. It’s not my fault I didn’t know they were actual explosions that could burn a house down. No, this wasn’t when I was a kid, this was like three months ago.”

“What do you think the sky tastes like?”

“When I was twelve, my mom hit me with her car backing out of the driveway and she didn’t even take me to the hospital. I think I broke my arm and I’m pretty sure that’s why my wrist does this. [shows wrist making clicking noise when he rolls it]”

“Okay. But. What if. Nope wait, I think that’s illegal.”

“God customers are stupid. Are you closed?? No lady, the sign says we’re closed because we’re open. It makes me want to eat a car battery.”

“If you could only eat one bug for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“What are y’all’s opinions on potato flavored chewing gum?”

“Can I start bringing my dog to work?”

“Can I break this? I know it’s already broken, I want to break it more.”

“I’m a simple man. I like when things go boom. That doesn’t mean I started the fire.”

“Sometimes I like to take a bath and pretend I’m a little potato getting boiled to make some mashed potatoes.”

“Why can’t I be a duck? Why do I have to be a person?”

“But if I just punch him in the face, I don’t have to worry about him being mean anymore.”

“Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Mag - okay I’m bored now.”

“If I was a rock, I think I’d be a big blue smooth shiny rock. What rock would you be?”

“I have an announcement to make. Stalactites and stalagmites. That is all. Carry on.”

“Sorry, was that gay?”

“I think being an adult is all about being nice to yourself. And taxes, maybe.”

“Why does the dirt over here taste saltier than the dirt by the flowers?”

“No. If I’m not asking him about Taylor Swift, what makes you think I’d ask him about Gracie Abrams?”

“Can I make a list of everyone’s red flags?” “Only if you list their green flags too.”

“I had to change your contact name to Charles. I don’t know why Charles, I just panicked and picked the first name I could think of.”

“Sometimes I forget she’s your mom.” “She’s not my mom. Do you think she’s my mom?” “Not anymore.”

“God. Everyone wants to be Donna but no one wants to be Rachel. No one is Donna except Donna. Everyone else is Rachel. Or they’re Harold.” (Someone please tell me what this means, I have no idea what he’s talking about)

“Why do crickets taste like that?”

“Oh to be a silly little horse in a silly little field being taken care of by a silly little person I could crush like a bug beneath my silly little hooves.”

“Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car?”

“The world went to hell when autopsies started testing for poison. Women just can’t poison their husbands anymore. That was the true beginning of the downfall of society.”

“What happens if someone asks to take their motorcycle through the carwash?”

“You don’t have to file customer complaints if you eat the paper they’re written on.”

“And if I said I still haven’t forgiven John Wilkes Booth, what would you say?”

“I don’t say this lightly, but the Pedro Pascual edits on tiktok have confused me sexually.”

“I just pulled a dead bird out of some guy’s grill. Anyone hungry?”

“Taylor Swift might have forgiven him but that doesn’t mean I have to!”

“Why aren’t we allowed to have a company pet? Firefighters get Dalmatians, we should be allowed like. A fish or something.”

“I dreamt that I came to work yesterday and worked an entire shift, is there any way I can get that added to my pay?”

“My girlfriend is mad at me because I keep playing I’m Just Ken and telling her she’s Kenough.”

“Can we close early on October the thirteenth? Oh, no reason… On a completely unrelated note: what should I wear to the Eras Tour movie?”

“If my grandmother confessed to murdering my grandfather but it happened in like the eighties, do I have to report it? Hypothetically, of course.”

“Sometimes a man just needs to cry to mirrorball and tolerate it in his car. Sometimes he just needs to scream Death by A Thousand Cuts. Sometimes…”

“I accidentally just called a customer Mom and she gave me her phone number, what do I do?”

“It’s only blasphemy if you get caught. Do you really think God has time to listen to everything every single person says?”

“Sometimes I wish I was a woman but then I remember this is America and I thank the stars that I’m not. Sorry, Maggie.”

“Why is it so hard to find a stupidly rich woman searching for a trophy husband?”

“Do you think I could walk through the carwash instead of taking a shower?”

[after a guy’s day off] “I missed you guys yesterday. I wish I never had to leave.”

“My sister told me I was adopted and my mom got mad because she wasn’t supposed to but like. My parents are white. I’m black. I already knew.”

“I just had a child quote Revelations at me because I told him he shouldn’t drink the glass cleaner.”

“I forgot my shoes. Also, I just stepped in glass in the parking lot, someone should really clean that up.”

“I think everyone should be allowed to kill someone if they have a really good reason. I would kill the guy that called my sister a bitch because she didn’t want to sleep with him. Who would you kill?”

“Is… is that… not… normal?” [hint: it was not.]

“I stand with Sansa - I mean Sophie Turner.”

“I still don’t understand why I’m not allowed to punch customers in the mouth for being assholes to Maggie and Dru.”

“What kind of tree do you think I am?”

“Apparently I was supposed to listen to the new Olivia Rodrigo album with my girlfriend and now she’s upset with me for listening to it with y’all first.”

“Every night, I go to sleep and every morning, I wake up. How do I stop this cycle?”

[thegodcomplcx]

Sometimes I think Moffat did ship Eleven and Amy more because he seems smart enough as a writer/good at writing chemistry that he could’ve written Amy choosing Rory more smoothly. It could’ve easily has the first few episodes of series 5 be Amy and Eleven having fun but the minute Rory steps in the TARDIS eleven is the third wheel and the shadow of her having already grown up is around . Amy and Rory could’ve been written as super in love while still having Amy just be scared from abandonment issues and attached to Eleven as a result.

Instead we got this weird attitude on everyone’s sides. Amy treats Rory like a puppy but marries him because she doesn’t want the puppy to die, Rory has contempt for Amy’s choices, and Eleven wishes Rory wasn’t around but still has to choose for Amy to live with him. I know Moffat likes writing teasing dynamics but he managed to do that with so much more affection with Amy/Eleven, Twelve/Clara, Twelve/River. Even friendship wise with Twelve/Bill.

I’m just saying Amy and Rory seem like the weirdest writing Moffat has done and I can’t even blame his sitcom like writing for that because he’s done better with everyone else

my opinion about whether or not romantic 11amy was written to be taken seriously or if it was written just for laughs and views has swung DRAMATICALLY in favor of the former given the release of douglas is cancelled. i mean. look at it.

but even before that i would have said that i don't think it really matters what the intention with them was bcos that doesn't change the impact of what made it's way onscreen.

HAVING SAID THAT...the writers must have realized really early on that amy and rory being together is deeply, deeply uninteresting. i mean rory is barely a character in s5, he's only in like 50% of the episodes, and i would argue that amy's choice is the only time that the writers actually try to treat their relationship seriously and not as a punchline. (read my meta on amy's choice and how it doesn't even achieve this purpose. like thematically.)

even in the wedding its not even about rory like at all. it's still about amy's connection to the doctor (and she's still trying to get in his pants. at her own wedding. in front of the groom and god and everyone)

i would argue that s5-7A is an elevenamy will they/won't they and that rory's only purpose is to be "the husband" which is why he's such a nothingburger character. (i think the only time he proves to be a meaningful contrast to the doctor in a way that doesn't walk all over amy's character is in the god complex. but we don't have to talk about that rn). moffat is basically writing a drama. he's setting up a bunch of things so that we will keep tuning in, and one of them is the question of "who will amy choose"

i mean. fucking babygate. s5 makes it obvious that amy has romantic feelings for the doctor. they could have chosen to end it with the wedding, but you jump into s6 and its like woah okay. amy is babytrapping the doctor. and this makes complete sense for both their characters. and then the god complex happens and it's this natural ending point for eleven and amy. and once again the writers say no. amy actually still can't give him up.

which is why amy can never make an choice until her very last episode, bcos that would ruin the suspense. and we know that despite all the set up, amy can never choose the doctor because this defies the structure of the show. (she's so doomed by the narrative) so they really backed themselves into a corner with amyrory. if their relationship is actually good then rory might as well not exist. if their relationship is frequently unstable, it risks becoming like. obviously bad and obviously inferior to the OTHER romantic dynamic amy is involved in. they chanced the odds and they fucking lost because 11amy continues to be one of the most compelling things i've ever seen in my life.

[ladylooch]

more timo smut please, maybe with jacks best friend or nicos sister?

Loving & Leaving- Timo Meier (Part 1)

A/N: Soooo, I could definitely turn this into a miniseries. Let me know if you want more! Also, it’s hilarious and fitting I feel that way because Letters in your Last Name is so similar.

What can I say, we love a teammate’s sister trope

Edit: It's a series.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ Content), a little angsty

My foot bounces anxiously on my knee as I sit in the corner of the Devil’s family lounge. I’m impatient to leave, but my brother, Captain takes his duties way too seriously, is at least an hour from being ready. Normally, waiting for Nico is just part of visiting him in Jersey. I don’t normally care.

But normally, Timo Meier isn’t in the same arena as me.

Timo is no stranger to me. Not just because he’s a Swiss NHL player like my brother, but also because I’ve found myself in his car, his arms and his bed a time or twelve. It’s always been a fun, quick hit to take the edge off when he’s home for the summer. Just enough to hold us over for another year. That all changed a few weeks ago. Timo was traded to New Jersey and I about had a spit take with my evening glass of wine when I saw the social media post of him standing with my brother welcoming him to the team. Needless to say, Nico doesn’t know about us. Nor will he ever.

Cancelling my long scheduled trip to the U.S. immediately came to my mind, but Nico’s desperate whine when I hinted at needing to stay home had me on that plane despite my reservations. It’s not that I don’t want to see Timo. It’s that I don’t want to see him with my brother hovering so close. Nico is my little brother, but he acts like an older one with his protective and serious nature.

That pretty much brings us to now where I’m jumping slightly at every foot step I hear in the hallway.

My brown eyes lift to the door, connecting with my brother’s. I give him a big grin, then wrinkle my eyebrows in confusion when I see he’s not dressed in his suit.

“Hey.” He greets me, setting his hands on his hips.

“Hey stinky.” I tease. “Too lazy to shower?”

“Ha.” He rolls his eyes at me. “No, I’m going to stay late.” 

“Oh.” I can feel a slight tick beginning in my eye. 

“I know you didn’t travel thousands of miles to wait for me. So, Timo offered to take you home.”

My pulse pauses in my body and then rapidly thuds beneath my skin.

“Timo?” I try to sound breezy and carefree.

“Yeah. You remember him?” Nico jokes with me. My memory flashes to hot skin, greedy hands, and swollen lips on mine.

“Mhm.” I murmur. 

“Good, that would be embarrassing if you didn’t.” Timo says as he comes into view, stopping next to Nico. My brother grins at him, slapping his shoulder in greeting. Our gazes connect and a ripple of pleasure dashes down my spine.

“N, I can just wait for you. It’s really not a big deal.” I say, breaking my eyes away from the blue wave of desire lapping at me. Timo licks his lips, laughing.

“I promise my car won’t break down this time. I’ve upgraded.”

My eyes snap back to Timo and narrow slightly.

“Oh yeah. I remember that happening back home. Did you ever get your money back for that?”

“Yeah.” Timo lies, eyes not moving away from mine. 

The car didn’t break down. Timo pulled it to the side of the road so I could slide onto his lap and ride us both to what we needed. Nico was concerned when we pulled into his house much later than the 15 minutes it should have taken us to get home. We had to think of something and the car breaking down sounded better than the truth.

“I’m seriously going to be awhile. Timo lives in my building so he knows the way.”

Of course he does.

“Okay.” I finally agree with a grimace that I try to pass off as a smile. 

Nico waves goodbye, leaving Timo and I standing together. 

“Hi.” He murmurs, a smug smirk on his lips. He enjoys getting what he wants.

“Hi.” I respond, dropping my gaze to his black dress shoes. 

“Let’s get out of here, beautiful.” He reaches forward, sliding our fingers together and giving them a slight squeeze. He drops my hand when I begin to follow him from the room.

We walk in silence down the hall and into the main area where the player’s cars are held.

“It’s this one.” He points to a black Mercedes. The car attendant tosses Timo his keys. I slide in, taking in the expensive leather interior. Timo’s life is never lacking luxury. I cross my legs, sliding my shaking hands between my legs to squash my nerves.

“Why are you so nervous?” He laughs at me as he pulls onto the street. Once he is at a steady speed, he reaches a hand over to set it on my bouncing leg. I still immediately, feeling the rush of need replace the nerves in my body.

“I just didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“Sure.” He snorts at me, like this isn’t always how it goes with us. “Nothing was keeping me from getting alone time with you. Why do you think your bother is staying late?”

“What did you do?”

“Told him he looked slow tonight.” He laughs with glee. His hand stays glued to my thigh with each twist and turn to get to his and Nico’s apartment building.

“How are you liking it here?” I ask him as we pull into the underground garage.

“Good. Different than California.” He shrugs. “But, I was ready for something new.” I nod in understanding. Last summer, while I was laying satisfied and breathless on his bare chest, he confided in me that he felt the direction of the Sharks wouldn’t include him going forward. It was hard to imagine something else, but he wanted to be moved to a cup contender. It didn’t taking much convincing from Nico that New Jersey held that possibility for him.

“Nico is happy you’re here. He wouldn’t stop talking about it when he picked me up from the airport.” I tell him as we walk towards the elevator.

“He the only Hischier who’s happy?” 

I don’t respond. 

We step into the elevator and he presses the button for the 10th floor. Nico lives on the 13th.

“Um.” I lean forward, pressing 13. 

“You can press that button but you’re getting off on 10.” He’s leaning against the back of the elevator, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark dress pants, looking straight ahead. When the doors open on the10th floor, I walk out first.

Timo overtakes my strides, leading me towards his unit. He slides the key in, opening the door for me to walk in. I do while taking in the modern infrastructure. I don’t even get halfway to the open living room before his hands are on my hips. He pulls me back into his erection. I melt into his body, reaching to hold his head against my shoulder. His lips press against my neck, then open to glide his tongue along my skin. His fingers advance to my waist then up my pink bra. He plays with the lace at the edge of the cups, causing my nipples to tighten. Warmth pools between my legs with his thumbs gliding against my nipples. I buck my hips back into his and he grins against my shoulder.

“You need this.”

“Timo… we can’t.” I try to protest. He spins me in his arms so I am forced to look at him. The sexy desire ghosting his face has my last shred of will power disappearing like the rest of the world. 

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He challenges, lips ghosting over mine, invading my space just enough that the buzz increases in my ears. “Tell me.” He commands, lips brushing mine again. My eyes close completely involuntarily. I lean forward to seal his mouth with mine. He moans immediately into my mouth. 

“Nico could-”

“He won’t.” Timo insists. “We’ve got at least an hour.”

His tongue swipes into my mouth, rolling and melding with mine. He tastes so good, like familiarity and bad decisions. I weave my fingers into the short hair at the back of his head, gripping him tightly to my mouth.

“Fuck, I want you so bad.” I whisper harshly to him when I have to breathe.

“Yeah. You been missing me?” He asks, tilting his head back to watch my face as he guides his hand between my legs. He takes my moan as a yes. “I want you in my bed.” He murmurs, slapping my ass and turning me towards the hallway.

We practically run down the hall. I turn when I get to the bed and he shoves me down. I wrap my arms around his strong shoulders, pulling our bodies flush together. Timo slides a hand along my outer thigh, bringing my knee up so it wraps around his waist. He grinds his erection into my heat, rutting against me until I pull away to moan loudly.

“Off.” I whine, shoving at his suit jacket. He shimmies it off with the help of my hands, then we both work on the buttons of his dress shirt. I start at the bottom, teasing his thickness with my fingers as I work the shirt from his pants. My fingers fumble with the buttons.

“Take your clothes off.” He begs me. My eyes meet his and I can see the desperation brewing. I grin back at him, reaching forward to nip at his lips. He stops his undressing to stuff my mouth with his tongue. “You taste incredible. I crave your mouth when you’re not with me.” Warmth fills my cheeks at his confession. I tug my shirt over my body, then reach around to unclasp my bra. It falls between us as Timo removes his shirt.

He leans forward, lapping at my hard nipple. He sucks it into his mouth as I lay back, letting out a loud moan. I surrender to him completely as he works me over. Dashes of pleasure work down to my pussy, making my walls clench together desperately around nothing. 

“I need you.” I whimper, opening my eyes so he can see the urgency there. He pauses, teasing me again with his tongue before his skilled fingers work my jeans from me. He leaves my panties on, sliding them to the side so he can circle my clit. I wiggle against his finger, grunting out in eagerness as he tests my entrance. I contract around his finger. The teasing ceases immediately when he feels how wet I am. In one fluid motion, he flips me to my stomach. After he removes my panties, I go to my knees, tossing my hair back and waiting patiently for him to fill me.

“Condom?” He asks behind me. I can hear the foil in his fingers. As much as I don’t want a barrier, I know we should be safe.

“Yeah.”

He rolls the latex down, then grips the base of his dick to nudge my folds open. He pushes in gently, taking note of the slight whimper from me. 

“I know.” He rubs my back with his thumbs where he grips my hips. “Good girl.” He praises me as he begins to move steadily in and out. The feeling of his thickness filling me completely has me speechless. My mouth drops open gratefully as I begin to rock back into his thrusts. 

“Yes.” I finally moan. He leans forward, pressing his lips to my shoulder, kissing across to the other as his talented hips work into me unwaveringly slow and deep. “Oh.” I moan as he pulls back up to increase the tempo. He quickens to a steady pound as I collapse forward. My fingers grip his blue sheets into tight fists. The bed begins to rock against the wall, headboard slamming as hard as his hips into me.

“Timo, don’t- don’t stop.” My teeth grit together. My orgasm flutters my inner walls and the pleasure halts his thrusting for a moment. When he resumes, it’s faster and harder, digging me deeper into his bed. 

“You’re so pretty when you’re moaning my name.” He tells me, brushing my hair from my face as I gasp below him. “Want you like this all the time.” He murmurs to me, sliding his fingers around my hip to play with my clit. “It’s been so long since it’s felt this good.” Pleasure flutters in my chest then my inner walls again. "So wet… so tight… nothing like this.” He moans loudly. The more he talks, the closer I know he is. He tightens my knees then encourages me back up. I look up at his ceiling creating just the right angle for us both. Stars explode and ringing bursts into my ears as I come loudly. Moans spill from me relentlessly until he curses behind me, filling the latex surrounding him.

His hand follows my back down to the mattress as I stuff my panting face into the silk sheets. His fingers rub gentle circles as we both come down from our high together. He leans forward, pressing his lips between my shoulder blades while still buried deep inside of me.

“I’ll be right back.” He says, gripping the condom and sliding out. I whine at the emptiness, but crawl up the bed to his pillow. I roll onto my back, dashing my fingers through my hair. I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had. That’s the problem with Timo. He’s too good to quit. And too aloof. Or maybe that was just when he was in San Jose. Maybe with him being in Jersey, things are different. I shake my head, knowing it’s too dangerous to think that way. We can never be something. I’m not giving up my career and life to follow a man around the world while he chases his dream. I’m meant for more.

Timo returns from the bathroom and rolls me over so he can slide in behind me. We spoon, sweaty skin sticking to each other. He kisses the back of my head as I stroke his arm with my red nails. This feels so good. We fit together like the final puzzle pieces in a complex picture.

“How long are you here?”

“Until next Saturday.” He doesn’t respond. “You’ll see me.” I settle the confusion I feel in his touch. He nods.

“Good.” His arms pull me in tighter.

We hold each other in silence like the familiar lovers we are. No expectations, no needless words, just the comfort of each other’s warmth. It’s blissful and I wonder how I’ll be able to let him go.

Only the thought of my brother returning to an empty apartment could pop this bubble.

“Nooooo, I hate when you leave.” He whines as I roll away from him. I stand, stretching out my back and moving to where my clothes were hastily discarded. I reach for my panties, working them up my hips. I toss a smile and sexy look at him over my shoulder. He groans. 

“You should know I came to Jersey with you in mind.” He admits as I pull my jeans back up over my hips. 

“Timo…”

“I know you don’t want anything serious. I’m not ready for that either.” He says as he stands in all his gorgeous nudity. “But you’re it for me, Emma Hischier. So don’t go home and fall in love with someone else.” He tilts my chin up to capture our lips again. 

“Okay.” I whisper against his mouth.

I don’t know why I agree. 

But deep down, I know this is far from my last night with Timo.