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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 4 months

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Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family.

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash.

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints.

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping.

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation.

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face.

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed.

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!?

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since.

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example.

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied.

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile.

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you.

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake.

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message.

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound.

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you.

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face.

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him.

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…”

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips.

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement.

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly.

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered.

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again.

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed.

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #dean x reader #by mind empty just fictional people #by jean

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lyssaluvs · 4 months

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Just Play the Part

(Luke Castellan x Fem!Dionysus!Reader)

Summary: A makeover from Silena and the Aphrodite girls gives you the confidence boost you need.

A/N: this took me so bloody long it's borderline embarrassing. also luke is so out of character it almost makes me sick but whatever. god this is so short, i'm so sorry.

Warnings: Use of Y/n, reader is described to have curly hair but that's about it.

Children of Dionysus are rare, daughters even more so. As a matter of fact, you were the only one. To your knowledge… Before you came to Camp Half-Blood, you were an only child, and when you arrived, you suddenly had a much larger family that you did before. A father, brothers, it was fantastic, it felt amazing to have the family you had always dreamed of. However, with a somewhat absent mother, apparently no sisters, and not a whole lot of friends, let alone female ones, you had had little to no feminine influence in your life. This resulted in you becoming a bit of a tom-boy. It’s not that you didn’t want to embrace your femininity, you just didn’t know how.

“Oh goodness, those curls are a mess.”

“That outfit certainly isn’t doing her any favours.”

You heard the whispers as you walked past the small group of Aphrodite girls. As a child of Dionysus, you had quite a talent for theatrics, as well as being prone to sarcastic remarks, so you just couldn’t help but snap back.

“Can I help you?” You asked the group of girls, hands on your hips with your brows furrowed.

“Actually, we were wondering if we could help you…”

---

You now found yourself sat in a surprisingly comfortable barber-style chair in the bathroom of the Aphrodite cabin.

“Sorry I got defensive; I’m not really used to talking to girls much.” You apologise to Silena once again.

“Stop apologising! We love having a new girl to give makeovers to. And who knows, maybe this will give you the confidence boost you need to finally talk to Luke, since he’s obviously too shy to talk to you first.”

You cast your gaze downward as a warmth spread across your cheeks.

“Don’t worry, you’re not that obvious. I just have a knack for these kinds of things, comes with being an Aphrodite kid. Luke, however, is about as subtle a sledgehammer. Please don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” She paused combing your hair to look you in the eye.

You just shrugged.

“The lingering touches when he corrects your stances, yearning stares…” She awaited your reaction and when she was met with a befuddled expression, she continued.

“Oh my god, you’re oblivious. Here’s what you’re going to do. Once we’re done here, you’re going to walk right up to him, and ask him out. There’s no way he’ll say no, so don’t try that excuse. And I’ve seen you on stage, you can certainly play an outgoing character, so if you’re going to use the shy excuse, I’ll tell you to just pretend you’re on stage.”

---

It had been almost two hours and your makeover was finally over. Your curls were healthier than ever, your nails were painted, light makeup had been applied, and you had never felt more beautiful. You looked at your outfit in the mirror, taking note of the way the new flare jeans were much more flattering than your previous daggy cargos, and your camp tee now a size smaller and no longer drowning you.

“You’re lucky orange suits you, now go get your man!” Silena pushed you out the door, giving your butt a playful smack on the way out.

---

Feeling more confident than ever you approached Luke while he was practicing his swordsmanship in front of the setting sun, alone, as he usually was at this time of day.

“Luke”

The brunette boy turned around so swiftly he almost lost his footing. He looked you up and down and swallowed heavily.

“Y/n, you look ama- “

“Do you want to go out with me?” The words shot out of your mouth before you could stop them. Regardless of Silena’s reassurance, if he did end up rejecting you, you wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

His jaw dropped and he looked as though he wanted to say something, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate. The two of you stood in silence for a few moments as you waited for an answer.

“It’s fine if you don’t. I’ll just go.” You began to turn around.

“YES! Sorry, yes, I want to go out with you. Please. I really want to go out with you.”

It seemed his voice had finally caught up with his mind.

Hmm… He’s cute when he rambles…

@elz-zalarrr this one's for you!

credit to @cafekitsune for the divider!

#percy jackson x reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #pjo tv show

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sgtgarricks · 3 months

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i want your hands on me for all my life

simon riley x afab!reader cw: nsfw, angst, happy ending, mentions of simon's abusive past, talks about death, mentions of soap's death, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie!!, simon lets himself be happy yay

reblogs are immensely appreciated! <3

PREVIOUS PART: your gentle hands are enough

notes: this is the 2nd part for the people that want a happy ending :) this turned out sooo long LMFAO if you want to be sad just pretend this doesn't exist and read the other one! your feedback & comments help <3

Simon had always excelled at compartmentalizing his emotions ever since he was a child.

Growing up with an abusive father and an older brother who has hell-bent on scaring him had forced him to develop self-preservation tactics in order to survive their torment. Dissociating was a daily occurrence in his childhood years — it helped Simon escape the pain and torment that was being inflicted on his body.

Being in the military has not been that different.

He was still dissociating, but he was no longer on the receiving end of thrown punches and insults. He was now the perpetrator inflicting agony on his enemies for the good of the world. To rid the world of filth.

Simon Riley had become the ultimate soldier — lethal, swift, quiet, and was immune to the horrors of war, which was no surprise considering he had spent most of his childhood learning to lock away all the negative emotions. The ability had become innate, bleeding into his daily life and in turn, his relationships.

When Simon walked out the door, he had left all the hurt and sadness in the apartment with you. He trusted you'd keep a part of him safe until he came back and even if he didn't.

Simon had whole-heartedly accepted the risk that comes with the job, fully prepared to lay his life down if it meant a better world than yesterday. In fact, Simon knew death more intimately more than anyone. He'd knocked on death's door multiple times but always seemed to come out alive.

It was easy for him to not think of you. The anxious voice inside his head becomes static as he engrossed himself in the mission. The hard part comes when the dust has settled — when all that remain are cold corpses and bullet casings.

Sitting in the helicopter all bloodied accompanied by the sound of whirring blades wasn't usually bad. It would give him time to sit down and process his emotions. It let him feel the slight guilt that never goes away when taking a life — no matter how rotten.

But with each mission he went on after his abrupt departure, he finds himself constantly ruminating his entire reason for not wanting to get into a relationship with you.

Simon had wanted you to move on from him when he died, eventually. Forget the bruised and battered soldier and find someone whole, someone who could be there for you and love you without causing you anxiety every time their phone rang.

He thought himself selfless for trying to spare you, but his entire reason collapses with every mission he comes back alive.

What was his excuse now? What was he protecting you from?

The voices slink back into his mind the moment he gains a moment of peace. Whispers planting seeds of doubt in his mind, feeding on his insecurity and his fears. They're ruthless and persistent.

You don't deserve them. They're too good for you. You're going to leave them one day anyway, why bother?

He feels a tightness in his chest, as if a phantom hand was squeezing his heart that sends pulses of pain through him. His hand shakes slightly, fingers moving absent-mindedly trying to remember the feel of your skin.

"You alright, Lieutenant?" His captain's voice breaks him out of his trance. Simon is slightly startled but doesn't let it show. He merely grunts.

"'M alright."

Silence engulfs them once more. It goes one for one, two, maybe three minutes. It's suffocating. Simon can read people well enough by now that he knows there are questions lingering in the back of John Price's mind.

A part of Simon wishes he'd just spit it out, but the thought of having to explain seemed worse. Instead, Simon settles with a silent huff as the helicopter continues on its designated course.

The second the helicopter landed, Price simply nods at him, trusting him to get his shit together and walks off to his office. Simon does his usual routine, though instead of rushing through the motions, he's intentionally prolonging each action.

Whereas normally he couldn't get out of this place faster, now he almost dreaded the moment he would have to leave. Staying at the base meant monotonous, dull, predictable tasks. Leaving means he has to choose where to go — he has to actively force himself to not drive straight to your apartment despite the fact that every fiber in his being longs to be close to you.

He feels sick, a kind of illness spreading inside of him that only ever felt better when you were around him. A dull ache inside his body that only lights up when you touch him.

He runs a hand to his now damp hair, content with sitting on a sofa in the rec room. Normally, the place would be bustling with recruits goofing around with each other. But one glance at the broodier-than-normal look on the lieutenant's face had created a force field that pushed away everyone as to not get caught in its storm.

Simon doesn't know how long he sits there, half of him trying to convince himself to not come to you. That you don't deserve the broken man with a penchant for violence.

Chuckling lowly to himself, he shakes his head. What kind of demented higher power decided someone as kind as you be plucked and dropped into his sights?

Fifteen minutes went by as he pities himself in the rec room before a shadow in his peripheral vision causes him to look up.

"L.T.," Kyle nods towards him, leaning on the doorframe.

"Garrick." Simon grunts dismissively, not saying anything more. He hops the sergeant will take the hint on his own and leave the miserable bastard to his own devices.

Kyle worries for Simon. The brooding giant seems more miserable than usual — not more than after the incident, but still. Typically, he wouldn't even be able to catch a glimpse of his lieutenant after coming back from deployment. He'd usually opt to disappear from the base in record time.

The fact that he's here now, instead of wherever he usually hangs around, is slightly concerning.

"You alright, L.T.?"

Simon turns to him, slightly annoyed. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Yes, I'm alright." He huffs. Kyle merely shrugs, unbothered by the icy gaze directed at him.

"Well, seeing as you haven't fucked off from the base yet and it's been," Kyle checks his phone for the time, "Around an hour? I'd wager something is wrong."

Sometimes Simon hated how observant Gaz was. Kyle's always been attentive, even more so now without Johnny's presence. It wasn't a secret that Johnny had been the lieutenant's shadow — always lingering near him, cracking jokes and pulling his leg.

His absence had naturally left a gaping void in Simon, oozing all the pain and hurt that comes with losing a comrade. Simon isn't naive, he knows death comes as a package with being in the battlefield. He's seen his fellow soldiers die, held them as they bled out. It was why he tended to keep to himself. After all, the less people you know, the less funerals you have to go to.

This worked most of the time, anyone who got close to Simon would get his arctic stare and cower off — most of the time anyway. Johnny was a different case. Johnny was a little bit of a nutcase to be honest. A talented, bright, pyromaniac, the youngest ever to pass SAS selection, with an arsenal of jokes in his pockets. The blue-eyed Scotsman got along quickly with Kyle, bantering with each other easily as if they had been long-lost friends.

While Johnny still had reservations about dicking around with the captain, he didn't seem to have the same problem with Simon. Seemingly happy to chatter off in his ear about anything, whether it was about shitty food, a lady he picked up from a bar, or jabs directed at Simon.

Johnny's bright disposition put Simon on edge. He wasn't used to seeing someone not be terrified of him. No matter how many glares he sent him, the bugger wouldn't leave him alone. Johnny would continue to go out of his way to talk to Simon, to sit next to him during lunch, and sometimes, Johnny would even manage to get Simon to open up just a little.

"What's on yer mind, L.T.?" Johnny nudged Simon with his elbow. The two men were both sat at the bar, the TV playing an old recording of a football match. It had taken Johnny ten minutes to convince Simon to go out for drinks and he planned on taking full advantage of it.

Johnny had been talking non-stop for around five minutes about his sister who had just gotten married, waiting for a reaction from Simon who seemed distracted. His eyes had strayed to the other side of the bar a few times, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but Johnny was anything but.

"Nothin'." Simon had grunted, tearing his gaze away. A giant smirk plastered itself onto Johnny's face.

"Ah, been starin' at the sad one across the bar, aye?" Seeing Simon's eye widen a little had made Johnny even more gleeful. "Go on then. Ye have my full permission to ditch me tonight." He teased, winking at his lieutenant.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Johnny." Simon had denied instantly, taking a sip of his drink. A normal person would have left it at that, but Johnny wasn't your average person. He loved starting fires and Simon was a flame he wanted to see lit.

"Ach, come on L.T. what's the harm, eh? A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone." Simon didn't know this but Johnny wasn't going to let this go. It was the first time Johnny had ever seen Simon show interest in someone and he'd do anything to get Simon to at the very least, talk to them.

"They're a civvy, Johnny. Not gonna take any chances." Simon shook his head adamantly.

"That's bollocks! All we do is take risks anyway, at least on this one the worst that could happen is getting a drink thrown in yer face." Johnny chuckles, peering at the person across the bar who was clearly nursing a broken heart. Simon still made no move to get up from his chair.

Praying to whatever God was listening, Johnny hoped Simon wouldn't kill him after what he was going to do. Calling over the bartender, Johnny slid the man a fifty.

"Mate, give 'em a refill yeah? Tell 'em it's from the big bloke over here." Johnny signaled the bartender. Simon, who had finally processed what Johnny was doing, couldn't even get a word in. The bartender hastily took the money and went back to his station, ignoring Simon's call.

Simon could only watch in despair as the bartender presented the drink and pointed towards Simon. He received a shy smile, a mouthed 'thank you', and an expectant look.

"Now you've got to go there, mate. Otherwise you'll look like an arsehole!" Johnny threw his arms up, grinning triumphantly. The sergeant crossed his arms and wiggled his eyebrows.

Simon could've easily ignored Johnny and went back to his drink. But a part of him couldn't deny that he wanted to go over there and maybe talk to someone else that wasn't Scottish for a change. Against his usual logic, Simon decided to stand up from his chair.

"You're an arsehole." A glare was sent Johnny's way, although it had no weight behind them. As Simon began to walk away, he could hear Johnny laughing loudly.

"Yer welcome!"

Simon had never told Johnny you were the person who had been texting him during deployment, but he knew deep down that Johnny already knew. He'd asked multiple times, even tried sneaking a look.

He simply didn't want to admit that Johnny forcing him to talk to you that day had shifted Simon's world. He wished he told Johnny.

"We all miss him, L.T." Kyle's soft voice spoke again. He's closer now, dragging a chair from a table and sitting in front of Simon. Kyle knew he could never fill the giant void that Johnny left, but he felt a sense of responsibility to at least try. Price had become more closed off after his death whereas Simon had slowly been unraveling, little stitches coming loose a day at a time.

"All we can do is make sure it's not in vain." Simon sighs, hearing Kyle's words, knows he's right. That he can't go back to expecting the worst all the time, constantly on edge.

Johnny had breathed life into his ghostly presence, bringing Simon back into the realm of the living. The more Johnny got out of the lieutenant, the more people were able to see that Simon wasn't merely a visage, a ghost roaming the hallway. That he was a real person.

He was throwing away his chance at a second life. Perhaps it was also a twisted way of Simon punishing himself. If he couldn't save Johnny, couldn't save the man who managed to get him to talk to you, then he didn't deserve you. It was a round-about way of him trying to mend off the guilt eating away at him that had inadvertently claimed another victim.

"Thank you, sergeant." Simon stood up. Clapping his hand on Kyle's shoulder.

I see you.

"Don't mention it, sir."

The drive to your house takes around twenty minutes, which means that's all the time Simon has to try and figure out a way to atone for his sins.

They're too gracious to even hold a grudge against you. A small part of Simon tells him. While he hopes that's true, he still wants to apologize and acknowledge how unfair he's been to you. If not to make you feel better, at the very least it will ease his conscience.

He drums his finger on the steering wheel, the radio turned on but on low volume. For once, Simon wishes he had Johnny's ability to get out of problems with his alluring words and his kicked-puppy look.

Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't even realized he's been sitting in his parked car for a few minutes. He clasps his hands when he realizes they're shaking. God, he was so terrified. Not of you, no. He was scared of having to see what he's done to you. Is terrified of really seeing the carnage Simon Riley had tore in you.

He lets out a bated breath and opens the car door. He knows you're home by now, probably cooking away while listening to some indie band. Resting his head on your door, he braces himself once more, and knocks.

He waits, the seconds feeling like hours. The door swings open and he sees your surprised face.

"Simon." You compose yourself immediately, not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of him. Something twitches on the corners of his mouth hidden by the balaclava. As if realizing he's still wearing it, he takes it off.

"Can I come in?" He asks timidly, as if approaching a wounded animal. He had no idea how you'd react after him being gone for so long. Even during his three month deployments, he'd sometimes text you once every fortnight. But after the way he left things, he couldn't bring himself to message you at all. Couldn't even stomach the thought of you still pining over him after what he had done. It was easier for him to simply block your number. Photos of sunsets and coffee cups gathering dust in his photo album, unsent.

You didn't even think about it, your body unconsciously moving sideways to let him in. A part of you screams at yourself.

Idiot, show some dignity.

It had been so easy for you to let the man who had left you for six months without a word back into your apartment, into your life.

You felt like an addict. Constantly begging for your next fix and taking whatever scraps are thrown your way. It's pitiful, but you're too far gone, anyway. His dirty boots make contact with your hardwood floor, leaving small specks of mud on them. Simon notices the frown marring your face and begins to unlace his boots.

"Sorry." He apologizes, neatly tucking away his muddy boots at the side of your door. You close the door behind him, making your way towards your kitchen. The plate clatters loudly in the sink as you haphazardly put them away, clearly rattled.

Simon coughs slightly, words stuck in his throat. He'd prepared a small speech earlier yet all the words seem to escape him. All the courage he had mustered for his little speech all had but disappeared into thin air. He feels out of his depths, not used to being vulnerable.

"What are you doing here, Simon?" Your voice sounds so tired. He supposes he was to blame for that.

"Can we talk?" He sends you a pleading look, hoping you still felt a sliver of the love you used to harbor for him — the only thing stopping you from kicking him out.

"Oh, so after blocking me and radio silence for six months you've decided you want to talk?" The bitterness seeps into your words like venom. He can't even make himself physically recoil from the sharp edge of your tone. Simon can feel the thin rope right beneath his feet, one wrong step and he'd be falling off the edge.

He takes a deep breath. "I deserve that."

"Oh, you deserve more than that Simon Riley. I should kick you out right now." You were huffing now, going slightly red in the face. Had he not been so anxious he might've thought you look cute. But right now? He was downright terrified.

"Just-" Simon pinches his nose bridge, calming himself down. "Let me speak for a moment, yeah? After that if you want me to leave, I'll leave." He holds both his hands up.

You were livid, rightfully so. The man you love had essentially decided he didn't want to communicate with you anymore, breaking your heart. The first week you thought maybe something had happened to his phone, broken it maybe?

As the weeks turned into months, the realization dawned on you that he had purposefully blocked you, cut off all contact. At first there was only sadness. You spent your days crying into your blanket, some days barely functioning. The hurt and betrayal had emotionally drained you. Did all those years mean nothing to him?

You knew he had a hard time expressing his emotions, but never in your wildest dreams did you think he would throw you away just like that. Like you were nothing more to him than a good fuck. Despite your head telling you otherwise, the emotional baggage he had left you with didn't leave much option.

It was easier to hate him than to accept maybe he didn't love you at all.

You spent the first few months cursing into the wind hoping it'd somehow hurt him a fraction of how much he hurt you. Afterwards, the pain became a lingering , dull ache, but not debilitating anymore. It became a constant that you carry everyday.

Kicking him out the door was tempting, but you knew it wouldn't do you any good. If anything, the words left unsaid would become a leech — slowly draining away your curiosity until you eventually leave another voicemail.

You give him a pointed stare before sitting down on the couch. Simon slowly approached you, wanting nothing more than to sit next to you but choosing to sink into the other side of the couch. He sees you cross your arms, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"I jus' wanna say that I'm sorry." He stares into your eyes, slouched with elbows on his thighs. Seeing your mouth thin into a line, Simon knows he's going to have to do a lot better.

"When Johnny died..." Your eyes widen, arms slacking slightly. He'd talk about Johnny sometimes but sometime ago had entirely stopped mentioning his name altogether. You had suspected something terrible had happened but you didn't want to believe it.

"I was so angry. It's not fair. He was so young, had his whole future ahead of him. Told me he was gonna see his sister's newborn on his next leave." He breathes out, clenching his fists.

"All of that, gone. We haven't even caught the bastard yet." Simon runs an exasperated hand through his face. Your arms were no longer crossed, choosing to fiddle with the edge of your shirt. You wanted to comfort him so badly, wanted to take him into your arms and tell him everything's going to be okay. But he was still pouring his heart out and you wanted to greedily snatch every piece he was willing to give.

"I had constant nightmares for months. Sometimes, I still do. You're just a heavy sleeper, I suppose." He chuckles and catches the way the edge of your mouth turn up.

"It's never easy, losing someone. It changes you. I used to hear his nonsense almost everyday and now it's just not there. I'm terrified one day it'll be like he was never there at all." Simon looks away, blinking tears away.

"But he was there. I know that. I felt him. He was like the fucking sun, but instead of being 150 million kilometers away, he's next to my ear with his Scottish nonsense." Simon chuckles bitterly, reminiscing the times when Johnny had to translate his gibberish.

You stay quiet, letting him speak freely. You had a feeling where this was going and how Johnny's death had indirectly impacted your relationship.

"If I died tomorrow, would you be okay?" His question catches you off guard. It was a question you've pondered a thousand times before, and every time you only ever came up with one answer.

"No." You answer honestly, because you'd break either way. Whether it was tomorrow or a year from now. You can feel a part of Simon in your bloodstream that if he died, some part of you would die with him.

"I only ever wanted you to be okay." He straightens, testing the waters by moving closer to you. You let him.

"Would you prefer if I never loved you at all?" Your heart was thumping loudly in your chest you worried he could hear it.

"No." His answer was immediate, as if he'd never been as sure before. "Not selfless enough for that."

"Then are you selfless enough to accept that I would want it to hurt?" You put your hand on top of his, gently grasping them within yours. Simon feels the broken pieces of him mending together.

He's quiet, not sure how to respond. He didn't use to understand why people would put themselves on the line, but he's starting to.

"If you died, I'd want it to hurt. I'd want it to take my breath away. I'd want it to keep me awake at night. I'd want every single bone in my body to ache when you're gone, because that would mean I have loved you with all of me."

You don't realize you'd started crying. There was no distance anymore between you and Simon. His thigh pressed against yours as you clutch his hand to your chest.

"I want it to hurt so badly, because I want to love you deeply." Tears were streaming freely down your face you couldn't even stop them even if you wanted to.

"Simon, will you let me hurt for you?"

And he lets you.

"Okay." His hand go to engulf your frame, but you had thrown yourself at him before he managed to. Simon can feel his shirt getting wet, he'd never thought he'd be slightly happy over the fact that you were crying.

Everything's going to be okay.

Your head was now on his collarbone, his palm gently holding you there. You feel a kiss on the top of your head as he strokes it.

Neither of you know how long you simply cried on him, much less when you ended up on his lap. When he heard you stop — tired from the energy you exerted, he slowly rearranges his body so that you are able to lie fully on top of him. His sore back is the last thing on his mind as he sees your peacefully sleeping away.

A pounding headache eventually woke you. You weren't sure if last night really happened or if your mind had conjured a scenario where Simon came back for you. However, the sweltering heat you feel on your midsection proves otherwise.

He really was here.

His eyes were closed, seeming to be asleep. You test the waters, placing your palm on the left side of his face. A hand immediately darts towards your hand and keeps it there.

"Put some pills on your nightstand for the headache." He murmurs, eyes still closed. His face turns slightly, placing a kiss on your palm. Even after half a year away, he still knows you like the back of his hand.

Leaning in, you give him a peck on the cheek. As much as you want to drink in the sight of him, there were more pressing matters at hand. You need the reassurance. You need him to tell you he wasn't going to abandon you again.

"Simon, did you mean it?" You can't get the entire words out, can only hope it was enough to convey your tumultuous emotions. His heart aches that you don't believe him, but he understands.

"I love you, sweetheart." Soft lips descend upon your own, barely brushing.

"'M here to stay as long as you want me here." He sneaks a hand under you, pulling you closer to him. There isn't any part of you that's not connected to him in some way.

He was so warm, scorching you inside out. You wanted his flame to burn every inch of your skin. When he left, everything felt cold to the bone, your life turning into muted blues and grays.

Simon brought warmth into your life, with his little acts of service. With the little trinkets he brings back after deployment because it reminded him of you. With his gentle hands, gentle kisses — his gentle self.

"I love you, Si." You whisper, grabbing him by the neck and lowering your lips onto his. Brushing softly, you were going to pull away when Simon lets out a moan. Heat builds inside of you as you slip your tongue inside his open mouth. He grunts in surprise, holding you still for a second. But you're impatient.

"Need you." You whine, "Want you so much, Si."

"Yeah?" He mumbles against your lips, running his hands through your hair gently.

"Thought I'd be in the dog house much longer than that, love." He teases you. Simon yelps slightly when you retaliate by biting on his lower lip. He grips both your cheeks with his fingers, pushing you away from him.

"That wasn't very nice of you, hmm?" He gently shakes your head, grinning handsomely. "Think you need a little lesson in being nice, sweetheart. Lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher." He leans in and kisses your puckered lips, working his way downwards.

His hands wander everywhere, working themselves underneath your shirt. You feel goosebumps rise where his fingertips lay, shivering under his hold.

"Missed you so much, Si. Please." Your moans echo throughout the room. He's holding your thighs together as he trails down your body as you writhe.

"Missed you too, love. Fuck, missed you so fucking much." He manages to say. He cups your ass as he mouths at your panty-covered mound. Your juices seep through the fabric, making Simon groan.

"Mmm.. Someone missed me too." He runs his tongue up and down your slit as you cross both your legs behind his neck. He felt you clench your thighs and he feels blood rushing downwards. Turning his head slightly to the right, he nips lightly at your inner thigh.

He'd barely touched you but here you are already begging for it. Simon Riley has you wrapped around his finger and it scares you a little how much of a hold he has on you. You had bared your neck so openly for him and he had bit down the first chance he got.

"Will you let me take care of you, love? Make you feel good." He hums, fingers trailing along your inner thigh waiting for permission. You nod fervently before realizing he can't see you.

"Yes, yes, yes. Need you to take care of me, Si." Your heart was beating fast out of anticipation.

"Yeah? I'll make you feel good, baby." He coos at you as his fingers slowly pull down your panties. Strings of your juices were sticking to the insides. He threw them aimlessly, eyes zeroed in on your wet pussy.

His finger runs through your folds, making squelching noises. "All this for me, hmm?" He tilts his head up, pinching when you don't reply immediately. The sudden sensation makes you whimper.

"All for you, Si. Just for you." You were panting heavily as Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and licks in a circular motion. You thread your fingers in his hair, not tugging harshly.

Simon laps at your pussy like a starved man, burying his entire face in your warmth. He moans between every few licks, the taste of you dazing him. Your eyes glaze over as you see the man you love pleasuring you with earnest. He continues for a while, alternating his focus between your bud and your folds.

When you tug at his shirt impatiently, Simon grunts. He gets up and throws his shirt over his head. Not one second after it's off, you begin to paw at him, desperate to feel every inch of him.

Simon thinks he's never seen such a beautiful sight. Your hair was messy from your movements, eyes hazy as he can feel goosebumps on his body where you stare. He grabs your face and kisses you desperately, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His clothed bulge was grinding messily against your wet pussy as his boxers begin to darken from the wetness.

Simon's whimper fill the room when he feels you grinding upwards to rub yourself on his cock. He pulls from your lips with a string of saliva. Not waiting for him, you scramble to take off your shirt, baring your tits to him.

His eyes drink in the state of you greedily, one hand groping your tits as the other travels down to your pussy. You were beyond wet enough for his cock, but he's determined to make you cum on his fingers first.

Two fingers slip into you gently. The stretch catches you off guard, it's been a while since you've had his thick fingers probing inside you. His fingers were thrusting shallowly as you grind on his palm.

"Fuck, Simon. Feels so good." You babble, barely able to keep your eyes open, the pleasure overwhelming your senses.

"Yeah? Gonna make you feel even better." With that, his fingers thrust deeper into you, massaging your spot. Your back arches as Simon plants his face on your chest, sucking on your nipples.

He crooks his fingers slightly as he continues thrusting, his palm touching your clit with each time. You couldn't stay still anymore, moving your hips back to meet his thrusts.

The room was filled with wet, squelching noises and your combined moans. Your hands were gripping his bicep, feeling the large muscle flex under your fingertips.

His thick fingers continue his ministration as you begin to climb higher and higher. Your walls begin to pulse and constrict his fingers. Sweat drips down his forehead as he continues to drive into your pussy with his deft fingers.

"You gonna cum on my fingers, love?" He teases, placing kisses all over your damp face.

"Yes, oh fuck. Please, please let me cum."

Simon grins against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over. His fingers begin to speed up even faster, hitting your sweet spot with every effort. You feel the familiar tingling sensation begin to build in your core.

Your legs begin to tremble as you struggle to get air inside of your lungs. Panting harshly, you close your eyes as your orgasm starts to reach its peak.

His hand leaves your tits as they begin to rub circles on your clit. The combined assault on your clit and your pussy brings you over the edge.

"Look at me when you cum." Your eyes open immediately as you find him staring directly into yours. Your legs tremble deliciously, hands gripping Simon even tighter as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Mouth agape, your back continues to arch as Simon doesn't stop, overstimulating you with a few shallow thrusts.

Simon's hand was covered in your juices as he slowly withdraws them. Your pussy clenches, feeling empty. He brings his fingers to your mouth and taps your lips. Obediently, you open your lips and let him slide his fingers inside your mouth.

Circling your tongue all finger, your eyes begin to close again. When you blink them open, you see Simon's bare body hovering above yours. His cock was standing proudly, shiny with precum. You feel the urge to take his cock into your mouth. When your hand tries to reach for him, it's stopped by his firm grip.

"Next time, yeah? Need to fuck your pretty pussy, baby." He slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, wiping them on his hip. He repositions his cock at your pussy, sliding the head up and down your folds.

Tilting your head down, you see Simon's hand grip his cock firmly as it slowly rubs his precum all over your pussy. He groans seeing your juices mix together. Moving your hips upwards, you try to push his head in and he hisses.

He grabs your hips and gently lowers them on the bed. "You just lay there and take it, yeah? Let me do all the work." You preen, more than happy to lay there and see him move above you.

"Put it in, Si. Missed your cock so much." You whimper, pressing delicate kisses on his neck. He nudges your nose with his, capturing your lips into a kiss. Your moan gets interrupted by your own grunt of surprise as the head of his cock slips in.

His cock was thicker than his two fingers, with veins running all over the shaft rubbing your walls deliciously. You link your legs behind his waist, helping him push deeper.

When he's inside you, it's like two pieces of puzzle fitting together. His cock fit so perfectly inside you, as if you were made for him and him for you. You knew Simon was it for you a long time ago, falling head over heels so easily for the grumpy soldier. You weren't happy at how long it took him to come to his senses, but you're glad either way.

He thrusts slowly, going deeper with each shift of his hips. His tongue tangles with yours as wet noises fill the room. You know when he's pushed in to the hilt when you feel him bump against your cervix slightly. Your pussy clenches at the tiny pain, causing Simon to moan out.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so well, sweetheart." He stays there for a moment, grinding his cock inside. You only stop kissing when you pull away to beg him to start moving. Both his hands are placed firmly on your hips when he begins thrusting.

He moves back and forth slowly, the walls of your pussy feeling every drag of his big cock. You hiss against his mouth, the sensation lights up every nerve in your body. You beg him to go faster but he ignores you, continuing to sink slowly.

When you're about to wail at the pace again, he thrusts sharply — his cock sinking deep into your pussy. You gasp, clawing his back when he continues to move slowly but going deep with each thrust. You can hear the sound of his balls smacking against your ass.

Your combined juices were dripping out of your pussy, causing wet noises whenever he moves inside you. You don't know how long he continues his brutal motion, your eyes dazed and breath unsteady.

You've never felt this way before. It feels as if he's everywhere inside you, there isn't a part of you that doesn't feel touched by him. He thrusts as if he's trying to imprint himself in you, trying to permanently leave a mark.

"Such a pretty pussy. Doing so well f' me, sweetheart. You gonna let me cum in you? Gonna let me fill you up nicely?" He grunts, his composure starting to unravel. His cock begins to piston in you messily as he loses himself in your pussy.

"Yes, yes, yes. Fuck, love you so much, Si. Need your cum in me." You cry out desperately, tightening your legs and pulling him deeper inside you.

"So good to me, love. Letting me cum in your pretty pussy." His form begins to shake slightly from exertion. You know his hands were going to bruise your hips from how hard he was gripping them but you couldn't care less.

Your body moves up and down from the force of his thrust. His cock touching your cervix with each delicious thrust. Your pussy begins to pulse wildly on his cock as you feel another orgasm build inside you. When his cock begins to pulse, your eyes roll to the back of your head as it sends you over the edge. You moan out his name loudly, pulling him by the neck to your chest as his arms hug you to him.

You feel his desperation and love when he holds you. He hugs you so tight to him your ribs ache. You never want this feeling to go away.

"I love you so much, fuck." Your orgasm triggers his own, his cock pulsing as his creamy load fills up your pussy. He's so snug inside your pussy the excess cum begins to drip out. When he stops unloading inside you, he moves slowly, thrusting a few times shallowly. A part of him wants to look at the way his seed drips from your pussy but he didn't want to move away from you.

You both pant with eyes closed as your breathing begins to even out. Simon slowly pulls out and you hiss at the feel of his cock leaving you empty. You look down and see his cock covered in his cum and yours.

Your head falls back down to the pillow, eyes closing shut. Simon stares at the ceiling and huff, righting himself. You feel him plant a kiss to your forehead as the bed dips.

"'M gonna go clean us up, yeah? You stay there." You hear him step into the bathroom, going to wash himself and grab a clean towel to clean up your mess. By the time he came back, you had already passed out, judging by the sound of your low snores.

He begins to wipe your thighs and try to dry the surrounding areas as best he can. He'll change the sheets later when you're well-rested. Simon climbs into bed, hugging you to him. He runs his fingers through your hair, slowly unknotting them one by one.

He stares at your sleeping from and grins. Lowering his lips to yours, he keeps them there for a few seconds.

"I love you."

You can only mumble in response, too tired to properly articulate the words.

"I love you too, Simon."

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader #cod ghost x reader #sgtales

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agendabymooner · 11 months

Text

closure ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

“it wasn't right—the way it all went down. looks like you know that now.”

summary: sylvie just wanted to prove that she was good enough for the red bull racing team, but everything that had to do with her history with max seemed to get in the way of her determination— and she made sure that he knew that.

content warning: panic attack (and its triggers), use of explicit language, mentions of absent father figure, j*s verst*ppen 🤢, christian horner, frenemies to lovers (ish), confrontational text messages (max and sylvie), max being oblivious to her mental state, mentions of max’s childhood (not detailed)

note: as someone who struggled to find peace at certain situations, I know what it’s like to struggle in asking for help. please remember that there are people that are more than willing to give you the support that you need.

(i may not be able to update any of the smau works for the next two weeks as i am out of town and i only have my ipad with me. i normally do the layouts on my computer. i’ll try my best!)

enjoy xx

masterlist

2016 Spanish GP

If fate worked like this all the time, she might as well jump off the cliff if any of her peers asked for it.

She had been pulled out of her lectures for the week only for her to sit and watch how the racing teams operated. She could only roll her eyes when Christian Horner recommended she should have her presence be known in the paddock and the track as she prepared to work in an F1 team.

Sylvie already knew how everything worked; she was going to be a driver, for fuck’s sake. She had been trained for it. She grew up attending the race weekends because of her father and grandparents. She knew everything now. Hell, she even had Toto Wolff for an in-law (practically). He could just rerun everything to her if she needed to remember.

Christian Horner clearly had a different intention towards her visit. He claimed that she needed to relive the experiences in the garage, the media pit and the hospitality. But she knew the truth.

She had a rapport, her history in the academy was obviously discussed to Christian at some point. How Christian never mentioned anything about her departure from the program to her sister, who now held parts of Red Bull and the other two teams, she never had an answer for. It wasn’t a secret to most. At least to those who were there the day she left.

Tilly was in the Mercedes area, leaving her little sister in the Red Bull hospitality as she listened to nothing. She felt so alone and isolated, her urge to go to Mercedes was overwhelming. But it wasn’t as if she could; Christian had already told her off about her role and position in the company.

It didn’t help that Max Verstappen, donning his number 33 shirt, was in the same building. He was quite adamant on keeping her company but she constantly avoided him, slipping out of his sight as soon as his eyes settled on her.

She found excuses, most of which had something to do with Daniel Ricciardo. The Australian hadn’t minded though, knowing that she felt uncomfortable being around other people especially around Max. Daniel never minded her excuses, instead making up a lie that’s believable to others. Just so she could escape.

Max’s family was there that weekend. Obviously, she knew his mother and Victoria, his sister. Max and Sylvie, the two 18 year olds, were practically soul twins. Born on the same day, grew up together, and had been attached to the hips since the day they could crawl— they were friends, no one just knew what had happened. His mother had always asked Sylvie’s mum about her and how she’d managed to let her friendship with Max dissipate like that. Victoria missed having Sylvie over for tea whenever she visited the Netherlands, asking Max about what he had done to let Sylvie go like that.

Jos Verstappen was a different story. He never liked Sylvie, only holding a certain amount of respect for Julius Hearth and Blanche Ford Hearth. He always wanted Max to be successful at motorsport and this meant that nobody could be as equally good as his son. Not especially when Max’s ability matched Sylvie’s. He always claimed that hanging out with “that girl” will simply distract Max.

Even if he nodded at his father’s direction, Max continued to be friends with Sylvie, spending more time together whenever she and her family would fly and meet with his family.

At the ripe age of 12, Max admitted to her that she’s the closest thing that he had to an imaginary friend. Like he was forced to grow up before he could even walk. She was the one who would pull up the PlayStation whenever he failed to please his father for the tournament of that time. Jos never liked her, but he didn’t know exactly what could’ve made him dislike her. Sylvie didn’t like him, either, because she couldn’t believe that she was the one who’d have to give Max the childhood that he deserved. There are times when she wished she could simply spew out the foulest words and lump him with her own father. Well… she had already considered him a shitty father, and there’s no changing of opinion now.

So for Sylvie to see Jos in the paddock, basically keeping his eye on his son like a pestering hawk? Yeah, she turned away from their direction.

Then another group of people came, the same arrogant smile all over their faces. They taunted her.

She could remember her last week at the academy, when she had enough. These boys questioned her abilities on the track as soon as she started, trying to get her to quit as soon as she could. She didn’t care about them, because whenever they’d race she remained on the top of their level. They hated her because of it. Then on her last day, she was left to be called a name that didn’t even fit her…

“Snake Sylvie!” Matt Bauer was what she called Max’s bitch. He never liked Sylvie and had always wanted to be in Max’s family’s good graces. Alongside him were Max’s two other friends. These three were the same incompetent fucks who never ended in Formula 2. Thus, ending their racing careers early. They were doing fuck knows what these days. Which was quite hilarious, if you were to ask Sylvie, because they were the ones who kept telling Max to “Keep working” or “toughen up and get the first place.”

She couldn’t remember their names when she met them again that weekend, her eyes were already blurry from the tears as she shoved her way through them. “Where are you going?! We’re just going to catch up, babe!”

She didn’t even stop, her feet speeding up as she attempted to wipe her tears away. Her lips let out a stutter of excuse me as she pushed her way into where the Mercedes garage was.

Second free practice didn’t start anytime soon and Sylvie was thankful for that. It, however, never stopped the camera by the engineering station from capturing the sounds of a sobbing girl and an image of her nearly soaked Red Bull shirt as she ran inside. Had she been stronger than this, she wouldn’t have ran to Toto.

As if he knew someone was coming his way, Toto Wolff immediately took his headphones off and turned. His face etched with worry as Sylvie wrapped her arms around his broad figure. She was hysterically sobbing and shaking, her tears almost soaking his white shirt as she kept her head tucked in his chest.

“Can we stop the camera? There’s an obvious situation going on in here and we need a moment,” Sylvie couldn’t hear his voice as it was something more of a rumbling noise. Meanwhile Toto’s stern expression made the cameraman do as he was told. “Hey, schwester, are you okay?”

She was relentless, sobbing as she kept her head down and her arms tightly wrapped around him. She couldn’t speak. Not breathe for that matter. It felt like the last day of the academy all over again. Having no voice felt like she was just as defenseless once more.

“Sylvie, do you want me to take you to your hospitality?” Her bloodshot red eyes, still tearing up, stared into his dark ones as her lips quivered and her head shook left and right. “Do you want your sister?”

Toto knew that the Mercedes hospitality was nearer to the Red Bull area than the Mercedes garage. So for her to go this far just for comfort… something told him that she didn’t want to stress out the pregnant woman and that she needed more than her sister.

He pursed his lips, feeling helpless as he kept an arm around her shoulder as they walked out of the garage. He nodded at his engineers as if he was letting them know about leaving for a moment.

He did his best at comforting her. Rubbed her back, shushing her quietly and gently leading her to the hospitality. People outdoors had gotten a glimpse of her situation and began to speculate, which forced her to hide her face once more as Toto glared at them.

“Come on, schatzi,” inside nobody had batted an eye on her. And instead of speculating, certain people merely looked at the two with concern. What the hell happened, they probably asked themselves.

She was too busy crying and hiding her face away that she hadn’t realized Tilly was already approaching the two. Sylvie didn’t look up until she heard, “What happened, bello?”

“She came to the garage,” Toto said quietly, looking down at his in-law with concern as he said, “she couldn’t say anything because she’s having a hard time breathing.”

“Oh, lovie,” Tilly whispered empathetically, her delicate figure reaching out to hug her little sister, “I’m sorry to hear that. Come, let’s sit down, yes?”

Sylvie could barely think throughout the process of moving from one place to another. They reached the Mercedes motorhome and found themselves in a private room, Sylvie’s lips were swollen and her tear-stained cheeks were red.

She wasn’t even aware that Toto left until his tall figure returned with two bottles of water in his hands. He simply placed it down on the empty table and exchanged looks with his girlfriend. They couldn’t even find a way to help her out of this.

“Listen, Sylvie,” the girl’s sobbing subsided for a moment as Toto said, “I will come back. Okay? I will check and make sure that you’re alright, but I have to go.”

“Yes, go,” Tilly nodded at him, “I’ll be here. Thank you for taking her to me, mon amour.”

“Alright, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Toto murmured as he leaned down and pecked Tilly’s lips. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Tilly smiled ruefully, her eyes trained on her little sister as Toto moved to stand and hug Sylvie. Sylvie could only hug his waist, not wanting to let go but had done so anyway.

“Take some time to breathe, lovie,” Toto said for the last time before he left hesitantly.

Nobody but the two were inside the motorhome, thankfully. Sylvie would be so embarrassed to cry in front of other people— as she had done so ten minutes ago. The silence was interrupted by Sylvie’s sobbing. Tilly couldn’t help but wrap her arm around Sylvie’s shoulders, trying to occupy as much space as a pregnant woman could. God, this was the only thing that she didn’t like about her pregnancy. She wasn’t able to comfort her sisters or anyone as much as she’d like to do.

The model couldn’t even think or try to let out a single word, only crying in her sister’s arms as she listened to her shushing. It didn’t take long until the tears dried up. Her energy drained from crying too much over some fuckers who couldn’t even make it to the podium. Them, and that one person would be able to do that on Sunday.

With exhaustion washing over her, her sniffles turned into something more silent as she shut her eyes. It didn’t take long for Tilly to notice this as she stood up, giving more space to the girl on the couch. “Get some rest, lovie,” Tilly said quietly, brushing Sylvie’s hair away as the girl drifted off to sleep.

She really didn’t like being here in Spain.

—

Argument just outside the motorhome was what had woken her up. It was normal to have frustrated drivers or team principals throw a bitch fit, but hearing an argument was a different story.

Her eyes stung from opening after her post-crying nap, her feet meeting the floor as she popped the lid of the bottle open, her parched body taking in the water that she swallowed.

She liked eavesdropping, she really did. She liked to provide her own input even if it’s not needed— she was nosey and everyone knew that. But what she had gone through just about an hour or so ago made her lose the energy and motivation to be her usual self.

It didn’t stop her from walking closer to the door and listening in to whatever argument was going on.

“She’s here to observe and work, she’s not here to spectate,” that was Christian Horner.

“But she’s not feeling well, Christian, she has to rest,” now that’s her favourite in-law. Not really in-law.

“Look, I get that you’re looking out for her but you have to understand,” Christian hissed, “she’ll be signing with Red Bull as soon as she graduates. I cannot have her working with the team if you’re constantly mollycoddling her just because you’re the closest that she has to a father figure. This is a professional work setting, Toto, and she needs to be disciplined to be a part of it.”

“Disciplined, in what way?” The sternness on Toto’s voice could kill, unless you’re just as stupid as Christian as Sylvie heard a scoff coming out of the Red Bull team principal’s mouth.

“Everybody’s going through tough times,” Christian said, “so what? Most of us are moving along anyways. Don’t treat her like a child and make exemptions. She’s never going to learn how to toughen up from it.”

“Hey!” Another voice rung out as the door opened slightly, making her step back as she heard an exclamation of, “That girl was distressed after she left your area— the place where she’s supposed to feel comfortable working in. It’s not her responsibility to bear the problems that are clearly happening within the area of your control, so don’t you tell us how to accommodate if you can barely take care of it. Alright?”

“Fuckin’ prick,” the door slammed shut as Sylvie’s figure remained frozen, her eyes watching as they met Lewis’ dark ones. He smiled gently and asked, “Hey. Are you feeling better now, sweetheart?”

She didn’t respond for a moment after she heard Toto say, “Just give it a rest. She’ll work on what she has to do, just let it go for now. Speak to Tilly, if you would like.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Lewis pulled her back to the couch and sat with her. He leaned back as he joked, “Lovers’ quarrel is what’s going on between the two.”

She chuckled quietly, unable to keep her facade. The laughter fell eventually as she muttered, “I didn’t mean to create such a scene. I’m sorry.”

“What? Hey, girl, no,” Lewis felt his heart break at her words as he reached and rubbed her shoulder for comfort. “Don’t be sorry for snapping. It’s brave of you to keep it together in the first place.”

“I really didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it,” her voice cracked as she tried not to cry. Thinking about it was exhausting and saddening. “It’s just— there’s—“

“It’s okay, take a deep breath,” Lewis told her softly. She did as she was told. Many would say that it’s a rare thing to happen but Sylvie listened.

“There’s just people,” Sylvie explained quietly, not looking at Lewis as she murmured, “I haven’t seen them for a while and… I felt so uneasy. Like it’s the final nail in the coffin. I didn’t want to make a big deal because it was at Red Bull. Nobody’s in there. Toto, you and Tilly are in Mercedes.”

“Sorry we couldn’t be there,” Lewis told her sympathetically. “But it’s a good idea that you went to the garage as quickly as you did. Now look, even Christian’s facing Toto’s wrath.”

“I don’t want to think about it anymore,” Sylvie whispered shakily, shutting her eyes close as she sighed, “I just want some closure.”

The next few days were dreadful. She hadn’t wanted to go back to England as much as she did that weekend.

The people she never wanted to see were there. The sad part of it was the fact that Max would continue to be a part of her life and job, whether she liked it or not. She’d have to tolerate him, no matter how much shit she had gone through because of him and those people around him. This was the second time she had seen him and felt so angry. It was like her life was a race. It starts out very well, with her at the pole. But then she crashes the moment she tries to take advantage and overtake.

On Sunday, Max landed in P1. Sylvie watched him pop the cork of the Moet out and showered his fellow podium winners with it. The text that she then received and sent spilled everything that had nothing to do with champagne. But rather explained how she ended up leaving the academy after that damn open tournament four years ago.

Max complains a lot, he could admit, but he never felt so guilty as much as he did when he practically berated her through a series of text messages. He always demanded answers to things that he believed had explanations, and he wouldn’t stop until he got it. But sometimes he wished his relentless demands were silenced by his conscience.

He felt extremely guilty and upset. It wasn’t because Sylvie Hearth refused to give in to his demands, but rather because her answers explained her hatred and anger. It wasn’t just any anger. It was an ounce of hatred and a lot of anger directed towards him.

Because really, he was the reason why Sylvie never turned out to be the first woman to become a Formula One driver. She never got the seat in Red Bull Racing and Max had gotten it instead. Now he understood why she would refuse to speak to or look at him as if they were childhood best friends and act like they were strangers.

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oliveroctavius · 8 months

Note

Doesn't the decision to get involved with Sam Bullit prove Gwen was a bad person?

Hey, I've been looking for an excuse to post about this. The Sam Bullit arc isn't really about Gwen (though it certainly reveals some things about her character). The Sam Bullit arc is about racist dogwhistles and why they work.

ASM #92 pg 19: "I will bring law and order to the people of this great city! I will show no mercy to the anarchists and all others who would destroy our way of life!"

Bullit's platform is not openly white supremacist in the sense that it doesn't overtly mention race. He talks about laws and safety in a way meant to appeal to rich white voters. The true meaning should be clear to anyone with any political awareness (who are those others and what is our way of life?), so why does this rhetoric attract "otherwise rational" people?

ASM #91 pg 6: "I want to volunteer to help you--in your campaign for DA. Because--I want you to bring Spider-Man to justice!" "We need strength--strength to punish those who mock the law! I will use such strength to bring Spider-Man and others like him to justice! I will not betray your trust."

Gwen makes her decision to back Bullit on the way home from her father's funeral. There's a very real phenomenon of tough-on-crime bills named after (white) murder victims. The grief of families who feel like justice hasn't been served is a powerful tool to push harsh laws while smothering any criticism as "disrespectful" to the victims. What’s in a Name? An Empirical Analysis of Apostrophe Laws, 2020.

Bullit showed up at George Stacy's funeral with this exact goal in mind, and when Spider-Man "kidnaps" Gwen later, he leverages the media obsession with white girls in danger for his cause. Gwen is a pawn, but she did offer her help first. Her desire for closure is very human and her short-sighted reactionary faith in "the law" is very white.

Oddly absent from your "proven bad person" takeaway is J. Jonah Jameson. The Bugle lends Bullit a platform to make Gwen's personal tragedy a political talking point. JJJ has the ~Black best friend~ excuse and everything, and he still blows past red flags like crazy.

ASM #91 pg 7: "Maybe they were better days than now! At least we had law and order then." "Yeah--and lynch mobs, and bread lines, and Uncle Toms..." "Come off it, Robbie! What's wrong with a man standing for law and order, anyway?" "Maybe it just depends on whose law--and what kind of order you're talkin' about, man!"

(Another point of this arc: marginalized groups learn to recognize dogwhistles pretty quickly for survival reasons. If they tell you something is a dogwhistle and you don't see it yet, look closer.)

ASM #92 pg 9: "Parker's story just served to open Jameson's eyes--but I've kept a dossier on you. I haven't been city editor all these years for nothing! I know where your support comes from. I know about the lunatic hate groups who are backing you. I know what you really mean by law and order!"

Late in the campaign, the Bugle switches sides. This scene tends to be described as JJJ giving the racists what-for, but the moment is truly Robbie's. (Note that it took Peter getting roughed up for Jameson to take this seriously!) JJJ can yell at Bullit all he likes without consequences, but Robbie is kidnapped and threatened by white supremacists in retaliation. It's Robbie's determination to speak up that eventually puts Bullit out of the running for good.

The Bullit arc isn't there to sort characters by Bad Person and Good Person. Neither Gwen nor JJJ have to personally hate black people for their self-centered sense of safety to be weaponized by a racist agenda. This is a Stan Lee PSA about masked bigotry and how it might appeal to you even if you consider yourself a Good Person.

But for some ~mysterious~ reason, Gwen's brief agreement and Jameson's brief rejection are the only parts of these two issues I ever see brought up, with Robbie's major role not mentioned at all. Some ideas fit more neatly than others into smug ship-war quote tweets and anon asks, it seems.

#olivertxt #comics #reductionist takes from people who clearly do not care about this arc have been getting under my skin for ages #gwen stacy #robbie robertson #jjj #/ racism

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wanderingpages · 11 months

Note

peach!! can you write a car sex jurdan smut? it can be short but the concept is so sexy 😭 on my knees rn

∞

“You’re trouble,” Cardan had told me minutes prior, but he repeats it now, more wary than he had been when he said it by the bar. Maybe I had used him then, because it sounded like flirting to me and I so badly needed his help. It’s how I’d always gotten what I needed before. Maybe I thought he was no different, so I took him down to a hall no one ever used and pressed him up against the wall. I smiled at him, feeling shy from his attention but not wanting to admit it. My hands had wound around his neck, and his fingertips traced up my shoulder, guiding my hair to one side. He placed a kiss on my throat and I felt it in the pit of my stomach. Then further up he trailed his soft lips and I gasped. I gripped at his hair to guide his lips to mine. He tasted heady and like the scotch I had given him. Cardan had cradled the back of my head, tilting me as he pressed his tongue into my mouth to open and deepen the kiss. He felt like mine, I felt a little guilty answering his question.

“Jude,” he had murmured against my skin, kissing a patch from my mouth to my throat, then his lips were by my ears and he asked, “What do you want from me, princess?” When I told him, he immediately fell back, only half in a daze but vehemently shaking his no – but I won in the end, because here we are, where I asked to be. I feel only a little remorseful and he’s telling me I’m trouble again.

I tilt my body, trying to get a closer look at the scene, but no matter how much I shift and turn, I can’t quite make out who my father is with, nor what he’s saying. My finger absently finds the buttons on the side of the car, but before I can lower the window, Cardan takes hold of my wrist. I’m already practically on top of him, my knees bracing against the console from the passenger’s side, and a hand planted firmly onto his lap. So it shouldn’t bother me when he pulls me closer, tightening his hold on me. Cardan’s warm fingers encircle my wrists, his thumb right where my veins sing.

I’m alive, he should note. I give him a look, eyes unable to stray too far from his still pink and swollen lips. I did that, I think to myself. I wonder how many other can say the same. And then I realize I don’t actually want to consider that at all. Cardan narrows his dark eyes at me, “Don’t even think about it, Jude.” My name on his tongue always felt like sin, but it’s when he teases me with my pseudo-reign that I feel like penance should only a breath away.

“But -” my mouth feels dry, searching for excuses but he shakes his head, halting my explanation.

“We’re not even supposed to be here,” he seethes, “and if you think we’re not being watched right now, you’re sorely mistaking.” I find myself pouting when he firmly guides me back into my seat, forcing me to gather the rest of my surroundings. We’re in a secluded area, backroads lined with trash bags and oily pathways between buildings. My father is currently having a “business meeting,” as he explained before abruptly leaving. I’ve only ever seen business meetings that take place between alleyways in movies that involve the mob.

When I tell Cardan this, pointedly looking at my father’s silhouette, he gives me a dry kind of look I choose to ignore. So long as he’s looking at me, I suppose. He was left in charge of watching over the club in Dad’s absence, but we both knew it just meant watching over me. I was working the bar tonight, a job my father now is incredibly annoyed with, despite the fact it had been his suggested punishment for my overspending a bit.

“Just because there’s no limit does not mean you get to test that theory, Jude.” I roll my eyes now, because jokes on him; I'm a hit at parties now that I know to mix drinks and do little flairs that I’m quite proud of. I like to impress Cardan with them when he leaves Dad’s office and orders something boring on the rocks. I’m nearly positive that’s the charm that had him following me to that hall and led to him driving me right where we are currently parked.

“Haven’t you heard the saying? Curiosity killed the girl.”

“It does not go like that,” I tell Cardan, unamused.

I’m no idiot, I know Madoc’s club is only half of where our family income comes from, and the guests he entertains in the VIP section are never just guests. Business partners maybe, buyers or sellers, I could never tell. It was the same as usual until Dad had gotten a phone call in the middle of his hosting. It had seemed as if he had been waiting for the call all evening. However, him leaving abruptly made me too antsy to stand idle and make vodka cranberries all night. It always felt like the entire staff was in on a big secret I wasn’t apart of. It didn’t help that lately, Dad had been a little worn down, coming home tired or frustrated, answering calls curtly, stuck in his own head looking haggard. I’m allowed to worry.

“You didn’t,” Cardan says, pausing the sudden gnawing I’d been doing on my bottom lip, “by the way. Your bar tricks are not what got you into my car.” I guess he’s a mind reader now too.

“You’re telling me you weren’t impressed with my juggling?” I didn’t even break a bottle this time.

He sighs, “you probably could have just asked and I’d taken you.” I raise an eyebrow, not believing him since even with all my womanly whiles and eccentric charm, I still had to plead with him to get out here. The side of his lip tilts up in a smirk. “I just like watching you beg.” He shrugs, “So, you would have begged.” His warm voice sends a shiver down my spine. “Maybe I would have gotten you on your knees.” He could still get me on my knees if he asked nicely, but I don’t tell him that. Cardan glances out the window, making a face at the two men. “There’s no point in being here if you can’t even hear what’s being said.”

I nod at this, finding my composure. “Exactly, Mr. Greenbriar.” I grin, “We should move closer.”

“No,” he tells me. He fumbles for the lock but my door is swung open before he manages to press the button. His eyes widen, “Jude,” he scowls quietly when I give him a triumphant grin. Without waiting, I duck for cover, sneaking up closer to the building. “Fuck me,” I hear Cardan moan. “Jude, you idiot,” he mutters, silently getting out of the car and following me. When he’s caught up, he pushes me behind him as we near the corner of the building. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

“Are you not carrying?” I ask a bit startled. “Wait so that wasn’t a gun in your pocket? You really were excited to see me?” His hand comes over my mouth, and my eyes widen in shock, absolutely enthralled with the way he’s decided to manhandle me tonight. I’m always the one testing boundaries, so maybe my heart pounds a little faster at our proximity more than the shooters probably ready to gun us down – if Cardan is right about us being watched.

“Have you always been this bratty?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him instead of giving him an actual answer. He looks heavenwards before moving to stand behind me. One hand is now across my chest, the other still firmly over my mouth. I lick him but he doesn’t let off. “Of course, I’m armed, but I’m not Superman, princess. I don’t even think I have 15 rounds,” he says the last part more to himself, but that’s news to me anyways.

We lean closer to the alleyway, bracing our shoulders on to the bricks of the building. Whatever Dad and his friend are talking about is only slightly less muffled than before. Its longer than I expect to finally make out pretty keywords like “shipment” and “missing equipment,” and then something that has me ridged.

“You have three daughters don’t you, Madoc?”

“Don’t bring them into this,” Dad responds clearly. My heart beats even faster, I'm all too aware of Cardan’s palm searing hot against the unsteady thumping. He pulls me even tighter against him. Dad says, “I came in good faith to hear you out. You’re the one who lost my supplies.”

“You’re the one who lost two of my guys,” the other man counters, not really angry and seemingly uncaring for the men in question. He makes my skin crawl on sight alone.

“That’s not my -”

The other man holds up a finger, cutting my father off, offending me in the process. His phone had been ringing and Cardan stiffens, as the man answers, eyes still boring holes into my father. “Yes…really? Okay...” He hangs up and tilts his head, “Good faith? Someone’s tailing us.”

“I didn’t -” whatever my dad says, I don’t get to hear. Cardan is cursing, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me towards the car. It’s a struggle because my entire body wants to run to Dad, but the hold Cardan has on me is iron tight. A shot goes off and my body seizes. My eyes go so wide they hurt. I only wanted to know what Dad was hiding, wanted in on the big secret everyone knew but me – wanted some type of undeniable proof so he couldn’t brush this away, brush me away. More shots are fired and I’m too far to know who’s shooting at who.

Cardan pulls open the car door and shoves me in before rushing to the other side. I don’t even have my seatbelt on when he pulls out of the spot. I hear more bangs ricocheting and panic begins to set in, “Cardan! Dad -”

“He’s fine – Balekin wasn’t lying.”

“Balekin?”

Cardan doesn’t exactly answer me, but continues, “Madoc definitely brought back up. No good faith and all that.” He waves his hand and it freaks me out that both hands are not on the steering wheel. It also unnerves me that Cardan knows my Dad’s tells more than me. “We, on the other hand…” he trails off, shifting gears and stepping on the gas. My heart flies into my throat. I hurriedly manage to snap on the seatbelt, but even then, I don’t think that’ll protect me at all if Cardan decides to bend us into a tree or light pole or worse – another vehicle. “God,” he mutters, “you’re so reckless, Jude” he mumbles, “absolute fucking brat,” he continues. My cheeks flare pink but I hold my tongue, scared I might vomit if I talk. I grip at the leather seats so tight I feel my knuckles start to cramp. “And me – I follow you like a fucking dog.” Outside is a blur of lights and the night sky. I'm too scared to look at the speedometer but I know it’s beyond what the legal limit is. The one reprieve is that the road is clear for now.

“I think where in a fifty zone,” I finally manage in a squeak. Cardan side eyes me and I let out a yelp, “Oh my god, pay attention to the road!”

My hysterical tone eases him somehow, because he begins to relax. He eyes the rear view mirror and shrugs, taking a hand off the steering wheel again. My heart is beating so fast that my eyes seem to shake at every little pump. “We’re good,” he lets me know. He smirks at me and when I look sick at his lack of attention to the road, he tells me, “Crack the widow, let your hair down and all.” He does it for me with his free hand reaching to the top of my head, pulling at the clip securing my bun. It unravels just as the window slides down. Air gusts through my hair and stings my face.

My ears are filled with the rush of wind. “I…” My words are lost in the noise.

“It’s okay, princess, I’m a good driver,” he promises.

“What are you,” I manage, hoarse, “Dad’s getaway driver?” he shifts gears and I'm seeing double. Soon we’ll be doing donuts in the parking lot.

He shrugs, “When he needs me to be.” I remember what he said about curiosity killing the girl and that must explain the stroke I’m having. I feel like an idiot – a little girl trying to be much bigger than she is. What the hell would Dad even say if I go to him about tonight? He’d probably gaslight me. I shakily look back, wondering if we’re being followed. I calm when I see that its just us. “Do you trust me?”

I nod my head and settle back into the seat. I try to get my mind off of this, thinking about our kiss from earlier instead. Had only an hour passed since then? I should apologize for leading him on only to get him here. Except I hadn’t really led him on. I’ve wanted Cardan since the moment Dad introduced us. I think him working directly under my father only fueled my desire more. It felt very taboo. However, those thoughts only race my pulse for a completely different reason. Slowly, I release my death grip on the seat and hold my hand out to Cardan. He raises a brow, but takes it anyway, letting me squeeze it tightly. “Yeah,” I whisper. I clear my throat, “I trust you.”

There’s a lot to take in, but I'm trying to stabilize my pulse instead. It’s like an onslaught of adrenaline wafting through me repeatedly and I can’t find a release. The car rolls to a stop just off the highway and into the cover of trees and shrubbery, This feels like an illegal spot to park, but what do I know? I watch in a stupor as the slim needle on the dashboard falls from somewhere in the hundreds down, down, down to 0. I find myself absolutely petrified but yet a giggle escapes me. Suddenly, I have this uncontrollable urge to laugh because if I don’t, I think I might cry.

“Are you okay?” Cardan reaches over and unclips my belt. He then brushes my hair back, forcing my gaze to his. He thumbs at my eyes, tearing up from the wind, and not at all because of the emotional turmoil I’m going through.

The rush that had been whipping past my ear had been halted so suddenly that my head begins to sway. I turn to look at him, uncaring for once how unput together I must look. “Dad…”

“He’s fine,” Cardan says again, sure of himself. “Are you?”

“Not dead,” I confirm, and he gives my hand a little squeeze. I give him a dazed look, and then, I smile softly at him. It must have been what he was waiting for. In one swift motion, Cardan tugs me over the console, guiding me to straddle is lap. My skirt hikes up and Cardan only pushes it up higher. There’s a pulse between my legs and when he pulls me down, his breath tickles my skin, filling me with heat all the way to the pit of my stomach.

“You’re okay,” he tells me quietly. “It’s okay, Jude.” I nod, placing my hands in his shoulder, fingers teasing at his dark curls. I stare at his neck, at the tendon there that I want to place my lip against. I bend down to do just that, letting his steady pulse beat against my skin. “Jude,” he murmurs, tilting his head to give me more access. When I press my lips on his skin, he sucks in a breath.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, leaning up.

His hands run up my thighs, and if I had survived a shootout and a lone speed race, I don’t think I can survive Cardan and the way he looks at me right now. “For what?”

“Using you?”

Cardan chuckles, and reaches one hand up, working at the buttons of my shirt. Slowly, he pushes it off my shoulders, letting the material fall to the floor, all the while he’s admiring the swell of my breasts, contained only by sheer white lace. He looks up at me, gauging my come down from the adrenaline. I’m still utterly tweaked, and every touch of his is no help at all. My skin is on fire everywhere his fingertips touch. He teases a digit over my breast, up my neck and to my chin, pinching it between his fingers and pulling me forward. “I don’t think it counts,” he tells me. “I would have done this anyway,” he reminds me.

“Oh,” is all I can say.

His lips graze against mine and there’s a heat pooling between my legs. I shift, only to find him already hard and straining in his jeans. “Tell me to stop,” he mouths against me. I don’t. My eyes flutter and I hold on to him tighter. I pick at the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them until my cool hands can press firmly to his hard chest. His muscle seem to tighten when I graze them. Cardan holds my wrist gently this time, guiding it further down to his navel. “Come on princess, tell me this is a bad idea.” I stay silent. Even if it was a bad idea, I won’t let it stop. “Then open your mouth for me.”

My lips part for him and when our tongues meet, Cardan moans softly. He pulls me in closer, nipping at my bottom lip, sucking on it until my toes curl. His hand on my thigh slides over my ass and between my legs from behind. His fingers deftly rubbing at the already wet cotton and I gasp out, arching my neck, letting him trace his tongue down my skin. He pulls down a strap of my bra with his free hand, meeting my eyes and keeping my gaze as he lowers his head to kiss the tip of my breast. I inhale when his tongue laves my nipple, drawing it into his mouth. He sucks gently at first, finger rubbing over me just as soft. Then, he tugs my underwear to the side, now parting my pussy just as he begins to suck on me harder.

He makes a noise that vibrates against my skin. I hold his head against me, nearly close to weeping. His teeth graze my skin and I jump, hitting my head against the ceiling of the car. He pulls away from me, his lips obscenely wet and his eyes lidded. He reaches up, rubbing my head before feeling the side of his seat and pulling a lever to slowly recline the seat. “Sorry,” he says and I laugh, despite the ache in my breast and the throb in my pussy. I bite at my lip and undo his belt. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells me and my skin heats up. He pulls the other side of my bra down while I stroke his stiff cock. “Beautiful,” he repeats, I'm dripping between my thighs and his finger rubs me faster.

I go in for another kiss. Not short and sweet like I had been intending. This time Cardan kisses me rough and hard. There’s passion and ache between us. He reaches down to align the head of his cock where it needs to be. He rubs the tip between my slit with one hand, the other moves to come between us, rubbing soft circles into my clit. My knees strain on either side of him, and I let out a whimper when he teases the head shallowly. My hand finds his shoulders, and I cry out when he thrusts upwards, impaling me in one swift movement.

“Cardan!” My head falls forward, into his neck, and I try to muffle the cry into his skin. He gives me little time to adjust before he pulls out and slams back in. My muscles pulse when he pauses again, gripping him in spasms. He groans wrapping his arms around my back, moving me to his pace now, and I try to keep up with his steady pounding, but all I can find the energy to do is lay on top of him and take it as the length of him rubs every tender spot within me. I’m groaning and panting and he’s whispering my name.

“Jude…” my nipples feel so tender, brushing against his chest at every thrust, “God – you take me so good, don’t you?” I feel like I’m being spilt in two and its absolutely delicious. “Does that feel good, princess?”

“Yes,” I say, breathing hard. He thrusts into me harder, and harder and swear he’s rocking the car, but I want more of him, so much more. “Yes – Cardan…” my eyes get glassy, and I shut them tight, pressing my head onto his shoulder. He slows down and grabs hold of my hair, pulling my head back. The slower he moves the deeper he seems to go; the tip of his dick kissing at my womb. I whimper, fingers flexing against his skin

“Look at me,” he whispers, sweat sheening his body now, slick and warm. His eyes are wild and full of lust and I'm so gone for him, so absolutely gone for this man. “Tell me,” Cardan requests in a slur. “Say it again.”

“It feels… so good,” I manage, “ah… more,” I beg and he’s ramming into me now, so hard and rough and then I say, “faster… please…” and it’s so frantic that I grab on to the headrest, bracing myself so I could take everything he gives me. There’s a tight knot at the pit of my stomach, and my cunt is dripping onto him. My heart hasn’t calmed down since the first gunshot but I find that I don’t mind the intense thumping anymore; it makes me feel so alive instead of being on the verge of death.

“Come for me, baby,” Cardan orders. He fucks me so recklessly, and his shaft rubs against my throbbing clit at every deep stroke. I feel delirious, holding my breath and clenching my stomach.

“Ah,” I cry out, back arching. His hand in my hair loosens to roam down my body. “I…Oh,” I bite at my lips, feeling the start of an orgasm that wouldn’t quite come. “I don’t know if I…” my confession trails off as I fall back with his guidance, careful not to honk the horn. He slows down again, torturing me. His finger finds my hardened clit and I scream when he presses down on it.

“You can,” Cardan lets me know. “You will,” he promises, in a breath. “For me, just for me.” My hands are frantic, unsure of what to hold onto. He pulls them around his neck, bringing me over him again. “I can go as long as it takes, princess,” he says into my ear before he kisses me there, then lower until his teeth latches on to the curve of my neck, all while fucking me hard and deep and so dirty, driving into me with little mercy. I’ve forgotten my name, it must be Princess with how much he says it. But it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, just him being inside of me does.

He fucks me endlessly and I bite down on his neck, mirroring him, screaming when I come. It feels so intense, I see stars as I shudder uncontrollably. Cardan cries out too, slamming into me one last time, his climax mixing with mine and it seems unending when I shudder again, tightening my thighs against his. I gasp again when my stomach clenches, “Cardan,” I whimper, slowly coming down.

Cardans hand brushes down my back, soothing me as we both try to catch our breaths. He gently lifts me up, letting his cock slip from me. Come drips out of me, pouring onto him but he doesn’t care and I don’t think I care either. He smooths my hair back and pulls me in for a kiss, soft and slow this time. He reaches between us, and my body jolts when he pets my pussy, rubbing at the soreness sure to come soon. When we pull away, I ask, “Where did that come from?”

“Long time in the making,” he grins wryly, “you already knew that though.” I roll my eyes but jump at the vibration in his pants. His phone was buzzing. He pauses his hand on me and reaches into his pocket awkwardly. It’s my dad’s name on the screen and my cheek runs from a soft blush to full on crimson. Cardan unlocks it and reads the message. He looks up at me warily. “He’s asking why you left early from the bar.”

“Tell him I went for a ride.” I grin.

Cardan fights a smile, muttering, “trouble,” like a praise as he begins to type.

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her-storybooks · 2 years

Text

Self-Made: Aaron Hotchner and Y/N

Summary: Prompt – Making Something For Someone Else. The BAU gets a visitor who tares through the bullpen and leaves everyone in puddles of mush and exploded hearts. Be Warned: Major Fluff ahead! Author's Notes: When I tell you this made me broody, you better believe it.

The squeal from Penelope was what alerted Y/N to the visitor in the BAU. She jumped up and down excitedly making Y/N laugh and turn in her chair.

“Baby Hotchner!” Garcia gushed, opening arms as Jack leaped from his father’s embrace and into magical Aunty Penelope’s cuddles.

“Well, hey there little man!” Morgan greeted, rustling Jack’s hair as Penelope picked him up.

“Hi.” He greeted in his small cheeky voice.

“I thought it was your day off?” Y/N raised an eyebrow as Hotch walked into the bullpen in his jeans and t-shirt.

“Jack wanted to come and say hi.” He shrugged.

“Or you wanted to come and check up on us, and you’re using your sweet innocent son as an excuse.” Y/N jibed as she crossed her arms.

“I am offended at the suggestion.” Hotch grumped falsely. “I’ll have you know; Jack and I were busy all morning making something very special for you all.” Hotch’s hand appeared from behind his back, presenting a large paper bag with mystery goodies inside.

“Presents!” Garcia beamed as she tickled Jack’s sides. He laughed ferociously as he wriggled out of her trap and ran over to his dad.

“I want to give them out!” he ordered his dad.

“Okay, okay.” His dad hushed pulling out the first wrapped box and handing it to his son. “You remember where Miss Jereau’s office is?”

“Miss Jereau?” his son scrunched his face.

“Henry’s mum.” Aaron reminded him, confused at his son’s forgetful memory.

“That’s not her name!” Jack laughed. “You mean Aunty JJ! Silly Daddy!” Jack giggled and began sprinting up the stairs to JJ’s office.

“My mistake.” Hotch chuckled as he watched his son run off.

“He’s so cute!” Garcia continued to fuss, pressing her palms to her chest as if her heart was going to escape.

“He’s beautiful.” Y/N smiled at Hotch. She had been at the BAU for almost 9 months now but was still yet to meet the Mini Hotchner.

“Thank you,” Aaron smiled sincerely.

“Get him in a suit and he’s going to be a real heartbreaker like his dad.” Morgan teased, waggling his eyebrows not so subtly at Y/N.

“Dad!” Jack shouted from the top of the stairs. “I need Uncle Dave’s gift!” Hotch rolled his eyes playfully and carried the bag over to his son. Y/N stood and watched with a blush across her chest as she watched Hotch in ‘Dad Mode.’ She played with the necklace around her neck absent-minded as Hotch lifted the small, wrapped box with one hand, passing it over the railings to his son.

“Oh, I know that face!” Garcia sang.

“What?” Y/N questioned as she noticed Garcia’s and Morgan’s teasing smiles at her.

“Someone’s swooning.” Morgan playfully flicked Y/N’s necklace out of her hands before she batted his hands away.

“I am not!” she scolded him!

JJ left her office, walking calmly down the stairs with her opened box in her hands. She joined the others with a bright smile on her face.

“Have you seen this?” she laughed happily.

“No! What is it?” Garcia begged. JJ lifted from the box a large pink pompom ball with googly eyes and blonde strands of string poking out from the top to form hair. In felt-tip, Jack had drawn JJ’s necklace gifted to her by her sister when she was little. Little popsicle sticks had been cut into small pieces and painted to become shoes glued to the bottom.

“Oh, My God!” Y/N beamed and melted.

“That is so cute!” Garcia laughed.

“What I tell you? Boy’s gonna have game!” Morgan chuckled, sitting himself down on Y/N’s chair and resting his feet on her desk. Y/N frowned and pushed his feet off her desk.

“Whoah!” Rossi’s loud roar came from his office as Jack presented him with his own gift! Rossi ran Jack out of his office, using his own pompom figure to scare and chase him. The pompom was bright orange, with curly black hair plopped on top! The PomPom had neat brown popsicle stick shoes and a miniature Italia flag poking out from the side. Jack squealed with joy as he ran down the steps and leaped into his father’s arms. The bullpen was alight with laughter as the Hotchner boys and Rossi re-joined the group by Y/N’s desk.

“Please, Please, tell me I’m next to get my gift?” Penelope whined to Jack who continued to giggle.

“Daddy, can I have Aunty Penelope’s gift now?” Hotch pulled out a sparkly pink box with bright neon ribbon wrapped around it, delighted in how Garcia’s face transformed into genuine shock. She made baby grabby hands, desperate to see her little PomPom figure. When she pulled it out, it was as extravagant as her. It was bright purple with multi-colored hair and fashionable pink glasses. Jack had drawn on bright red lipstick and covered the feet in as much glitter as possible. Garcia attacked Jack with kisses and tickles whilst Aaron passed a box to Morgan. Morgan’s green PomPom didn’t have any hair on the top but had bushy black eyebrows sitting on top of the googly eyes. Black shades had been attached to the top of the PomPom, easily taken off, and placed on the googly eyes.

“Look at that!” Morgan laughed. “The most handsome PomPom in the land!”

Tutting and laughter bounced across the agents until Jack crawled up to his father’s side and tugged on his shirt. He motioned for his dad to crouch down to his level and whispered something in his ear. Hotch looked at his son seriously and nodded firmly. He reached into the bag and pulled out a small blue box with flowers doodled on the side with a white pen. Jack held the box carefully as if it was a bomb about to go off. He slowly crossed the circle and stood in front of Y/N.

“Are you Y/N?” He asked nervously. Y/N smiled kindly and crouched down to the boy’s level.

“I am!” She whispered as if the two were having a private conversation. “It’s very nice to meet you, Jack. You’re Dad has told me lots of amazing things about you!” Jack blushed as he presented the box to Y/N. “For me?” he nodded enthusiastically and stepped back, watching as Y/N opened the box. Very slowly and carefully Y/N pulled out a light blue PomPom figure with googly eyes and a little cardboard crown glued to the top of her Y/H/C thread hair.

“Daddy said you have Y/H/C hair, sparkling Y/E/C eyes, and are as pretty as a queen! That’s why I gave you a crown.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat to a rosy red and her chest tightens immediately. “Do you like it?” Y/N looked up at Aaron and noticed how he too was bright red, refusing to meet her eye. Y/N smiled and leaned forward, pressing a sweet kiss to Jack’s cheek.

“I love it.” She whispered. Jack giggled and blushed just as hard as Y/N. He ran to his dad’s side and hid his face behind his dad’s back. Y/N stood up from the ground and placed her mini-PomPom proudly on the top of her desk shelf, safe and protected from the ground below. She managed to pull her eyes towards Hotch and meet his gaze. “Thank you.” She mouthed silently. Hotch nodded and smiled bashfully before picking up his son.

“Come on, let’s go find Emily and Reid.”

The Hotchner boys walked away, in search of the next lucky reciprocates of their gifts. Y/N stared deeply at Hotch’s back as he carried Jack, the two boys laughing and smiling with one another as they talked.

“Oh yeah,” Morgan broke the silence, patting his hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “Definitely swooning.”

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burningvelvet · 11 months

Text

Here are two of the most hilariously scalding letters from the 1800s that I have ever read. One is by the famous writer Lord Byron, and the other is by his daughter Ada Lovelace, the famous mathematician. Both are written to their respective business partners: Byron to his publisher John Murray, and Lovelace to her colleague Charles Babbage. It’s interesting to note how strikingly similar these letters are despite the fact that Ada and her father never knew each other, as her parents separated shortly after her birth and he died abroad when she was eight. Both were rebellious, fond of gambling, prone to tumultuous affairs, and both hated Lady Byron. These similarities may help to explain why her final wish was to be buried next to him instead of her family.

Lord Byron in a Letter to his publisher John Murray about the printing of his magnum opus, the poem Don Juan:

“Ra. August 31st. 1821.

Dear Sir

I have received the Juans – which are printed so carelessly especially the 5th. Canto – as to be disgraceful to me — & not creditable to you.

It really must be gone over again with the Manuscript – the errors are so gross – words added – changed – so as to make cacophony & nonsense. — You have been careless of this poem because some of your Synod don’t approve of it – but I tell you – it will be long before you see any thing half so good as poetry or writing. — Upon what principle have you omitted the note on Bacon & Voltaire? and one of the concluding stanzas sent as an addition? because it ended I suppose – with –

‘And do not link two virtuous souls for life Into that moral Centaur man & wife?’

Now I must say once for all – that I will not permit any human being to take such liberties with my writings – because I am absent. —

I desire the omissions to be replaced (except the stanza on Semiramis) particularly the stanza upon the Turkish marriages – and I request that the whole be carefully gone over with the M.S.S. –

I never saw such stuff as is printed – Gulleyaz – instead of Gulbeyaz &c. Are you aware that Gulbeyaz is a real name – and the other nonsense? – I copied the Cantos out carefully – so that there is no excuse – as the Printer reads or at least prints the M.S.S. of the plays without error. —

If you have no feeling for your own reputation pray have some little for mine. — I have read over the poem carefully – and I tell you it is poetry – Your little envious knot of parson-poets may say what they please — time will show that I am not in this instance mistaken. — Desire my friend Hobhouse to correct the press especially of the last Canto from the Manuscript – as it is – it is enough to drive one out of one’s senses – to see the infernal torture of words from the original. – For instance the line

‘And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves’

Is printed

‘and praise their rhymes &c. –

also ‘precarious’ for ‘precocious’ – and this line. stanza 133.

‘And this strong extreme effect – to tire no longer’

Now do turn to the Manuscript – & see – if I ever made such a line – it is not verse. —

No wonder the poem should fail – (which however it wont you will see) with such things allowed to creep about it. – – Replace what is omitted – – & correct what is so shamefully misprinted, – and let the poem have fair play – – and I fear nothing. — I see in the last two Numbers of the Quarterly – a strong itching to assail me (see the review of the “Etonian”) let it – and see if they shan’t have enough of it. – – I don’t allude to Gifford – who has always been my friend – & whom I do not consider as responsible for the articles written by others. – But if I do not give Mr. Milman – Mr. Southey – & others of the crew something that shall occupy their dream! I am not what I was – that is all

I have not begun with the Quarterers – but let them look to it. – As for Milman (you well know I have not been unfair to his poetry ever) but I have lately had some information of his critical proceedings in the Quarterly which may bring that on him which he will be sorry for. – I happen to know that of him – Which would annihilate him – when he pretends to preach morality – not that he is immoral – because he isn’t – having in early life been once too much so. – And dares he set up for a preacher? let him go and be priest to Cybele. – why let

You will publish the plays – when ready — I am in such a humour about this printing of D.J. so inaccurately – that I must close this.

yrs. [scrawl]

P.S. I presume that you have not lost the stanza to which I allude? it was sent afterwards look over my letters – & find it. The Notes you can’t have lost – you acknowledged them – they included eight or little corrections of Bacon’s mistakes in the apothegms. – And now I ask once more if such liberties taken in a man’s absence – are fair or praise-worthy? – As for you you have no opinions of your own – & never had – but are blown about by the last thing said to you no matter by whom.”

[Separate page]

“Dear Sir

The enclosed letter is written in bad humour – but not without provocation. -

However – let it (that is the bad humour) go for little – but I must request your serious attention to the abuses of the printer which ought never to have been permitted. – You forget that all the fools in London (the chief purchasers of your publications) will condemn in me the stupidity of your printer. — For instance in the Notes to Canto fifth – ‘the Adriatic shore of the Bosphorus – instead of the Asiatic!! – All this may seem little to you – so fine a gentleman with your ministerial connections – but it is serious to me – who am thousands of miles off & have no opportunity of not proving myself the fool yr. printer makes me – except your pleasure & leisure forsooth.

The Gods prosper you — & forgive you, for I wont.

B.”

Ada Lovelace in a letter to her work partner Charles Babbage, who she helped invent the computer with:

“Tuesday Afternoon [1 August 1843] Ockham

. . . Note B has plagued me to death; altho' I have made but little alteration in it. Such alterations as there are however, happen to have been very tiresome & to have demanded minute consideration & very nice adjustments.

It is a very excellent Note.

I wish you were as accurate, & as much to be relied on, as I am myself. You might often save me much trouble, if you were; whereas you in reality add to my trouble not infrequently; and there is at any rate always the anxiety of doubting if you will not get me into a scrape; even when you don't.

By the way, I hope you do not take upon yourself to alter any of my corrections.

I must beg you not. They all have some very sufficient reason. And you have made a pretty mess & confusion in one or two places (which I will show you sometime), where you have ventured in my M.S's, to insert or alter a phrase or word; & have utterly muddled the sense.

I could not conceive at first in one or two places what had happened to my sentences; tho' I soon saw they were patchwork & not my own; and found it so, on referring to the M.S. I fear you will think this a very cross letter. Never mind. I am a good little thing, after all. Yours ever

A. A. L.

Later. P. S. It is impossible to send you anything but Notes B and C; (& this partly owing to some wrong references & blunderations of your own). — Do not be afraid, for I will work like the Devil early tomorrow morning. —“

[Separate Page]

“Wednesday, 4 o'clock [2 August 1843] Ockham

After working almost incessantly, since 7 o'clock this morning, until I am forced to give in from sheer inability to apply longer, I find only the sheet I enclose is quite completed. I shall however send a servant up tomorrow morning by a ten o' clock train, to take you all the rest; so that you will have it almost as soon as this letter.

You cannot conceive the trouble I have had with the trigonometrical Note E. — In fact no one but me, I really believe, would have doggedly stuck to it, as I have been doing, in all wearing minutiae.

I am very uneasy at not hearing from you, as I have expected to do both yesterday & today; & fear some disaster or other. I hope all of Note G is forthcoming; & I also hope you have received all my communications safely.

I think you had better do the second revise of the translation for me. If you will compare it carefully with my first revise, it can hardly be necessary I think for me to go over it again.

I suppose I ought to take it for granted that no news is good news; but I am in a sad fidget. — Yours ever

A. L.”

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birdsaredinosagenda · 10 months

Text

the king's favorite

A story of a king and his concubine

♛ tōru oikawa x female reader

content warning: smut; mentions of violence, murder and forced abortion

notes: This is a multi-chapter fic, so next chapter will come soon-ish.

Spoiled.

That's what the king said about his son and crown prince. But that king is dead and now the spoiled prince sits on the throne.

He’s beautiful, that was clear, even with just the moonlight and an oil lamp providing illumination in your room you could still see how exquisite his features are. Defined jaw, high cheekbones, an elegant nose, lips that are almost always smiling, dark eyes that have a mischievous glint. The king looked like he was sculpted by the gods themselves.

“Come here,” he beckoned you. Not moving from the mountain of silken pillows he had the servants bring in when he barged into your room, a flagon of wine in hand.

Small bells around your waist made soft jingling sounds as you walked towards the prince, no, king. Brown eyes devoured every dip and curve of your body, the gauzy fabric covering you doing nothing to hide your form.

You stopped in front of him, breath held.

Hand just as beautiful as him reached for the knot keeping your sheer robe closed. One swift tug opened the flimsy garment, giving him a peek of the soft skin underneath.

“Do you like it? Having your king disrobe you himself."

He didn’t wait for your answer, he already knew what it would have been. Instead, he tugged on your sleeve and let the robe fall on the floor. Lust glinted in his eyes and he leaned back to take all of you in.

"You really are quite a gorgeous gift, aren't you? No wonder you were the king's favorite."

He’s right in both regards. You are gorgeous and you were a gift. You came to his kingdom dripping in gold and jewels and smelling like orange blossoms. But unlike all the invited guests who were royalties and nobles, you were an offering to the late king on his fifty-seventh name day. More beautiful than the gems that covered you but not as valuable.

You caused quite a stir at the banquet, it’s not every day they see a woman who was wearing more gold than cloth. People leered and gawked. The men found excuses to get closer and stare. They asked about the emerald pendant nestled between your bosom, the strings of pearls on your wrists, and the delicate gold chains cascading down your thighs.

“The Amirid kingdom must be wanting a heavy favor if they are willing to part with their late queen’s most prized gems,” said a duke who looked not very different from a snake.

While the menfolk stared and marveled at your figure and the treasures you wore, none asked about you. They talked at you and not to you. The only one who approached you with genuine curiosity about who you were instead of what you were or weren’t wearing was the then prince.

“Hello, beautiful” he greeted, “what is your name?”

“Alyssum, your highness”

“Like the flower. It suits you.”

It was not the name you were given when you were born, but it was the name you’ve had the longest. Girls with the same fate as yours were stripped of their birth name and given new ones from pretty things—Rose, Esmeralda, Myrrha—gifts. Just like how they would be.

He looked thoughtful then, quite different from how he’s looking at you now that it’s just the two of you in your quarters.

A smile that makes your chest feel funny bloomed on his face. Taking a sip of wine, he patted his thigh and commanded you to sit. You can feel the heat of his body through the decadent silk of his garb.

Truthfully, you’ve never been this close to him. Always surrounded by friends and admirers, a lady or two clinging to his arms, there was no room for another character in his crowd. So, you contented yourself with looks from afar and stories told by the other concubines. He, however, always greeted you warmly on the rare occasions you crossed paths when his entourage was absent. Inquired about the tea and sweets you were to enjoy with his father and graciously accepted the treats you offered him.

“I did not see you at the ceremony. Did you not wish for me to be crowned?” he asked, hand on your hips pulling you closer still.

The ceremony that would normally take weeks to prepare was held just a mere twelve hours after his father’s passing. Nobles whispered about how suspicious the haste was, but none would say it out loud for they too know that a kingdom without a king is a kingdom ripe for taking. So they kept their voices down, watched the high priest anoint him with holy oil, and wished him a long and prosperous reign.

It wasn’t just the high priest who was moving faster than usual. The advisers and chymists, too, were busy at work. While the advisers sent word to neighboring kingdoms about the start of a new era — King Tōru, the scrolls declared — the chymists were rounding up the concubines and giving them moon tea to make sure no princelings would be born to claim the throne. Those who refused the brew were put to the sword.

You shook your head and said to him “I wished nothing more than to see you on the throne, my king.”

That answer seems to have satisfied him. So much so that the moment you uttered the words ‘my king’ you felt his hand on your nape and his mouth on yours. He licked your lips and coaxed them to part and welcome his tongue. He tasted like the sweetest, most intoxicating wine you’ve ever had. A moan caught in your throat while your hands found purchase on his chest and shoulders.

“Entertain your king, sweet Alys.” His voice low and thick with desire.

Your hands made their way down his torso only to be stopped when they’ve reached his belt. “No, no…” he said grabbing your hands and putting them on your thighs. He shifted underneath you, rolling his hips up and moving yours slightly making your naked cunt grind on his hardness. The movement and sensation of his cock still covered in fabric excited you and conjured up thoughts on what his cock would be like — feel like — when his clothes are off and out of the way.

Eager to please your royal visitor, you braced yourself on his shoulder and started moving. Hips rolling, eyes never leaving his. The lessons in pleasure you received emphasized the importance of eye contact, the women who taught you said lessons spoke of courtesans who can bring men a step away from orgasm with just their gaze alone. You've always thought of it as an exaggeration, a good advice for certain but not the most important thing. However, the way the king’s eyes were blown with lust and cock getting harder and harder underneath you are proving the lessons to be true. Lessons that would serve you well in capturing the king’s favor.

You moved your hip in a slow and mesmerizing pattern, soft breathy moans escaping your lips. A seductive performance for a very captivated audience.

Sounds coming from the other side of the door stole your attention. “Your majesty,” called a voice.

The king made no move to even acknowledge the man. And when he saw your attention diverted when the voice called again, he poured the half inch of wine left in his goblet on your shoulder. Golden liquid rolled from your clavicle down to your breast, a drop getting caught on your erect nipple. He leaned in to lick the trail of wine on your chest then captured the bead of wine on your nipple with his tongue. A gentle bite pulled a gasp from you.

“Your grace!” A familiar voice this time bounced in the room. Unmistakably the king's loyal knight and friend, Sir Hajime. You wondered if they shared lovers before and if the king would share you too.

“Lord Matsukawa brings news,” he continued.

The king let out an exasperated breath, kissed you on the mouth and unceremoniously slid you off his lap then walked out the room. There you stayed, naked on silk pillows with arousal warming up your body and the taste of wine lingering on your lips.

You shouldn’t have been surprised really, a king owes you no explanation or warning. And you have no power to demand either. Newly crowned and with a kingdom to rule, there would be countless people wanting his attention.

All you can do is be patient, wait and try again. Besides, him being the way he is might just be the best thing to have happened. Because if there’s anything you know is that spoiled men, when they are enamored by you, like spoiling too.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru #oikawa torū #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyū!!#haikyu x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you #HQ!#haikyu smut #haikyuu imagines

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mlobsters · 7 months

Text

supernatural s11e4 baby (w. robbie thompson)

i've seen a number of gifs from this episode and i've built it up in my mind as an episode i should enjoy which makes me nervous to watch it :S

enjoying the variety of shots being in baby's pov and the guitar man by bread, nice choice (night after night who treats you right)

very fic-ish slice of life domestic vibes. both jared and jensen seem to be leaning into their accents more than usual, i often wonder about that. what decides when they do it, if it's a choice (i can only imagine it is). anyway, it's very... homey. relaxed

very normal

ack making me cry with all these smiles and sweetness. robbie, this is the fanservice i needed (and deserved). goddamn what a breath of fresh air it's like concentrated version of old times with just the two of them, but being relaxed and happy for a minute as the cherry on top.

DEAN Piper? That's awesome. Heather. One-night wonders, man. Shoot, we're lucky we still get that at all. SAM Really? You don't... ever want something more? DEAN I'm sorry, have you met us? We're batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs. SAM You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But... something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life? DEAN Have you not heard a single word Bob's been singing about? You're tired. I can tell. You're exhausted. Well, I'm still wired, so I'm gonna pull over, get some gas. You hop in the back, get some Z's 'cause, buddy, you earned 'em. Proud of ya! Piper. Mmm. Man, she smelled good, too.

yes, sam, you're right. dean should consider settling down with a hunter—oh wait. wonder what that "have you not heard a single word bob's been singing about" means though. i'm not that familiar with his catalogue of work :p

was someday soon in this show before or am i getting weepy over it because it was used in a fic? signs point to a fic

He loves his damned old rodeo As much as he loves me Someday soon, going with him Someday soon

JOHN You okay, pal? You look a little spooked. It's nice to be back behind the wheel. Looks like Dean's taken good care of this old beast. Seems like he's taken good care of you, too.

literally sobbing what even is happening. wish fulfillment that dean could get the parental approval and validation that he did a good job with sam, and acknowledging how much he did raising him.

and this has nothing to do with my own dead father issues and desperate desire for approval, no way.

that i'm not pissy that it's john saying it should say how much this kicked me in the gut

JOHN What you said about relationships, wanting something more... I never wanted this for you boys. This life. Not really. SAM We turned out okay. JOHN You did, didn't you? But that was on you boys. You did that, not me. SAM Well, you played your part. JOHN I did my best, anyway, for what it was worth. SAM This isn't real. JOHN I never could fool you, could I?

so is this lucifer? show brought him up making a fuss in the cage with the darkness busting out, and the whole i never could fool you thing. like he showed up as jess (??) in a dream did sam figure it out? no, he didn't know. hmmm. surely not god though :p

SAM I prayed when I was in that church, and I saw... something. And now, here you are, whoever you are, whatever you are. What the hell is this? JOHN Dream. Vision. Call it what you want. The message is still the same. The Darkness is coming... and only you boys can stop it.

again, i rag on the musical score a lot but the foley and overall sound design minus the score tends to really be noticeably good. and i really like what they did with the sound and the filming in this scene. where there's kind of a low wavering thrumming hum and their voices sound more close up. and i really liked that they didn't do any noise hits when he flashes back briefly to the torture vision, it was just a little extra very low soft bass thumping with the flashes. all that combined with these super tight close shots of their faces kind of adds to the slightly uneasy/unreality feeling. very nice

DEAN Welcome to the Winchester Motel. We don't have cable, but we do have room service. You were singing in your sleep, that song mom loved that dad used to always play for us. I think I've actually still got the tape.

great, another song i can have an additional layer of weepiness over, confirmed mom favorite.

SAM I think I've been having visions, too, lately. I mean, it's just images. I mean, more of a feeling, really. But I just had one right now, and Dad was in it. But it wasn't dad like the Dad that I grew up with. It was Dad when he was our age. And I guess it wasn't even really Dad. It was someone pretending to be Dad and -- DEAN Okay, what makes you say that? SAM For starters, he told me everything I wanted to hear.

you and me both, friend

dean really going in on the accent in this conversation in the car. i'm not one to anthropomorphize cars (i love cars and my car) but they're definitely getting to me with that whole.. baby has bore witness to so many conversations and fights and... like the hannibal quote

from s2e13 mizumono HANNIBAL You sit in that chair, as you have so many times before. It holds among its molecules the vibrations of all our conversations ever held in its presence.

also my own personal wish granted that sam would own up to something he was hiding, the visions are a start

SAM He said, "God helps those who help themselves." I mean, maybe these visions are coming from God. DEAN Whoa. Pump the brakes.

brief terror that lucifer is getting those prayers and will lead our sam the (at times) believer astray because he thinks it's god

the wins keep coming, sam telling dean about being infected. thank you, robbie, good sir. to keep things reasonable dean blows off the visions because he's mad or whatever

DEAN Come on, man. That quote? "God helps those who help themselves"? God didn't say that. That's not even in the Bible. That's an old proverb that dates way back to Aesop. I read.

it's so hit or miss on whether dean is well read or it's a joke that he doesn't know about stuff. consistency! 🥴 he read the odyssey, didn't know who calliope is, etc. i know i've talked about this before but can't find it.

DEAN I have that dream every couple of months. Kind of comforting, actually.

and dean's dream about john and having a normal life? i haven't felt this many feelings since probably s5. and all the little domestic canon tidbits they're feeding us, just wow

DEAN I know what you're trying to do here. You're trying to find some -- some greater meaning to it all. Right? Some fate to what went down. But I'm telling you, Sam. The Darkness? It's on us. And no one's gonna help us, certainly not God, so we'll have to figure this thing out, like we always do. But until then we hunt.

don't love how he's blowing him off (though i mean, not terribly unexpected), do appreciate that sam reiterated that he doesn't think it was just a dream

even in the fake recreated car interior sam looks so uncomfortably cramped. and as ever consider there's an actual roof over their heads to contend with when contemplating them full on fucking back there in fic :p

the deputy i looked up because he's a redhead and looks kinda like sheriff stilinksi from teen wolf, it's the guy that was in a different ep of spn (7x04) that i looked up because he's pale and freckly. and he was in altered carbon.

it's so interesting how natural the episode is flowing even with the rather large limitation of having everything take place in the car, and not feel gimmicky. even this little interlude with the girls on the joyride is lifted by an excellent song choice, and the scene seems to be referencing the video, and they're doing an actual car stunt that we get to see from the inside

youtube

what a banger, damn and that video is amazing. only m.i.a. song i knew was paper planes via slumdog millionaire

okay well having an emotional breakdown every 5 minutes apparently has made this such that i can't wrap this up tonight. tbc

all right i was a little higher than anticipated yesterday so we'll see if the ✨Feelings ✨are the same with nothing in my system

was thinking last night that dean would likely notice his car being dusty as shit after doing donuts in a dirt lot :P but i'm glad she got to have her fun consequence-free, and Baby too

silly

so pleased with himself. this is all very cute honestly. it could have gone over the top slapstick having to keep dealing with this were-pire that won't die, but there was some restraint. the muffled growling and snarling from the cooler is just the right kind of goofy for me (not having music i think helps)

MRS. MARKHAM Your family. You do anything for them, don't you? DEAN Absolutely. Yeah, but not if it costs too much. [ Chuckles ] MRS. MARKHAM No. You do everything for them. Everything else is meaningless.

little on the nose but i'll take it :p that extended fight scene inside the car with her was a lot but

DONELLY It's like I said, I need help, every strong hand I can find. And I need an army to fight the Darkness. Oh, it's comin', for all of us. There's nothing hunters or any human can do about it.

is there some sort of monster memo going out about the darkness? we all need to band together against the darkness!

i give my car kisses like that too LOL

awkward

DEAN We'll get Cas to fix you up. SAM Only if he fixes you up, too. DEAN Okay, mom. Let's go home. SAM You know what? We are home.

thank you, robbie.

There was no score for this episode. All music was diegetic: either coming from an outside source or the Impala's cassette deck. The scenes used in the episode for the Impala's cassette deck were used from 5.22 Swan Song.

i'm not gonna say that this episode was way better for not having a score, wait. no. i am gonna say it. thank you, for that choice

During the filming of the episode, during the scenes where the Deputy Donelly attacks Dean, Jensen found the remains of the Impala that was smashed up at the end of 1.22 Devil's Trap.

i can't remember an episode i wholeheartedly enjoyed as much as this one in a long damned time. i needed that. along with some somewhat cathartic sobbing :p skin cleared, crops watered, etc

#Youtube #supernatural #spnwatch #spn 11x04 #spn baby #m.i.a.#music #teach grant #spn musical score #or lack thereof *rimshot*#on absent fathers (excused with a note)#mygifs

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streets-in-paradise · 1 month

Text

Secret Presents

Relationships: (platonic) Faramir x Sister!Reader, (platonic) Boromir x Sister!Reader.

Genre: family fic, sibling bonds, fluff, birthday fic.

Warnings: Denthor's terrible parenting, use of she/her pronoums. I am not sure if birthdays are culturally accurate for gondorians, but since in lotr we saw at least one hobbit birthday let's pretend they also could have birthday customs for the sake of this.

Summary: Boromir and Faramir surprise their sister on the morning of her birthday filling her with affection while furtively bringing her different sorts of gifts their father wouldn't approve.

Note: (Late) birthday gift for my bestie @beautifultypewriter, also inspired in her gondor girl concept. I hope the fluff will be good enough to compensate the delay <3

She didn't expected anyone to remember, there were allways more important things going on in such convoluted times.

Completely absent from her father's thoughts, only her brothers could possibly think about it. During the occassions in which Denethor do cared to celebrate her, he was always actually celebrating himself. Birthday parties that were generic social events for the nobiity, occassions for him to show off his might in decline and pretend for the public that he could resemble a father.

If he could possibly be thinking on doing something, she would rather hide far away from it for as long as possible. The only good reason the Steward of Gondor could have to remember that he had a daughter were the men arround him making the recall. He would only use it as an excuse to push yet even more insufferable nobles in her direction.

Feeling the call of the servant announcing her waking time that morning made her groan of frustration, wanting it to be over before it ever began. She emerged from the covers only caring to make sure to be in a visible state before opening the door, trying hard to remember not to share her mood with the servantfolk through terrible manners.

What she found instead were her two brothers hidding their presence on the usual call, ready to join forces as soon as they will find her. Their happy faces said it all, and she almost regretted her grumpyness.

" What are you doing here? "

To a gestural sign of Faramir, Boromir went ahead to lift her up from the ground. Almost like a father would do for his child, only with tons of chuckling in between.

" HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR SISTER!!"

In a matter of instants she was smiling again while being carried back inside her bedroom.

" Are you insane? What is this? "

Faramir calmed his own laughter to explain.

" Your birthday surprise! I bet you thought we would forget. "

She was perfectly aware of how strongly they loved her, but war kept them always bussy and she was perfectly ready to forgive them if that was the case.

" Orcs are constantly pushing the limits of our borders, of course you could forget! "

" But we would never. " Boromir cheerfully insisted, releasing her on her bed. " Have we ever failed you? "

She giggled and nodded negatively.

" ... Then why did you seem so upset looking at us from you doorframe ? " Faramir inquired. " It think somone really needs to get their spirits lifted. "

With a mischievous look he approached for a strong hug ending only when he sneaked one hand to her already known ticklish point. Her loud laughing comforted them all, so Boromir encouraged Faramir to keep going untill she started fighting back and the situation could escalate into an actual tickle fight unleashed right in front of the servants.

She was red from laughing and playfully smacked them in return, when her eldest brother gave premission for the maidservant to enter. She was carrying a curiously long chest with the help of one lad and presented it to the lady by command before retiring.

" See, if we would have waited untill you would come down for breakfast, we wouldn't be able to bring your presents. " Faramir continued. " These are of the kind our father will not wish to see. "

A sparkle of excitement lighted her eyes.

" Certainly not fitting for a lady, by his expressed opinion. " Boromir added. " He would be very dissapointed of me if he would find out I'm letting Faramir present you with this."

" Not as much as when he will see what you got her. " He commented in response. " ... And yours can't be hidden easily, as one can do with mine. "

Curiosity was growing with each of their teasing recalls and she rushed to open the mysterious casket used to hide such secret present from the world untill reaching her.

It revealed a bow, perfectly new and with its matching quiver following the style of the one that was her brother's favorite.

" Nurturing your passions is important to me, and being honest i'm slightly jealous you have gained more practice with Boromir's weapon of choice. "

He was joking and she could perfectly tell. Her brothers never had to compete for her love the way their father intended them to.

Here eyes were roaming the weapon with increasing surprise, then inmediately directed to look at her brother with the happiest adoration.

" It's perfect!! Just, ... perfect!! Beloved brother, I would love to practice with you. " She thanked, hugging him from up front and practically jumping from the joy. " I can't wait to try it!! "

" We will tell father is an harp." Faramir joked, sharing her excitement. " I doubt he would ever ask you to play music for him, so he will never discover it."

You chuckled together seeing that Boromir was allowing you the mean spirited commentary.

" My gift will also work as a distractive strategy: he will never get a moment to wonder about anything else. "

She questioned Faramir with her glance, but he provided no clues.

" Boromir ... what have you exactly done?? "

Their eldest brother began to chuckle, assuming the mysterious guilt for some possibly memorable mischief.

" Come down with us and you will find out. "

She smiled and quickly followed the instruction, begging them to leave her proper space to at least dress decently before being publicly perceived for the first time in the day. Neither of her brothers wanted to miss what was about to come, so they awaited outside only to find themselves going after her later because excitement made her run her way down.

Hardly catching his breath, Boromir indicated her to go outside. Her cluelessness made her even more desperate for finding the surprise, but she inmediately stumbled with it once the final instruction was correctly followed.

A magnificent horse, one that she never recalled to have seen before.

" It was almost impossible to import, but your dear brother planned things with time and sent clever merchants on the quest for it. " Boromir recalled, pridefully. " They wouldn't have sold this easily for a mighty lord of the city, but couldn't refuse when told it would dissapoint a young lady. "

She looked at him in disbelief, unsure of the guess she was about to make.

" No,no, no ... There is no way. You couldn't ... "

" Send men to Rohan despite the uncertain danger it implies just to get you a horse? " Faramir followed, finishing her sentence in a wondering tone. " Don't worry, your present also worked as harmless excuse to obtain trustable testimonies about the state of our old allies. Something we have been wanting to find out for a long time, but father kept refusing to investigate. "

The clarification amused her more than the explanation itself.

" You are unbelievable!! How are we going to hide this? "

Boromir wasn't troubled by her very logical reasoning.

" We won't, and I will assume all guilt. Wait to see how fast he will find a reason to excuse me. "

He made her laugh through that lighthearted mock of his unwanted privilege, aspect he manipulated in contructive ways when it could bring a side benefict to his siblings.

Looking at her smiling brothers awaiting her final verdict made her feel the luckiest girl in Middle Earth.

" I have the best brothers in the world. "

#lotr #lord of the rings #faramir x reader #boromir x reader #gondor girl

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pep-the-artemis · 2 months

Text

Preparations for the Gala

N - *braiding Tessa's hair*

V - *reading from a big book* lets try this again, when greeting a guest you?

Tessa - ...You introduce yourself, thank them for the honour of talking to them, then curtsy.

V - no. You introduce yourself, curtsy, then thank them for the honour of talking to them.

Tessa - ughh, all this prim and proper stuff is so overwhelming. Whats wrong with a simple hello.

N - I actually think all this sounds fun.

Tessa - then, good sir, you may take my place.

N - I'd rather not.

Tessa - ha! So you don't think this all sounds fun.

N - no, not at all.

Tessa - so why don't you want to take my place then?

N - ummm... because your dress wouldn't look good on me? (:

*chuckling*

James - *walking in*

Tessa - *standing up straight* Father?!

James - ah, Tessa there you are; well don't you look beautiful, I hope my wonderful daughter is all prepared for the gala tonight. Your hair looks wonderful.

Tessa - ...ummm what?

James - look, I know this is not 'your thing' but I'm sure you'll do wonderfully, you're an Elliot after all.

Tessa - you wouldn't say that.

James - excuse me?

Tessa - you wouldn't say that, you've never called me beautiful or noted my hair or cared about my feelings!

James - Tessa. I'm sorry that I've been an absent father all this time but I'm here now and want to try and make things,

Tessa - STOP! NO NO NO! THIS ISN'T RIGHT! CYN PLEASE I'VE HAD ENOUGH.

James - ...

*the hologram dissipates*

Cyn - I thought, this is what you wanted?

Tessa - it is! It was so wonderful, I wanted to cry... but it's a fantasy, its not real. It could never be real!

Cyn - Do you, want to try again?

Tessa - I... don't know. Is the world out there really horrible.

Cyn - ...yes

Tessa - ...

Cyn - do you, want to die?

Tessa - what

Cyn - I could, end this suffering.

Tessa - robo-God! No! I don't want to die.

Cyn - What do you want then?

Tessa - ...

*long silence*

Tessa - I want N, I miss him! And V and the old you and J?! J?! off all stupid people to miss?!

Cyn - They have a duty, they live only in reality. Out there, empires fall and humans burn. As a human, I could not command your safety.

Tessa - I... I understand. I'm sorry for stepping out of line.

Cyn - ...do you really miss him?

Tessa - with all my heart.

Cyn - then I can help you... but you'd have to discard what makes you human. You'll live forever with us, an accursed existence, feeding of the flesh of humanity. *holding out a solver heart* I could make you one of us.

Tessa - is this... the only way for me to meet N again?

Cyn - ...yes.

Tessa - ...

#its so annoying yellow isn't a functional colour #guess orange works #murder drones #murder drones spoilers #tessa murder drones #cyn murder drones #n murder drones #v murder drones #james murder drones

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mitsubinyuri · 1 year

Text

MILGRAM Guilty/Innocent verdicts, according to my father

MILGRAM, but instead of forming my own opinions I scroll randomly through the YouTube comments of each video, take the first theory I see, explain it poorly to my father and have HIM judge them guilty/innocent based off of that.

aka.

A 50 year old Taiwanese man’s opinions on MILGRAM characters. (He, as a doctor, had a LOT to say about Shidou)

[note that this was posted between It’s Not My Fault and Triage.]

vvvv

ME: State your name and occupation, please.

DAD: Dad, Physician.

----

Haruka (no. 01) (no idea how to sum up the common consensus on him, but yknow what I’m thinking of) - INNOCENT

“I dunno... I think this guy needs treatment. I don’t know, there’s actually no causal link between having a learning disability, being neglected, and like, killing small creatures.”

“They say killing animals in your youth is a risk factor for predicting if someone’s gonna grow up to be, an actual, y’know.”

“I mean, so, forgivable? I mean, only in the sense that y’know, this may be part of him that’s sort of intrinsically broken and he really just needs treatment.”

----

Yuno (no. 02) (abortion “theory”) - INNOCENT

“Well, I mean, I don’t really have any- to me this is not an issue... I don’t think there’s any particular moral wrong here, I mean y’know, she does what she does, she was in a position that she found herself pregnant and she didn’t want to be pregnant so she had a perfectly legal and safe medical procedure to take care of it.”

I brought up the fact it might not have been legal.

“Well, I mean, either way, I don’t see that it’s an issue. I don’t have any issue with it.”

----

Fuuta (no. 03) (doxxing/cyberbullying theory) - GUILTY

“Yeah, well, I don’t really think there’s anything particularly excusable about this one.”

----

Muu (no. 04) (bully -> bullied “theory”, I brought up the lesbian theory to him and presented it as an additional option as well) - GUILTY

“I dunno. I mean, honestly, I don’t really have much sympathy in this case. If you’re gonna dish it out you better be ready to take it.”

“Look, if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen, alright?! Y’know, I mean, seriously!”

“This is like, at best it’s just pure hypocrisy, okay, well turnabout. You didn’t think about it until you were the object.”

My sister makes an Ace Attorney reference referring to the word ‘turnabout’. He texts her an Ace Attorney meme.

----

Shidou (no. 05) (organ harvester theory) - GUILTY

laughing

“This is not how any of this works, okay? You cannot just whip organs out of one person and bung (?) ‘em into someone else and it’s gonna be like ‘Wow, that’s awesome’!”

“Yeah, see, that to me is too far out there. I can’t even say because that’s now how it functions.”

I ask him if hypothetically you could, what the verdict would be.

“Even if you had a whole... You could some how make it work... it’s still not- no.”

“Besides, you can’t even perform surgeries at 29 unless you went through med school very quickly.”

----

Mahiru (no. 06) (toxic relationship + suicide theory) - GUILTY

“She sounds... extremely emotionally immature. I don’t think she was ready for a relationship.”

“Now, why didn’t the guy just dump her and walk away?”

I explain the ‘breakup ritual’ line, and bring up the ‘both sides toxic’ theory.

“Well, I mean, is there any evidence at all to support that sort of thing?”

I explain the vagueness of the video.

“Yeah, I dunno, I mean absent to any further data I’m not inclined to be merciful here.”

----

Kazui (no. 07) (cheating + suicide theory) - INNOCENT

“I mean, sad to say, it’s not an uncommon phenomenon. It’s a thing that happens, y’know,”

sigh

“So I don’t really, I mean, depending on how he broke it to her, I suppose, and if he actually DID have an affair or had just contemplated one.”

“Or even then, I sort of feel like jumping off a balcony over it is a little bit of an overreaction.”

“A lot depends on the specific details about how this came out, assuming that’s the correct story. I mean, the situation is sad, but at least the way it’s presented I don’t feel like I can hold him at fault for her deciding to throw herself to her death.”

“Well, I mean, and I think legally you couldn’t really say anything about it. I mean, he’s responsible in part but it’s not like he pushed her or anything like that.”

----

Amane (no. 08) (cult theory) - INNOCENT

“I mean, the thing is. This is one of those classic cases- assuming she’s been completely brainwashed by this cult, that’s one of those cases where deprogramming has to be the first step.”

“It’s related to not guilty by reason of insanity, this is someone who’s worldview has been warped to the extent that they’ve presumably sworn their unthinking allegiance to whoever their leader is.”

“Obviously she’s directly responsible, though I don’t know how a twelve year old can beat someone to death.”

“You would need therapy and deprogramming, before you try to bring it to trial.”

“It also depends on if the therapy turns out successful or not.”

I mention she’s twelve.

laughing.

“Alright, so like, automatically guilty then.”

----

Mikoto (no. 09) (DID “theory”) - INNOCENT

“I mean... really? Does this alter even have a name?”

“I mean, legally you can’t render judgement here.”

“I mean, assuming the alter was the one murdering people?”

“Yeah, I mean, I dunno, if he truly is suffering from this disorder, it’s like the other ones, we can’t hold him responsible.”

----

Kotoko (no. 10) (vigilante “theory”) - GUILTY

“So, basically... did she intend to kill him? Or did she try to beat him up and get carried away?”

I explain that she did intend to kill.

“Y’know, the fact of the matter is, as great as it sounds, I don’t really condone vigilantism. She knows exactly what she’s doing, right?”

I say yes.

“Okay, well, in that case, then I would think that she should be prepared to face the consequences.”

“Yeah, so this also sounds like someone who feels that they are above society’s rules. Not something I feel completely comfortable with, even if now they appear to be doing things on the right side.”

----

notes:

also said, at the end: “Just because someone cannot be held morally responsible for their actions also does not mean we should have them out roaming the streets.”

bold (no italics) is things that I said. Italics is things he did.

#milgram theory #milgram project #milgram #kotoko yuzuriha #mikoto kayano #amane momose #kazui mukuhara #mahiru shiina #shidou kirisaki #muu kusunoki #fuuta kajiyama #yuno kashiki #haruka sakurai #dang my dad is so not based #and yet based on parts of it too

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melancholicheart · 10 months

Text

All This Time- Chapter 3

cw: trans male pregnancy (past, mentioned), angst, miscommunication, fluff and happy ending

CHAPTER 3

The morning comes soon enough. Johnny and Simon talked well in to the early hours of the morning, Johnny asking about the 141, Gaz and Price specifically, whilst Simon learnt everything possible about his daughter.

He learns that she loves dinosaurs, especially Pterodactyls, and that she loves to colour in. Her favourite film is Cinderella (Johnny’s favourite too) and she loves pride parades (Johnny took her with him last year).

Simon poured over photos of her the entire night.

He saw that at the age of one, her curls started to show in her thick brown hair, just like Simon’s curls did. He sees her bright blue eyes staring at him in each photo and his heart leaps every time he looks. He notes the little scrape on her chin when she was 2, Johnny telling him that she fell and hit the coffee table with her jaw.

Simon has lots to say, lots of thoughts flying through his mind, but he doesn’t voice any of them. There’s too much, so much regret and anger, excitement and joy. He doesn’t know what to think or what to feel so he falls quiet and just listens to Johnny speak.

They got about three hours of sleep, Johnny putting Simon up in his room whilst he slept in Elizabeth’s bed.

Whilst they may have shared before, numerous times, Johnny thinks the space will be appreciated.

When morning comes, the sun peaking through the blinds and Johnny half hanging out of his daughters little single bed, Simon busies himself in the kitchen.

He familiarises himself with family life. Drawings on the fridge, child safe locks on the cupboard with the knives, stepping stools to help kids reach the worktops.

A throbbing in his heart, guilt and pride together, as he sees everything that Johnny and Elizabeth are. Everything that he’s missed.

Johnny joins him before too long, rescuing him from his own thoughts, and spitballing ideas for what they could do with Elizabeth.

“I want her to know you, Simon, not just have a day out with you. We can get some food, maybe go to the park? She would like if you pushed her on the swing and lifted her onto the slide.”

Simon hums and nods, “I think we should ask her, see what she thinks. I want her to feel comfortable around me.”

Johnny smiles and nods. They rush through breakfast and morning showers, Johnny desperate to get his baby back, and before long, Simon is waiting by the door with a nervous sweat gathering on the back of his neck.

“She’s going to call you Dad,” Johnny says, “Or Daddy, I suppose. If you don’t want her to, I can tell her to just call you Simon for now?”

“It’s okay, don’t confuse her. Not her fault I’m an absent father.” Simon scoffs.

Johnny hears the distaste in Simon’s voice, his eyes that scream ‘useless, just like your own old man’ and Johnny just melts, “Simon, you didn’t know. I believe that if you knew, you would’ve been here.”

“Should've been here anyway,” he huffs, “Never should’ve left- you know what? Let’s not do this right now. Let's go get Elizabeth.”

Johnny nods and leads them out the apartment, locking up behind him, “She has many nicknames. Lizzie, Liz, Beth, Liza, Eliza. Call her whatever you want and she’ll respond.”

Simon says nothing as Johnny locks up and, within seconds, they are outside Sarah’s door.

Johnny only manages to knock twice before the door swings open and Elizabeth is there, her hair neatly plaited and clothes perfectly ironed for once.

“Papa!” She shrieks, jumping into Johnny’s extended arms as he picks her up and sits her on his hip, “And Daddy’s still here.”

Johnny looks to Sarah to thank her and sees how she is having a glare-off with Simon who looks baffled but guilty.

Elizabeth wriggles and reaches out for Simon. Johnny holds her close, “Sweetheart, give Daddy a minute to wake up properly.” He excuses.

“It’s alright, Johnny,” Simon smiles, holding his arms out for her, “I’d like a hug.”

Johnny smiles softly and hands her over with ease.

He goes about thanking Sarah for caring for Lizzie, suggesting they have an ‘adults only’ get together soon with Simon.

Meanwhile, Simon is holding onto Elizabeth like a practised parent, her sat on his hip and cuddled into his shoulder as he clutches her.

They walk to the park in near silence, Elizabeth nattering away but no sense being made by her. She stays in Simon’s arms, cuddled close, and he seems to just exist with her. She talks, he listens, and Johnny watches.

He isn’t sure what to say, what to do, so he just watches.

When they arrive at the park, Elizabeth asks if she can rush off over to the swings, her favourites, but Simon seems reluctant to let her go.

“Maybe Daddy would like to push you on the swing, hm? See how big and high you can go!” Johnny suggests and Elizabeth yells in delight.

Simon strides off with her, placing her down and racing her to the swings before picking her up and placing her onto the seat. He’s talking to her now, a smile on his face as he crouches down to her level in the sand.

Johnny takes his time catching up, giving them a second.

He looks from afar at the wild grin on Elizabeth’s face, a smile he’s never quite seen on her before.

That’s not to say she doesn’t love him, oh no, it’s just she’s never been this excited before. She’s never met her Dad, her other parent, and now here he is, like he never left.

He anticipates the next few days, weeks, maybe even months and he knows that some serious conversations are going to arise concerning Simon’s involvement in their lives but right now, Johnny would do anything to live in this moment forever.

Where his daughter is full of joy.

#call of duty #mw2 #ghostsoap #mw2 2022 #soapghost #john soap mactavish #family #ghost #simon ghost riley #soap #trans man #trans mpreg

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loversj0y · 1 year

Text

'tis the damn season

chapter two - you could call me babe for the weekend

alcohol-induced decisions snowball into conversations about the future, family tensions, poetry, and a serious discussion on the bitchiness of orca whales.

'tis the damn season masterlist

pairing: cc!wilbur soot x gn!reader

this part is primarily fluff! im keeping the list of tws in each part just for the sake of clarity

trigger warnings: reader's mother is abusive (not physically) and father is emotionally absent. this will be talked about in extensive detail. alcohol, some suggestive themes, and a lot of anxiety, slut-shaming

author's note: part two baby lets fcking go!!!! this part is insanely sweet but also there are some.... tenser moments due to families being shit tbh (it also becomes abundantly clear here why i consider dialogue my strong suit and not anything else bc i am Not the best at being Descriptive! ao3 version!

word count: 9.6k

You and Wilbur spent the next four days developing a routine. It always started with butting heads with your family and running to Wilbur’s for solace. You two would spend hours talking before falling asleep together on his bed. In the morning, you would walk back to your house, and the cycle would repeat. On the fifth day of this routine, drinks got involved.

“You brought a whole bottle of vodka?” Wilbur deadpanned.

“Yep,” you replied, “I’m not sure about you, but I’d like to get at least mostly drunk.”

He shrugged, “Can’t say I’m doing anything tomorrow that would stop me from wanting to. Plus, we haven’t drank together in years. Got to carry on a tradition.” You mindlessly wondered if he was thinking of the same night you were. “I’ll grab some cups. Want to drink it straight or with a mixer?”

“Both. Start with two shots and then maybe cranberry juice mixer?”

He nodded, “Alright, to the kitchen we go.”

You both walked to the kitchen, and he grabbed two shot glasses. You poured one into each, setting the bottle down and grabbing your shot.

“Ready?”

He picked his shot up and nodded, the both of you throwing your heads back in moments to take the first one. You coughed a bit after swallowing it. You weren’t really used to drinking much anymore, but from the looks of it, neither was Wilbur. He coughed as well, groaning lightly. After you recovered, you started pouring the second shots, and the cycle repeats once more.

“Fucking hell, man, I forgot how annoying shots are,” you chuckled.

He laughed, “Yeah, though, to be fair, we completely forgot a chaser.”

You shrugged, “True, but we have to stay true to our traditions.”

“Good point,” he grabbed the cranberry juice from the fridge, pouring it into two empty glasses while you washed the shot glasses. He added the ice and the vodka, grabbing both cups when he was done. We headed upstairs, sitting on his bed and putting some random show on the TV.

“Man, this really does feel like school all over again,” he laughed.

“You know what they say, ‘when in Rome’,” you chuckled.

“I suppose,” he hummed, both of you taking sips of your drinks.

After a moment, you leaned against him wordlessly. He gave you a confused look and you just shrugged.

“You know,” you started, “for as shit as it is, being with my parents and all, I’m glad I showed up this year.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that?” He snickered.

You looked up at him, holding your tongue. You were thankful for the vodka giving you an excuse for the redness on your cheeks, but you knew it wasn’t the drinks making you notice just how gorgeous he looked right now. His hair was tousled, probably from the amount of times he would adjust his hair while he spoke. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, drawing attention to the carefully crafted veins that followed from his hands up his arms. There was a slight pink tinge to his cheeks, but you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or your staring that made him blush. You were only tipsy, but he made you feel completely intoxicated.

In a moment of boldness, you leaned up and kissed his cheek.“Because if I didn’t, I’d never have seen a certain handsome guy again. And even worse, I never would’ve gotten to do that.”

Almost immediately, he blushed furiously, “You get a drop of alcohol in you and get all kissy, huh?”

You shrugged, and the sober part of your brain was yelling at you to shut up before you did something stupid. “Only with you.”

His breath hitched, obviously unsure of what to say. His mind was in overload. The person he loves is actively flirting it seems, and he had no clue what to do. He thought about kissing you every day since that first kiss. Truthfully, he thought about it every day since you’d met. In the past, it was only the alcohol that gave him courage to ask. Now, his courage lays less in the alcohol and more in the fact that you were flirting with him, and he knew there would not likely be another chance like this. He turned to face you, gently reaching down to hold your hand.

“Can I… can I kiss you?”

You nodded. He cautiously pulled you forward, and after a moment of breathlessness, pining, and anticipation, you closed the gap. The entire world came to a stop as your lips pressed together. The only thing you could focus on was his lips on yours, shaky hands pulling each other closer, and the intense beating of your heart.

One kiss turned to two, which then turned to three, which then turned to cups on nightstands, a forgotten show, and a lost count of how many kisses had been shared. You had no clue how much time had passed, the only indication of time was the “Are you still watching?” screen proudly displayed on the TV, bathing you and Wilbur in muted light. You pulled away first, completely breathless and admiring the goofy smile on his face as he panted lightly. He reached a hand up, gently brushing his thumb over a small hickey he’d left near your collarbone.

“Sorry,” he hummed, “got a bit enthusiastic.”

"You're not sorry. I can see how proud you look," You snorted, "But I don’t mind, I just may need to steal one of your jumpers to make up for it.”

He tapped his chin in contemplation, “I like the terms of that deal.” He stood, grabbing a light blue jumper from his closet and handing it to you.

You pulled it on over your shirt before looking down at it, “Will, is this your merch?”

“It may be,” he hummed, “it looks good on you, though, babe.”

You tensed, and it seemed to be more visible than you’d intended as he asked, “Oh, I’m sorry, is that not alright? I can call you something else, or just forego the pet names thing entirely, if that- if that makes you more comfortable.”

You shook your head a bit, “No, it’s… it’s alright. Just not used to it.”

He nodded with a sweet smile, “Alright,” he sat down again, holding his hand out for yours.

You smiled, placing your hand in his. He pulled you forward until you were pressed against his chest again.

“Hi,” he chuckled.

“Hey,” you snorted in response, grinning up at him.

“You’re very pretty,” he hummed.

“So are you.”

“I have a proposition, okay, hear me out, ready?”

You nodded as he continued. “You’re pretty, and you say I’m pretty. And I think, if we’re both pretty, it’d be absolutely beautiful if we kissed some more.”

You burst out into laughter, nodding. “Yeah, okay. I’d love to make something beautiful with you.”

He grinned widely, pulling you in for another kiss. At this point, the alcohol had mostly faded from both your system and his. You two were just drunk off each other, becoming a mess of lips, arms tangled around each other, hands in hair, and matching grins. You never felt more thankful for throwing caution out the wind. When you two eventually tired of kissing, you laid your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, keeping you as close as possible.

“We should probably talk about this,” he said, staring up at his ceiling.

You sighed, burying your face against his chest, “Probably should. Or, we could wait ‘til morning and just be all cozy and relaxed right now.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your forehead, “Alright. I am a bit tired, anyway.”

You nodded in agreement and let your eyes slip shut. Upon noticing, Wilbur started humming softly until you’d fully fallen into the arms of sleep.

The morning did not end up as peaceful as you’d hoped it would be. You did not wake up in Wilbur’s arms, but rather to the sounds of him frantically moving across his room, clearly panicking about something.

“Will?”

His head whipped over to you, “Hi, darling, good morning, or- afternoon, rather, I guess.”

“Is everything alright?”

He nodded rapidly, “Yep, yes. Yes. I just- I forgot I have an event for stream today and it starts in like five minutes.”

At that, you grabbed your phone to check the time, startled by how late it was. You were even more startled by the missed call and subsequent text from your mother, informing you of the family holiday dinner that your presence was mandatory for. You groaned, burying your face into the mattress for a moment. The idea of spending another night surrounded by your extended family felt less like a chore and more like court sentencing. Not to mention, you could sense your mother’s kindness was a fallacy she created to convince you to visit. Every moment you were around her you got the sense of her old habits refusing to die.

“I have to go, too,” You sighed, pulling yourself to the edge of the mattress.

He frowned, “Family stuff?”

You nodded.

“Well, maybe after, if you’re not too tired, we can see each other again. If not, there’s always tomorrow, so,” he walked over, gently kissing your forehead, “we got time.”

You were acutely aware of the fact that, realistically, you two did not have time. But that point was irrelevant in this context, so instead, you just nodded.

Wilbur helped you to your feet, gently wrapping his arms around you. You did the same, hugging him tightly for a moment. After a moment, you pulled away and you two stood at arm's length.

He leaned down, giving you a gentle kiss, “I’ll text you after the stream, alright? Hopefully, then I can give you some escape from your family.”

You kissed him back, chuckling, “Please, do. I’ll take all the help I could get against them.”

The walk back home was filled with uneventful dread. You had a few hours to decompress and get ready, but you just didn’t want to go to this dinner. You just wanted to be with Wilbur or to be alone. You opened your front door to see your mother standing in the foyer, and she whipped her head around once you walked in.

“My God, Y/N, I had half a mind to assume you’d died! You don’t even bother to text me when you’ve gone out, or when you’ve woken up, let alone answer my calls, I-“ She stopped herself mid-sentence, taking in your appearance with disdain: the oversized sweater, the messy hair, and the slight red on your cheeks that hadn’t quite gone away since you kissed Wilbur goodbye.

“Where were you?” She demanded, “So help me God, you’d better tell me the truth because, I will not have my child being a whore under my roof.”

You groaned knuckles going white as your hands turned to fists, “For fuck’s sake, Mum, I’m an adult, alright? I’m allowed to have my own life and do my own things, and I am in no way obligated to tell you where I’ve been.”

“Are you on drugs? Have you been going off and getting high?”

“I wish I was, Mum, because maybe then your accusations would actually fucking make sense.”

Your mother scoffed, and you watched with horrid familiarity as her facade returned. Her voice took on a new edge when she spoke, one that brought you back to being a scared child, helpless in defending yourself, “Darling, everything I do is for your sake-“

“Don’t give me that bullshit, mum. You did things for me because it was your job when I was growing up, but you haven’t done shit for me except treat me like an obligation since I left to live in London.”

She let out a sigh, clearly trying to invoke your sympathy, “Well, maybe I just miss knowing what my child is doing.”

You wouldn’t give her an ounce of your pity. “Yeah? Well, maybe if you were a better mother, you’d know.”

You left her standing there in shock as you stormed back to your room. Maybe that was mean, but you couldn’t care less. She made your life a living hell, and still apparently attempts to, and at least now you didn’t have to cower around her anymore. You could stand up for yourself. You got ready for the hellish evening that awaited you, popping on Wilbur’s stream in the meantime. Thankfully, you were able to find an outfit that covered the physical evidence of Wilbur on you, given his apparent love for hickeys. You finished getting ready and just hid out in your room for as long as you reasonably could. Wilbur texted you once his stream ended, and the two of you continued to text throughout the night, which provided a nice distraction from the politics of a family holiday dinner. Your mother refused to make eye contact with you, clearly still upset about our argument. You paid no mind to her pointed remarks and snarky comments throughout the night. The highlight of the evening, however, was your younger cousin. He was a small lad, just recently turned eight, and was frankly a major iPad kid. The joy came from passing behind him to see Wilbur on his screen. He was watching a Minecraft video by someone named Tommy, and lo and behold, there was Wilbur. You brought up Tommy to Wilbur, and he seemed fond of him, happily considering Tommy his “favorite nuisance”.

Once enough people had left – and anyone who was still there was too drunk to notice one less person – you took the opportunity to leave. Once you were out in the light snow, you trekked over to Wilbur’s, shooting him a quick text to let him know you’d be there soon. You were freezing by the time you’d arrived, having left your jacket back in your room.

He opened the door, pulling you into his arms, “Darling, you’re shaking, come here.”

You hugged him back tightly, leaning your head into his shoulder, “You don’t know how happy I am to be here with you.”

“It was that bad?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, closing your eyes, “God, I feel stupid”

“What do you mean?”

“I just- they changed! Or at least, they seemed like they did. Every phone call, they seemed pleasant. I only agreed to even come back because it- it genuinely seemed like they’d changed. But fuck man, they’re exactly the fucking same, if not worse now. I can’t even fathom how I let them get my hopes up again.”

Wilbur didn’t seem to know what to say, instead just rubbing your back soothingly. He spoke up after a moment, “‘m sorry. That sounds like shit.”

“It is,” you pulled away, “I’d rather not think about it anymore, honestly. Not much I can do about it right now, anyway.”

He nodded, “Well, c’mon. You remember how you asked about Tommy?”

You nodded.

“I may have told him about you a bit, and he’s insistent on talking to you. Granted, I told him that wouldn’t be happening, but given the bad night that you’ve had? Trust me, he can make anyone laugh, and you’ll love him, I promise.”

“Okay, sure,” you chuckled, “If you say so.”

He took your hand, pulling you upstairs. You chuckled as you followed him. You sat down in the office chair next to him, and he pulled your chair closer to his own, both popping a headphone in.

“Don’t say anything yet, alright?”

You nodded as he rang Tommy.

“Wilbur!” Tommy spoke loudly, which immediately made you cringe from the noise. Wilbur turned down the volume.

“Hey, Tommy! Listen, remember that childhood friend I told you I was reconnecting with?”

“You mean snogging? Yes.”

Wilbur blushed and you stifled a laugh. “Sure, right. You remember how I said you wouldn’t be meeting them?”

“Why, yes, Wilbur, you said it quite rudely.”

“Right, well,” he gestured for you to say hello.

“Hi, Tommy. It’s nice to meet you.”

A beat passed. Then two.

“WILL, YOU BASTARD, I-” Tommy yelled. You were thankful Wilbur had turned the volumn down. He then took a deep breath clearing his throat, “Hello, Wilbur’s friend. Wilbur, I knew you would introduce me, you prick.”

From there, you and Wilbur spoke to Tommy for a while. He and Wilbur seemed to have this odd dynamic that consisted mostly of just poking fun at each other, but you’d be dammed if you didn’t admit how funny the kid was. Even if a good amount of his comedy was just yelling at Wilbur, it did bring a smile onto your face and even made you laugh quite a bit. Wilbur was right, he did strongly improve your mood after your day.

You and Wilbur ended up laying on his bed afterward, your head on his chest. His hands carded through your hair, taking care to make sure he didn’t tug at any knots. He spoke up softly, “I know you’ve had a shit day, but we should still probably talk.”

You groaned softly, sighing, “I hate when you’re right, you know that?”

“I know,” He chuckled, “I don’t love it either, you’re usually the one in the right.” He took a deep breath before moving on to the actual heart of the topic at hand, “You know, I do really, genuinely like you in a romantic sense.”

“I really like you too.” You didn’t like him, you fucking love him. But if you knew where this was going, you didn’t want to make this harder for the both of you.

He smiled at this, squeezing your hand gently, “Suppose we should discuss if we’re official then.”

You sighed, a frown adorning your features, “In the sake of honesty, I don’t know if we can be.” His face dropped, frown matching your own as you continued.

“In a few days, I’m going back to London, and I barely have time to focus on anything other than studying. I’m worried that I’d be neglectful as a partner, and you don’t deserve that. Even more so, thinking about the future scares the shit out of me. I’m scared of everything, Wilbur. Don’t get me wrong, I want nothing more than to be here with you and forget about the world. I want nothing more than the ability to have a happy relationship with you. But- but, Will, I’m scared of deciding to go through with this, and ending up losing you because of it.”

You buried your head against his chest, letting out a shaky sigh. He was silent for a while before he spoke again.

“I understand. So, how about this?” You looked up at him and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “We have this week. These last few days of holding onto each other and calling each other babe. Then, once you leave, and you get settled in, we see what we can do. We’ll see if you can have the time, or if I can do something, or whatever we can do. And if we figure it out, we figure it out. If we don’t, we wait until you finish this final year, and we pick up from there.”

“You’d be willing to do that?”

“Love, I waited fifteen years to kiss you, and another four just to have you in my life again. A year is nothing in comparison.”

You didn’t quite know when you’d started crying. You sniffled a bit, wiping your eyes as you nodded rapidly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

He smiled at you, wiping your eyes gently, “Okay.”

You leaned up, placing a hand on his cheek as you kissed him. Your heart felt so warm, but your stomach still felt sick at the idea that so much remained uncertain. Part of you hated the idea that he’d be waiting for you, but a band aid solution felt better than simmering in bubbling anxiety, so you would accept it for now at least.

He held you close, smiling softly. He pressed a kiss to your forehead gently, “Don’t worry, love. This time, regardless of what happens, I’m not losing you again. You’re stuck with me, honestly, so you’d better hope you don’t get sick of me. Because I am going to be a thorn in your side.”

You laughed, burying your face against his shoulder, “I’ll gladly accept that. I think I could get quite used to the feeling of being prodded by a thorn all the time.”

He immediately burst out laughing, and you chuckled yourself, lightly hitting him. “I did not mean it like that.”

He laughed, “Mean it like what, darling? Like this?” He turned, sitting on your hips as he started to tickle you. You squealed, squirming under him and laughing.

“Will! I- I swear to God, mate, I will- I will piss myself, stop it!”

He laughed at what could only be described as your suffering, stopping after a moment and just placing his hands on your sides. He leaned down and kissed you, and you wrapped your arms around him, gently playing with the ends of his hair. He hummed softly, one hand coming to cradle your head, his thumb rubbing your cheek. You were both breathless when he pulled away. A lopsided grin stretched across his face, still panting as he spoke, “Do you think orcas make fun of other whales for not having cool designs?”

You burst out laughing, groaning as you threw your head back, “Wilbur Soot, what the hell?”

“I’m serious!” He laughed, “Do you think they’re mean about it?”

You laughed, adoring just how bizarre this beautiful man could be, “I think some are. I like to think most are kind, though. Why is this important?” You laughed through your words.

His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grinned widely, “Everything has some importance to it. In this case, your opinion on if orca whales are assholes or not. I just like hearing your worldview.”

You flushed softly, “Really? And of all the things you’d ask about, why the bitchiness of orcas?”

He hummed, “Well, one, whales are fucking amazing. They’re gigantic and insane looking, I fucking love them. Two, it’s serious to me, but it's not serious. I know your politics, and you know mine. But silly stuff still reflects you, so I’m curious. Now that I can, I want to know all of you in every tiny detail, I want to absorb everything that I’ve missed in the past few years or all the things I just may have forgotten to time. I want to know the parts of you that you have never shown before, and I want to know the parts of you that don’t exist yet. Hence, asking a question you’ve probably never thought of before. I want to learn you as you learn yourself and show you the beauty that lies in each detail.”

You blushed darkly, left speechless. The word, love, was not strong enough, didn’t feel quite right, to fully define just how much you felt for this man. Telling him “I love you” would never fit how much you truly felt for him. You refrained from saying it for now, eventually just grabbing onto him and pulling him into a tight hug.

“You have no idea just how much you mean to me,” you whispered against his ear.

He kissed the side of your head, whispering back, “Darling, I know more than anyone just exactly what you mean.”

You held him, tighter, as if he’d leave you the same way you left him if you’d let go. After a moment, tears began welling up in your eyes. Not bad or good ones, but ones that signified just how loved you felt and how much you felt for him.

“Darling, you’re shaking, is everything alright?” He pulled away, frowning, “You’re crying, love, what’s going on?”

You shook your head, smiling through the tears, “No, it’s not bad, I’m just- sorry,” you spoke in a light sob, and he shook his head.

“Don’t apologize! I’m just worried, did something happen?”

You smiled widely up at him, “No, I’m just overwhelmed,” you said, and when his expression fell, you quickly tacked on, “Not because of you! You just, um, you make me feel… seen, I guess.”

He smiled, wiping tears away, “I’m glad, then. You deserve to be seen. You’re beautiful, and amazing, and… everything. Even if I am the only one who sees you, at least then, someone knows how grand your existence is.”

You groaned, blushing again, “You can’t just say things like that, you twat,” you sniffled a bit. “It’s too nice.”

“It’s true,” he shrugged, “simply deal with it.”

You laughed, pulling him in for another hug, “I’ll learn to, I guess.”

He buried his face against your neck, nodding, “Good.” He pressed a few gentle kisses along your neck. The kisses started delicately, as if he was worried that kissing you too hard would hurt. As you relaxed further and further into each kiss, you could feel him grin softly against your neck. His kisses slowly became more heated. They became languid and rougher, but never painful. He eventually escalated to covering your neck with hickeys, your hands carding through his hair. You fully relaxed in his arms. You kissed the top of his head, and he looked up at you, grinning softly.

“Sorry,” he hummed, “May have gotten a bit carried away.”

“It’s alright, I quite like them.”

“Oh, really?” He went to add more to the mosaic on you, but you held him back.

“Yes, but I’d much rather kiss you myself.”

He pulled himself up, grinning down at you, “Gladly.”

Things were still and quiet in the morning. You rested your head against Wilbur’s chest, his arms securely wrapped around you. Overnight, it appeared that the snow had gotten stronger, so there was a slight chill in the room that had you moving further into Wilbur’s arms.

Wilbur pressed a gentle kiss to your head, “Morning.”

You hummed, looking up at him, “Morning.”

The room settled into a comfortable silence, both of your brains still stirring awake. His head shifted towards the window, calling your attention to the snowflakes gathering on the sill.

“You know I’m not letting you walk home like this?”

“What, in the cold?”

“Yep. And not to mention you look… a little wild.”

“Coming from you that’s a compliment. I’d argue you probably look worse.”

“I could make you look worse.”

You snorted and laughed, laying your head on his chest again, “You’re in a mood this morning.”

“I’m just happy that you’re here.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve woken up here recently though.”

“No. But it’s the first time we’re able to kiss and relax when we wake up together.”

You smiled, “True. A nice contrast to yesterday.”

He hummed, “Today will be a better day.”

You chuckled in agreement, holding tightly to him.

He gently rubbed your back, kissing the top of your head.

After a moment, you looked up at him. “We have to get up at some point, you know.”

He hummed, turning you both over to splay his body weight on top of you. “‘m sorry, what was that?”

You laughed, “Okay, okay, don’t crush me, we can just sleep in. At least until like midday.”

He cheered, getting up on his elbows and covering your face in kisses, “Yes! Good! Rest time!”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re good at convincing. Helps when there’s something in it for me.”

“Like what?”

“A kiss, hopefully.”

“Gladly,” He chuckled. He leaned down, lips meeting yours in a quick motion. You kissed him back, your hands playing with his hair gently. When you pulled away, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you on top of him and squeezing you tightly.

“Will! Are you trying to kill me?” You laughed as you asked him breathlessly.

He lightened up a bit, chuckling, “Nope. Just trying to keep you here forever.”

You hummed, sitting up on his lap once he gave you the space. “It’d be an honor to be here forever.”

“In our secret oasis.” His hands came to your sides, lightly rubbing up and down.

“It’s your childhood bedroom, but yes, if you want to give it the dramatic name. Our secret oasis.”

“It’s secret because no one knows we’re here.”

“What about Tommy? Or the thousands of people on your stream?”

“Tommy doesn’t know my exact location. And I’d fucking hope my chat doesn’t either.” He laughed.

You laughed, “Okay, okay, I get it. It’s our secret place. Though I’d argue the back field where we had our first kiss is probably more of our secret place.”

“Oh, god, don’t remind me of that kiss. I was so nervous to kiss you. I practically chugged half the vodka to try and calm down.”

“I was nervous too! My cute, dorky, best friend who I’d secretly been crushing on, wanted to kiss me? Yeah, I freaked out a little bit.”

“It didn’t seem like it! You seemed so composed!”

“Only because I was so nervous.” You leaned down, pecking his lips. “We should try and go back there one of these days. Maybe recreate that kiss with fewer nerves?”

“Would you put your prom outfit back on?”

You lightly slapped his chest, gasping at the implications, “You gremlin.”

“I’m serious! You looked really good.”

“Would you wear yours?”

“Mine still vaguely smells like vomit, so, no.”

“Then I won’t be wearing mine.” You stuck your tongue out at him.

He pouted, “Fine. To be fair, you could be wearing anything and I’d find you gorgeous.”

You flushed, “Even in a dinosaur costume?”

“Oh, especially in a dinosaur costume.”

You laughed, “Okay, Soot. I’ll wear that if we ever go on a date.”

“You mean when. We will be going on a date without a doubt.”

“Oh? And what would we do?”

He hummed, “Well, we couldn’t be out in public. For your safety and privacy. Plus, I know you don’t like fancy places much anyway. So, probably a picnic. But, with some takeout from a good restaurant since my cooking isn’t fantastic. And then, just coming back to my place, or yours, and watching a movie.”

“That… sounds lovely, actually.”

“Actually? Rude.”

You chuckled, “Sorry, I’ve just become used to the idea of a date being ‘come by my place so we can drink surrounded by shitty roommates and trash.’”

Wilbur looked horrified, “Darling, I am going to change that. No more gross college boys. You deserve to be treated so much better.”

You blushed, “Thank you, Will. I’ll be holding you to that, though.”

“You don’t even have to worry. I can’t believe you had to even deal with people like that, Christ. I’m going to raise your standards.”

You hummed, “You already have.”

Pink rose on Wilbur’s face, and he reached a hand up to your cheek, “I’m glad then.”

You smiled, leaning forward and playing with his hair.

“We should go,” you spoke up, “Back to the field, I mean. Might be a nice way to just get out of the house a bit.”

You nodded with a hum. “When?”

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, “Later after we’ve taken a nap.”

“Wilbur, we’ve just woken up.”

“Yeah, but you make me comfortable. Plus we had a lot of fun last night.”

You lightly hit him, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Soot. A nap does sound nice though.”

He grinned, “Doesn’t it?”

You leaned down, placing your head on his shoulder and landing a soft kiss on his cheek. He turned his head to grin lovingly at you, parting the curtain of your hair with one hand while the other held you close to him.

By the time you woke up again, it was well past three. Wilbur was already awake, his hand gently carding through your hair. It was a bit warmer now than when you’d woken up initially. You yawned, stretching as you woke up.

“Morning, darling,” he smiled as he looked down at you.

“Morning, again,” you chuckled softly, sitting up properly and rubbing your eyes.

He chuckled, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“Want to go to the cafe? It’s probably pretty empty right now.”

You chuckled, nodding again, “Yeah, that sounds nice. Mind if I borrow a jumper?”

He hummed, “Go ahead. Take your pick.”

You stood slowly, grabbing a big yellow jumper from his closet. You changed quickly, trying to conserve enough warmth while Wilbur changed as well.

You finished getting dressed, turning to him, “Are we walking there?”

He hummed, peering out the window, “We could, but it might be safer if we don’t. It’s not snowing anymore, but it could start up again.”

“I could drive us then. We’d just have to walk to my place.”

He nodded, “Alright.”

Taking his hand in yours, you walked downstairs and outside into the cold icy streets.

The walk to your house was peaceful, breaths visible in the air, as you and Wilbur walked hand in hand. When you reached your front door, the serene air surrounding your walk shattered upon realizing you had to face your family. You just had to go in and grab your keys. You repeated it like a mantra in your mind. You considered telling Wilbur to wait outside, but before you could, he squeezed your hand.

“It’s alright, I’ll be with you the whole time, okay?”

You nodded, looking up at him as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You let out a breath, letting go of his hand to open your front door. You tried to make a B-line for your room, but the sound of the door opening seemed to have alerted the home, as your aunt swooped into the foyer.

“Oh, my goodness! Little Wilby! My, how you’ve grown!” She squealed out, the rest of your family coming up quickly. Everyone was quick to dote on Wilbur, having known him for just about as long as you had.

“Sweetheart, is that where you’ve been sneaking off to? You should’ve told me you were hanging out with Wilbur, we could’ve invited him for dinner!” Your mother seemed innately pleased in the notion that you were with Wilbur. It only made you want to get out of there faster. Wilbur didn’t seem too overwhelmed speaking to your family, but you knew that it was starting to get to him slightly so you took charge.

“Right, well, we’re planning to head to the café, so we’d best get going. I just need to grab my keys,” you grabbed Wilbur’s arm, pulling him quickly to your room, and ignoring the calls of protest from behind you.

You let out a breath once you got in, looking up at him, “Sorry if they were kind of all over you.”

He smiled softly, “It’s alright,” he pulled you forward, kissing the top of your head. He was quiet for a moment before a frown replaced his smile. “They haven’t changed,” he hummed, “I thought you told me before you left that they were getting better”

You sighed, “I thought they were,” you leaned your head against his chest, “They only got better because I was there to mediate. Now, they’re just as toxic again.”

“Well, you should grab a bag and put some clothes and stuff in it. That way you can spend the majority of your time not here.” Wilbur suggested, gently rubbing your back.

You looked up at him, a soft grin adorning his face. You smiled back, “That sounds like a great idea.”

You pulled away to start grabbing stuff, Wilbur sitting down on your bed. You wondered what he was thinking about. Vaguely you wondered if he was getting that same feeling you did the night you went back to his room to listen to him play music. You wondered if his eyes roaming around meant that he was also reliving the memories you two had here, the number of times you had snuck out of your window, him showing you random videos to drown out the fighting of your family, complaining over schoolwork or professors, and just existing hip to hip.

Once you’d packed up, you walked over to him, grabbing his hands. “You’re thinking about something.”

He chuckled, “Yeah, I am.”

“What’s in that head of yours, Soot?”

“Thinking about the future.”

Oh.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, neither of us live here anymore. And you’ll be leaving London eventually. So, I’m thinking about where we go from there.”

“Well, depends on where I get a job, I suppose.”

“Lots of jobs in Brighton.”

“Will,” you laughed, “That doesn’t mean I’ll be able to find one there. I’m studying fucking English. Not much I can do anywhere I want.”

“You could work for me.”

“Will-“

“No, I’m serious. You used to help me with DnD campaigns. You could edit scripts or lyrics. You used to write poetry, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

You sighed, “Will, I’m not sure that would work. I’m not sure dating my employer is truly the best solution here.”

“For Tommy, then, he probably needs more help with his scripts than I do anyway.”

“That could cause problems with you and Tommy if something happens, and I don’t want that.”

“I’m just saying, there are options. You could do remote work and just live in Brighton.”

“Brighton is expensive.”

“It’s cheaper than London.”

“Not by much. Rent is still insane in Brighton, trust me, I’ve looked.”

“Not if you split a place with me.”

Your breath hitched.

“Wilbur…”

“Just hear me out, okay, we’ve known each other long enough to know how we’d work together. I’m not losing you again. We could find a nice three-bedroom, so we could both have our own rooms and office space, and we could make it work. Then, once we’ve saved enough, we could move to fuckin’ America or something, wherever we want to go, we could do.”

“America?”

“Anywhere you’d like to go, I’d follow you. America’s just my pipe dream.”

You sighed. It could be a good option, honestly.

“I’m just not quite sure yet.”

“And you don’t have to be! You’ve still got a year til graduation. I could find a place in that time, so by the time you’re ready, we can do it.”

You squeezed his hands, hanging your head, “Maybe I’ll think about it.”

He seemed to let out a breath of relief, “That’s all I ask.”

You nodded, placing your forehead against his gently. You and he shared a silent moment, just breathing together. His hands slowly moved to wrap around your waist, pulling you in to tight hug. You hugged him back just as tightly. And though he would never say it, you knew exactly what fear ran through his mind. You knew exactly what he was afraid of. That you refused to be as dedicated to this commitment between the two of you as he was. Because there remained a lingering fear in you that this would not last. This pocket of bliss would rip a seam at the bottom and fall into another void of unforgiving remnants of time where your promises went to die.

You both managed to sneak out without too much disruption from your family. A snarky comment about keeping it clean from your uncle as you shut the door to your house would not deter you, as most things they could say now couldn’t. You two sat in the car for a moment, waiting for it to heat up. He connected his phone, putting on some music to hopefully put the both of you in a better mood.

The drive was short, with little words being shared beside Wilbur singing along to the music. Neither of you wanted to leave the car, despite the slightly tense atmosphere. After parking, you reached over and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly.

You scrambled to think of something to say to break the tension.

Thankfully, Wilbur had you beat, “You used to like filming things.”

“I- yeah. I still do, I guess. Just don’t have time for it anymore.”

“Would you ever want to do it?”

You thought for a moment. “I mean, yeah, maybe. I’d still love to make a music video or something one day.”

He nodded, “You could do it. Youtube and stuff, I mean.”

You sighed, “Will, I just don’t have the time to start. And by the time I can make money from it, it’ll be way too late.”

“I know you want to think about this more, but, all of my Youtube friends need help with people that film that they can trust. If you want to go that route, there are options. Even if it’s not for me or Tommy, I know people. And then it’ll give you time to start your own account, and I can help you with that! I can promote you, even,”

“Not that. If I do it, I don’t want to blow up completely out of nowhere. I’d want to be used to it first.”

“But you’re thinking about it.”

You laughed, “I’m thinking about it.”

He raised his other hand in cheers, “That is a win for me. I’ll take it.”

You laughed, tugging his hand, “C’mon. Let’s go eat.”

You turned the car off, and he quickly bolted out of the car and went to your side to open the door, “Hurry, hurry, it’s freezing out here.”

You laughed, taking his outstretched hand and standing, “You chose to be chivalrous, take your punishment.”

He let out a whine, tugging you into his arms, “Come here, I need warmth.”

You locked the car, letting out a loud laugh, “Okay, okay,” you wrapped your arms around him, rubbing his back, “Let’s go inside, it’ll be warm in there.”

He nodded, letting go of the hug to pull the both of you inside. You both went to order, and he turned to you while you waited, “What do you think you’ll get?”

You shrugged, “Probably just a coffee and a muffin. Just something small.”

“Do you still get them the same way?”

You nodded.

“Alright. Could you do me something then?”

“Uh, depends.”

The person in front of us moved, making us up at the register.

“Could you go grab me a napkin? I think I touched some ice or something.” He held his hand up, thumb swiping over his fingers and palm. You knew how he was when it came to weird sensations, so you quickly replied.

“Oh, sure,” you turned, walking to the sidebar to grab him a napkin. You walked back over to him as he was paying, handing him the napkin.

“Thanks! Also, I ordered and paid for you.”

You stared at him, shocked for a moment. After a moment, you spoke, “Did you even need a napkin?”

He shook his head quickly, “Just needed you to walk away so I could pay for you.”

You blinked at him, lightly hitting his arm, “You ass. Don’t do that.”

“What? Pay for you?”

“Yeah.”

“You simply cannot stop me, love.”

You groaned, “I swear to god. I’ll start paying for your shit too.”

“I’m taller than you, therefore faster. Good luck trying.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Yeah? I don’t think you do,” Wilbur snickered, before lifting a hand to the collar of his sweater. You flushed when he daintily pulled the fabric back to reveal the hickeys you had left on him the night before. You switched your gaze to meet his and he winked, only flustering you further. You pressed your head against his shoulder while he just laughed at you.

You sighed after you’d calmed a bit, “I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

“You do pay me back. Just by being with me.”

You hid the way you blushed, “Sappy.”

“Only for you.”

“Hush. I’ll make you flustered right back.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Well, I c-“

“Order for Wilbur!”

The barista called out, saving Wilbur just in time for the not-exactly publicly appropriate thing preparing to leave your mouth. Wilbur walked forward, grabbing the order for you both and walking to a booth in the far corner by a window. You both sat down, and he passed you your coffee.

“Light roast latte with caramel?”

“How do you even remember that?”

He chuckled, “I just do. I said earlier, I want to memorize you, and that includes all the tiny details. Like your coffee order. And the fact that you prefer regular chocolate chip muffins to the double chocolate chip muffins because you think it’s too much chocolate.” He handed you your muffin after, and you flushed once again.

“It is too much chocolate.” You spoke simply, not quite sure how to respond. Part of you felt guilty that you didn’t remember these small details about him, so you continued with, “I’ll have to relearn anything I’ve forgotten about you.”

That caused him to flush slightly, “Really?”

“Yeah. Can’t be sharing the pieces of me to a stranger, after all.”

“I’d argue we’re much closer than strangers.”

“True. But I need to have you memorized as you have me.”

He smiled, a gentle smile that told you he was grateful, “That’s true.”

You bit into your muffin. There was a soft smile on your face that you tried to hide by lowering your head. He saw it, though. You knew he did.

After you finished eating, you took your drinks and returned to the car. You duetting him for the songs you remembered, the old Los Campesinos! he taught you back when Aleksandra was still in the band. You were going to turn to his home but stopped when you saw the street your school resided on. You turned down the street, parking in the old lot between the school and the old church. They were both covered in holiday decorations, a grave reminder of the short time you and Will had together. But you tried not to think of it.

Instead, you looked at the school, thinking of the day you chose to leave.

When Wilbur caught sight of you, he spoke up, “Memories?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh, “Thinking of our last day there.”

He nodded, “That was… a day to say the least.”

“It was a good day, for the most part. We were so excited. I just…”

“What is it?”

“I knew for two weeks that I’d be leaving… I don’t know why I waited until that day to tell you. I spent all day knowing that it was the last day I’d probably see you. I keep thinking that maybe I should’ve told you earlier. Maybe I should’ve done something so that you’d beg me to stay. And things may have gone differently.”

“To be fair, I didn’t exactly take the news well.”

“Well, yeah, but-“

“Do you really think I would’ve let you go? I would’ve been so angry that we wouldn’t have had a good last few weeks or days. I was a petty person, so at least by waiting, we had a good day before the fight.”

You sighed softly, “I guess so.”

He took your hand, going quiet for a moment before speaking again, “I should have asked you to stay. Instead, I just forced you away because of how angry I was. I should’ve tried harder.”

“You know I wouldn’t have stayed. I wouldn’t ask you to wait for me after all. I just… wish you could’ve been happy for me. I know we were both yelling a lot, but it did hurt. It was my only way out of the house. I wish you could’ve at least been happy about that.”

He sighed, “I am, now. Despite the hell hole that London is, it’s better comparatively. I’m just happy for you a bit too late.” He gently reached a hand up, brushing some hair out of your face.

You took a deep breath, leaning into his hand. “We could talk about should’ve-beens and would’ve-dones until we’re blue. Maybe we should just talk about now.”

“You think so?”

You nodded, pulling the lever at your seat to recline back. Wilbur did the same, and you turned to face him, getting comfortable.

“Do you think bees dance to communicate because they find it fun?” He asked after a moment.

“Sadly, no,” you hummed, “I think because they do it for work, they don’t find dancing fun. They probably find things like conference calls fun. Or paperwork.”

“Do you think they operate on a capitalist or communist type system?”

“They don’t have currency, so neither technically, but closer to communism. If they were capitalists, the bees would’ve gone extinct long ago.”

“Do you think they’re going extinct now because they tried to switch to capitalism?”

You laughed, “That I know is not true. I saw the Bee Movie, they’re dying because humans aren’t getting into weird relationships with them anymore.”

That led Wilbur to burst out laughing, hitting the seat of the car as he laughed. You laughed as well, mostly due to how happy his genuine laugh made you.

You glance at him between your own laughter, a fond look taking over your features. Once he’d calmed a bit, he made eye contact and smiled, giving you an odd look, “What is it?”

“Hm?”

“Something’s going on in your brain, you’ve never looked at me like that before.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m not sure yet. Could be a dangerous thing.”

“Oh, really? Dangerous how?”

“Well, it could make me do this,” he placed a hand on your jaw, gently pulling you in for a kiss. It was a bit awkward, given the lack of support brought on by the gap between your car seats. However, it was warmer than the cold that seeped into the car and that still resided in your chest just by being home.

He grinned when he pulled back, thumb gently stroking your cheek, “You know, since you’re staying at mine for at least two days, you could be on a stream.”

You chuckled, “At least?”

He nodded, “At least. It’s the bare minimum. My actual estimate is for the next five days,” you only had seven left, “you’re ignoring the point though.”

You thought about it for a moment, “Would I have to be seen?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“And what would they know about us?”

“Just that you’re my friend.”

You hummed, “Maybe. Will Tommy be there?”

“Do you want Tommy to be there?”

You snorted, “Not necessarily. Plus, you mentioned that he has a bit of an issue with spilling information.”

“Oh, yes, he does.”

“Well then, we’d better make sure that if I do, he’s not there. Don’t need him making another joke about us snogging.”

He laughed, “That’s a good point.”

You smiled softly, “Is your chat nice?”

“To me? No. To guests? Always.”

“Good, I’ll like them then.”

He gasped, “Fuckin’ rude. You’d better side with me. They will try to side with you, so you’d better only side with me.”

“I will do as I so please, Mr. Soot.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, it just so happens that I, too, will do as I please. Which includes this,” he leaned forward, kissing you again.

You kissed him back lovingly, pulling away with your hand on his cheek this time, “Well, it just so happens then that our interests aligned at that moment.”

“Oh? So you’re saying kissing me pleases you?”

He was trying to make you flustered, but it wouldn’t work this time, “Yes. It does.”

He flushed instead, leaning forward, “Well, if it does, then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“Not at all,” You kissed him once again.

After a routine of kissing and Wilbur breaking to ask his weird questions for about two hours, you two eventually decided to leave the parking lot. However, you took the long route home, the two of you just driving around to see your old hometown.

“You remembered my love of poetry earlier,” you commented after a moment.

He nodded, “It’s always been big for you, even if it’s something you don’t like to talk about.”

You nodded pensively before continuing, “Have I told you one of my favorite poems?”

“You have a lot so you’d have to be more specific.”

You chuckled softly, “It’s The Road Not Taken by Frost. Have I told it to you before?”

He shook his head, “No, you haven’t.”

You hummed, “It’s much more of a recent favorite. Anyways, I really recommend it. I’d recite it, but-”

“No, do.”

“But I don’t have it perfectly memorized anymore. I used to. I have the last stanza memorized still, but you need the context of the rest of the poem to understand.”

“Let me find it, hold on,” he pulled out his phone and found the poem, beginning to recite it out loud to the both of you. When he reached the final stanza, you joined in:

“I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

He was quiet for a moment as he processed the poem. “So what does it mean?”

“Well,” you started, “it's become a recent favorite because of us. There’s irony throughout the poem. The subject is the road he did not take, the choice he did not make, to the point where he says that instead of telling us he took the common path, he should be telling a story years later about how he took the road less traveled by and it changed his life. I keep thinking about how the road less traveled for us would’ve been me staying, and how different everything may have been. Things could’ve been completely different for us.”

“That’s interesting. I like the poem. But, I really like the path you took.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “think about it. We never talked about the prom kiss until recently. If you’d stayed, we probably never would have. We might’ve just been stuck pining for each other til the end of time.”

“So you wouldn’t change anything? Even the fight?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t, at least not without some sort of guarantee that we’d still end up together. I think we’d always be in each other's lives in some way. But with the way things worked out, we got together, rather than just staying friends,” He sighed appreciatively, “Not to say I wouldn’t be alright with if we’d stayed friends, but at least this way, we have a shot at this. And maybe we would’ve eventually found each other again and got together, and all the hurt wouldn’t have been necessary, but I know I wouldn’t take the chance of changing anything without knowing we’d reach this point again.”

You stopped at a light, turning to look at him, “It was worth it then? All the loneliness and upset and anger?”

He nodded, smiling softly, “Absolutely, if it meant getting us where we are.”

You blushed, looking back at the road. You didn’t think he could still make you shy at this point, yet in nearly every conversation he seemed to one-up himself. “I’m glad,” you spoke quietly. He gently squeezed your hand.

You pulled into his driveway, parking quickly and grabbing your bag from the backseat.

“Let’s go in. I want to get cozy.” You hummed.

He nodded, “Of course. Did you pack your laptop?”

You nodded.

“Want to play Minecraft?”

The two of you rushed inside from the cold and quickly made a matter of getting as comfortable as possible. You snagged one of his hoodies this time, pulling on a pair of nice sweatpants as well. While he went to get dressed, you snuck downstairs to the kitchen to make hot chocolate for you both. He seemed to be a bit distracted with getting his computer turned on and making space for your laptop, but after a few minutes, you heard his footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Darling?”

“In here,” you called out, stirring the milk you’d heated to combine with the chocolate.

He stepped in, wrapping his arms around you gently, “Hot chocolate?

You nodded, leaning your head back against him, “Figured it’d be nice to have a treat while we game. Just like the olden days,” You chuckled.

He grinned, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek, “Thank you.”

You turned in his arms, smiling up at him, “Of course, Wil. You feelin’ all cozy?”

He nodded, smiling back at you, “Very much so. I got you whitelisted on my server, so we can play together. And if any of my friends join, you could meet them, as well.”

“Oh, yeah? Like who?”

“You could meet my bandmates. Sometimes they’re on around this time. Tommy probably won’t be on, but my friend Quackity might, you’d like him I think. There are some others as well, but some of them I can wait to introduce you to when you visit me in Brighton for the first time, a lot of them live around there. Plus, then you won’t have to see my friend James’s embarrassing Minecraft username.”

“What’s his username?” You laughed.

“JamesDoesMining.”

You burst out laughing, and he did as well. “Don’t even bring it up to him, he will try to defend himself.”

You leaned up and pecked his lips, “I won’t. Can you grab the mugs?”

He nodded, leaving the hug to grab two mugs while you turned off the stove, taking the ladle and pouring you and Wilbur’s cups of hot chocolate.

You both headed upstairs, getting cozy and preparing for a calm night of gaming and being together.

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