#tommy warfare x fem!reader

[glassbxttless]

Pet Shop Polly

tommy gallagher (warfare) x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k+

summary: Sam sends Tommy to the local pet store to pick up an order for Whiskey.

warnings: No smut! Just Tommy getting a crush. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

notes: **my friends and I have dubbed Tommy’s last name, Gallagher, run with that if you’d like** | My Tommyverse and Samverse are interwoven, if y’all care! Sam’s girl is still nameless in here, don’t worry— it doesn’t affect the reader-insert illusion (Tommy calls her Mrs. O’Brien whether they’re married or not). Big thanks to @peachyproserpina and @getaapologist for helping me build this little universe.

You were halfway through reorganizing the chew toy section for the second time that day, when the bell over the front door jingled louder than you’re used to. Tuesdays were slow, only one or two customers had trickled in that morning and not one of them had been Sam, a regular Tuesday flyer— and you still had four hours of your shift left to go. Agnes looked up from her stool at the register at the sound, eyes squinting beneath her glasses like she was already preparing to pull out a special brand of unimpressed. You peeked around the endcap, your hands curled around a kong ball, just in time to see who had apparently unknowingly earned her wrath today.

Not Sam O’Brien, that was for sure.

This guy was taller, face softer around the edges. He had a beat up navy hoodie on, with the sleeves tugged low. You could see the frayed hem and the hole in the armpit each time he moved his arm forward slightly. His cheeks were pink like he’d either jogged here or he just existed in a state of permanent embarrassment. He looked skittish, like he’d been placed in an environment that definitely wasn’t normal for him. You watched as his chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath before approaching the counter. He pushes a hand over the slightly overgrown buzz cut on his head before offering the smallest, most polite smile you’d ever seen survive Agnes’ attitude. His voice is nervous, a bit of a shake as each word tumbles from his lips, “Hi, um… I’m here to pick up an order for Sam? Sam O’Brien. For his dog. Whiskey.”

You step a little closer, pretending to busy yourself with a box as Agnes narrowed her eyes. “You’re not Sam.”

That makes him huff out a laugh, and he’s bringing his hand up— scratching at the back of his neck. You wanted to hear that laugh again and again. “No, ma’am. Definitely not. Thomas— I mean, Tommy. Tommy’s fine. He asked me to grab it since I was already in town.” His eyes divert towards the counter for just a moment before he’s looking up at Agnes, his cheeks still tinted pink but there’s a wide grin spread across them. 

Agnes sighs, loud and annoyed. “About damn time. Order’s been sitting since last week. Dog’s gonna think we forgot about her.”

You tried not to smile as you wandered even closer, the box you’d been fussing with now long forgotten. Moving on, you’re pretending to organize the treats now. You could get a good look at him now. Tall, broad shoulders, the hoodie just a little too short on him. You thought you might’ve seen Sam in a similar one. His hair was blonde. And the second Agnes turned to get the order slip you could see him visibly begin to relax— those shoulders rolling back and loosening, that quiet little smile settling in again. Cheeks still pink as ever. 

Cute. He was really fucking cute.

Agnes heaves herself up after tugging the order slip off the back counter. She’s muttering something about her “damn hip” and pointed toward the back, where two very large bags of dog food sat next to the break room door. “It’s those two fifty-pound salmon and pumpkin bags by the door.” She takes a look out the window next to the register, seeing Tommy’s vehicle was the only one there, “You can bring your truck ‘round back.”

He gives a curt nod, slipping his hand into his hoodie pocket to pull his keys out. But before Tommy could turn, you step up and tap his arm lightly. You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek so hard you could cry, but fuck this is what playing it casual has to look like. “I can help you load it, if you want.”

He looks at you. He’s really taking you in. He’s surprised for half a second, and then something softer is settling behind his eyes. That same little nervous ass smile that’s been on his face since he walked in— but now it’s growing, it’s all teeth and red cheeks. He was looking at you like he didn’t quite believe you could help him load it, but he appreciated the offer anyway.

“Thanks,” he says softly, voice gentle albeit his exterior looked anything but gentle. “But I’ve got it. Appreciate the offer, though.” He smiled, like maybe he was the type to find genuine offers kind of sweet. He gives you a nod as he walks out, sliding into that old red beat up Ford F-10. He pulls the truck around back and smiles at Agnes as she lets him through the back door. 

You busy yourself right in front of the break room— maybe you had work to do there or maybe you just want to watch the way he handles two fifty-pound bags like they weigh nothing at all. He shoots Agnes a grin, a quick thank you. And if his eyes catch yours while he’s turning to leave, you’re none the wiser. 

Tommy backs into Sam’s driveway nice and slow— not wanting to clip the flower beds and get his ass chewed out like the last time. He’s throwing it in park, heading around the back to tug the tailgate down— those big-ass bags of dog food still riding solo in the back. He can hear Whiskey barking before he even took two steps down the flower lined walkway— that pitchy and whiny bark Sam always complained about, echoing through the cracked front windows.

He takes the two steps up to the front porch, lifting his hand to knock. But the front door swings open before he even gets a chance to. “You took your sweet goddamn time getting back,” Sam chuckles, a grin spread ear to ear. “Whisk thought you ran off with her dinner.”

“Think she can wait just a few more minutes. Said this has been sitting there a week,” Tommy huffs as he heads back down the path, hauling one of the bags out over his shoulder with a loud grunt.

Sam chuckles and rolls his eyes, taking a step out onto the porch to get a better view. From the doorway, Sam’s girl— standing bare feet, comfy T-shirt, hair up— watched, smiling at the sight of them. “Hey, Tommy!” She sends a little wave his way as Whiskey nuzzles at her legs. 

“Afternoon, Mrs. O’Brien,” he responds politely, giving her a small nod as he huffs out a breath. Tossing one of the bags down inside the door with a soft thud before he repeats the entire thing with the second. Sam’s girl has a hand on that little pink collar around Whiskey’s neck to keep her from darting. She was practically vibrating with excitement, her tail a blur. The only person she loved more than Sam and his girl? was Tommy. 

“Oh, don’t encourage him, sweetheart,” Sam mutters, pressing a kiss against her shoulder as he steps back over the threshold to help slide the bags into their usual spot, limp and all. “He’s trying to marry us off before I even propose.”

“She’s put up with you long enough, hasn’t she?” Tommy asked, shaking his head just a bit as he let out a chuckle. 

Sam barks out a laugh at that, shooting him a grin. “Barely.”

Tommy watches as Sam’s girl steps around them to start putting away the dog food into the bins in the cabinet. Sam kisses her head and then he’s leading Tommy back out onto the porch. Sam’s stretching then, and Tommy is letting his hands settle into the front pocket of his hoodie. They stand there for a moment, comfortable with the quiet growing between them before Tommy asks, all red cheeked and curious, “Hey, so… that stocker at the shop— how long’s she been working there?”

Sam gave him a sharp look out the corner of his eye as he leans against the banister railing. “What, the cute one with the freckles? or the one who looks like a 2003 Hot Topic threw up all over them?”

Tommy flushed instantly. “Uh….” He mutters something else as he looks away, but he’s smiling. Barely. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. But it’s enough for Sam to notice.

So Sam does what any other older brother would do, he elbows him a little too hard in the ribs and turns up the teasing to ten. “Aw, buddy. You got a little crush on Pet Shop Polly?”

“I just asked a question.”

“And I’m just saying you look like you want to write her a thank-you card for making eye contact with your sorry ass.” Sam chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. Tommy doesn’t miss the way he shifts his weight to his good leg. 

Tommy chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “You’re such a dick.”

“Yeah, and she’s really sweet. Way outta your league.” He rolls his eyes and takes another look at Tommy. Head to toe.

Tommy finally laughs then, full and warm, his cheeks getting even redder. “Shut up, man.”

“You shut up.” Sam counters and shakes his head, “You should go back, man. I’ll even let you take Whiskey with you. Can say she demanded to thank her personally. Been wanting a little time with the missus anyway.”

“That’s dumb.”

Sam grins, ear to ear like he’s just cracked the code into getting Tommy a girlfriend. “Yeah maybe, but it's the best excuse you’ve got.”

The next evening Tommy sits in his truck for a solid two minutes after parking before he works up the nerve to go inside. Whiskey’s beside him in the passenger seat. She’s sitting proud, leash clipped to her little pink harness like she had any clue that he was trying to use her to get laid. She looked thrilled. Tommy knew her walks with Sam were getting shorter each day. But while Whiskey just wants to get out of the house, sniff around a little— Tommy looks like he was trying to do calculus in his head in the front seat of his truck. “She’s not gonna care,” he mutters like he knows literally anything about you, he’s rubbing his palms against his jeans, willing them to dry before he steps out. “You’re just… bringing the dog in to say thanks. It’s not weird. Not weird at all.”

Whiskey let out a yawn and a long sigh, “Great,” he sighed. “You’re the perfect wingwoman, Whisk.” He finally clambers out, pink leash in his hand. And he nudges the door open with his shoulder. The bell above the door jingled again, loud and tinny. Enough to make Whiskey growl out in annoyance.

You glance up from the aisle you were stocking. Agnes is on her break and you were the only one on shift right at the moment. You’ve got a bag of dental chews in one hand and a price gun in the other. You weren’t expecting anyone to come in this late, certainly not him— with the world’s happiest golden retriever happily trotting alongside.

Tommy gives a little wave in your direction. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile, definitely surprised but not unhappy. You had never seen him in the store before yesterday. You place the things in your hands down on the cart in front of you, grinning, “Did Sam already run out of dog food?”

“No, uh… Whiskey just wanted to say thank you. You know. For the food.”

You blinked, starting to feel hot from your toes, upward. “She did?”

Tommy nods, really trying his best not to look as nervous as he felt. And he was spectacularly failing at it. “Yeah. She defininitely said thank you.”

You grin, biting back a laugh as Whiskey sits down at your feet and gives you the most slobbery, expectant stare imaginable. You can’t resist. “Well,” you said, crouching a little to give her a scratch behind the ears, “she’s very polite.”

“She gets it from Sam,” Tommy jokes and your laugh brings a smile to his eyes. Tommy looks more than a little relieved at the sound, and then clears his throat. “Honestly, I just figured I didn’t, uh… say thank you properly. For offering to help me yesterday. It was super nice.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way down here to do that.”

“I know I didn’t have to. But I wanted to.” Tommy shrugs, that same little smile on his face. Like he doesn’t know exactly how it’s been rewiring your brain for the last 24 hours.  

You stand up, brushing your hands off on your jeans. “Well, I accept your very elaborate, canine-delivered thank-you.” He  smiles at that— really smiles. The one that’s a little crooked, full of teeth, and pink cheeks. The one that looks like his nerves have melted away. 

“She, uh… also mentioned I should probably get your name this time,” his voice is quieter, the smile is fading just a little. And he’s bringing a hand up and rubbing the back of his neck.

You tilted your head, your own lips tugging up into a grin. “She did, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s very… insistent. Dog’s got a strong sense of etiquette.”

You offered your name to him with a soft laugh, and he repeated it quietly a few times like he wanted to make sure he didn’t forget it. “Oh, uhm… I’m Tommy,” he adds, just a little late.

“I remember,” you say softly, making your chest heat up with embarrassment for admitting you were eavesdropping on him yesterday. “Sam’s friend, right? The nice one.”

Tommy blushes even more, which you weren’t even sure was possible until that moment. He holds your gaze though— he’s nervous, yeah, but he’s standing his ground. There’s a pause that stretches between you as he thinks of his next words, his next move. “Hey, um,” he starts, shifting his weight like he was trying to casually anchor himself to the floor. He tightens his grip on Whiskey’s leash, “I was wondering— if you’re ever like, not working… maybe you’d wanna get coffee sometime?”

You blink, that stupid grin still on your face. “Is this you asking me out, or is Whiskey still doing the talking?”

Tommy laughs, albeit sheepish. “Bit of both, really. She’s a big believer in overpriced caffeine and awkward flirting. Have you met her dad?” Tommy jokes softly. 

You bit your bottom lip, trying not to laugh. ��Well, I mean… If Whiskey insists…”

Tommy looks at you for a moment, a little stunned you’d actually said yes. He was looking at you like he’d halfway expected himself to crash and burn, but tried anyway. His smile stretched wider, “Cool. Great. Uh, I’ll let you get back to work. Don’t wanna mess up the… dental chew? display.” He motions vaguely to the end cap in front of him. 

“Don’t worry, it’s a system only I understand.” You counter, smiling softly as you take a step back to write your number on a price tag sticker, sticking it to the front of Tommy’s jacket. He looks at you like this is the first time he’s seen a pretty girl.

“I believe that.” he says softly with a nod. Curling Whiskey’s leash around his fist. His eyes drop down to the sticker, he peels from his jacket. It’s your number and your name— you’d even added a little heart. “I’ll text you. Or call. I don’t know.” He waves, using his shoulder to push open the door again, Whiskey following him out, just happy to be included.

You watched him go. accepting that you may just be wearing a permanent grin for the rest of your shift. 

He was a cute boy. A polite one. A little nervous, but kind enough to bring a dog in as backup. Yeah. You’d definitely get coffee with him.

tags ;; @getaapologist

[warfaredoll]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

why should you do anything when he’s so good at doing it for you?

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 — you sat at the table, knees pulled up to your chest, chin resting lazily on top of them as you watched Erik from across the table. he’s peeling an orange for you. his large hands work carefully peeling back the skin, fingers already wet with juice, bits of peels gathering in a neat little pile beside him. you could technically do it yourself but you'd rather not get your hands all sticky, you hate that. and Erik knows it. he doesn’t even question it just takes the orange, and does it for you without a word. you’re staring at him, watching the way the juice runs slightly down his wrist, the way he keeps glancing down to make sure there’s no rind left behind. he catches you looking you blink slowly. he smiles then laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head. “What?” you ask, he just slides a peeled piece across the table to you, “spoiled” he murmurs with a soft smile “and you like it.” you say, popping the slice in your mouth. and from the way he’s still smiling at you, you know you’re right.

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 — you stand in front of the kitchen cupboard, arms crossed and brow furrowed. “Tommy!” you call out sweetly. “why are the cups so high up? you know I can’t reach that.” you can in fact reach it easily. but where’s the fun in that? from the couch you hear him sigh softly, not the least bit surprised. you catch the sound of him standing, the floor creaking slightly under his weight. “could’ve sworn I saw you reach that yesterday” he mutters under his breath as he walks up behind you. but he still comes. his hand settles gently on your waist, his chest pressing against your back as he stretches effortlessly over your head. his other hand grabs the cup with. he silently hands it to you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you take it with a satisfied smile turning slightly in his arms. “what would I do without you?” Tommy raises an eyebrow, mouth twitching. “climb a chair, probably.” your face scrunched up in distaste. he chuckles under his breath, stealing a quick kiss to your cheek before returning to the couch like this is just part of his daily routine because it is

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 — “Elliott!” you call out with the most innocent tone you can muster. he’s already wiping his hands with a rag, halfway through fixing something in the garage, but when he hears your voice, he straightens and looks over. you’re holding a crooked picture frame barely tilted, easily fixable, and you know it. “It’s all messed up” you sigh dramatically. “think it’s broken.” he eyes it for a second, then eyes you. “It’s… a nail” he says slowly, yet amused. “you just have to tap it back in.”

“I know” you say dragging out the word like it physically pains you, “but it’s not the same when I do it.” he raises an eyebrow, walking over and taking the frame from your hands. “you just like watching me do stuff with my hands.” he chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs the hammer and follows you back into the house. he fixes the nail in less than twenty seconds, and you lean in the doorway watching him, once it’s done, he turns to you, smiling. “anything else broken today, or was that it?” you tap your finger against your lips, pretending to think. “Hmmm I think the bathroom faucet might be acting up.”

“It was fine this morning.”

“It might be acting up.”

he laughs again, already turning toward the hallway. “Lead the way”

𝐑𝐚𝐲 — you stop in front of the building’s entrance, staring at the door. Ray’s a few steps behind, but he already knows the routine, you don’t touch it. you never open doors. when he finally catches up, he sees you standing there, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched like you’re waiting on him. “Really?” he says, with that low, amused tone he always uses when you’re being extra. you sigh dramatically “It’s too heavy.”

“It’s not heavy” he says already reaching past you. “It is for me” you reply, “you know my arms arent meant for pulling heavy doors.” Ray huffs a quiet laugh, pulling it open with ease. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know” you chirp, walking through with a smile. and you don’t even have to look back to know he’s rolling his eyes as he follows because you’ll do the exact same thing at the next door. and the one after that, and he’ll open every single one.

𝐒𝐚𝐦 — you stand beside the car, frowning down at the trunk. “Sam…” you drawl, just loud enough for him to hear. he turns from where he’s locking the front door, you gesture to the trunk. “It won’t open. It’s stuck or something. probably broken.” Sam walks over, not saying a word. he presses the button. it pops open immediately. you blink “Oh.”, he raises an eyebrow “It wasn’t broken.” “Well” you say, lifting your chin, “it felt broken to me.” he sighs quietly, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Of course it did.” then, like always he grabs the bags for you without you asking, without even hesitating. because even when you pretend to struggle, he never makes you do it.

she’s me im her :3

thank u anon for requesting this ‹𝟹

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[wtfdemother]

Slasher AU Hewitt!König biggest sweetheart imo. NSFW below, happy Kinkvember day 13 ☃️🤝

post dividers by tsunami-of-tears

CW: boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs, lotta booobs. Man I make the baddest bitches send me nuuudes/lyr. Anwyay, König’s got an oral fixation that needs attention.

Hewitt!König X Wife!Reader

Hewitt!König who trails behind you that morning on your way to the barn. Luda Mae needed eggs for breakfast and you were more than happy to oblige, thinking nothing of the nervous fidgeting coming from the hulking man who sulked at your side. It was funny, really, sometimes you’d peer out the corner of your eye to catch a glimpse of him, trying hard to ignore you while he was hard at work. You were no fool, you knew behind those bushy, furrowed brows he was dying to be in the place of that three month old calf you coddled, or the one being nuzzled and grabbed instead of the big, squishy nose of a horse.

Hewitt!König who wanted the same amount of attention you gave the chickens and other farm animals on that damn ranch, you’re the whole reason he got his family to raise more than just chickens and pigs! If he’d knew those furry creatures would steal your attention, he wouldn’t have gotten them. Now, he’s paying the price, big time. He hates and loves himself for it, there hid no ill intentions towards your little animals, how they brought light to your face was more than enough to soothe his heart. He learned to share but decided that enough with the chores the minute you spilled a pail of water on yourself.

Hewitt!König who drops whatever it was he was doing, his concentration fizzling out in an instant. His mind is full of you. He steps over the object now lying in the mud, two meaty paws come to grab you tight by the waist, hoisting you up like a bag of flour. “König! We don’t have time for this—” He throws you onto a stack of hay, grunting a mumbled response behind the leather mask to silence your sass. To him you were giving him sass, but you just wanted to change out of this wet shirt. To which he obliged happily, helping you toss that shirt to the ground.

Hewitt!König who ignores your weakly said protests as he kisses his way up your stomach to your throat, giving the delicate skin a small nip before descending lower to your collarbone. From there his kisses get hotter, breathier, marred flesh pressed the kindest of kisses on your skin, your head fell back and you let him do whatever. A deep rumble of approval reaches your ears, making your panties slick from the timbre sound alone. He stills you when you squirm, his breath hot on your peak. Gingerly he licks at the bud, eyelids flutter shut as he groans from the taste of your warmth on his tongue. He swore he could fall asleep suckling at your nipple, but the strain in his pants proves too much to simply ignore. He palms your unoccupied breast with a large hand, for such calloused fingertips they worked most benevolently.

Hewitt!König who closed the entire world off when he was with you, too busy pouring his attention on the firm peak in the warmth of his mouth, gathering as much spit as he could around your nipple as he swirled his tongue and sucked with fervour. You dig your fingers deep in his hair, trying to pull him off but that mountain of a man wouldn’t budge so long as he had a mouthful of your tit. He lets go with a resounding pop!, his lips glistening with spit and his breath short. He doesn’t give you a moment of reprieve, diving in again to latch onto your other nipple. No, he hasn’t forgotten about it, kleine lamm.

Hewitt!König who traps your growing bud between his teeth, giving it a little tug before taking it fully in his mouth. He’s growing demanding, wanting more of you to satisfy that gnawing urge. Growling feral sounds occupy the air, you swore you had an animal on top of you as he tore into the fat of your bosom, leaving small dents the shape of his teeth all around the ample flesh spread beneath him like dough. What a sight, he huffs fondly, dipping down once more to kiss the space between your breasts.

Hewitt!König who only pulls away once he’s done slobbering all over your chest, grinning at the bite marks on your tender flesh and the tears brimming your eyes. He kisses you apologetically, but that doesn’t stop your tits from being sore. He gets that much from the frown on your face, carefully he ducks back to press the softest of kisses on the blues and purples blooming over your skin. Again and again, you can barely hear him moving above but you can feel his lips pressing reverently to each and every bruise. What a sight for sore eyes, he thought.

Hewitt!König who speaks only for you, despite the discomfort. “Tut mir leid, Schatz…” he grumbles, voice hoarse from years of misuse. He doesn’t really need it, mostly just communicates with a series of curt head nods and grunts. But with you? He liked seeing you shine with delight every time he spoke. He leans into your touch as a hand slides down his cheek from the top of his head, his hair a little disheveled from your tight grab. “S’okay, big guy…” you say in a whisper, running a thumb over his scarred face. Beautiful, genuine features you thought, nobody felt so deeply like you did for each other. “I was a little rough too…”

He was too shy to finish y’alls business in the barn, so he quickly carried you home. Later on, sometime in the early evening he brought lunch over to your bed on account of your legs being out of commission, curtesy of König and your shared needs.

[samslvrgirl]

I have a BUNCH of ideas for fics so I’m gonna make this post about all of my WIP’s.

masterlist | taglist | request |

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

Dance with Me: eddie x reader, basically if eddie went to prom w/ you and jason or billy start shit.

untitled johnny storm series: a series about johnny dating a normal girl who suddenly acquires superpowers.

Come Home to Me mini-series: you already know about this tommy x reader series...

Longer Than a Heartbeat chapter 2: slowly working on this but lately i have had some time since 28 Years Later came out.

i'll update this with more ideas and delete the ones that are finished.

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

*Make sure to check the new section of the taglist, and redo if you have changed your username!*

[bradleybeachbabe]

I visit your inbox with a humble request (lol): The warfare men having cute ice cream dates with their respective partners. They can go out, they can stay home, the ice cream date can occur after an argument (used as a way to make up), one of the men could meet their future partner after bumping into them by accident on the beach, making them drop their ice cream and then buying them another one to replace it, etc.

Or whatever you want 😆

Ice Cream | Warfare x Fem!Reader

warnings: none, just fluff!

word count: 1.7k+

a/n: you have no idea how much i love this request! also if you want me to ever expand on any of these blurbs, i’ll be happy to! also, i do mention downtown san diego in this since i have done research that navy seals are stationed at the naval amphibious base which is on coronado island, in san diego. also, another thing is that i mention a phone, but to be more specific it’s a flip phone. lastly, i wanna say thanks to @auroralightsthesky for proof reading this for me!🫶🏻

© bradleybeachbabe , do not steal or translate my work

Erik: You recently told Erik that you got the job position that you always wanted. He was beyond happy for you. He knew how much you wanted the job position, so you getting it meant so much to him. Since you got the job position, Erik wanted to celebrate. So, you and him went out for ice cream.

“I still can’t believe that I got the job position. I feel like I'm dreaming, and I didn't get it, but I did,” you said excitedly after you took a bite of your ice cream.

“I'm so proud of you, baby. You deserve it so much.”

You smiled at what Erik said. It made you so happy that your boyfriend was so proud of you. He has been your number one supporter through everything.

“Thank you, baby. That means a lot to me.”

You and Erik continued eating the ice cream that you two got and just enjoyed each other’s company and talked about whatever came across your guy's minds, and more about your job position and when you officially start the job. The two of you couldn’t ask for a better moment than this.

Tommy: Tommy got done with some training late. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did. And he felt bad about it since he promised that he would be home around six. But now, it’s a little past nine, and he’s finally heading back home to you. He knew that you were gonna be upset about him coming home sorta late, so he thought that he would stop by the store to buy some ice cream to make it up to you.

Tommy bought your favorite flavor of ice cream and exited the store and headed back to his car.

When Tommy arrived back at your shared apartment, he was hoping that you were still awake. He didn't want you to go to bed upset since he got home later than he expected. Luckily though, when he walked into the apartment, he saw that you were fully awake, and you were loading the dishwasher with dirty dishes.

“Here let me finish it up,” Tommy said as he came up behind you.

You just decided to give in and have Tommy finish up the rest.

“I'm sorry that the training exercise went longer than I expected,” Tommy said as he bent over to put a dirty plate into the dishwasher. “Also I know that you’re probably upset about that since I promised I would be home around six, so I bought your favorite ice cream on the way home from work,” he said as he stood back upright. “I hope that makes you feel a little bit better about the situation.”

You couldn’t really stay upset at Tommy. It wasn't his fault that he had to stay longer at base for work. Things happen. You nodded your head, “It does make me feel better. Plus, it’s not your fault that you had to stay longer for work,” you reassured him.

“Are you sure?” he asked as he closed the dishwasher after he put the last of the dirty dishes in. “Because I feel bad for breaking my promise to you.”

“Tommy,” you said as you placed both of your hands on each cheek of his. “Yes, I'm sure.”

He just nodded his head.

“So, about that ice cream you bought?” you signaled Tommy that you wanted some.

“I never thought you would have asked,” he smiled.

You and Tommy spent the rest of the night just eating ice cream and talking about how his training went. These are the moments that you and Tommy love the most. Ones that you’ll cherish forever.

Elliot: It was a simple understanding, that ended up in a small argument. Elliot didn’t mean it to happen, but sadly it did. The argument resulted in you getting upset, and Elliot beating himself over it. He never liked seeing you upset, so he thought he would make it up to you, by you two going out for ice cream.

“Am I still in the dog house with you or am I forgiven?” Elliot asked you as you two sat down at one of the tables that were outside of the ice cream shop.

You quietly laughed and looked down at your ice cream when you sat across from Elliot at the table. You looked back at him, “You are forgiven,” you said.

Elliot sighed in relief, “Good because I don't think I could have gone another minute without you talking to me.”

You thought what Elliot said was cute. If it was the other way around, you probably wouldn’t be able to go so long without talking to him. Granted, the small argument between you and Elliot, you are glad that he decided to make it up to you and apologize about it before you two went out to get ice cream.

Ray: You and Ray went out for dinner. You had dinner at a fancy steakhouse located in the downtown area of San Diego. The food was good and you two both enjoyed it. You two were both planning on going back to the restaurant eventually.

When you two exited the restaurant, you decided to walk down the streets of downtown. It wasn't too cold outside since it was early summer, so it was the perfect weather to walk.

While you two were walking, you saw an ice cream shop on the other side of the street.

“Let's go across the street and get ice cream,” you suggested to Ray.

“Okay,” he nodded his head.

You and Ray safely crossed the street. When you two stepped into the ice cream shop. There weren't so many people inside, which was surprising since it was a Saturday night, but that wasn’t a problem or anything like that.

You and Ray both were looking at all of the flavors. There were so many that you could choose from. You weren’t sure if you should go ahead and try a new flavor or get the same one that you always get when you go out for ice cream.

“Should I try a new flavor? Or just stick with what I usually get?” you asked Ray. You wanted his opinion since you couldn’t make up your mind.

“Try a new flavor,” he chose. “You can never go wrong with trying a new flavor.”

“What flavor should I get then?” you asked your boyfriend.

“You should try cake batter. I heard that it’s really good,” Ray suggested.

“Cake batter, it is.”

You ordered cake butter flavored while Ray decided to order strawberry cheesecake.

After Ray paid for yours and his ice cream. You two found a bench right outside of the ice cream shop, sat down, and enjoyed your ice cream and enjoyed being with each other. You couldn’t ask for a better way to end the night with your boyfriend.

Frank: “Let’s go out for ice cream,” you suggested. You two weren’t doing that much, besides just hanging around inside your shared apartment. Plus, you thought it would be a good thing to get out for a while. So, that’s what you and Frank did.

The ice cream shop was a very popular spot. It wasn’t too far from the base and from your shared apartment. Also, it’s a frequent space that you and Frank visit too.

“Did you get what you always get?” Frank asked you after he paid for yours and his ice cream.

“Of course I did. You can never go wrong with chocolate chip cookie dough,” you smiled. “What about you? Did you get what you usually get?”

“Nope,” Frank shook his head. “I decided to get coffee flavored instead.”

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, “How can you eat coffee flavored ice cream? I love coffee, but I can't picture myself eating it.”

Frank just shrugged his shoulders, “You’re missing out.”

“No, I don't think so,” you shook your head. Afterward, you couldn’t help but laugh at what you said. You love to bully Frank (in a loving way though.)

“You’re so funny, you know that,” he said to you.

“I know, but you love me,” you teased.

“You’re right about that,” Frank said proudly.

You smiled at Frank's response. Frank was never afraid to show his feelings how he feels about you, and that’s one of the many reasons why you love him.

Sam: Sam didn’t mean it to happen. He didn’t mean to accidentally bump into you and knock your ice cream out of your hands. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, and he took full responsibility for that.

“Oh my gosh. I'm very sorry. I should have been paying attention,” Sam said as he was helping you clean up the ice cream mess.

“No, you’re fine. Please don’t worry about it. I can always go back in and buy another one. It’s no problem,” you reassured him.

“No, please. Let me buy it for you," Sam offered.

“Are you sure?” you asked him.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

So, that’s what Sam did. He went back into the ice cream for you and bought you another one.

“Here you go,” Sam said as he walked out of the ice cream shop and handed a new cone of ice cream to you.

“Is there any way that I can return the favor? So then we can be even,” you asked when you took the ice cream from Sam.

“Maybe I could get your number? So then we can go out and get dinner, "Sam suggested without any hesitation in his voice.

When Sam said that, you felt butterflies form in your stomach. You couldn't believe that he wanted your number so then you could plan on going out to dinner with each other.

“Of course,” you happily accepted.

You and Sam both exchanged numbers.

“I'll see you sometime soon,” Sam said as he put his phone back in his pocket.

“See you sometime soon,” you smiled.

You and Sam parted ways. As you did, you had a huge smile on your face. You still can’t believe that you got asked out on a dinner date. You have a feeling that it’s gonna turn out right. And you can't wait to see Sam again. The same goes for him, he can't wait to see you again.

go follow @bradleybeachbabe-library to be notified when i post any new fics!

[cherrys-muses]

hi! can you please write smth with sam from warfare x fem! reader? they’re best friends but are too dumb to admit that they love each other (she’s also a navy seal) and she takes care of him after he’s injured?

an; hi love! thank you for your request! i sort of changed a bit of it (r is a nurse instead, i hope that’s alright!) i hope this finds you and i hope you’re okay with the changes! w; if you didn’t like the character - sam though ooc, takes place after what happens in the movie, sam is a bit whiny and mean, idiots to lovers really, this sucks because i wrote it in one go </3.

there’s sweat collecting along his forehead even though the the ceiling fan is on and you’re nice enough to even go lower on the unit until the apartment feels as if it’s an ice cube.

his thigh is still throbbing slightly. it’s much better than before when he was getting it tend too, the smell of burnt flesh and hair and blood now gone, but still distant enough to catch a random wave of it when he turns his head every so often.

tommy had come to check on him not to long ago, the sound of teeth chattering made sam slightly embarrassed from how could it truly was in the apartment.

he’s not for sure why he’s been feeling as if he’s been dipped into hot lava and just left there.

you’re kind enough to let him stay. kind enough to care for him even after long shifts at the hospital. even after people had thrown insults and mean remarks your way, acting as if it’s your fault the doctor isn’t hurrying with his break — even if you’ve told him multiple times that people are waiting.

he never listened. which, in turn, made your load heavier and mind spinning until you were home. you keep on the hoodie you’d slipped on, making your way into the guest room, pushing the door open.

“sam, you alright?”

“god, finally,” he moans out, weakly shifting as he lifts. “where were you?”

clenching your jaw, you make your way over and lift up the cover to check the gauze around his stitches. you had to replace them from where he’d itched at them in his sleep, pulling at them in the process.

“work,” you answer, not in the mood for any of his whining that might be getting thrown your way soon. “i’ll fix you some soup.”

you turn and make your way out of the room before he could reply with anything. grabbing a can of chicken noodle soup and a bowl, you dump the soup into the bowl. the smell of it makes you silently gag.

placing it into the microwave, pressing two, you toss the can into the trash and wash your hands as you hear shuffling behind you.

“you said you would try to come home at three. it’s almost ten.”

you stare at the spinning bowl. “keyword; i would try. it’s hard to take off especially when people call out everyday and you get stuck with their job,” you shake your head. “i can’t just drop everything to come check on you and stay here.”

leaning on the counter, his brows pinch together. “but still. you lied.”

clenching your jaw, your fingers tighten around the counter. “sam, i really don’t want to argue—”

“no one said anything about arguing besides you, did they?” his brows lift, eyes wandering around the room as if someone else was in the conversation. “no. just you,”

“you said you’d help me around while im recovering, yet you’re still at work and not—”

“i’m doing the best i can, okay?” your voice raises louder than what you mean for it to, but God, you’re tired. “i expect everyone to breathe down my neck at work and throw insults my way and-and just…just be mean,” you breathe out, eyes burning with the oncoming tears that you were trying to hold in until your head hit the pillow.

“but to come home — my home — and to hear you complain that i’m not doing enough for you, it’s low. you know i can’t just take off when i want too even though i would absolutely love a vacation,” your voice cracks and the microwave beeps. you’re quick on your feet, yanking a drawer open and grabbing a spoon.

opening the microwave, you pull the hot bowl from inside and place it down, more roughly than expected, the sound causing sam to flinch slightly when the handle of the spoon clings against the edge.

“but i can’t when people are unreliable. so, excuse me for not being home at a decent hour for you. excuse me for being tired,” you throw your hands up before they drop down, defeated. sam stares at you, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth when your tears finally track down your cheek. you wipe them away quickly, walking past him.

“i’m gonna go shower.” he tries reaching out for you, but your arm is quick to jerk away. sam sighs when he hears your bedroom door click shut, turning towards the bowl of soup.

he didn’t mean to snap at you, or sound agitated. he hates even asking you for help when he knows how tired you are and knows how much of a break you actually deserve.

once he eats the soup, he limps slightly towards the sink, washing the small amount of dishes that he knows you were going to wash before going to work in the morning. wiping the water off the counter, he flips off the overhead light, limping his way towards your room.

his knuckles graze against the door, ears straining to listen for any movement behind it. lifting his hand, he goes to knock but the door opens before he could.

he frowns at the sight of you — nose red and stuffy, eyes slightly swollen. and although showers are supposed to be comforting, he doubts the shower you took was anything but that. he sighs softly, lifting a hand to press it against your cheek.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, thumb wiping away a stray tear. “i’m sorry for being short with you and acting as if what you do isn’t important. you deserve a break and i’m only putting a heavier load on you.”

shaking your head, you force a smile, chin quivering slightly. “it’s fine. you shouldn’t be standing.”

“don’t worry about me. not right now,” he shakes his head. his brown eyes are soft as they trace along your face, the pad of his thumb close to the corner of your mouth. his eyes glance over your shoulder, into your room, before looking at you once more. “is it okay if i sleep in here tonight?”

his voice is soft, light, sweet as sugar when he asks and you melt. nodding, your hand wraps around his wrist, pressing your lips to the inside of his wrist before helping him inside.

he hums softly when you lie next to him, rolling onto his side to face you. the lights are off, but he can somehow still make out the shape of your face.

lifting a hand, his fingers softly tuck some hair behind your ear again. “im sorry again. i shouldn’t have said that,” he whispers. “you’re doing a good job — juggling a work load, plus me, and then your needs. i’m proud of you.”

it’s silent, but he hears the small catch in your throat when the words leave his mouth. his hand slides across your shoulder, pulling you closer as his other hand drops to your hair.

he says nothing as you cry — just feels the tears soaking through the shirt he has on, and feels the shaking of your shoulders.

his lips press to your forehead, eyes slowly closing. you needed this.

your cries soften into soft sniffles, head pulling out from the comfort of his touch, his hand cradling your jaw as he swipes his thumb across your cheek.

“i love you.” he whispers.

“i love you, too, sam,” you whisper, lips pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, nose nudging against his as your forehead presses against his. “so much.”

he smiles softly, nodding. “get some rest.”

nodding, you move closer, eyes slowly closing as fingers run through your hair, the vibrations of his humming against your cheek lulling you to sleep.

[little-diable]

The Test of Time - Tommy Shelby (smut)

This is an idea I have been playing with for a while. It is very dear to me, so I hope it'll also be to you! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: When Professor Shelby meets his new student, he's instantly fascinated by her, not understanding why he feels this connected to her. But the second their hands touch, both feel themselves thrown back in time, meeting centuries ago. It seems like love will always stand the test of time.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots of fluff, mentions some war time stuff and blood, small breeding kink, professor x reader relationship, age gap

Pairing: Soldier!Tommy x nurse!fem!reader / Professor!Tommy x student!fem!reader (3.7k words)

4th of August 1916, Northern France

The air was sticky, his hands were muddy, dry, and heavy. He had to blink more often than his eyes liked, worsening the headache he had been plagued by for months. A shaky exhale left him, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut to try and keep calm. There was no way out, he was stuck, below the ground, and if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was panicking – at least not if he wanted to stay alive. He couldn’t risk being shot for going against a command, for being frightened like a boy.

Voices echoed through the tunnel, ringing in his ears like another bomb going off in the distance. They had to work fast. They had to work precisely, otherwise they’d eventually be buried by the dark soil, swallowing them whole as the enemy won the battle. 

“Shelby!” A raspy voice ripped him out of his panicked state, he was shoved, forced to move faster, to keep on digging even though his hands were bleeding and the blisters kept growing. He had to keep digging, had to keep digging, had to keep digging. Before the darkness would swallow him whole. 

February 2024, Birmingham 

The sound of his shoes meeting the ground echoed through the empty hallway, eyes set on his black iPhone. It was too fucking early for his liking, silently cursing his faculty for forcing him to hold these early morning classes. Not once had he met a motivated student who wanted to talk about the First World War with him at 8 am, and as much as Tommy disliked the students he found himself surrounded by, he couldn’t blame them for being tired.

If he could, he’d occupy all afternoon classes, wanting to discuss his research topics with those who were actually interested in modern warfare, strategies, politics, and so on. And yet he knew the chance was slim, forced to back down and make room for those who taught the mandatory classes. 

With a sigh leaving him, Tommy stepped into the room he taught in every Tuesday morning, putting down his bag and shrugging out of his coat before he lifted his gaze. He was still on his own, wondering when the handful of students would pour into the room, probably seconds before class started. 

Tommy plopped down on the uncomfortable chair, he placed his laptop down – hoping that he could at least catch up with the morning news while still being engulfed in silence. He tried to focus on the words, tried to cling to the information he was fed, though without any luck, interrupted by the sickly sweet “Morning!” echoing through the room. 

His eyes found an unfamiliar pair, not used to being greeted this enthusiastically in the morning. It took him a second to reply, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the woman. She must have been young, and yet he instantly found himself drawn to her gorgeous features, the soft hair he wanted to feel beneath his fingertips. 

“(Y/n), right?” She had emailed him about a month ago, warning the professor that she’d have to miss the first two weeks of his course due to some family trouble. Back then he hadn’t cared about her missing out on it, it was on her to catch up with his teaching anyways, but now he couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to miss out on having her around for even just a second. 

“That’s me! Sorry again for my absence, Professor Shelby.” He shot her a small smile, not daring to speak up as his throat grew tighter. What the fuck was going on with him? Tommy felt as if he was drowning, as if the cold ocean was soaking through his black clothes, sticking to him to add more weight to his frame. He didn’t know her, knew only her name, and yet he felt strangely connected to her. 

He needed to get a grip, needed to redirect his focus before he’d forget his surroundings and the information he was supposed to pass on to his students.

……

“Professor Shelby?” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through his office, making a small smile tug on his lips as his eyes found hers. She stepped into the room, carefully closing the door behind herself before she walked up to him. Wordlessly he pointed towards the chair placed close to his table, piercing blue eyes watching her sit down.

“I have to say, I’m impressed, (y/n). You’re the first to ever score 100 on this essay.” The smile that grew on her lips left Tommy choking on his air, forcing his eyes away from her face. It had been a selfish move to invite all students to his office hour, telling them that he’d like to give them each some verbal feedback. But deep down Tommy didn’t give a single fuck about his students, at least not about the others, having eyes only for her. 

“I wanted to leave a good impression, especially after missing out on so much.” He was forced to look at her again, shooting her another smile as he reached the essay out for her to take. His heart started racing the second her fingers touched his, vision growing blurry, unable to notice that she was going through the same confusing sensations. 

“Help! We need help!” The screams echoed through the tent, ringing in her ears as she watched the soldiers move closer. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the soldier whose face was covered in blood and mud, forcing her to run towards them. 

“Place him down over there, quick!” Panic was flushing through her. No matter how many soldiers she had helped before, no matter how many lives she had saved, (y/n) couldn’t help but fear these moments when she held their lives in her hands. She needed to work quickly, and couldn’t wait for the other nurses to return from their visitations, there was no time to lose. “I need you to hold him down.” 

Her eyes met a pair of piercing blue ones, momentarily robbing her of any air left in her lungs. She had to redirect her focus, bloody fingers trying to clean the soldier’s cheeks as the handsome man held him down. No words were spoken between them, she needed to concentrate, needed to stop the soldier’s bleeding. Feeling the other man near did something to her, something unfamiliar she hadn’t ever felt before. 

“Here, I need you to bite down on this.” She pushed a wooden piece between the guy’s teeth as she reached for her tweezers. A deep inhale of air was sucked into her lungs. Even though it wasn’t the first time she was about to pull a bullet from somebody’s skin, (y/n) couldn’t help but feel nervous. Before she could even try to move, she felt the handsome man’s hand on her knee, softly squeezing the flesh to try and wordlessly support her. She could do it, and could help the hurt soldier, especially with the support of the man who was sitting close to her. 

“Alright, this will hurt.”

“Uhm,” Tommy had to clear his throat, blinking a few times before his vision began to clear up. (Y/n) was still sitting close to him, wearing the same confused expression as Tommy. Both stared at one another for a few moments, wordlessly, before she grasped the essay. Her eyes flickered down to the paper, trying to recollect her thoughts. 

“Thank you again for this, I think it’s best if I leave now.” He didn’t get a chance to reply, could only watch her disappear before he could even try to speak up. Tommy’s heart was still racing, mind not understanding what had just happened.

Had this been some trick of his brain, something he had read about in a book or seen in a movie? And yet it didn’t explain to him why the woman had looked just like (y/n), and why (y/n) had been just as dazed as he had been. 

It took Tommy a while to move, shaking his head as he drowned the last sips of his now cold coffee. He needed to get out of his office, needed to grab a few pints with some friends, anything to distract himself from what had just happened, and from (y/n). 

……

“Here, let me.” She watched him light his match, stepping closer to help her light her cigarette. Both blew out the blue smoke, watching it dance in the warm August breeze. Tommy was covered in soil, hands and face dirty, just like his hair, and yet neither of them seemed to care, wanting to feel one another close.

It had been days since she had helped his fellow soldier, making it through the night and all the following ones, left to survive with a big scar gracing his cheek. Ever since that day, Tommy and (y/n) had searched for one another, needing to learn more about the one they couldn’t stop thinking of. 

“Do you miss home, Tommy?” (Y/n)’s whispers rang in his ears, loud enough to distract him from his surroundings, the shots going off in the distance, the calls, and cries. He was sure that no matter where he’d be, no matter who he’d be surrounded by, if (y/n) was close, he’d always find himself focused on her. 

“Always do.” A hum left her at his reply, unconsciously moving closer to him, breath getting stuck in her lungs as his arm found its way around her waist. Their eyes met, his piercingly blue and full of pain and sorrow, hers filled with questions, longings, and confusion. She watched his gaze flicker down to her lips, taking another drag of his cigarette before he dipped his head down. 

(Y/n) didn’t dare move, silently praying that he’d kiss her, that he wouldn’t pull away, wrapped in darkness’s comforting veil. But before he could move, they heard the calls growing louder, forcing all soldiers to return to their positions. Their eyes met once again as he stubbed his cigarette out, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and disappeared.

(Y/n) woke with a gasp, hands pressed to the warm mattress she had been sleeping on for the past hours. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing, still focused on the dream she had just been forced through. Ever since she had experienced that strange moment in Professor Shelby’s office, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him, of what her mind had pushed her through – what had felt like a memory but couldn’t be one. And now she was dreaming of him, her professor, and yet he wasn’t a professor, at least not in her dream.

She needed to talk to him, or at least touch him again to figure out of it had been a trick of her brain or something that would happen again. He had looked just as confused, dazed even, unsure what had happened the second their hands had touched. Perhaps she could speak to him after class, or show up at his office, whatever it took to be close to him again. 

……

“Professor? Do you have a moment for me?” He had disappeared too quickly after class for (y/n) to even try to catch up with him, forcing her to wait a few hours before she could turn up at his office. She watched him take off his round glasses, leaning back in his chair as a soft “Of Course” left him. 

For a few moments, they were engulfed in silence, eyes wandering over one another’s features, wondering how to express what they were plagued by. But even though (y/n) tried her hardest to speak up, she couldn’t, throat too tight, mouth too dry. Professor Shelby broke their silence as he cleared his throat, rising to his feet to slowly move towards (y/n). 

He kept his distance and leaned back against his desk, and yet she felt him close. Though not close enough, feeling herself pulled towards him like a puzzle searching for its last missing piece. With a sigh breaking through him, he reached his hand out for (y/n) to take, watching the hesitation tugging on her features. 

“It’s alright, I don’t understand it myself, but I guess it’s on us to figure this out. Whatever it is.” Her teeth ran along her lower lip as (y/n) stepped towards him, letting go of one last exhale before she carefully grasped his hand. 

“Look at me, (y/n). I’ve got you, I’m alive.” His voice rang in her ears, watching the tears drip down her cheeks as she stared up at him. She clung to his hand, cursing this very war for pushing these unfamiliar emotions through her. God, she had counted the hours, had lost hope, sure that Tommy was no longer alive. And yet here he was, alive, breathing, not even bleeding. 

She hastily took a step away, eyes wide, lips parted. He had his eyes focused on his hand, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Neither of them dared to speak up, not understanding what was happening, why these things that felt like memories were pushed through their brains. Only slowly did the professor dare to lift his gaze, studying her panicked features.

“What is happening? What is that?” (Y/n) choked on her words, torn between confusion and the pain she felt deep inside of her. It felt as if she was grieving something or rather someone. A pain she was so unfamiliar with, she couldn’t even understand what it was trying to tell her, what she was plagued by. 

“I don’t know, (y/n).” He spoke her name all too softly, sounding just like it had in her head moments ago. With wide eyes she kept studying him, needing to feel what had happened again, still not believing that this was something but a trick of her brain. All he did was watch her, eyes following her every move, even as she came to a halt in front of him, standing far closer than moments ago, he didn’t dare move. If there was one thing Tommy wanted to avoid, it was scaring her. 

“Can I try something?” Their eyes held contact as (y/n) murmured the words, waiting for his spoken consent before she moved. A quiet “Yes” left the professor, wondering what she was about to do, not expecting to feel her soft lips meeting his.

“You have to be quiet, love.” His raspy voice left her buzzing with excitement. Tommy had her pressed against a car, swallowed by darkness. Their lips met carefully at first, with her arms slung around his neck, and his hands placed on her waist. Neither of them could hold back, deepening the kiss within seconds as they hoped that no other soldiers, nurses, or commanders would find them. 

“Don’t stop, please.” He had taken over the kiss, forcing her down on his desk to stand between her thighs. Both were torn between the pictures their minds were painting and the feeling of one another’s hands exploring their bodies. Whatever it was that had pushed them together, they didn’t want to break the spell, needed to keep close. 

“Will you let me have a taste? Ever since I saw you for the first time I wanted to get my mouth between those pretty thighs of yours.” Her eyes were wide, lips parted to try and suck some air into her aching lungs. (Y/n) could only nod her head, forgetting how to speak, how to express the emotions she so desperately wanted to explain to him.

With their eyes holding contact, Tommy undid her trousers, pulling them down her legs before he pushed her damp panties to the side. The groan that clawed through him at the sight of her bare cunt left her walls clenching around nothing, needing to feel his fingers, his mouth on her. But the second he brushed two fingers through her slit, collecting drops of arousal, she found herself stuck in another memory. 

“Oh god, oh god. Right there.” Her eyes rolled back into her head, pressed against the mattress of the bed she hadn’t been lying on for years. It had been hours since they had returned from France, not daring to leave one another’s side once, hours they had spent hiding away from those who had waited on them for years, only focused on exploring their bodies without needing to worry about curious bystanders. His tongue brushed along her folds, moaning at her taste as his arms tightened their grip on her thighs. 

“I guess you’ve always tasted this sweet.” His words drew tears to her eyes, overcome by a wave of unfamiliar emotions, set on drowning her. Tommy kept moving his fingers as his tongue explored the spots she needed him to touch, choking on his name. She needed to hold onto him, needed to bury her fingers in his skin, but her fingers couldn’t move, could only cling to the edge of his table. “My pretty girl, fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” 

“What a sight for sore eyes, I’m a fucking lucky bastard.” Tommy’s raspy voice filled their shared bedroom. He leaned back in his chair, chest bare, legs stretched out. Smoke left his nostrils, eyes set on her naked frame. She walked closer with a smirk on her lips, enjoying the way he marvelled at her, how he watched her every move. “I don’t deserve you, my pretty wife.”

His wife? Them, Married? Fuck, if these flashes were truly memories of their past life, she couldn’t help but thank whoever had pushed them together once again. Another shot at this life with Tommy by her side, another shot at this life with a man she had loved in other centuries. Love that would always stand the test of time. 

“I need to be inside of you, will you let me fuck you?” (Y/n) pulled Tommy in for a kiss, groaning into his mouth as she felt his covered bulge rubbing against her sensitive cunt. Their kiss was all tongue and teeth, growing more heated by the second, while Tommy’s impatient fingers freed his cock. He parted from her to roll a condom down his cock, and yet their eyes never broke eye contact. “Last chance to stop this, I need you to tell me you want this too.” 

“Oh fuck, of course I want this, Tommy. Fuck me, fuck me like you’ve always fucked me.” Her glassy eyes met his, both were clearly overcome by the emotions they still needed to adjust to. He pushed into her slowly, fingers interlaced with hers to hold her close. There was no need to adjust, it seemed like their bodies remembered one another the same way their minds did. 

“Forever mine, I will never let you go.” Tommy rasped his words into the darkness as he fucked her into their mattress. He couldn’t help but admire her, needing to take in every inch of (y/n), silently hoping that tonight he’d get to fuck another baby into her. Her moans left him smirking, fingers rubbing her pulsing bundle in sync with his thrusts, needing to push her over the edge any moment now. 

She didn’t allow herself to wonder what their life together had been like, and how many children they have had together – at least not at that very moment. All (y/n) could concentrate on was the feeling of Tommy fucking her ruthlessly, cock forcing her walls apart with every thrust. 

With her forehead pushed against his shoulder, (y/n) moaned his name, already close to letting go. Both were shaken up by what kept on happening to them whenever they touched one another in another place, bringing up memories that felt like they were straight out of a movie. It was unfamiliar and confusing, and yet it was anything but scary, no, it left them filled with excitement, needing to learn more about one another and the life they had once shared. 

“It’s alright, love, cum for me, cum on my cock.” Tommy’s gritty voice left her choking on her gasps, letting go with a moan. He kept on snapping his hips, enjoying the way she clenched around him, how she trembled from her intense orgasm. All because of him. With his thoughts set on (y/n), he came, letting go with a groan. 

For a few moments, neither of them parted from one another, holding on before he slowly pulled away. Neither of them spoke as they redressed, caught in their thoughts. Only as Tommy pulled her in for another kiss did (y/n) allow another smile to tug on her lips. 

“If you’ll allow it, I want to love you in this lifetime too, hold you close like we were destined to be.” With tears once again welling up in her eyes, (y/n) pulled him in for a breathless kiss. 

Tommy had his eyes set on her sleeping figure, hand stroking her hair. His thoughts were torn between the memories of the tunnel, of the darkness he hadn’t been able to escape from for long. But it had all been worth it, because of her, because of the woman he had married, the woman who was the mother of his children. And if there was one thing Tommy was wishing for, it was getting the chance to love her in all upcoming lifetimes too.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Interviews for New Beginnings: Part 6

Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader, 6.2k words

Warnings: Violence, Cursing

A/N: GUYS I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. But it is finally here. After this we only have one more chapter, so y'all I'm just so emotional. Thank you all for your patience and all the love you have shared. I'm so grateful. Special shoutout to @hoodeddreams13 for letting me chat them up to discuss this chapter because I was STRESSED. Anyway, sending all my love to you guys. Enjoy! - Mo

Alfie had convinced himself that he was doomed to hell for all of his evil deeds in life. The lying. The bloodshed. The rage. But perhaps he had done something good in this life. Maybe God finally took pity on Alfie Solomons. Perhaps the Angel Gabriel had put in a good word for him. He must have, because there was no other reason that he got to have the blessing of you nestled in his lap, face buried in his neck, small hand tangled in his unruly beard. He had dreamed of this forever, and now it was finally true. He never thought that he would get to have this. Warmth. Love. Safety. "Alfie? Darling where is your mind at?"

He felt your lips at his neck, and sighed, "Nowhere sweet. Just enjoying your company."

"Hmm… Alfie, I wish every moment could be just like this. I don't want to be anywhere else but here in your arms."

He shifted beneath you, to bring your face to his. Nose to nose, breathing in one breath. "My sweet girl, whatever you wish, you shall have yeah? You can stay here, right next to me. And we'll never leave this spot."

"We'll grow old here in your chair. I on your lap. Till the ages go by. And the vines and trees grow around us. And all of Camden will fall away and here we will be together."

"Exactly right my pet. Exactly right."

As if the Somme had suddenly emerged, Satan's army came hurtling through Alfie's door, with Sabini at the helm. The gun fire lit up the room, and all Alfie could hear was your screams of agony. In his arms you were no longer there. The silken white dressing gown he had just been caressing was stained crimson, and the color in your face had turned to ash. Alfie, who has never been lost for words, who has always had something on the tip of his tongue, had nothing come from his mouth but horrified screams. He kept shaking your shoulders, hoping to God that you would wake up, but your limp limbs gave nothing to life. He screamed and screamed your name, until his lungs gave way.

In a sudden jerk, Alfie sat up in his freezing room, his bare chest covered in sweat. The room was bathed in a light blue from the bright moon outside his window. He was alone, save Cyril on the floor by his bed. The house was quiet, and he was alone. You weren't there. Your lifeless body wasn't there. It wasn't real. None of it was real. The fear that took over his body from the dream shouldn't be so potent anymore. He'd had the same dream every night for the past week. And every night he woke up with his heart coming out of his throat and tears streaming down his face. And every night he would stop by the house you were put up in, patrolling around it with the man stationed there, ensuring that every door was locked.

The plan Tommy and Alfie had concocted had become a bloody mess across the city. Tommy’s men had marked every business and alcove the Sabini’s even had minimal connection to. One by one, they were blown up, burnt to the very foundation. Alfie’s boys had been performing psychological warfare as well. The major Sabini players had been followed by phantoms, never being truly alone, until they were slaughtered in their beds, door frames set ablaze. Everyone in Camden was talking about the horrific curse that befell the Sabinis. How it would soon overtake all of them. The city was simmering, about to burst through and explode. Though the Shelby and Solomons boys were making headway, Alfie couldn’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop.

This war was killing him. The business was killing him. He felt it. And you were seeing it. He was drinking more. Eating less. Even when you tried to touch his cheek, to remind him of the moment you two shared and the fact that you were still here and alive, he huffed and moved away from your caress. Your touch brought back the visions of his nightmares and the smoldering tailor shop. It was killing him. It was killing you.

Alfie had created a moat around you, keeping you at a distance and protecting you from him. You had been relegated to simply his secretary. No more. No less. No longer his confidant. No longer his support. No longer the sweetness or the warmth to his day. And while you knew that he was doing this out of fear and out of wanting to protect you, you couldn't help the feelings of rejection from rising in your stomach. You couldn't shake off the feeling that he saw you as a child. As a small ceramic doll that needed to be shielded and held in a box. He didn't look at the sketches you had drawn up for the club. He wasn't even letting you in on the meetings anymore. It was no longer just hurting you. It was now irritating.

On a cold and wet morning, you had enough. This could not stand. You were more than just a desk girl! You were not a girl who needed to be shielded damnit! During an hour you knew there was not going to be any meetings or meddlings, you knew you had your time. You pulled your sweater tighter around you, and pushed in to Alfie's office. "Alfie, we need to talk."

Alfie didn't even look up from his desk and the accounts he was checking, "Not now Ms. Abraham, I am currently checking your math. Tomorrow yeah?"

You pulled the chair out to sit, "No Alfie we need to speak right now."

His broad shoulders slacked down like weathered masts of a ship, and the breath released from his lungs was low and slow. His eyes pressed together as he scrubbed his face. Looking out the window of his office, rubbing his unkempt beard, "What could possibly need discussing now? You already finished all the work I gave you. And there are no more meetings. You can go home."

You wrapped your arms around yourself, the room freezing but your neck hot, "That's exactly it Alfie. You are treating me like a simple secretary."

"You are a secretary love."

"Let me rephrase for you. You are treating me like an idiot. An idiot secretary. You're treating me like a child."

Alfie just stared at you, eyes smoldering like kindling in the stove. He stayed silent, lips tight, you couldn't even tell if he was breathing. If you didn't know him you would think that he was going to fire you. But this was just Alfie. He was thinking. Plotting his next move in this eternal game of chess. Maybe if you were a more ruthless and emotionless player you would have kept you mouth shut. But who cares about winning a chess game when your heart is being chipped at slowly and painfully.

"Alfie, You shut me out. If... if what happened in the jewelery shop was a mistake -"

"It wasn't a mistake."

You paused, staring into his eyes, but he merely nodded at you to continue. "Alright. Well... if it wasn't a mistake. Why are you shutting me out? Why aren't you... letting me be your secretary like I have been all this time. Who does this benefit Alfie? Because you look even worse every day and... well Alfie I feel alone. I feel alone Alfie. I'm scared. I don't know what is going on. I feel lost. And you aren't sharing with me what I need to know. Do you think i can't do this job anymore?"

Alfie stood up, going to the window, looking out at the rain tapping the window and stones below. Though you were screaming inside for a response, you knew this movement. He was thinking, calculating. Trying to figure out the right thing to say to you in this moment. He turned to you, then walked to the door of his office, "Tea?"

It was so odd watching him make his and your tea. Frankly, you didn't even know that he had remembered how you took your tea. It was perfect. Though it was the perfect cup, and the atmosphere should have made a comfortable and relaxing time, your brow was still furrowed, confused as to what Alfie was playing at. He was drinking his own tea, staring at you in between the breaks of his scribbling in the notebook.

After what seems like hours, he finally paused, "Alright treacle. Let's talk business."

"Business?"

"Yes my dove, because what we have here yeah, is quite a bit of a conundrum so to speak."

He took a long drag of his tea before setting it back down and beginning again, "Now...treacle. Like I said yeah? We have a great conundrum. Because you... my viper... have performed a feat like none other. You yeah, have become two people at the same time."

"What are you talking about?"

“Just listen alright? Now, not only are you a damn good secretary… a very damn good secretary; but you are also someone I have grown rather… fond of.”

"Just fond?"

"Actually a third thing too, a pain in my ass. Damn woman I am trying to talk to you! Shit! Listen! I... may... feel quite fond of you. And in this business.. it is very dangerous to have people who you are fond of. Much more dangerous to have people know about your fondness for others. Now... do you understand what I'm saying treacle?"

Eyes wide, playing with the loose string on your sweater you nod and Alfie grunts in assent. "So you see my dove, I am very very fond of you. In fact it makes me absolutely sick. But... I don't want my fondness for you, to affect your safety. You understand? So that is why I have been... more reclusive."

Alfie watched you nod, your eyes wandering to the corner of the office where some spiders had begun building the foundation of their new home. He watched the quirk of your lips, and waited. You weren't about to agree. "Well... Alfie... what if you weren't the only one who was deeply fond of someone? Hmm? What then?"

"Well that would be a problem right? Because that would be a mutual deep fondness and it would be highly innappropriate."

"Why?"

"Because you are a good girl and I am a bad man."

"I don't care."

"Well you should."

"I don't."

"Well fuck treacle it is entirely out of the fucking question. It doesn't matter who is fond of who it does not matter. What matters right? What really matters, is that I keep you safe, and you get to walk out of this office and find someone your age and who is not damned to the fucking gates of hell!"

"I don't care! I don't fucking care! Because even if you are damned to hell, I have been living in one! You think you keeping me in a box will keep me safe and make me happy? I'm alone! I'm scared! And the one person in this whole fucking world who makes me feel safe is keeping me at a distance!"

Tap

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The large drops of soft rain trickle down the steamed up window panes like tears from God. And soft blue light of the covered sun illuminates the storm brewing behind Alfie's eyes and the gale force winds sighing from his lungs. These past few weeks you have felt like one of those palm trees you saw in a painting in your childhood books. Swaying in the wind of Alfie's hurricane. You were in the eye of it. You were the eye. The small bit of calm in the center of the madness. But one move to the left or right would put you in the throws of it, threatening destruction and death. Yet it was suffocating in the center. No where to move. All the oxygen being sucked out.

"Alfie... don't keep me away. I can't stand it."

Alfie never took his eyes off you. In his stomach he felt as if rocks had taken up residence. There were so many things he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to do. He loved you. He loved you and he couldn't say anything about it. He couldn't for a million and one reasons and yet it was cutting him up inside to hold in this declaration. He loved you more than anything in this world, and he would absolutely evaporate if anything happened to you. And that is why he couldn't love you. That is why he couldn't say anything. But God did he want to take your tears. To hold you in his chest, to kiss you and tell you that everything was going to be ok. That he would kill every person who even looked at your house or you. That he could do it. That he could change the tides if it meant you were happy. If he could have you... you would never want for anything again.

But that's not what is best for you is it?

With a grunt Alfie stands up, motioning for the door as the clock struck 2, "Come on darling... let's get you home. "

Alfie's heart cracked into two pieces when he saw that first rivulet fall down your cheek. Silent tears that never ended all the way home. He thanked God that you let him walk you up to the door, but was not shocked when you walked in without another word. As Alfie turned back around to head back to the car, your father stopped him, "Mr. Solomons... won't you come in for something warm?"

Alfie had this house furnished and ready for the family in the wake of the fire. But your family brought another level of color and warmth that could never be bought, and it brought back memories of his mother so vividly in his mind. It was warm and rich, and the tea provided by your father was strong and invigorating, much like him. Alfie hadn't noticed how much Esther favored your father. The crease in the brow was carbon copy, and Alfie had to supress a smile on his lips when he made the realization. After the formalities often afforded to business associates, your father spoke, "Mr. Solomons... I will be candid... I know that my daughter works as your secretary. And I know that Eli works in your shops."

Alfie slowly blinked. Nothing could be said, and he had prepped already for this exact scenario millions of times.

Leaning back, letting his hands rest on his stomach, your father continued with a sigh, "And...man to man... I know that my daughter not only loves her job... but also Mr. Solomons... loves you. And I suspect, that you have loved her and do now. Yes?"

This was not something Alfie had prepared for.

"Please do not deny Mr. Solomons. Though you are a gangster you are a man and I have seen many a man fall over their feet for my eldest but you," pointing his finger at Alfie, "you have done more than trip over feet. You love her. Do you deny it?"

"No Mr. Abraham. I don't."

"You want to ask me for her hand in marriage?"

"Fuck me."

"Please Mr. Solomons, Mrs. Abraham will have a fit if she hears that talk. What do you want with my daughter? She will not be made a fool."

Alfie waved his hands in the air, trying to clear out the fog in his mind, "No Mr. Abraham I- yes. Yes Mr. Abraham, I love your daughter very much. More than I should. More than I deserve. If I were a better man I would... I would have married her weeks ago. Proper marriage. Proper ceremony. Or whatever she wanted it doesn't matter to me. She... she's the best moment of my day and the worst is when she leaves. She gives me a headache every time she argues with me but makes me feel better than I have since I was boy right? But I can't love her proper. I can't give her the life she deserves Mr. Abraham because of the nonsense that I bring. Mr. Abraham I'm man enough to say that I don't deserve her. But I'll protect her and your family until a better man comes along."

Your father hummed, looking into Alfie's eyes, as if reading all the other words that Alfie couldn't say. "You know... Mr. Kahn... he told me when I was a young man... that it is often the people who are most deserving of love who think that they don't deserve it. It is the most bravest people who think they are not brave. And the best people who think they could be better. And I wonder... Mr. Solomons... if you have forgotten that love is not a token something to be earned, but rather a gift which is freely given. It's there whether we think we deserve it or not."

Your father put a finger up to Alfie, and tip toed to the cabinet to pull out a clandestine box of cigarettes and match. Handing one to Alfie he says, "Mrs. Abraham has been trying to get me to quit for 30 years and I can't shake it. Indulge with me won't you?"

Alfie greedily sucked in the smoke, as if sharing a secret with a classmate. After a few moments puffing in silence, your father spoke up again, "My daughter is very stubborn as I'm sure you know. My wife and I know she loves you but she cannot say it to herself. She's never been good with admitting a vulnerability like that. But she will. But she won't if you keep pushing her away Mr. Solomons. And I'm sure the last thing you want is for her to be far from you yes?"

Alfie nodded in assent, reeling from this conversation. Your father's large cheeks raised in a smile, nearly concealing his eyes, "Good then. Now Mr. Solomons. regarding your shirts, Eli will be by your house at 8pm with a pack. And I’ve taken the liberty of adding a more secure button and stitch pattern.”

As he turned away he added, “I think you’re a better man than you give yourself credit for Mr. Solomons. Don’t let fear get in the way of life. We’ll all be ok.”

Alfie nodded once again, placing his fingertips on the ornate mezuzah on the doorframe. Feeling a strange peace wash over him as he touched his fingers to his lips. On the drive back to the office and the drive back home, he thinks about what your father said, the way he was welcomed into the home and table. Maybe this could work. Maybe… maybe this war could end. And he could keep you safe. And he could make you happy. Maybe… maybe it will work.

The next day when you came to work, Alfie was already in, talking to Ollie and Ishmael, maps and ledgers all over the place. The fire in the stove by your desk had already been lit and brought to vibrant life. A small bouquet of lavender and baby's breath was at bright attention in a chipped cup on the desk, right next to a blueberry scone and a little note reading 'Can't do this without you' in large and jagged neat script. "Ah treacle! Shalom. Ollie, Ishmael that will be all, get to it yeah? I want proof of death by this evening. Treacle come in please?"

You walked in tentatively, nodding and saying good morning to Ollie and Ishmael as they left. As you take you seat, Alfie is pouring out your tea and putting out the cigar he had been nursing all morning. "Here you go love, drink that down. Listen... I've been doing some thinking... and as much as it stabs me in my cold rotten heart... I do believe you are right, and I'm in the wrong."

Your tea must have been poisoned, because you spluttered at Alfie's admittance, "Alfie? Are you not well? Are you dying?"

Alfie rolled his eyes but couldn't help the small chuckle that spilled out, "No I'm not dying you vile woman! I'm apologizing! Wipe your mouth darling you'll drip on your nice dress. Like that by the way, is that new? Anyway treacle. I have been keeping you away from things. I am fond of you I worry about keeping you safe and away from the mess. I know you ain't a child, but I can't help but feel rather responsible for you. Especially now that your family knows that you're working for me."

"He told you?"

"Yeah, yeah he did treacle. Real shit espionage on your part dear, you will not be given any jobs that require being discreet love I'm sorry, but frankly you cannot lie worth a damn."

Your nostrils flared at the dig at you, but you couldn't help the smile at the corner of your lip due its' truth. Alfie continued on, "This war love, it ain't nothing new to me. And it is necessary for both me and the Shelbys. The Sabinis are right rats and I'm quite sick of their activities. If I am too... rough in my handling of you I am sorry, I do want you in this, and I can't do it without you. But I need you safe. Understand?"

Your eyes bore into his, and he was teetering on the thin line of relief and vomiting due to his new found vulnerability. "So you won't send me home early anymore? We'll go back to business as usual?"

"Yeah... If you'll have me."

You bit your lip, trying to hide your happiness and relief, "I think that is amendable to me."

You shook hands, and shivered slightly at the renewed contact that you had secretly craved for weeks. With a quick release of breath and a final firm squeeze of your hand, Alfie released reluctantly, "Beautiful. Get your little notebook and get comfortable love. We have a lot of business to attend to."

Did you ever. You had mistakenly thought that though Alfie had been sending you home, he was handling everything swimmingly. However, Alfie was actually about to collapse under the amount of plates he was spinning. You reorganized his calendar. Argued at length about the numbers and the accounts until they were perfectly balanced. You reviewed the designs for the gaming club, now named Crown and Horse, and chastised Alfie for failing to choose the wallpaper despite opening night coming in three weeks. More had been accomplished in a single day than had been done in the past week, and you both were abuzz. Alfie could not deny the fact that he had felt better than he had in weeks having you back in his atmosphere. He felt lighter. He laughed easier even if it was at his own expense. Looking at the way your eyes danced along the pages and listening to the ringing of your voice as you hollered and laughed brought him more bliss than any rum or draught that could be cooked up.

As the weeks went by, more and more Sabini strongholds and hiding spots were blown to pieces. More and more Sabini men and soldiers were driven mad by the dark spectors haunting their steps, until they were quietly taken in the night. You were aware of it all, through the whispers in the street and the information Alfie shared with you. The tailor shop was nearly finished, but business was booming more than it had in years. Whether it was due to people feeling sorry for the fire or due to peoples new found respect in the family's tie to Solomons, you couldn't tell. But your father looked more settled than he had in ages, and that was enough for you.

Opening night of the gaming club was to be a grand affair. The Shelby boys had opted to hire a band to play, and gaming tables were to be pushed to the sides to keep room open for dancing. Despite protestation from you, snow would be available along with good drink, anything to keep the crowd raucous and loose lipped. “The only difference between high brow and low brow people treacle, is how willing they are to get their good clothes dirtied up.”

Alfie had asked to escort you to opening night, you tried to decline, as you had nothing quite so suitable for an event. But Alfie scoffed, suddenly producing a wine red evening dress, with nearly black beads dotting the dress, catching the light to look like the night sky. Of course, you scolded him harshly, it was not in the budget you had set for the opening. Alfie smirked, touching the gold locket,that he refused to take back, on your neck, “There’s always room in the budget. I’ll pick you up in the car. 7. Make sure that locket stays on yeah?”

The last ‘date’ you had been on was a abject disaster. You were 17, and your date reeked of cigarette smoke and paint thinner. He took you to the pictures, where he proceeded to kiss a girl who sat next to him on the other side. To add insult to injury, Eli sat behind you to see the entire thing, and swiftly began to punch the living daylights out of your date. Eli did win, but did sport a black eye for a good while, and teased you about him for years to come.

Not that this was a date! This was not a date! This was merely a business event. A business event with your very handsome boss in a dress that he bought that just happened to be the perfect fit.

Or so you argued with Eli as he teased you from your doorway watching you pin your hair up. “Uh-huh of course. So do you think that Alfie will propose to you tonight? Or is the little locket the sign you’re using for your betrothal?”

“Get out! God don’t you have anything better to do?!”

“Mmm no Im off today. Watching you put more effort into your appearance then you ever have in your life is amusing to me.”

You spun around, “I look terrible don’t I? I look ridiculous! Oh damnit that’s it when Alfie comes you will have to tell him I caught a pox or something!”

Eli threw his head back hollering in laughing, throwing himself on your bed, “Oh my gosh!! Dear heart you don’t look ridiculous!!! You look nice!! Like a regular star! I’m only teasing you. Please please you must go. I don’t think a pox lie would keep Alfie from pushing his way into the house to get to you anyway.”

Watching him from the mirror you said, “You don’t think so?”

“Alfie? No nothing. And I don’t think it’d keep you from seeing him either. Am I wrong?”

Your head fell on the desk, “Eli… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“I don’t know if… I’m allowed to feel… the way I do.”

“Well you have to say it in order to know if it’s right.”

You turned to face him, “Eli,.. I feel… home. I feel like I’m right where I need to be when I’m with him. And I want to be next to him all the time. I don’t like not being near him. It feels like… I’m missing my favorite book. I’m still me if I’m not with him. But I’m always searching for him.”

With a soft smile Eli responds, “and why wouldn’t you be allowed to feel like that?”

“Because… well… I don’t want him to feel responsible for me. He has enough to deal with.”

Eli looked around the room, waving his hands, “Well… he did all this… and had only asked that you don’t quit. So… not that I don’t think you’re smart… but I don’t think you’ve really thought it through… it seems… like you’re looking for a reason to not love him so that you don’t feel vulnerable… am I wrong?”

Chewing on the nail of your thumb, a persistent habit you've tried to kill for years, you mumble out, "I hate it when you do that."

Eli merely smirks, mirth glittering in his eyes, "What is a brother for if not to see you past your walls? Now!" Eli stands grandly, as if finishing a fabulous routine for a crowd, "It's nearly seven mouse. Finish up so Mr. Solomons isn't kept hostage by Esther for too long."

You waived him away giggling as the memory of Esther attempting to put fake rouge on Alfie glimmers in your mind. Eli was right. He usually is, as infuriating as it is. While you had lulled yourself to sleep with fantasies of loving Alfie fully and replayed the moment in the jewelry shop every quiet moment you had and felt Alfie's breath on your neck with every whisper of the wind... you never allowed yourself to truly imagine and consider love. Never allowed yourself the pleasure of the thought of him loving you. But.

If he does.

If Eli is right.

If Alfie Solomons loves you.

And you love Alfie Solomons.

Who is to say that you can't be together.

What is to keep you apart?

What is to make love unsafe?

Your reverie and final touches are interrupted by sweet Esther bounding in joyfully, "He's here!! Mr. Alfie is here!"

She pauses at your seat on the vanity, mouth agape, teddy dragging on the floor from where it hung from her grasp, "Wow... you look like a princess..."

You laughed out, gathering Esther in your arms to carry her downstairs, "Well thank you my sweet girl. But surely not as beautiful as you."

She sqeauled and giggled as your pressed kisses to her chubby cheeks, dark red lipstick smudged on. Alfie's eyes were drawn away from Eli's story to land squarely on you and Esther. It was as if everything melted away. You were always beautiful. Always. Not a single moment was different. But in this moment you were otherworldly. Your beauty was only enhanced and amplified with the fine clothes and extra time put into your makeup and hair. The smile you had on your face was radiant and true. The love in your heart shone out adding a glow around you. Alfie wanted to live in that glow forever. Eli stopped talking and smiled at you as he watched Alfie walk towards you like a man in a trance. When you finally set Esther down, you turned in a circle, letting Alfie get a full view, "Is this ok Alfie? You don't think it's too much?'

Alfie shook his head, motioning for you to spin again, "It's absolutely perfect. You look like a right star. Every man will want to dance with you sweet."

You chuckled, "Well they'll be disappointed won't they? I only dance for one man."

For the first time in his life, Alfie felt a blush rise in his cheeks. He had never been flustered before. Silently, he grabbed your hand and pressed a whiskered kiss to your knuckles before leading you out. You waved by to Eli and Esther, excited for the evenings festivities.

You were shocked that the floor hadn't broken underneath you. It was packed. It was alive. It was proving a success. The band John Shelby had booked was relatively new but had shown the crowd the best time they would ever have. The dance floor was vibrant with sequined and bejewled bodies. Gaming tables were sending men to the grave and to Olympus in equal measure. Drinks were flowing like a river, and no one was exempt from its effects. When the Shelby boys whisked Alfie away for drinks and business, you were quickly adopted by Esme, Ada, and Polly. And though you knew that the Shelby - Solomons relationship was at some moments rocky, you felt immediate connection with the women, and knew in your heart that a friendship with them would be more than just business. Your face was hot and your body was buzzing from the energy in the room. You and Ada became fast friends, dancing and twirling like silly girls in the playground. Soon enough you collapsed into barstools laughing and whispering about the scenes surrounding you. But soon enough, your conversation with Ada was cut short by a warm and calloused hand on your shoulder. Looking up you see Alfie's glowing eyes and flushed cheeks. Ada smiled and slipped away as Alfie leaned in to your ear whispering, "Dance for me?"

You nodded, allowing yourself to be pulled from your seat to the center of the dance floor. You felt weightless as you were sucked into Alfie's embrace. A slower number was being played by the band, and though you were surrounded by couples, you would never have known. All you could sense was Alfie around you. In any normal circumstances you would have scolded Alfie for holding you so possesively in a public setting, it was improper. But you couldn't care. How could you, when your body was wrapped in Alfie's strong arms, your fingers raking through his hair, and his beard scratching against your cheek. How could you care when you were living in heaven.

"Are you having a good time my sweet girl?" Alfie husked in your ear.

You smile, bringing his nose to yours to whisper against his face, "Yes, now that you're here. Only one thing could make it better Alfie."

"What's that?"

You force your eyes to meet his storming ones, letting your hand run through his beard, "A kiss."

Alfie's large hand slides to the back of your head, making a mess of the pins holding your hair. His face came to yours, kissing you fiercely, and all the months of waiting, debating, and worrying finally melted away. You let your hands rush into his hair, mussing it as you have longed to do for nights and nights and nights. Sweet and tender and hungry and longing, Alfie's lips against your own was the only thing you could understand in that moment. It was the only thing you could comprehend. Pulling away, Alfie huffed out, "Fuck..."

You laughed at his toussled visage, "Is that all it takes to make you silent Mr. Solomons?"

His eyes grew dark, and you suddenly felt a thrill in your stomach, "Careful treacle might just have to do that again."

Alfie was reaching for you again when a commotion began at the bar.

On top of the crowded bar was Sabini, with a gun pointed directly at you. You could see Tommy pushing people out of the way telling them to get out, trying to get to Alfie. John and Arthur and other Peaky boys were fighting men off, trying to pull down Sabini

"SOLOMONS! You think this is how business is done?" Sabini howled from his place on the bar. "You think you can do this to me? You think this is how you kill a Sabini? You think I'll let a bitch destroy this business? I'll kill you all!"

Bang. Bang.

You fall to the ground. The smell of smoke and iron filled the air. You felt warm liquid on your body, and the sound of people screaming and running fill your ears.

But no pain. No fading and no light coming towards you. A heavy weight is on you groaning out your name. It takes a few moments to understand what was on you.

Alfie.

Your body suddenly awakens. Sabini was on the ground, pale and being carried out by his men leaving a trail dark blood in his wake. Alfie had pushed you to the ground to take the shot meant for you, covering your body with his in his fall. You pushed yourself out from under him, holding his face in your hands, screaming above the crowd, "Alfie! Alfie look at me!"

His eyes were searching for you, "Treacle... treacle you alright love?"

"Alfie you stupid stupid man why did you do that! Alfie please!"

He smiled weakly, "It's alright sweet girl. Old Alfie's alright. Barelt a scratch on me love. Couldn't let my best girl get hurt yeah?"

You looked down at his stomach, a sickly red bloomed on his crisp white shirt. Not a scratch. Not alright. You felt the tears streaming down your cheeks, "Alfie we need to get you to a doctor. We need to go now."

Alfie shook his head, raising his hand to your trembling face, "Nah... I don't think so sweet girl. Just give me a moment. Just let me look at your sweet face for a little. Just give me a moment."

Alfie's eyes fluttered shut as he passed out. Shaking, you began screaming his name, "Alfie... Alfie! Alfie wake up!! Ollie!!! Ollie fuck get over here! Somebody help!!! Somebody please help!!!"

Tag List: @jokersqueenofchaos @hoodeddreams13 @satur9-saturnalia @autumnleaves1991-blog @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @character---obsessed @solomons-finest-rum @cookiez56-blog , @teapartydreams , @sciencewithottsnpotts , @6asm0ne , @purrrrfect, @bluejellyfiish @jassiefayee

[modelbus]

AYYYYYYE!

EVENT! EVENT! EVENT!

OKAY so,

TommyInnit x Fem!Reader (Platonic or romantic, idrc)

AU: Royalty (Plot below, potential readers skip allat, I’M SO SORRY-)

Word: Puppeteer

(Both are royalty in kingdoms that have been at war with each other all their lives. Growing up they both often snuck away from all the doom and gloom of kingdoms plagued by long lasting war. When they were both very young, doing such for the first time, they ran into each other in a beautiful forest clearing, neither of them had any friends, being locked away for their safety all their lives. After agreeing neither was going to hurt the other, they became fast friends, meeting there every day and talking for hours.. yet never about their royal statuses.

As they grew, they each found how war tore people apart, in more ways than one. Witnessing the pain of war from such a young age, they both decided to do everything they could to finally end it.. when they were older of course. Tommy took the more direct approach, training in combat, set on one day leading the charge to storm the enemy castle. While Y/N found she was gifted in the ways of strategy, listening in on her parents meetings with their council and reading countless books on many topics. She grew excellent at investigation, problem solving, planning ahead, psychological warfare, and all sorts of control.

The older Y/N got, the more determined to reach her goals she became, slowly visiting the clearing less and less, they began carving messages into the surrounding trees, so they could still communicate when they weren’t both there.

But one day, when they were 16, Y/N just stopped coming entirely.

The clearing became Tommy’s personal training ground, yet he never stopped writing to her, until eventually, years later, every tree within a mile had message upon unanswered message engraved into it.

The day Y/N stopped coming, was the day her parents were killed, and she became queen. While she was infinitely better at it than anyone expected from a 16 year old, she lost any and all free time, to the war efforts she ran with the help of, what was now, *her* council. She still thought about the boy for years upon years too come, until a week before the final battle, she returned to the clearing. She didn’t find the boy, no, but she found more than that in his messages. She found out he was the prince.. the prince she planned to kill with her own hands.

In a week, as their army’s were to fight, her top soldiers would sneak into the castle and kill the king and queen, while their son, would be separated from his army, and poisoned as Y/N lured him into a conversation over wine, in her throne room.

Y/N couldn’t change the plan, every tiny detail had been accounted for… except this one. She spent the week ensuring she could keep her composure upon seeing him. The plan would probably go smoother with their past relationship.. at least on the side of him trusting her.

BUT I’LL LEAVE THE ENDING UP TO YOU, MOTHY!!! WILL HE DIE? WILL HIS PARENTS DIE? WILL EITHER WIN THE WAR? IF SO, WHO? WILL SHE KEEP HER COMPOSURE? Who the hell knows…)

DUDE I’M SO SORRY I SAID I’D BE CHILL WITH THIS ONE, Y’KNOW NOT WRITE TO MUCH AND SHIT. I LIED TO MYSELF.

ANYWAYS, LOVE YOU MOTHY! HOPE YOU HAVE FUN WRITING THIS!! (If you do decide to write it. <3)

P.S, I’m so sorry.

-✨🌌🌙 NOT Anon

me: I’m going to get these done same day! you: mwahahaha

Pairing: Tommyinnit x Fem!Reader

Royalty AU - Puppeteer

You can’t quite remember all the details of when you first met Tommy. Did you see him first, or did he see you? Which direction did he come from? Who introduced themselves first? They were menial details lost to youthful minds that were too busy with other things.

But you did know this: the forest clearing was yours before it was his. When your parents got all shouty over the ongoing war, you fled the castle and went out through the woods. They were too busy debating on moving armies to notice you leaving, and any servants were kind enough to keep their mouths shut. Nobody wanted to a ruin a child’s innocence. When everything was about bloodshed and death, your cheerful escapes were permitted.

Tommy said he wanted to get away from the war where he was from too. He had a funny accent, different from yours, so you assumed he was one of your kingdom’s allies. Not like your parents let you visit other countries much, seeing as your status as a young royal made you much too valuable. A little princess.

But Tommy didn’t treat you like a princess when you run into him. He treated you like a playmate: handing you a stick, he played knights with you and taught you how to climb a tree. You two could babble on for hours and hours about anything. He once spent three days talking about how he hated eating fish. And you liked that he acted normal around you, liked that you weren’t some princess to be taken advantage of. So who could blame you for keeping your mouth shut about it?

Tommy was your best friend, and you were his. He told you it, so it must be true. Besides, it wasn’t like you had anyone else. The maid who made conversation with you went missing one day, and suddenly all the knights that used to joke with you vanished too. Your mother told you it was war. That war was greedy, and stole and stole and stole until it took everything from the loser. That’s why you had to win it.

Of course, you shared this with Tommy while drawing in the dirt. The golden haired boy was covered in mud because it has rained recently, and you were using a stick to make drawings in the impressionable earth.

“War steals from me too.” He had said, looking mad. “All the dogs at my house had to leave, and so did the horses.”

“Where’d they go?” You had asked, although you didn’t even know where your own people went.

He shrugged. “To war, dad said. ‘N sometimes, I see people crying because war took their people too.”

“Me too.” You nodded, remembering when your parents had gone to make a speech and every townsperson had been crying. A little girl was sat alone in the streets when your parents had dragged you back to the castle. You had slipped her your bracelet.

“I hate it.” Tommy’s nose wrinkled up, and you had sworn he looked a bit like a grape.

“Me too.”

“It’s so stupid! Why can’t it just end?” That was when he had thrown mud at your drawings of rainbows. You glared at him until he mumbled an apology for it. “The two sides should just shake hands and be done with it.”

At the time, you had agreed. “Uh-huh. Maybe we’re just smarter than all the adults.”

“Adults are stupid.”

“Very stupid.”

“Mega stupid.”

Maybe that was when the idea really took root in your mind. It was started long before, but right then with Tommy was the moment it seemed real to you. The moment you were mad enough about the thievery of war that you wanted to really do something.

“We should end the war.” You had declared.

Tommy had looked up at you, something new gleaming in his blue eyes. Something you had never seen before, not in him.

“Yeah. Let’s fucking end it ourselves.”

From there on, your meetings in the forest clearing changed. Tommy started bringing a practice sword, brutally assaulting any tree that dared to stand in his way. You started bringing books about strategy, content to fluff your dress out and read quietly.

Meeting up went from hours of chatting to hours of simply doing things around each other. It was nice to know you could look up from studying and see someone else just as determined to fix everything. Someone you could believe in just as much as your believed in yourself.

Tommy started jumping from swords, to bows, to knives, practicing with every sharp thing he got his hands on. Changing from the skinniest boy you’ve ever to seen to something more dangerous, something honed.

You can’t help but wonder if you changed like that too. You weren’t one for hands-on fighting—your parents would never let you—but strategy? Solving problems? Hell, you even had a knack for psychological warfare. Tommy started calling himself a soldier and you a puppeteer of the war. A joke. Whenever you could, you’d sit in on your parents’ meetings, quietly listening as they argued over what to do.

The first time you missed meeting with Tommy was because of those meetings. One had ran long, hours over, too many grown adults shouting about too many things. By the time you made it to the clearing, head full of the idea of surrendering a village to slaughter a battalion, Tommy was long gone.

He left one thing behind: a message, carved into a tree. You almost walked right by it, only stopping because a firefly had light up at the exact right time.

Missed you :(

The message made you laugh, and before you could think about it, you grabbed your own knife to carve a response. You weren’t as good with a knife, mauling the poor tree, but you got the job done.

Missed u 2

You had to shorthand things, and your palm was hurting, but it was a message.

As war raged on, there were many times you’d give up going to meet Tommy so you could listen to meetings. And when you did show up, Tommy might not, too busy with his own weapons training. Carving things into trees became your way of leaving messages. You started getting callouses just from the effort it took, but seeing a response always made it worth it.

You settled into a routine, even if you missed seeing Tommy every day. It’d be worth it, you kept telling yourself. When this war was over, and your parents relaxed, you could even take Tommy to meet them.

And then they die.

An assassination, you were told. Poisoned by their own cook, the one you executed damn near immediately. Your mother, who always had a weary smile for you, gone. Your father, who let you listen in on his important meetings, gone.

Everyone started moving around you, making plans and speaking, and it was like you were on a different planet. This couldn’t be real, your parents couldn’t be dead. You were only 16; too young to be an orphan. War wasn’t meant to take this from you, too.

You blink, and there’s suddenly a crown on your head. A coronation happening, members of your council bowing to you. Queen.

“I’m sorry for you loss, your majesty.” A balding man you recognize as an advisor says. Earl, if you’re remembering correct. “I hate to ask, but what’s your stance on the war?”

Your head turned slowly. “The war?” You repeat, words sinking into your mind slowly.

Earl nods nervously. “With the murder of your parents, they’ll be expecting retaliation.”

The war. The war you swore you’d help stop, the war that took everything from you. Your parents, your free time, your life, your Tommy. You were a kid when you made that promise, still are a kid.

But you’re also a Queen now. A Queen who can ruin the country that stole your parents.

“We take them down. For good.”

-

Settling into being a Queen took longer than you ever thought. You were more prepared than you had any right to be, but your parents left so much for you to clean up. Vengeance had to take a backseat while you fought to keep your country afloat, days and weeks and months and a year flying by. Only then could you step back and work to end the stupid fucking war.

It didn’t take long to come up with a plan. A few months, a lot of meetings. Mostly, you just argued you wanted something tactful. Justice wasn’t enough; they needed to hurt like you did.

Tommy, the blond boy you used to know better than you knew yourself, would’ve said to go in guns blazing. The little devil on your shoulder. But you were about plans and quiet plots, so that’s the way you went. Something foolproof. Something where you’d be up close and personal.

In a week, there’d be a clash between your two armies. That’s where your general would kill the king and queen. Meanwhile, you’d lure the prince away. Tell him of the death of his parents over some dinner and wine, watch as poison took him too. Win the war.

You start taking long walks around the castle to help your nerves. Everything needed to be perfect, after all. Every little detail was in place.

Before you can think, your feet are automatically taking you right back to that forest clearing you spent so much of your youth in. The trees you know, with a slight breeze ruffling their leaves.

Tommy isn’t there.

You aren’t sure if you expected him to be or not. After all, it’s been years. Nobody would’ve expected him to wait for you that long.

With a sad smile, you turn to look at the trees you used to leave messages on. But you stop, seeing a new one. And on another tree, another message. You spin, realizing they’re surrounding you. His story, laid out for you whenever you came back.

Where are you?? You okay? Something big is changing My parents are getting worried Are you okay? I think the war is changing We’re going to fix it dont die on me I can’t keep coming, please answer Fuck you Im sorry I miss you. If you ever need me, ask for Prince Tommy at the castle Ill be waiting You better find me, bitch

Prince Tommy. No, no that doesn’t make sense. There’s no prince in your kingdom: it’s just you now. But that only leaves one other kingdom he could’ve been from.

You’re running back to the castle, branches tearing into your clothes. He can’t be. Your Tommy can’t be that Prince. Maybe he was joking? Maybe his parents call him a Prince, maybe his house is just big. Maybe he plans on becoming a Prince.

“Your highness?” A servant asks, watching you run by. “Your highness!”

They don’t matter. Whatever rumor that’ll be there in morning can wait.

“What’s the name of the enemy Prince?” You ask, slamming into the meeting room door. Your shoulder aches, but your eyes are only on the people in there.

“The enemy Prince?” A guy asks. “Uh…”

“Tom.” Your only female advisor speaks up. Sarah. “Tom Simons. But most people call him Prince Tommy.”

No.

No no no no.

Your Tommy, the same Tommy who stole your family from you. Your Tommy, the same Tommy you’re poisoning in just a few days.

How would you face him?

Oh, God. You promised to stop the war together. But you were on opposing sides, working against each other.

How would you kill Tommy?

“Is everything alright?” Sarah dares to ask.

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes everything is just fine. Proceed with our plan.”

There’s nothing you can do. Not with everything already in motion. You’ll have to see Tommy no matter what. You’ll have to watch him so his poisoned wine, knowing you killed his parents and he killed yours.

For some reason, that doesn’t feel good anymore.

-

You hear him before you see him, and suddenly a week of preparation doesn’t seem like enough. His boots click on the tile floor as he approaches the table, and you know you should tear yourself away from the window to look at him, but you just can’t.

For a second, you just want to pretend. Pretend that this isn’t your Tommy. Pretend that this is merely a friendly dinner. Pretend there isn’t a war, that you haven’t killed his parents, that yours are still alive.

But you can’t pretend. You aren’t a kid anymore, young as you may be. So you inhale, steel yourself, and turn.

“I’m glad you could make it.” You force out of your mouth before it stops working when you see him.

Tommy is the exact same. Blond hair, blue eyes, a determination you could never beat. There’s a sword strapped to his side, a real one. And his clothes are far nicer than anything you’ve seen him in.

You wonder what he sees in return. Recognition flashes through his eyes, and he halts in place.

“You’re alive.” He says, sounding so damn happy about it. “Holy shit. How are you here? Where is the Queen? I was meant to— you have to get out of here!”

You give him a sad smile. “Tommy. Prince Tom, I mean. Why don’t you sit?”

He stares at you, hand slowly shifting to the hilt of his sword. “You’re the Queen.”

“I’m the Queen.” You nod, sitting down because you’re not sure you can stand anymore.

He trusts you, and you’re going to kill him for it.

“You never told me.” He says slowly, like he’s figuring it out. “You didn’t fucking say anything!”

“You didn’t tell me either!” You can’t help but shout back. How easy it is to fall into old habits.

“Yeah, well you’re a whole ass Queen!” Tommy shakes his head, grabbing his wine glass to take a drink.

You should sit and watch. Let him take a drink, know that he won’t be walking out of here alive.

Instead, you lunge across the table, knocking the wine out of his hand. It splashes against his chest, red staining his clothes, while the glass shatters on the floor.

“What the fuck?” He exclaims, jumping back. “Am I not allowed to drink wine or some shit? Because I think I deserve it!”

”I’m sorry.” You choke out. Oh, God. Oh God, what have you done?

“It’s fine, shirt was fuckin’ itchy anyway.” He huffs, dabbing at it with a cloth.

“Tommy.”

Tommy looks up at you, borderline impatient. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? All sad and shit?”

You crush him in a hug, clinging onto his alive body. You hold onto the boy who chased fireflies with you, the one who carved messages in hundreds of trees in case you saw them. He clings back, wrapping his arms around you.

“We can fix this.” He tells you, solid and self-assured. “We can make a treaty now, mom and dad will listen.”

And then you remember. His parents.

“I’m so sorry.” You choke out. “Tommy…”

He must figure it out in your voice, because he stiffens. You stagger back from him so quickly that your crown drops to the floor.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I just fucking saw them!”

“I didn’t…” you didn’t what? You didn’t know? Because you did. You knew exactly what you were doing.

“You?” He asks, drawing his sword from its sheath. “You killed them?”

You’re fairly certain he wouldn’t kill you. But then again, he probably thought you’d never kill him or his parents.

“You killed my parents.” You defend yourself feebly.

“I didn’t do shit to your parents! That wasn’t my fucking fault! This? This is yours, isn’t it?”

Before he can advance on you, guards burst into the room. Your guards, that is. All twenty of them that were lying in wait, just in case. Armed to the teeth and ready for a fight, they point weapons at Tommy.

He looks around, slowly lowering his sword. “The wine…?” He asks you.

You can’t face that one. Instead, you turn to a guard. “Change of plans. Arrest him.”

Tommy doesn’t resist, likely knowing he’d be fighting a losing battle. You can’t bear to watch them manhandle him away, so you look back at the food on the table.

Why waste a good meal, after all?

[aphroditesmoon]

ෆ masterlist ๑⁠˙

AO3 ACCOUNT for my book ship fanfics

requests: closed 🫶

A/N: there is no guarantee that I will do your request, I write what im comfortable with.

DNI: racists, sexists, homophobes, ableists, pro-israel

fandoms; -house of the dragon, -the last of us(hbo/game), -wednesday(netflix), -lord of the rings(books/movies), -the last kingdom(netflix), -cosmere(brandon sanderson), -narnia(books/movies), -spiderverse(itsv/atsv), - mortal kombat(game), -call of duty modern warfare(game), -percy jackson and the olympians (books and tv series)

ARCANE°°°

Sevika X Reader

smoke signals part ii part iii part iv

(warnings: selkie!reader, lighthousekeeper!sev, reader has selective mutism)

PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIAN°°°

Clarisse La Rue X Reader

enemies to lovers hcs

(warning: mild violence, kissing )

the look of love, the rush of blood

(warnings: aphrodites daughter!reader, fluff)

back to you

(warnings: ep2 spoilers, protective clarisse)

I like a challenge when the prize is you

(warnings: platonic luke x reader, kissing)

wish you'd tell me

(warnings: oblivious reader, flirty clarisse, kissing, mostly fluff)

cause I love this curse on our house

(warnings: sparring violence, arguing, hurt/comfort, fluff at end)

love letters from the sea to the shore

(warnings: siren reader, slightly ooc clarisse)

lacrymosa part 2

(warnings: in chapter description)

tide

(warnings: enemies to lovers, cursing, reader is daughter of Poseidon)

•••

SPIDERVERSE°°°

Gwen Stacy X Reader

first date hcs

(warnings: none, fluff, fem reader)

relationship hcs. fluff hcs 2

(warnings: cursing, fluff, kissing)

lose your faith in me

(warnings: hurt/comfort, curse words, gn reader)

mirrored hearts

(warnings: afab reader, gn terms, spider-person reader, curse words)

love it if we made it

(warnings: curse words, gwen's peter is alive, gn terms, reader described as having long hair)

picture me better

(warnings: none, afab reader, gn terms, flirty gwen, adhd coded reader, fluff)

I'm holding my night in your hands

(warnings: fem!reader, flirty gwen, maybe ooc gwen a bit, overthinker reader, fluff)

see how it shines

(warnings: none, fluff, flirty gwen, fem reader)

heaven

(warnings: angst)

•••

THE LAST OF US°°°

Joel Miller x Reader

running free

(warnings: angst w fluff, mentions of blood)

here with me

(warnings: age gap (reader is 34), fluff)

-

-

Tommy Miller X Reader

dating tommy hcs (warnings: nsfw, pregnancy, mentions of gun/shooting)

-

-

Tess Servopoulos x Reader

tess x sunshine reader: oneshots/hcs

be sweet to me (warnings: violence/robbery)

•••

LOTR/ THE HOBBIT°°°

Gigolas (Legolas Greenleaf x Gimli Son Of Gloin)

winterlude

(warnings: none)

sweet creature

(warnings: gore, blood, orcs)

-

-

Boromir son of Denethor x Reader

lady of the lake

(warnings: lotr spoiler, physical assault (unintentional)

halfling

(warnings: none)

let time heal

(warnings: wounds, injuries)

-

-

Aragorn son of Arathorn X Reader

shrike

(warnings: hurt/comfort ish, mostly fluff, mentioned nudity)

Legolas Greenleaf x Reader

too close

(warnings; nsfw, smut, enemies to lovers, jerk leggy)

•••

WEDNESDAY °°°

Wenclair (wednesday addams x enid sinclair)

afterglow

(warnings: slight angst w fluff ending)

cara mia

(warnings: implications of homophobia)

-

-

Wenclair x Reader

dove

(warnings: bullying, outcast reader, gender neutral terms for reader)

like real people do

(warnings: transmasc reader, afab reader, nb pronouns)

cherry pit

(warnings: requested/reader with name)

-

-

Xavier Thorpe x Reader

it's you I think of

(warnings: (jealous!xavier, fluff ending)

as strange as it seems

(warnings: none)

how to get out of love

part ii

(warnings: angst, mentions of blood and wounds)

newlyweds hcs

(warnings: slight nsfw, absent parent)

celebrating your birthday with him hcs

(warnings: reader uses he/him pronouns)

-

-

Yoko Tanaka x Reader

devil's sweetheart

(warnings: smut, nsfw, minors dni!!, mention of abusive relationship, cheating)

-

-

Wednesday Addams x Xavier Thorpe

(coming soon)

•••

THE LAST KINGDOM°°°

Osferth x Reader

from eden

(warnings; smut, nsfw (minors dni!!)

tinderbox of a heart

(warnings: mentions of prostitution and child neglect)

osferth taking care of sick wife reader hcs

(warnings: none)

sweet

(warnings: nsfw, smut (minors dni!!), slight angst, black cat/golden retriever)

-

-

Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader

in full bloom

(warnings: pregnant reader, bit gore, s5 spoilers)

•••

HOTD°°°

Jacaerys Velaryon

replaceable

(warnings; angst, minor character deaths)

- part ii

- part iii

- part iv (nsfw!!)

lady of the house of wolves

(warnings - gore, violence, minor character death)

bejeweled

(warnings; nsfw, smut, minors dni!!)

all's blood runs dry but yours

(warnings; blood, nsfw, smut, minors dni!!)

kerosene

(warnings: none yet)

- part ii

- part iii

opal angel

(warnings: none)

jace as your boyfriend (modern!au)

(warnings: smut, minors dni!!)

daughter of whispers

(warnings; none)

delicate

(warnings: THAT decapitation scene)

halloween

(warnings: grief, mentions of death)

reverie

(warnings: social anxiety, nsfw, smut, minors dni!!)

go as a dream

(warnings: none)

out of touch

(warnings: nsfw(minors dni!!), gore, slight angst + fluff

ending)

lotus

(warnings: none)

silver into rain

(warnings: none)

jace with breeding kink hcs

(warnings: nsfw, smut, minors dni!!)

jealous jace

(warnings: none)

andromeda

(warnings: angst w fluff ending)

kill bill

(warnings: jealous!reader)

mended hearts once sewed apart

(warnings: angst w fluff, jacemond has beef)

thoroughfare

(warnings: angst, death)

jace as a daddy's girl hcs

(warnings; none)

moonkissed

(warnings: nsfw, smut (minors dni!!)

tutoring jace modern!au hcs

(warnings:none)

golden

(warnings: slavery, mentions of SA)

part 2 part 3 part4

sweetest thing on this side of heaven

(warnings: none)

stuck on a puzzle

(warnings: bit angst, all characters r aged up)

heavy is the crown

(warnings; aged-up jace, mentions of canon character deaths, nsfw, mentions of smut, grief)

let the light in

(warnings: cheating(not on jace), infidelity, grief, angst)

fade into you

(warnings: age-gap, targcest)

sea, swallow me

(warnings in description)

Part 2 part 3 part 4

you go back to the old house but you've been locked out

(warnings in description)

death grips

(warnings in description)

-

-

Harwin Strong

melting moment

(warnings: smut, minors dni!!)

[glassbxttless]

Boy Witchcraft

tommy gallagher (warfare) x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k+

summary: Tommy doesn’t wanna feel like some kid you’re taking pity on— and subsequently you get a morning that leaves you weak in the knees.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Tommy’s 20 and reader’s a bit older (age gap but not explicitly stated how much older), pinv, riding tommy lmao

notes: 1000% for one of the girlies. Love you. Thanks to @peachyproserpina for editing this!

You don’t mean to stare at the sight in front of you, not really. But Tommy’s in your kitchen. He’s barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but those slouchy gray sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips— the ones he always sleeps in when he stays over, the ones you’ve tugged down with your teeth before, the ones you’ve come to adore even if they were littered in paint stains and holes. His hair’s still damp from the shower he must’ve taken this morning, curling at the edges of his neck, and he’s frowning at the duo Keurig on the counter like it’s a calculus exam.

It’s too cute. Unfairly cute.

“You know it’s a Keurig, right?” you call to him, leaning against the doorway with a lazy smile, your arms crossed over your chest.

He glances back at you, his own sheepish smile tugging at his lips as his cheeks glow red. “Yeah, but it’s the fancy kind. It’s got more buttons than I know how to deal with.”

“Terrifying,” you tease him softly, walking over until you’re pressed close to his back, and you reach around him to press the correct one. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. Just stands there and lets you mold yourself to his back, lets your arms wrap around his waist like you’ve always belonged there. It’s been a few months now— long enough that his razor lives in your bathroom, long enough that your laundry always seems to include at least one of his t-shirts, long enough to know what kind of music he likes to listen to in the shower, and what kind of sigh he makes when you kiss his neck just right. 

But every time things start to heat up, every time your fingers dig into his back or his mouth finds that spot just below your ear, Tommy turns into something else entirely. It’s not cruel and it’s never careless. But it’s raw. Needy. Rough around the edges like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin and live there forever.

And God help you, you fucking love it.

He pours himself a cup once it’s done, turning in your arms. He sips gently, his eyes soft over the rim of the mug, watching you like you hung the damn moon in the sky just for him. “You workin’ today?”

“Nope,” you say softly, already walking your fingers up his chest with a grin. “Got the whole afternoon off.” Something flickers in his gaze at your words. Just a shadow of nerves. He sets the mug down on the counter, and then licks his lips like he’s trying to figure out how to speak. “You okay?” you ask, your eyebrows knotting down as you brush your hand over his side.

“Yeah,” he nods, pausing for a moment before he lets out a sigh, “You ever think about us? Like, what other people think?”

Your brows rise in shock. “People. What people?”

He shrugs and turns his gaze away, suddenly avoiding your eyes. “Just… you know… you’re older. And I dunno… I’m, you know, some dumb twenty-year-old who’s still figuring his shit out.”

You step in closer to him, your hand curling gently under his jaw until he’s looking at you. “You really think I see you like that?”

Tommy finally meets your eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if like… you’re just being nice to me. Like… I’m a phase for you or somethin’.”

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, letting out your own sigh as you shake your head. “You think I let just anyone stay over and make me coffee in the morning? You think I let anyone touch me the way you do?”

His breath hitches when your hand brushes down his chest. His jaw tightens. You lean up and kiss him gently, slow and soft. Your lips barely brushing his until he chases you for more. The second kiss is deeper— needy, lingering. And when his hands slide around your waist, his grip is already firm— keeping you pressed close, you can feel it. That shift in the air, his unraveling.

“I wanna be good for you,” he mumbles quietly, his voice gravelly from want and his nose nudging along your jaw. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“You always do,” you say quietly, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats just to run along that trail of hair that dips beneath the fabric. Your eyes flick up to his and you smile as his gaze drops to where your fingers are teasing him, running up and down his stomach. Trailing so high and then back down to dip below the elastic and back up again. 

He swallows hard, his eyes lazily hooded, “Not just good, baby.” Your whole body responds to that— your chest tightens, your thighs start to ache, it burns deep in your veins. “Can I?” he asks, his hands falling to the curve of your ass and squeezing. His voice is rough and desperate, you can hear how badly he wants you dripping from each word. “Can I show you I’m not just some dumb kid you’re takin’ pity on?”

You press your forehead to his, your eyes closing. Your lips brush his again, and again, and again, breathing against his mouth. “You can do anything you want to me, Tommy Gallagher.”

Whatever restraint he had left evaporates at those words. He grabs you under your thighs, lifting you off the ground like you weigh absolutely nothing. And then he’s backing you through your hallway. His lips are on yours the whole way, messy and hot, your teeth clanking together at some points. He bumps your back against the wall, runs his hip into the table, bangs an elbow into the frame of your bedroom door. But by the time your back finally hits your bed— he’s already pushing your shirt up, yanking it off, groaning when he sees you’ve got nothing on underneath. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbles. He’s crawling over you slowly, settling between your thighs. He’s kissing down your chest slowly. Then he’s mouthing at your breasts— leaving open mouth kisses against your skin. “Been thinking about this all fuckin’ morning. Fucked my fist in the shower just thinkin’ bout you.”

You laugh, breathless as you tilt your head back against your pillows. You let your eyes slip closed. 

He hums against your chest playfully, and then he hooks his thumbs into your panties, pulling them down your thighs with one sharp tug. He lets his kisses trail down your tummy to the inside of your leg, then he starts at your breasts and does it all over again to your other leg. Suddenly he moves over you, his eyes dark with need. “I wanna watch you ride me,” he whispers as he dips down and presses a kiss against your neck. “I wanna see you take every fuckin’ inch of me.”

You flip him before he can even get his sweats all the way off. You’re straddling his lap as you tug them down— no boxers— freeing his cock. He’s hard already— thick, flushed, and leaking. You wrap your hand around him, stroking once, twice, watching his head fall back against your pillow with a groan.

“Fuck,” he rasps softly, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his eyes close. A smattering of freckles dusting across his skin, you want to kiss every single one of them. “Baby, please—”

You lift yourself up over him and guide him to your cunt. And then you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until you’re filled to the hilt and his hands are gripping your thighs like he might lose his composure right there. “Jesus Christ,” he groans out softly, shifting his hips under you. “You feel… baby, you feel so fuckin’ tight, so good—”

You’re already riding him slowly when his brain starts to catch up, rocking your hips with a steady rhythm. Your hands are pressed to his chest, your thighs bracketing his hips. Every inch you give him, every grind of your body against his, has Tommy unraveling— his head still tilted back against the pillows, his lips parted, his breath coming in soft, broken little gasps.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, his fingers tightening against your skin. He’s gripping your thighs like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth. “You’re killin’ me here, baby.”

You lean forward, pressing your palms to the mattress on either side of his head, your tits against his chest and your hair brushing his face. “That’s the idea.” You mumble as you grind your hips down. You know he’s trying— so fucking hard— to hold himself back. His knuckles are white against your thighs, his arms shaking faintly with the effort of trying to stay still. You can see it in him— the restraint, the ache. He’s desperate, sweet, aching so badly to be good for you, and it’s absolutely wrecking him. So you just rock your hips again, deeper this time, circling as you clench around him on purpose. You watch his face as you do it— how his lashes flutter, how his mouth drops open in a breathless moan. His whole body tenses underneath you. You lean forward, close to his ear, “Tommy,” you whisper. Your lips trailing down and brushing against his jaw, “you can move, baby.”

He lets out a choked moan that rumbles up from his chest. “I don’t— I’ll fuckin’ lose it.”

“Then lose it.”

That breaks his resolve. He growls some half-formed and filthy thought under his breath. You can’t make it out. His hands fly to your hips, and he slams up into you so hard you gasp. Your body jolts with the sudden impact, eyes wide as he thrusts up into you again, rougher this time, deeper. It’s stoking that fire deep in your belly— like his body’s been aching to do this since the second you got on top of him. “F-fuck, baby, fuck,” he pants, each thrust a frantic, urgent push into your soaked heat. “Can’t stop— can’t— feels too good, Jesus, you feel like heaven—”

You’re barely holding on yourself now, your hands are still pressed to the mattress. Every sharp snap of his hips sends sparks down your spine to pool right between your thighs. It’s messier now— more frantic. He’s fucking you from underneath like he needs it to breathe, like he’s trying to bury himself inside you so deep he won’t ever come back out. One of your hands scrambles for purchase on his chest, your nails dragging across his sweaty skin. “God… F-Fuck Tommy—”

“Tell me you want it,” he whimpers out, voice raw with need, his eyelashes flutter open until he can meet your eyes. “Tell me I’m not just some fuckin’ kid to you.”

“You’re not,” you gasp at one particularly hard thrust, your voice catching on the almost unbearable rhythm he’s setting. “You’re not, baby— fuck, you’re everything to me—”

That makes him moan, full and guttural, straight from his lungs. His pace stutters— Alternating to grinding his hips up harder and deeper between thrusts. He’s so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat, every inch of him dragging against the parts of you that make your toes curl and your eyes roll back. And then he hits just the right spot. Your body seizes with a sharp, bright jolt of pleasure, your breath catching as heat floods through you. The flames of your orgasm burn fast, low in your belly, curling tight and oh-so-overwhelming. Your thighs tremble around his hips. “Tommy— I’m gonna— fuck— I’m so close—”

“Me too,” he pants out softly, fucking you up onto the edge. “I can feel you, baby— you’re gripping me so tight. I’m not gonna last— fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You reach for his face, and kiss him hard, sloppy and open-mouthed as your climax rushes over you— burning through your veins in waves. It’s tightening every muscle in your body, making you cry out into his mouth as your walls pulse around him.

He feels it too. The way your body clutches his cock, the way you fall apart on top of him— and he loses it right after. With a broken moan and one last desperate thrust into you, he cums hard. His hips twitch, his cock throbbing deep inside you as he spills everything into you, painting your insides thick and hot and with so much of it. His arms wrap around your waist tight. He’s grinding up into you through the aftershocks, both of you panting and shaking, his face buried into your shoulder. You’re both drenched in sweat and clinging to each other like the world might end if you let go.

You don’t know how long you stay like that— his cock still twitching inside you, your bodies tangled and flushed and trembling. But eventually, he lets out a breathless, and overwhelmed laugh. He lifts his face up just a bit and presses his forehead to yours. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers softly. “I— I don’t even know what that was.” His whispers as his hands trail up your thighs gently. Then he leans forward, stealing a kiss from you.

And you return it with a grin, exhausted and aching and still full of him. You brush a hand through his hair, moving the overgrown strands away from his eyes. You let your fingers trail down to cup his jaw, “That was you proving you’re not just some dumb kid.”

He smiles and then kisses you again, letting himself linger against your lips. Like he can show you just how much he feels for you from a single kiss. Then he whispers, softly, his heart aching, “I love you like this. I love you.”

Your heart swells, as your thumb brushes across his cheekbone.

“I know you do, baby,” you mumble, smiling against his lips. “I felt it.”

tags ;; @getaapologist @thejordiverse @vinecstasy @bradleybeachbabe @robinbuckleywife @dancininseptember

[warfaredoll]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 & 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

there’s nothing more attractive than a man who’s good with kids

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 — he had the baby propped perfectly on his hip, one strong arm cradling the tiny baby like he’d done it a hundred times before. the little one giggled, tiny fists grabbing at the fabric of Erik’s shirt, and Erik? Erik was fully into it eyes wide with a big smile on his face. “ma-ma? da-da?” he cooed tone high and playful along with more baby talk. his words made no sense but they made the baby giggle anyway. Erik grinned eyes crinkling as he smiled, then he leaned in to pepper the baby’s chubby cheeks with noisy wet kisses, making the baby squeal and kick with laughter from the tickle of Erik’s scruffy beard and mustache “you like that huh?” he chuckled, kissing the baby again just to hear that laugh. you leaned against the doorframe smiling so wide your cheeks hurt “Erik you’re so good at this.” he looked over at you eyes softening while cradling the baby a little closer “yeah?” he asked grin forming “you think so?” you simply just shook your head in agreement, walking over to the baby and maybe to kiss Erik. there was no doubt in your mind that Erik would make a great dad one day.

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 — “shit I don’t know…” Tommy muttered, eyes widening as you gently transferred the sleeping baby into his arms. his hands hovered awkwardly for a second before they carefully took the baby from your arms. you smiled putting a hand over his shoulder reassuring him then you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek “you’ll be fine” you whispered, and before he could say anything to protest, you were already walking out of the room. for a moment he just stood there stiff and unsure, staring down at the little body curled against his chest. the baby stirred a little and Tommy panicked but then nothing happened no crying or fussing just a sweet little deep sigh coming from the baby. he sat down slowly, holding the baby close, one hand carefully rubbing up and down the tiny back the way he’d seen you do. the room was quiet, peaceful the baby snuggled into his shoulder, Tommy looked down again, his expression softening as he took in the tiny lashes, the round cheeks, the little pout on the babys’ lips. a small surprised smile pulled at his lips “okay” he murmured, rocking the baby against him softly “yeah… maybe I got this.”

𝐑𝐚𝐲 — Ray was trying that much was clear. the toddler sat on his lap, squirming and already beginning to whimper as Ray leaned in wiggling his fingers. “Gonna getcha” he teased voice soft and dramatic, inching closer, the small child’s lip wobbled then a loud cry came out “Ray!” you scolded from across the room, he froze mid tease, face dropping “oh cmon” he groaned, instantly holding the little one closer into his chest and cradling them, a sheepish laugh escaping him as he bounced his knee gently. “hey, hey, don’t cry im just messing with you.” his hand rested gently on the back of the toddler’s head, his voice becoming soothing and soft as he rubbed slow comforting circles “there we go, we’re good right? no hard feelings?” the tears dried quickly and soon enough, the child was giggling again, especially when Ray tossed the small toddler up high in the air. “now this you like huh?” he laughed tossing the child gently up and then catching them. both of them grinning ear to ear as you just shook your head smiling

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 — Elliott sat on the couch legs spread wide to give the baby a seat in his lap facing him. his arms were propped up on his knees, hands resting gently at the baby’s back, but his eyes were on the tiny face that was looking back at him curiously. it didn’t take long for the baby to zero in on the mustache. you watched from the side already smiling the little hand reached up fingers grabbing hold of the thick mustache, Elliott winced “no…” he said softly, holding up a finger to the baby, but the baby immediately latched onto that too. he blinked “okay now we’re just making choices.” but he didn’t pull away in fact his whole expression softened into something you’d only ever seen when he looked at you late at night gentle, amused and full of love. “so small” he murmured, letting the baby tug on his mustache again with a slight flinch “and already got a good grip…” you tried hiding your laugh behind your hand. he glanced over at you a little helpless, a little in love with the baby, with you, with all of it. “kid’s gonna rip this thing off my face.”

“you look like you’d let him” Elliott smiled, wincing again as the baby gave another strong tug “yeah… probably.”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 — “here let me” you barely had a chance to argue before Sam was already reaching for the baby. you exhaled relieved, and gently passed the little one over. the baby scrunched up mid air, arms coming up tight to their chest, but Sam’s hands were open and waiting. before stepping away, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek “go take a break. I got this.” you watched for a second as he settled down onto the couch, moving to get comfortable, laying back until he was fully stretched out. he positioned the baby carefully on his chest, one hand resting securely on the baby’s back. the baby curious and confused wobbled their head up to look at him brows furrowed, lips turning downward. then the first whine came, tiny and loud. Sam just smiled eyes softening “miss your momma already?” he murmured voice deep but gentle. the baby let out another small cry face scrunching up “yeah…?” he said, brushing a kiss over the baby’s head “me too. but i’ve got you” his hand moved in slow soothing circles on the baby’s back, and soon enough the cries settled. Sam really did have it under control.

i would have all their babies

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[deadboyfriendd]

𝙑𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙤 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡. E.M.

Summary: Eddie isn't in college, but he sells drugs at college parties. He usually isn't into these kinds of girls, cokeheads home for the long weekend, but what happens when he meets you?

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader, obvs a lil canon-divergent, fratboy adjacent!Steve, wingman!Robin, drug use, angst to fluff, smut included

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 9.1k

Author's Note: This is secretly based off of a Fall Out Boy song. Spear me please.

Also this is 100% for @dr-aculaaa , Drac helped me out with a TON of the dialogue and plot in this and she deserves 100% of the hype for this. PLEASE go read her work.

Eddie isn’t in college, but he sells drugs at college parties. 

He’s overstimulated. Both by the heat of the girl grasping and gripping his arm that was turning it unpleasantly raw and by the lack of anything substantial that he could focus his senses on. He can’t remember her name, and it wasn’t because of the seventeen other things distracting his senses, either. She was inherently unremarkable. Another cokehead from The Hideout. College girls home for the long weekend. Love does not occur in dive bar bathrooms, Eddie knew that much. 

He could tell her apart immediately, a Pamela Anderson wannabe with all of the intuition to sniff out anyone remotely Tommy Lee adjacent. The glorification of hard drugs and dysfunction. This would not go anywhere but possibly the bathroom, where she would emerge with a misty ring of powder white around her left nostril and blown pupils. He would taste the drip on her later that night when she would kiss him in a grotesque masquerade of her own cold comedown, denial dripping from her lips with a sticky sweetness disguised with L’Oreal Colour Riche Rich Brown. There were a thousand more like her, some here at home, others in Indianapolis, even more in Chicago. 

She was pretty for a cokehead, but not nearly as pretty as you. 

He spotted you through past the popcorn ceilings, under the fluorescent kitchen lights that were not particularly attractive for any given reason. You were the only girl here who didn’t know how he was. He had been stuck in the pipeline of town deviant to Indiana’s metal microcelebrity. His eyes locked on the kiss of your lashes as the aforementioned date dragged him through the density of other sweaty, coked-out bodies. You swung your legs back and forth as the scuffed rubber from the heels of your sneakers thudded against the hollow cabinet beneath you, rattling the pots behind it. 

She shrieks your name like a birdsong, and you whip around with wide eyes. She drags him along, pulling uncomfortably at his fingers. She bounces up and down in a way that she thinks is attractive, but to everyone else, the jingle of bangles and sequins and squealing is inherently annoying. 

You are not her friend. 

You had become acquainted with the girl before you in an entry-level introductory course for environmental design. It was offered as an elective across all majors but was also stupidly a requirement for all design-specific majors. And, even more unfortunately, the majority of the class was group work. This is how you met her. And she attached to you like a fungus— roots buried in branches that grasped your bones and made her impossible to remove without the inevitability of spawning again. She was a roach of a friend, not even nuclear warfare could rid you of her. But you were too nice to her, in fact, you were the only person that had given half a shit to include her. 

“Oh my God!” There’s a resonant tenor screech that reverberates off of the tile floors and pitches in your own ears so high that it could shatter any champagne flute within a ten mile radius. The guy— poor bastard– being dragged ruthlessly behind her like a content stray cat that had been claimed by a small child twitched an eye nearly shut at the pitchy shriek that plagues him as much as you. 

She explains how you met in an effortful, but drawn-out and utterly painful, story. It was a class. You were assigned a group project. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. 

But his hand was warm when it encased yours in an entirely professional handshake. You shook the thought from your head before it was even allowed to form. You desperately needed to kick the habit of falling in love with strangers in passing. You would not find the one at a party— at least not this one. 

It wasn’t long until she had gotten distracted, an old friend, as she had put it. There was no friend. Only powder on a mirror in the next room over. You questioned why she lied, because she wasn’t even discreet about it. 

“How can you be a nurse and do so much blow?” He asked, face twisted up in a sickening scowl. She had long forgotten about him and he tried his best to forget about her. 

“Girls like that usually are.” You deadpanned back, your face mirroring his own disgust. 

“Nursing majors?” He questioned, her major the only thing he could remember about her at this point. 

“Yeah. It’s the safest option. It keeps their parents happy while they put their financial aid up their noses.” You watched her try to discreetly gum some remnants off of the mirror sitting on the coffee table, pinkie finger dragging alongside the glass and disappearing behind her bottom lip. 

“I’ll bet she won’t finish off the semester.” You stated bluntly after a few seconds of spectating. 

“What about you?” He asked, in reference to your major. 

“Basket weaving. It’s really not much.” You didn’t want to come off as judgmental, or a prude. Especially not after admitting you were a design major. You cringed at how pretentious it sounded.  

“I like baskets.” He said, plopping himself down on the barstool across the island from you, toe thudding against the exterior to stop him from spinning too much. 

“Design.” You said, more of a mumble than a statement. You felt stupid. People usually thought you were stupid when you told them you dropped out of nursing school to be a design major. He didn’t need to know that part of you. After all, he was just some guy at a party and not the love of your life. 

“Of what nature?” He questioned, laying his head tiredly against his folded arm and looking up you you through thick lashes. 

“Of the graphic nature.” You were thoroughly surprised when he stuck around, head tilting to the side in curiosity — a stray curl bouncing from one side to the other. 

“What, like Chip Kidd?” Your head shot up. Sure, he was one of the hottest names in design this year, but who cared about design outside of designers? Next to no one. You forced yourself to play it cool. 

“More like a Stefan Sagmeister.” You grinned, bringing you knees to you chest and folding your arms over them. 

“You’re a Stones fan?” He questioned, brow cocked. 

“Who isn’t?“

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Well, surprise me, then.”

+

Eddie isn’t in college, but he knows a girl that frequents college parties.

This time it’s at some kickback in the woods, and this time it was to sell drugs— but seeing you was like a reward as you folded and contorted your own softness into comfort in the back compartment of his van, legs leaned against his side in search of warmth against the brisk nip of the reminiscence of winter. He draped his arm over your knees as he stood casually in wait, wondering how women could fold their bodies into strange statutes of comfort in only the ways they know how. 

You were good for business. Everyone and their mother seemed to know who you were. Probably because you were sweet. Especially to him. 

You’ve been casually sleeping with each other for a few weeks now, only when you can catch each other through hushed communal dorm phone-calls or whenever you come home for the weekend. No-strings attached, no commitment. But this outing sure felt like commitment, in the same way it felt like commitment when he held your hand earlier, and the same way it felt like commitment when he pressed his forehead against yours during your last entanglement. 

He leans over to you, alabaster skin of his neck stretching over bone and artery so he could whisper to you, 

“This is kind of lame. Let’s get out of here.”

You weren’t one to refuse him, especially not when he looked at you like that. 

“I’m not losing out on high school drama. I’m down.” You whisper back to him, pulling the end of an unruly curl just to watch it spring back up into place. 

While he’s watching the road, you’re memorizing the features of his face. If he could sparkle right now, he would be, even as the only light catching his face was from the too spaced-out street lamps. He drives in near-silence, whatever cassette buzzing hushedly over the radio but quiet enough that you could hear the vapid spinning of the tires and his occasional slow breath. 

You see the headstones before he has a chance to speak. 

“You’re gonna murder me.” You breathed out, joking mostly. 

“Yeah, right here, in the cemetery. Then I’m gonna bury you in a fresh grave.” He said to you, between eye rolls, getting out of the van to go pull the back doors open and straighten the woolen saddle blankets so you could sit. 

He pulls an acoustic guitar down from a makeshift bungee-cord rack fixed to the sidewall of the interior of the van, This Machine Slays Dragons crudely scrawled across the face to mimic Guthrie’s own. 

“I didn’t know that fascists breathed fire.” You said to him through a halfway-crooked sort of smile, pushing yourself up to lean against the sidewall of the van, facing him. You let one  leg swing back and forth, the rubber toe of your shoe tapping mindlessly against the seemingly useless tow hitch. 

“I knew you were more than just pretty.” He said, mouth turning up at the sides of his mouth. He was pretty, peering at you from beneath lashes before turning his attention back to the tuning knob. He strummed a calloused thumb across the tight string, listening to it upturn until he thought it sounded right.

It was a foreign ritual to you, his own prettiness being the catalyst for your own destruction before his vapid excuse at being a boyfriend ever could. . You watched silken curls slip over his shoulder and brush over the neck of his guitar. You watched as pretty deft fingers strummed a progression you would never understand. You desperately wished it was you, instead. 

It was like you were experiencing him through a macro lens, and it only made him more beautiful. His eyes came up to meet yours, dark and rich in the twilight that fell over you. You couldn’t have stared at him for more than a few seconds, but it was enough for your own giggles to bubble over. 

“Oh god.” You say through cupped hands, burying your face in your palms. You knew he was looking at you like you were crazy– all in good humor. 

“What?” He asked, unable to contain his own chuckle at this point. 

“You are literally the guy at the party that brings the guitar.” You managed through your bouts of giggles. 

“I don’t see much of a party here, sweetheart.” That smile curled again at his lips, this time with more teeth. You didn’t want to stare more, despite his fingers strumming the beginning cord of a song with all of the tenderness he could muster.

“Then who are you playing for? The ghosts?” You giggled again, looking around at the eeriness of the headstones. Had it been cooler, it would have been more off putting, but the swelling heat of summer that had settled over Indiana almost gave it some comfort. 

“You. Five regulars at The Hideout. Any ghost that wants to listen.” He laughed back, stopping his strumming to look back up at you. 

“Are you actually good?” You folded your knees upwards, turning yourself fully towards him. You rested your folded arms on top of them, pressing your chin against them to stare at him. 

“Would you just shut up and listen? I wrote a song about you.” It wasn’t hurtful, never was it hurtful. He said this towards you through pretty lips and even prettier winks. 

It wasn’t anything great. Three cords and two lines, but you wished you could record it and play it on a loop over and over again until your walkman caught fire. His voice wasn’t smooth, but it wrapped around you like a blanket, and, suddenly, it was your favorite sound. There was one thing you knew for certain, you wanted Eddie to sing to you every day for the rest of your life. 

“So you actually are good.” 

He rolled his eyes at you, casting the guitar aside as quickly as he had gotten it down. His lips met yours in a rapid staccato of haste kisses, first long, then followed by the plethora of short. You felt calloused fingers dig into the plush of your waist. 

It usually ended up like this. You’d laugh, you’d fall in love with him over and over and over again. You would have sex, and then it would be weeks. Weeks of trying to get your life back together and weeks of trying to remember yourself before him. But, God, when he kissed you over and over like that you would gladly break your heart for him. You wanted him to break it– if it meant that you could have him for this moment. 

“This technically is a party, you know?” You whispered a breathy giggle against his lips, peeling an eye open to peer at him. 

“What?” He asked, pulling back slightly. His lips were still glossy with the taste of you, but his eyes peered down at you in a way that made your stomach flip. You debated letting him take you in a cemetery. 

“Earlier, you said that you didn’t see much of a party. But we are here… at one, I mean?” Eddie looked around, eyebrow raised in utter confusion before clueing into what you had meant. 

“What with… them?” He asked you from behind the back of his hand, as if the bodies beneath you would be offended if they had heard. 

“Yeah. With all of the people buried here.” You stated, matter-of-factly. 

“I don’t think they’re much partying anymore.” Eddie explained to you, looking around the cemetery with raised eyebrows.

“Look… you know how the saying goes: one's company, two’s a crowd, and three’s a party? Well, this is a lot more than three. They don’t specify if they’re of the living disposition or not.” You argued back, trying your hardest to contain your own smile. 

“I’m saying no one here is having a good time.” He argued back in mock frustration, palms jutting out towards the headstones around you in confusion. 

“Besides us?” You asked him, with wide eyes. 

“Yes, besides us.” He said to you, reaching out to grip the opposite side of your waist and pull you into his side. 

“I can see it now. Here lies Edward— what’s your middle name?” 

“Not a chance.”

“Edward ‘Not a Chance’ Munson. He partied so hard he died.” You said, holding your hands out in a picturesque fashion. You couldn’t contain your own giggles. 

“Are you always a wise-ass?” He said, from behind a forward chuckle. 

“I don’t know, am I?” 

“Yes.” He looked down at you from beneath his shoulder, his eyes meeting your own endearingly. 

Eddie had a really bad habit of completely derailing your life with a single look. Once your eyes met the ambergris bourbon of his, you swore you could see the next ten years of your life. You swore you would ever be domesticated– at least not by any frat guy you met at a party. You hoped you were never domesticated. You hoped you never learned the subtlety of wifelyhood of motherhood. You never wanted to be reduced to that. But Eddie wasn’t in college, and Eddie could reduce you to that with one soft glance. 

“ –What about him?” You asked, averting your eyes from his. You would not let him derail your life again. Not tonight, at least. 

“Who?” He asked, genuine confusion registering across his once-soft features. 

“The guy buried there.” You specified. The headstone read a barely decipherable name, followed by 1902. 

“Was he a wise-ass?”

“No, stupid, how did he die? What kind of life did he live?” You said, bringing up your hand to deliver a soft slap to his chest. He wished you would do it again. 

“Tuberculosis.” You stated, bluntly, looking back down towards you with a smile. 

“Not everyone in 1902 died of tuberculosis.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah, but a lot of them did.”

You figured he was right, your microbiology prerequisite failing to regurgitate within your brain. A silence settled over the back of the van, but it was comfortable. You allowed yourself the comfort of leaning your head against his chest, and rested his against your own. You tried to hear his heart from here, wondered if he had one at all. Surely he didn’t, if he could break your heart and put it back together all over again. Part of you hoped he did, and an even bigger part of you hoped that you had a place in it somewhere. You wouldn’t allow yourself to dwell on that fact for long. 

“Hey, Eddie?” You asked, barely above a whisper. Yet, breaking the silence felt like breaking glass. Had you been talking too much?

“Yeah?” He asked, in an equally quiet tone. You wonder if he felt it, too. 

“Why here?” You asked, without needing to elaborate further. 

He thinks about it, silent for a second, and then breaks the glass again. 

“I feel more like a ghost than anything– makes me feel less alone.” He says, finally. He refuses to let his eyes meet yours. It made sense. 

Some of the girls you went to school with still talked about it. Still talked about their friend, Chrissy. You understood that he had been a key suspect in a high-profile murder case. 

Well, as high-profile as Hawkins, Indiana, population: 2000, could get. 

They had found their suspect— apparent suicide. It happened all of the time. Kids try drugs, and drugs end badly. You had seen it before, and you’d see it again. It wasn’t Eddie, nor was it his Uncle– the man with the kind eyes and the gruff exterior that sometimes waved at you from outside Eddie’s van. You tried not to wonder if he thought you were a skank. You should introduce yourself, sometime.

A lot of people forgot about it after the Earthquake, their own lives crumbling enough to where they didn’t have to speculate the downfall of someone else. 

It made sense why he would think that. The same as the ghost that inhabited the loft above The Hideout where he played. 

It must have been exhausting having someone vilify and formulate your existence all the time.  

You decided not to pry. Instead, you read the headstones in front of you, children, the elderly. You focused on one elongated headstone fixated into the ground in front of you. William and Helen Lester. Born in 1910 and 1912, respectively. Died the same year as each other, 

“What about them?” You asked him.

“They were madly in love, they reserved their plots together before they died so when one joined the other they could take comfort in knowing that they would stay together.” He answered, without hesitation. You wondered if he knew them personally. 

“Do you believe that they did?” You asked, instead. 

“Stay together?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that depends on what they believed.” He shrugged, rubbing his hand up and down your shoulder a little bit. 

“Well, what do you believe?” 

He lets out a long sigh, more joking then not.

“Well, way back when my uncle first got custody of me, he thought it would be a good idea to start taking me to church. Save me before it was too late… or whatever.” He raked his hands through his hair, sitting up a little to look at you before continuing, 

“ -Wayne wasn’t much of a church guy, either, but the nice lady that lived next door to us was, so we started going to church with her. They told us that if we did everything we were supposed to do… tried to live by the book, and that we found our person, that it would be an eternal binding after marriage, or something like that.”

“Do you really believe that?” You questioned. 

“If there’s anything from my churchgoing days that I hoped would be real, I hope it’s that.” He sighed, pulling his arm off of you to lean back . 

“Why?”

“I don’t think I could ever stand to be alone like that again.” He shrugged, and you knew you had struck a nerve. 

“Well, what about us?” You questioned. 

“What about it?” 

“Do you think we’ll stay together?”

“We’re not really even together.” 

It was then that you realized that maybe he did have a heart, but you didn’t have a home within it. There was one thing for certain, however, and that was that he had made himself a home in yours like a fungus. It was then that the introductory biology courses you could never remember remained heavy on your brain. 

Mycelium

Mycelium are incredibly tiny threads of the greater fungal organism that wrap around or bore into tree roots. Taken together, mycelium composes what's called a “mycorrhizal network,” which connects individual plants together to transfer water, nitrogen, carbon and other minerals—

Eddie was a fungus in dormancy. He had a mycelial network, and its threads had wrapped and wound their ways through the finest intimacies of your life. Their hairline structure filled their place between any gaps you weren’t careful enough to seal. Even when he wasn’t in your life, he was there. 

You can’t be heartbroken over him if you never had him. 

You know he is talking. You know he continued with a backstory in some form or another. Your guess would be something about spending every waking moment alone after the incident. How no one’s mothers who were kind enough to give him the benefit of the doubt in the first place would no longer let their children— his friends, around him. Something about how he wouldn’t blame them. 

“Hey, are you okay? You went all silent on me there.” He finally asked, tugging on a strand of your hair, playfully. You felt like crying, but you wouldn’t. Not until he was gone. 

“Yeah, just tired I guess.”

Tired of getting attached, tired of derailing your entire life for him. 

“Oh. I guess I should probably get you home, then.” He said, beginning to slide out of the van. 

You were thankful he didn’t pry, but a part of you wished that he would. You had him for weeks, it was commitment-adjacent at the very least. It felt like you had him tonight, and it felt like you had him in all of your spare time. It also felt like you had him in class, doodling his funny little devil horns all over your notes. It was the subtlety of this heartbreak that was the worst– or maybe the fact that it wasn’t really heartbreak in the first place. 

You still let him sleep in your bed. 

+

Robin is a textbook lesbian, which also makes her the best wingman on the face of planet earth. She assessed the situation over a pre-roll, as someone who was both a woman and someone who pleasured women. 

Steve isn’t a frat boy, but his relentless good looks and halfway dumb demeanor are wasted on that fact. He assessed the situation as such. 

Eddie swore they both only hung out with him for the pot. 

It had been weeks since your last call, in which you had mentioned something about a final or something before the line went dead. Maybe you were actually dead. Killed in some freak accident that the news didn’t even know how to cover so they just… didn’t. Eddie’s dignity thought it would be preferable if you were. 

“ — Boys are stupid. Hence why I date women.” Robin stated bluntly from Steve’s bedroom floor, between clumsy, fumbling lighter flicks. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, did he have to do everything? He plucked the lighter from her hands, lighting the pre-roll in one swift motion before looking back at her. 

“Some of us aren’t as lucky.” Eddie said, throwing his body back against the side of Steve’s bed, causing Robin to bounce alongside him. 

“To be of the homosexual disposition?” Robin questioned, turning to face him. 

“To understand women.”

“Again, you don’t need to understand them, You’re just stupid.” She waved her hand, dismissively. 

“God, I know I’m stupid, please just help me.” He said to her, dragging his hands down his face with a vigor. 

“Okay, run the cemetery scenario by me again. Word. For. Word.” She said back, joint tucked between her pointer finger and thumb, elbow rested atop the comforter. 

“Okay—”

Eddie can remember everything about that night. He remembered what you were wearing. He remembered seeing the smattering of new freckles across your shoulder as it peeked out from under your summer sweater– a reminder that the heat of summer was quickly settling over you. He remembered the rhythm that the rubber toe of your sneaker tapped out as he strummed against his guitar. He remembered how you knew Gutherie and batted your eyes at him in that pretty— so fucking pretty– way and how you batted your lashes at him when you asked too many questions that he was suddenly inclined to answer. 

Eddie remembered what he said. 

“And then I said, ‘well, we aren’t really even together-”

“There!” Robin shouted finally, hands splayed out, smoke continuing to roll from between her fingers, 

“What?!” Eddie jumped, running his hands from the crown of his head and down his t-shirt, in search of whatever bug Robin had screamed at him about. 

“That’s where you fucked up!” She clarified. 

“ — really fucked up.” Steve chimed in from his desk chair, sunglasses slipping low on his nose despite the approaching twilight, using the toe of his sneaker as traction in order to spin himself in half-circles from his corner. 

“How?” Eddie asked, raking his fingers through his hair and giving his roots a soft tug. 

“You totally took everything you had with her and threw it right in the dumpster.” Robin continued, fully ignoring him. 

“ — and lit it on fire!” Steve chimed over his shoulder, chair spun backwards towards the wall. 

“Shut up, Steve.”

“Just saying…”

“Anyways, you implied that you didn’t want a relationship with her.” Robin said, finally softening a bit. 

“No, I wanted her to say something like, ‘Well, then can we be?’”  He explained back to her, almost on the verge of tears. 

“That’s the problem, dingus.” She rolled her eyes, delivering a soft smack to the side of his head. 

“Ugh,” Eddie muffled out loudly from behind his palms. 

To him, you were pretty, and smart, and entirely too good for him. You were right for ghosting him, he would never blame you for that. You had all the reason in the world to hate him and you still didn’t— until he gave you one. 

 To you, he was just a boy– one who harbored too much heartbreak that makes him meaner than he anticipates. Eddie wasn’t mean by nature, but right now, he sure felt like it.

He pulls his temples back with the heels of his hands, “She’s just so smart and she has to think I’m the dumbest human being on planet Earth.”

“You are the dumbest human being on planet Earth.” She snuffed out the roach into the ashtray, twirling around for slightly too long. 

“Gee, thanks.”

“But not for that reason.” She pulled her knees up to her chest, turning to face Eddie, “You’re stupid because you expected her to read your mind. You had the upper hand. She was prompting the love confession from you and you probably shattered her heart into a million tiny pieces.”

“Can I even fix this?”

“I’m a wingman, not a miracle worker, dude.”

“Steve? Anything to chime in?”

“You fucked up.” 

“No shit.” 

+

Eddie isn’t in college, instead he plays guitar. 

In the midst of his own suffering, he still has to perform. He isn’t one to pass up the money or the attention— especially since they’re crowds now exceeded into the double digits. They had graduated from the Tuesday-night noisemakers, to the Friday-night headliner, a few people even making their way over to bar-crawl from the next town over. 

Eddie leaned his weight on the speaker, tuning and strumming in a half-assed, absent-minded routine. There was a decent group tonight, people grouped standing in the back once the tables and bartop had been promptly filled. 

Jeff approached him, bass slung heavy over him, “Don’t look now, but I think you might know someone here.” He peered at you over his shoulder. 

Eddie looks anyway, met with your eyes. 

You looked pretty tonight. You looked pretty always. 

You had your toes propped against the bottom rung of the barstool, knees pulled tight together, and a drink in hand. He didn’t recognize the people you were with, but he didn’t know very many people anyway. Not like you did. You were likable, and he liked you a lot. 

He didn’t know what he was expecting you to look like after a month, but he was stupid thinking you’d look dramatically different. You were still soft— still glowed even in this not-particularly-flattering light. You looked happy and he hated it. He hated that you could smile at a time like this. It was selfish, he knew it. He wanted you to be a wreck over him. He wanted the comfort in knowing that you were the same mess that he was in over you. 

Jeff gives him a nudge to say something into the mic once they got the go-ahead to play. He tells Jeff he can do it tonight. The tether that binds you together is made of water— the softest vibration would break the surface tension and it would splash on to the concrete. He wanted to watch you be pretty for just a few more seconds, even if it meant giving up his ego for tonight. He wanted to remain unseen on stage, but the pinch harmonic of his opening riff sent your head snapping towards him. 

Your look made him want to crawl beneath the floorboards. 

Your acquaintance, a girl that was a friend-of-a-roommate who had invited you out, placed a hand on your shoulder, warm and too-friendly,  “This band is really good!”

“I know!” You shouted over the music, too warm already. Maybe it was the bottom-shelf peach schnapps. It was most likely the bottom-shelf peach schnapps. 

“Oh, you’ve seen them before?” She asked, pulling her chair up closer to yours. 

“Something like that!” You had explained, pulling the strap of your purse from your neck where it dug in too harshly. 

You felt underdressed for the occasion. Despite definitely having people to impress, you didn’t feel the need. But now, with Eddie’s eyes that you tried desperately to avert yourself from, you’d felt your skin in a way that you never had before. Maybe you were drunk. 

You were most definitely drunk, enough so that it was teetering off the edge of pleasant and dipping into the waters of uncomfortable. The music was too loud and there were too many people and your purse strap kept digging into the crevice of your neck in a way that was both painful and overstimulating. 

You couldn’t remember how many songs Eddie’s band had played– fuck— you couldn’t remember what they were called. Had been playing for a while, enough for the lines between songs started to blur and it felt like forty-five minutes of continuous time signature. You couldn’t decipher a lot between the hum of the nearly-blown speaker anyways. 

Eddie’s eyes met yours, shiny beneath the bar stage lights. He looked angry. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the genre of his song or because of you. He isn’t insatiable or anything, and he had hoped to God that you were still paying attention. By the look on your face and the way you craned your neck to look at the girl next to you, you hadn’t been for a while now. Your nonchalance had poured the gasoline, your smile lit him ablaze. 

The next line of the song was about you, an ode to the women he’d loved before– which weren’t many– conveniently placed as the last song of the setlist. He wrote it with the fantasy that you would stroll through the doors and hear it, but now that you were here, he didn’t know if he had the heart to be mean to you. He didn’t want to be mean to you. It was vaguely written enough so that the other girls that looked up towards him would think it was about them, a heartbreak anthem, a sorry anthem. An ode to the cemetery and the ghost that he had become without you. 

You understood it, though you chose not to act like you had. You didn’t think you had been in his life for long enough to warrant a song– at least one with more than three cords and fifteen seconds of play-time. Why would he? You were never even together. Your ears rang with the remnants of sound, yet you watched your party— the greek bar-crawlers, get ready to head to the next location down the block. You couldn’t even remember what bar it was. 

The girl next to you– fuck— you couldn’t remember her name either, was leveling with your tipsiness. Maybe she hadn’t teetered over the edge of drunk like you had. You let her take your hand anyways, pushing through the double doors in your party of eight. 

The familiarity of the van backed in front of the entrance haunted you, like it had brought a ghost back with it from the cemetery. Maybe Eddie was the ghost. Maybe he was haunting you. Maybe you were haunting yourself. 

The party discussed some form of game plan. You thought it was stupid, hockey practice was over. Yet they were drunk, and they were rowdy, and they were a spectacle. Suddenly and all at once, unfamiliar lips were on yours, violent and sloppy. You tasted cherry, sticky against your own peppermint chapstick. Soft feminine hands gripped your jaw, pretty tuberose and jasmine on the girl from earlier filled your nostrils in a way that was not quite suffocating, but all encapsulating. It was an Estee Lauder Eau de Parfum. You recognized it from the yellow bottle you had gotten for your fifteenth birthday. 

Kissing a woman was a different ballpark, kissing a woman drunk was an entirely different sport. She was softer, less volatile. She had a languid softness to her waist where men were typically more solid. Her hands were more graceful. You relinquished it, both in the spectacle of the others in the group and the fact that she was what Eddie wasn’t.

From behind the van, Eddie watched you. The floral passion in which you sloppily tangled your manicured hand into the blonde mass of the girl in front of you. Isn’t it unfair? He desperately wished it was him. Wanted to be the reason for the surrounding wolf calls. Eddie wasn’t particularly introspective, but he was dying to be her. A notch in your bedpost, a one night stand, a lover. 

Eddie wanted to be her. 

+

Eddie isn’t in college, and it's mostly because he’s stupid. 

Robin let him know it, too. 

There is an afterparty, or, at least, the loose adjacent to one. The band, some friends of the band, and communal alcohol strung loosely across the island at Gareth and Jeff’s condo. Donated pot courtesy of a combined effort of Rick and Eddie. He didn’t feel like partying, but he did feel like getting really, really drunk. Lecture be damned. 

MD 20/20 Red Grape Fortified Wine tasted a little like alcohol and a lot like feeling sorry for himself. 

The grave was already dug, all he had to do was sit in it and wait for someone to backfill. 

Robin stood, arms braced against the island across from Eddie. The fluorescents in Gareth’s unrenovated kitchen burned his eyes, “I can’t help you if you don’t want it.”

“I don’t want it,” He specified, pulling a long drink from the glass bottle, “ –but I have a feeling I’m gonna get it anyways.” 

“I thought you wanted her back, dude.” The fluorescent lights casted a downwards glow across her forehead. Eddie thought it gave her a Kubrick stare. 

“I don’t know what I want, I thought I did but then I got up there and I sang about her and she didn’t even care.”

In one swift motion, she hopped onto the counter, crossing her legs beneath her, “Well, obviously you care.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“If you don’t care about her then why do you lose your shit every time you see her?”

“Because, Robin, who the fuck else is gonna love me after all of the shit we’ve been though?” He slammed the bottle down on the table. It was enough to rattle the cabinets beneath it, “She was the one good thing that’s happened to me in a long fucking time and I couldn’t even let myself be just content with that.” 

He’s angry, suddenly. With himself, with the universe. The alcohol didn’t help. The feigning headache was more annoying than it was painful. Robin wanted to roll her eyes, to call him stupid and dramatic– but she figured he knew it already. It’s not like he wasn’t warranted in his anger, he was, but she wondered why he had been so pent-up lately. Maybe it’s because there was no Eddie way for Eddie to deal with this. After a bleating silence, she spoke:

“Have you even talked to her yet?” She asked.

“No, and I’m not planning on it.” 

“Why not?”

“Because, dude,” Eddie played himself out across the tile island, trying to ignore the way his t-shirt just mopped up the sticky sweet liquid on the counter, “ – you know why.”

Robin did know why. 

“And?” She asked. 

“They were all over each other, like, like…” He was getting frustrated now, unable to string words together in a cohesive sentence. 

Robin finished for him, “Like you were?”

“Yeah. Like she didn’t even care.” He leaned his head down on his folded arms, 

“Maybe she wanted you to think that.” Robin asked him. She thought she sounded more like his mother than a lesbian wingman. This is what he needed. “Maybe she wanted you to chase her.”

“I don’t understand why.” He groaned, “She’s unpredictable. And pretty. And smart. And fun. And everyone likes her. Do you know how many friends she has? How many people like her?”

“Because maybe you’re not as bad as you think you are.”

And he isn’t. Eddie isn’t inherently bad– albeit a little bit dumb. Maybe that just came with age, or the nature of him. Actually, behind the external composite disposition and his defensive nature, Eddie was the opposite of bad.

That first ‘surprise me’ reverberated in his mind like a crescendo. He was feeling brave that night. It was all ego, and most likely a touch of golden whiskey courage. He could still taste it on the back of his tongue when his mouth met yours in a clumsy, quick, spur-of-the-moment kiss. He didn’t have time to be insecure about it, the afterthoughts of gum or mints being pulled from his mind by your fingers as they combed through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. As he moved down to press pillowy-soft kisses in the soft of your throat, he took in your scent– like the citrus groves just outside of town in the spring, when the little white flowers covered the expanse of the rich green rows. 

It was fast and sweet, his hands pushing your summer cotton t-shirt up your waist with warm, rough hands– encasing the ribs where they curl to meet with your spine in a vice. You were eager, not that you were easy– you almost didn’t care if he thought of you that way– in the way you slid his vest off of him. He threw his arms back quickly, shaking it loose from his wrists as he came back up to meet you. The chain of his bracelet was cold against the plush of your stomach as he dragged it down towards the button of your denim shorts. 

“We don’t have to do this now,” He separated from you in hesitation, “I can take us back to my place, use my be—”

“No, ‘need you now.” You insisted, your kiss more pressing than before. You clung to him fervently. 

You aren’t confined to your softness. You are vocal, grip on his shoulders and his heart like a vice. You were soft in the right places though, in your waist and beneath his hands coming undone, soft in the way you spoke to him behind closed van doors. Pillows over sharp corners, a guard to balance your too-loud laugh or the frequency in which you found yourself too drunk. 

You were stone-cold sober that night, and he thanked whoever was up there looking out for him that you were. You wouldn’t have been here, otherwise. 

You were a painting, and not one of those stupid ones that he had to talk about in history class. Like a real, in-your-face, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. Not quite like a centerfold, better than anything he’d counted pennies for at the drugstore, ethereal beyond words. Soft for him and only him, bumps and curves and dips and folds in places you didn’t see in those. Real, right in front of him. His for the taking. 

The night had turned already to that imperceptible pivot where midnight turned to early morning hours. This moment has come and gone, yet you are not yet willing to concede that you have crossed the line beyond which is all gratuitous damage and the play of unraveled nerve endings. 

He plunged his middle and marriage fingers within you with a vapid expanse for pleasure, reaching in deep and curling upwards, gathering slick between fingers and back out again. You could feel every ridge within yourself, your softness pulling him back in once he had pulled out again. 

You allow him, no, encourage him to line himself up within you, and you are warm. Warmer than anything he has ever felt in his life. Tight like a hug. The flavor is vaguely tribal– pendulous guitar-pick necklaces and ritualistic moans of endearance. A gathering drum of heartbeats and a bonfire lit within your core. 

His chest is hard above you, expanding with deep breath and soft cries– the softest cries you had ever heard from a man in your existence. There is a small patch of hair in the center, that follows down his navel in a thin line. You tried to hold it together, but you loved it so much. You could love him, not like the novelty it was right now. Like, really love him. 

If he could tell you he loved you without scaring you away, he would have. Now, he wished he just did. 

Clumsily, almost enough for you to tell he was still new to this, whether the van or women in general, he thrust into you, chasing his own rhythm while still finding your own high. His wrists radiate heat where they brace him on either side of your head, caging you between them. 

“Fuck– I– I,” he begins, looking for his thoughts.

You look up at him through low, sultry eyes. Your own release nearing in moments. “Together.” was what you could manage. 

He cringed looking back, he probably looked like such a virgin. He had been so previously wound with the Pam Anderson wanna-be and the post-show adrenaline that his release was feigning. He took comfort in knowing that you would later find out that he is not that inexperienced. 

It was the after that he remembered. How your little manicured finger traced over the raised ink of the tattoo, now disfigured by the purple fibers of scarring. 

“They’re from the accident.” He explained to you, knowing you were wondering. Everyone wondered. You had been too afraid to ask. 

“The earthquake?” You specified, looking up at him. 

You watched the way his stomach flexed as he pushed himself up, taking your body with him, “Yeah, sorry they’re not pretty.” He sighed, holding out his arms to look at the ones there. 

“You are pretty.” You reiterated, and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re prettier.” 

“You wanna see mine?” 

“Your what?”

“Scars.” 

You were going to show him anyway. 

That patch where the hair grew wonky across your eyebrow from where you had fallen as a child. You cracked your eye socket and they had to reconstruct the tendons in your eyelid. 27 stitches including the internal ones. He laughed at how you claimed it like a trophy. 

The small white line on the side of your knee you got trying to pet a feral cat. You wanted to be it’s friend so bad and it didn’t return the sentiment. 

The blown out tattoo on your ankle, done by your friend who worked at the cafe with you. It was the second one she had ever done on another living person. Your mom had flipped when you came home from college that first weekend with it. If you weren’t too old to ground, she would have done it. 

Your stretch marks, in which you didn’t dwell too much on. They started happening the summer you turned thirteen and you remembered the palsy of lotions and topical ointments your mom made you smear over the expanse of your body in order to reverse them when you we’re too young to recognize that there were nothing wrong with them. The scars they left on your psyche. 

The ones on your hands and knuckles, burns from your barista days. He remembered your giggle as he pressed soft kisses to every burn scar. 

Eddie was not bad. 

+

Eddie isn’t in college, but, for you, he’d at least brave the college housing. 

This was also not Robin’s plan, instead devised by Steve while he was crossed— and at his most authentic self. Despite her best efforts, they persisted. You roomed in a smaller house with several other girls in Indianapolis— a three hour drive as the crow flies. All in their girlish forms, all soft skin and little shorts and effortless beauty. Sometimes you wondered if you looked the same way- or if they even knew what they looked like. 

All of whom were gathered out the window, ogling at a relic unknown to you. 

A familiar face, the hometown heartbreaker, Steve Harrington himself stood in your freshly mowed grass, boombox held over his head like an idiot. Slovenly waving at the girls through the window. You sighed, palming your face tiredly. You knew who he would have in tow. He is a shadow of either Eddie’s best self of his worst self, you couldn’t tell which quite yet. You are awed by his strict refusal to acknowledge any goal higher than the pursuit of his own pleasure, haphazardly balancing the expensive boombox blasting Head Over Heels on a loud, obnoxious loop. You wouldn’t have been more annoyed if Roland Orzabal was here playing the song himself. Robin stood at the entrance of the small white picket fence, face in hands. 

When you meet with the man that has not quite et. cetere’d you, you are slumming the door open, visiting your own 7:00 A.M Lower East Side with your soul on a lark. He is stepping nimbly around gardenia pots and little happy concrete garden gnomes as if they will bite his ankles if he gets too close– if only you’d trained them sooner. More un-nimbly, he trips up the stairs, and you’ve caught him red handed. He stands there wide-eyed and apologetic, a dog kicked. You lean against the frame, nonchalant, unimpressed, arms crossed. 

“Ew. You like Tears for Fears?” You speak before he can. He seems taken aback. 

“I should have played The Cure.” He speaks truthfully, rubbing the skin on the back of his neck where an itch did not occur. 

“That was my second choice!” Steve called from the one-man show happening on your lawn. You feared if it went on for longer, it would turn to a strip-club.

“Shut up, Steve.” Eddie barked towards him. 

The tension feels like being at the bottom of a swimming pool. Eddie’s drowning in the deep end but the bowl’s empty. He drained it himself. He doesn’t know quite what to say to you. He didn’t think it would get this far. 

“Come on, please just hear me out–” He starts, yet it’s overused. You decided then to drown him in the pool yourself. The door closes in his face. 

Almost immediately, the knocking persists. Your roommates watch from beside the door, half still fixated on Steve, the others watching you ascend the stairs towards your bedroom. You choked down your embarrassment, suffocated in it. You needed to be alone. 

“Ladies.” Steve nods from the front lawn, watching his friend scale the old lattice attached to the stucco on the front of your house. 

“Ladies.” Robin parrots, coming to watch with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. 

There is a commotion down the stairs, a door opening and footsteps quick. You don’t get the chance to look because there is a body, an apparition of scarecrow limbs and embarrassment parallel with your second-story window. You might be mad, but you definitely aren’t heartless. 

This isn’t what he expected your room to look like. In his wet dreams, he pictured more pink. More coquette lace abundance and stuffed animals. Save for the raggedy menstrual bean-bag bear, it’s relatively neutral. In hindsight, every girl’s room is pink coquette in a wet dream. This felt more like you, the twinkle lights, stacks of old books holding plants, moroccan-patterned pillows lining the daybed. Plush, white bedding. It’s natural, like you. 

Your glare is like a mother’s reproach. He doesn’t know how to react. He didn’t have a mother. Only Wayne and only teachers, the latter of which he had a certain amount of push before they let him do whatever he wanted. You, he could not push further. 

“Please don’t kick me out,” He begs, hands together like a prayer. It’s cheesy, you avoid laughing. 

“I’m waiting.” You say. It’s rude. You sound like a bitch. He thinks you’re warranted. You try not to think of the ears against your bedroom door. 

“I love you.” He said it like a plea instead of a declaration. It was the first and only thing that came to his mind. 

Of course he did.

You rolled your eyes at him, folding your arms and jutting your hip, “You don’t love me.” You corrected, “You just think you do now that you’re lonely.” 

He takes a few more pacing steps towards you, frantic and panicking “Jesus Christ– Yes, I do. I could’ve slipped and broke my neck trying to climb up here for you.”

“Well, I didn’t tell you to climb up here,” You placed your hand over your chest, then turned your finger towards him, “You don’t love me, you love this version of me that thought Tears for Fears would work.”

He stared at you with wide eyes, pleading and sad. 

“ —For once in your life think, idiot. What song would I have really liked?” 

“I– I don’t know.” He said. It came out like a whimper. He was more broken now, softer, yet still desperate. 

“Exactly. You don’t love me.”

“You know what? You’re right.” He stood, closing the gap between your bodies in a few strides. He wanted to touch you, but was too afraid to ask, “I don’t love you.“ 

“I hate all of your stupid questions.” He started, and you didn’t speak, “I hate how all of my clientele comes from you now. I hate that I only get you when you’re home for the weekend. I hate that stupid little scar on your eyebrow. I hate the way your hair gets in your mouth when you laugh. I hate that dumb little scar on your forehead. I hate that you’re so goddamn perfect for me and I hate myself for letting you walk away like that.” He finished, breath heaving. 

You felt the tears pull at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t warrant them to spill. 

“I hate that you’re a grown man with fucking bangs.” You said, unable to finish. You felt stupid, two stupid little tears slipping from your eyes and streaking down your face.

He opened his arms to you, prompting, and you took it. Part of it so he couldn’t see you crying, the second part of you desperately needing to feel him. 

“I’m so mean.” You wailed into his chest. You felt the rumble of the laugh he couldn’t suppress. 

“I know, so mean.” He said, not as an insult or an agreement, but in endearment. He pressed a sympathy kiss to your crown. His hand was warm as it pulled up the expanse of your back. 

“I’m sorry.” You pulled away, wiping your face furiously with the heels of your palms. 

“No- no. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to get caught up in my hot and cold like that.”

Your feverance prevails, “I should have asked what happened.”

“I should have asked you out.” He counteracts, pulling back to smooth down the wiry hairs at your crown, his hand heavy against your skull. 

“Can you do it now?” You plead, and he laughs. 

“Will you stop crying?”

“Yeah.” 

He pulls away from you for a second, you want to whine at the loss of contact. He crouches down on one knee, keeping your hands squeezed tightly in his calloused palms. 

“Then will you do me the tremendous honor of being my girl?” He runs his hand up the back of yours, trying to feel for an electric pulse of an answer. The seconds that you take nearly kill him. 

You stare down at him, eyes still red and puffy, but wide, “And not just like at parties?” 

“No, like the full weekday thing.” His smile is warm. You take great comfort in it. 

“Yeah.”

You think you look stupid, crying in your bedroom while he holds you like this. But he burns this memory in his mind. Even when you’re crying, you’re still the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. 

[samslvrgirl]

this is just a reminder for those putting their requests in my ask box, i am only accepting requests for moodboards right now.

I’m still working on the rough draft for the tommy warfare mini-series, so I can’t really stop and write fic requests.

Moodboards are the only ones I’m taking right now. The requests can literally be ‘moodboard of mechanic!eddie & single mom!reader’. You can also add a specific way the reader looks or some background info to help with the visuals.

Thank you and have a great rest of your night💕

[glassbxttless]

You don't see me requesting this...

Rye with chicken, and cheddar. And anything else you might want.

I've been thinking about it since you posted it.

Thank you <33333333333

It Was Only A Kiss

tommy gallagher (warfare) x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from (getaapologist) | You’ve got a weekend you need to spend with your family, who definitely think you have a boyfriend. So you ask Tommy to step in.

warnings: He does mention he’s a SEAL in here. There’s some kissing. Tommy’s falling in love whether he wants to or not. He wears his dress blues to a wedding. The typical fake dating romp. Very brief research was done, if it’s not accurate, it’s not accurate. Just enjoy it for what it is.

notes: this sandwich got a little out of hand! but order up for Tara! I had this queued for later this week but I couldn’t help myself anymore. Thanks to the girlies™️ for helping me pick which of these to post first. Big thank you to you, darling and to @keeryhours for reading this over. And big thank you to @peachyproserpina for editing (:

If you had ever wondered what setting yourself on fire felt like, you would guess it would be akin to asking Tommy Gallagher to be your fake date for the weekend. 

You had spent almost an hour pacing the small length of your living room, right in front of the coffee table. You were muttering half-formed speeches under your breath trying to work up the courage to just tell him, while Tommy sat quietly on your couch. He was watching you with a confused frown— the kind he got when he was trying really hard to be patient even though he had no idea what was going on. The kind that meant he was worried deep down in his bones, and not just about the hole you’re most definitely walking into the floorboards. Finally, you stop pacing and plant yourself in front of him. You breathe in, pressing a hand to your forehead worriedly as you let it all tumble out, “I really need you to fake date me.”

Tommy blinks and opens his mouth. But closes it when he isn’t sure what to say. “You need me to… what?”

You groan, dragging the hand that was placed on your forehead down your face. “Okay, that sounds bad. Like really bad. Please hear me out? Let me explain it.”

He just nods, his eyes wide and lips parted slightly, like he was bracing for impact. His ears are tinged red and the freckles dusted across his nose are hidden by a fresh new swell of pink. 

You start pacing again, words beginning to tumble out in a rush. “My family thinks I have a boyfriend. I know. I know. It’s this stupid thing— I didn’t even really lie! I just… didn’t correct them when they assumed! That’s not lying? And now my older sister’s wedding is this weekend, and if I show up alone, it’s gonna be a whole thing— pity looks, lectures, ‘maybe you should lower your standards’ speeches, all of it. I can’t even take thinking about all of that right now.”

Tommy’s brow knit together like he’s trying to make sense of the word vomit you’ve dumped right into his lap, “And you want… me? To be your fake boyfriend.”

You stopped in front of him again, two feet and a coffee table away, feeling like you were about two seconds from spontaneous combustion. “Please Tommy? You’re literally my best option. My only option. We’re already friends, you’re nice, handsome, and you’re convincing! It’s just a couple days, yeah? And then we come back here and everything’s back to normal.” But you watch as Tommy hesitates. He’s chewing on his bottom lip. Ears starting to turn a shade of red you didn’t even know was possible— which you know Tommy well enough by now to know that this was a sure sign he was overthinking it. Your eyes start to soften and you sigh. You could almost see the battle within his chest; he was probably worried it would make things weird between the two of you, probably sure you deserved someone cooler. Why would you ask him of all people? Why not Sam? Why not the bartender Kev you’d been seeing a few weeks back? Scratch that. He remembers now, Kev used your apartment as a bachelor pad. But underneath all the worry, the screaming thought in his head… he’s really just terrified because somewhere deep down, Tommy has had a crush on you since the day you’d met, so a lot longer than he liked admitting to himself.

You think you can see the moment he decides, like something clicks and the redness in his face just washes away. He gives you a tiny, lopsided smile. The same one that always makes your heart do stupid little weird gymnastics deep in your chest. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, voice a little hoarse. You aren’t sure if it’s from the mental anguish he went just went through or from dry mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Relief floods your veins and you flop down next to him on the couch. You turn your head to look at him, a grin spreading across your face as you throw your arms around his neck. He goes stiff for half a second, long enough for you to notice— his hands hovering awkwardly before they finally settle against the small of your back. From the way you have him pulled close, you could feel his heart hammering against his own ribs. “You’re a lifesaver, Tommy,” you mumbled into his hoodie, squeezing your eyes shut. And he just laughs, shaking his head. He kisses the top of your head and gives you one good squeeze with those arms wrapped around you and then you let him go.  

That’s how he finds himself standing side by side with you on your parents porch days later. Your hand was hovering just above the doorbell, sucking in a breath, each of your nerve endings buzzing like livewires under your skin. “You ready?” you ask, voice barely over a whisper as you glance up at Tommy.

He shrugs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, just for somewhere to put them. “As ready as I’ll ever be to lie to a whole bunch of strangers.” He grumbles and knocks into your hip lightly, the force enough to make you stumble and hit the doorbell. 

“They’re not strangers,” you huff and roll your eyes, a smile playing at your lips. “They’re just really judgmental. Just… Be yourself, yeah? I like you. They’ll love you.” Tommy knows deep down you don’t mean anything by that. But it still turns his cheeks pink and gives him hope that you thought about him more than you let on. But before he could respond, the front door swings open— and your mom nearly tackles you both into a tight hug.

“There’s my baby!” She holds you tight, and kisses your temple before her eyes settle onto Tommy, “and the boyfriend!” she practically squeals, pushing you to the side. Tommy’s yanked into a hug before he could even process it. You watch as panic flashes across his face for half a second. And then you smile as he melts a bit and awkwardly bends slightly and hugs her back. “Oh, you’re so handsome,” your mom gushed, giving his cheek a playful pat as she pulls away. Tommy stands up straight, “And so tall! Good job, sweetheart.” Now it’s your turn for heat to creep up the back of your neck as Tommy just stands there, looking dazed and confused. He’s smiling like he’s just happy to be here with you. No matter the circumstances. Fake boyfriend? He’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever, even if it kills him, as long as he gets to see you smile for three days straight.

Your dad appears in the doorway next, giving Tommy a once-over— sizing him up like a general inspecting new recruits. And that makes him a little nervous. He squares his shoulders a bit and lifts his chin, a confidence you’d almost never seen in Tommy exuding out. Fake it till you make it, baby. You’ve heard him say it so many times. “Strong handshake, boy?” Your dad asks gruffly, sticking out his hand. Tommy reaches out, still quiet and manages to grip your father’s hand firmly enough that he gives a small nod of approval. Then came the inevitable question tumbling from his lips. “So, what do you do for a living, son?”

Tommy lets go of his hand, suddenly feeling a whole lot smaller as he rubs the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up from his collar. He won’t look him in the eyes. He’s looking at you. Waiting for the nod that they’re safe. He’s waiting for you to let him know it’s okay. So you smile, so soft it helps him calm himself down, and then you nod. So Tommy takes a deep breath and then brings his eyes back to your dads. “Uh… I’m a SEAL. The Navy kind.”

The silence that grew over the four of you standing there on the porch stretched larger and larger. But your mom, the first one to gasp. The sound rattled around in your head like you’d just introduced her to a fucking movie star. And your dad’s eyebrows shot up so fast they practically hit his hairline. “Well, damn!” your dad barks out a laugh and lands a slap against Tommy’s back again. 

Tommy chuckles, pink-cheeked and awkward, a smile on his lips as he mumbles, “It’s not really that dramatic, I promise.”

But it didn’t matter as you lead him inside and away from your parents’ grasp. Your family was smitten with him. Your mom leaned over to you, whispering, topping it off with a wink— like Tommy wasn’t right beside you and could see and hear every move she made. “He’s a keeper.” You looked at Tommy, standing there beside you. A shy smile permanently etched onto his features under the weight of all the attention, and something squeezed tight in your chest at your mother’s words.

Yeah. He is. Even if you couldn’t. 

The rehearsal dinner later that evening was somehow even worse than you’d imagined it being. You tried sticking to the plan, the one you’d laid out in the car over that 10 hour drive home. You’d keep it to light hand-holding, flirty smiles, maybe a forehead kiss if someone was really watching. It was no big deal. But then one of your aunts, a few glasses too deep in the wine served for dinner, claps her hands like commanding a show. Which brings on an onslaught of giggles from her and your cousins, “Come on, you two! Let’s see a kiss!”

Everyone’s eyes are on you two now. And a wave of attention slams into you like a damn freight train. You turn to Tommy, eyes wide. He turns redder than a tomato in real-time. You almost feel sorry for dragging him into this. But he puts on a smile, gives you a little nod— okay, he’s good. You know he’s good now. But your family is relentless and is already chanting— Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!— so Tommy does the only thing he can think of to keep the charade going. He slides an arm around your waist, pulls your chair closer to his, and kisses you. It was supposed to be quick, just an innocent little kiss. Sell the lie and move on. But when his mouth brushes yours— careful, his lips soft— Everyone around you seems to fade away. The hand that had snaked its way around your waist, settles against your hip, grounding you both right there. You could feel the tremor in his fingers. It lasted maybe three seconds, but that was long enough to wreck him.

When you pull back, you shoot him a little smile. Tommy just sits there next to you, staring at you like you’d knocked the wind out of him. The whole room fills with laughter, giggles, and words of love, but he barely heard it. All he could think about was the way your lips felt against his. The way that kiss cracked his heart open wide and had it beating wildly in his chest.

That night, you offer him your bed— you didn’t mind sharing. But fuck he wasn’t crawling into a twin bed with you, having to press himself up against you in ways that certainly would not help him hide this ever growing problem inside his chest. So he just shakes his head and grabs the extra blanket and pillow to set up camp on the floor. “You sure?” you asked softly, raising an eyebrow as you pull your duvet up over your waist. 

You watch as he tosses the pillow down onto the shag rug next to your bed. He lowers himself down with a huff and rolls to his back before covering himself with that comically short and pink blanket. Tommy just smiles— it’s soft and shy. A smile he only reserves for you— He lets out a chuckle and then nods, “Yeah. ‘S your bed. I’m good down here.” He stretches out on the floor. And then he folds his arms under his head, staring up at the ceiling. 

You reach over to flip the lamp off. “Goodnight Tommy.” You mumble softly, letting yourself relax against the mattress. And it doesn’t take long before sleep wraps around you. The house was dark and quiet at this hour. He could hear your breathing, soft and even in the bed above him. It was the only sound he could really focus on.

So Tommy tries to tell himself to calm down. To will all of the thoughts plaguing him away. This was just pretend for you. None of it meant anything. But his head was spinning now. That kiss had certainly felt real. Maybe even more real than the few girls he had sworn he’d loved in his short twenty years. You had felt real. His arm wrapped around your waist, hand on your hip. His lips against yours. If he makes it out of this weekend he’ll never forget about that kiss. And lying here now, wrapped up in blankets that smelled entirely too much like you, it hits him like a sucker punch right to the chest, he wasn’t just nursing a crush anymore. He was completely, stupidly, helplessly in love with you.

And he really had no idea how he was supposed to keep pretending for two more days when all he wanted to do was make it real. So Tommy takes one last glance at your sleeping form above him. He knows he’s gotta get a grip. You don’t love him like that. You’re just friends. Nothing more. And he rolls onto his side, his back to you, willing himself to sleep until the buzz of his alarm. 

You wake up later than intended. There’s a soft rustle of blankets being kicked to and fro, and the faint sound of someone moving about the room. Back and forth from suitcase to closet, to suitcase to closet. Blinking sleepily, you push yourself up on your elbows, using one hand to rub the remaining traces of sleep from your eyes. You grin when you see Tommy— he’s already dressed in a white undershirt and dress pants. He’s shrugging a jacket up on his shoulders and fussing awkwardly with the buttons, like he’s never worn something so regal before. You rub your eyes, much like Bugs Bunny, and take another look. You nearly choke at what you see.

Tommy Gallagher was in his Navy dress blues.

The jacket clings to his shoulders. His chest looked even bigger in it than it did in those too-tight t-shirts he likes to lounge around in. He looks like he could probably carry you and half the wedding guests on his back without even breaking a sweat. The sleeves strain just slightly around his biceps and the gold buttons on the cuffs gleam under the soft morning light. But your gawking session is over too soon, when he catches you staring and immediately flushes red.

“You’re up,” he mumbles, glancing down at his hands fumbling with the buttons on his jacket, like he could somehow disappear into the carpet if he kept his gaze away from you.

You grinned sleepily, stretching lazily, much like a house cat. “Oh, I’m up alright. Look at you, Gallagher.” Your laugh is quiet and teasing. 

Tommy can feel his cheeks heat up as he grumbles under his breath. He tugs at the jacket collar like it’s choking him. “It’s.. It’s not a big deal. Alright? Only reason I’m wearin’ this is ‘cause I don’t fit in my other suits anymore.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting your lip at the thought. Tommy’s other suits too tight to shrug on over those broad shoulders. “You filled out that much, no?”

Tommy sighs like you’ve just punched him in the stomach and he ducks his head. His cheeks are burning brighter and he’s trying anything to hide that right now. “It’s not my fault, okay?” he mutters and sighs. “SEALs’ll either make you big or kill you. Guess I got the big part.”

You laugh softly, shaking your own head. Then you slip off that little twin bed, tug your pajama shorts down just a bit and cross the room to stand in front of him. His eyes flick up to yours for a moment and you reach out to fix the slightly crooked medal on his chest. He freezes under your touch— God, you were trying to kill him. He can’t do this. His breath hitching so subtly when your fingers brush against his chest, that if you weren’t standing this close, you would’ve missed it. “There,” you said softly, smoothing the fabric against his arms. “You look perfect, Tommy.”

Those hazel eyes jerk up to meet yours, and for a second, he swears the whole world was holding its breath. He could lean in right now, kiss you like he’s been thinking about since yesterday. He could— But then your phone buzzes with a loud reminder— The wedding, the one you’re doing all this God forsaken fake dating for, starts in two hours— and just like that, the moment between you is long gone. You both move slowly at first, not really wanting to peel away from one another. Tommy clears his throat and reaches for his shoes as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. You grab your dress and makeup bag and pretend your heart wasn’t doing cartwheels inside your chest. You almost kissed Tommy. Not for your family. Not for show. Just for you. 

The ceremony was beautiful— even if it was a little overwhelming. Tommy didn’t leave your side once, just like you’d asked. His hand rested on the small of your back the entire time, a steady and reassuring presence. Giving you something to melt into. You caught a few of your relatives shooting you heart-eyes from across the pews, mostly your aunts and great aunts. Your mom gives you a little thumbs-up, with a smile so exaggerated it makes you snort out loud. When you lean over whispering into Tommy’s ear, “Congratulations Tommy, you’re officially Mom’s new favorite son-in-law,” he nearly chokes. His hand tightens slightly at your back— it’s barely noticeable— but you feel the way he shifted, like he was struggling to stay still. Like all it would take is one more word to have him giggling and smiling just like you’re used to. So you decide to push just a little more. “You know,” you look down at the way you’d placed your hand against his chest. It’s all for show, of course, “if this were real, they’d probably be planning our wedding already.”

Tommy pulls away at those words, like they burned as they hit him. You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, confused. And you’re just in time to catch him mumbling something about needing air as he pulls away from you and steps outside.

Your heart sank. Shit. Maybe you’d pushed him too far. Maybe the whole fake dating thing was getting to him the way you hadn’t expected. It surely was getting to you in a way you hadn’t expected. You were seeing him as more than just that goofy friend that crashed on your couch when he had a little too much to drink, or snuck your favorite candy into the movies, or remembered you liked tulips and not roses better than any of your dates had ever remembered before. But that’s what friends are supposed to be like, right?

You wait a few minutes— giving him a bit of space, pretending you weren’t internally panicking, you put on a smile, tell family members who ask that Tommy just went outside for a moment— And then you’re slipping outside yourself. You scan the Church’s courtyard until you spot him leaning against a tree. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, staring at the ground like it had personally offended him.

You approach him slowly, carefully, like you shouldn’t even be awarded with his presence right now. You hurt him, somehow. “Hey,” you smile weakly, the words coming out a bit sadder than you intend. Tommy looks up when he hears you— and the raw, open look in his eyes nearly knocks the breath out of you. “I’m sorry for what I said inside,” you reach out to him, but think better against it. So you move to just lean against the tree as well. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just only joking—”

“No, it’s not that,” he cuts you off quickly, voice rough. He’s about to cry and you fucking hate it.

You hesitate, crossing your arms over your chest to hide the way your hands were shaking. You look up at the leaves above you, taking just a few moments to bask in the way the sun heats everything up around you, the way the birds chirp and sing, and then you sigh. “Then what is it?”

Tommy let out a shaky breath, stealing another glance at you as he’s pushing off the tree. “It’s just…” He scrubbed a hand over his hair, the overgrown buzzcut had grown on you. He thinks, It’s now or never. If he doesn’t get this out, he never will. “This isn’t pretend for me, okay?”

Your heart stops right there in your chest. He swallows hard, looking like he was about to bolt, he wants to. God, he wants to. He wants to run and hide like he never agreed to this fucking shit— but he forces himself to stay put right there. He doesn’t move an inch, afraid to even breathe. Just like he was trained to do. But then he forces himself to look you in the eye, to take a deep breath. “I had a crush on you before all this,” he admits softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Thought I could handle it… For you. Thought… y’know, i’ll fake it, have a few laughs, no big deal. You’d get what you wanted out of it and you’d be happy.” He shakes his head, giving a shaky little laugh. He tilts his head up a bit, to stop the tears threatening to slip. “But now I’m standing here thinking about what it’d be like to do this for real. To kiss you and not have to stop. To kiss you when no one’s watching. To wake up next to you for the rest of my fucking life. And I can’t… I can’t fake that anymore. My chest feels like it’s going to explode.”

The world tilts on its axis. You push off the tree and take a step toward him. Your chest was aching so badly it felt like your heart might split in two.

You wanted that too. You take a moment to try and recall each time Tommy looked a little too long. How it would feel warm from your chest straight to your toes. You recall each passing brush of Tommy’s hand and how it had set your nerves alive like fireworks. Maybe you’d wanted this longer than you’d even realized.

“Tommy…” He steps closer too. He’s nervous, his hands are hovering at your waist like he was asking permission without words.

“I’m fallin’ in love with you, okay?” he says, so soft you barely caught it over the breeze. “Might already be there. So you’ve gotta say the word. Tell me to get lost. Please.”

You didn’t really think about your next actions. You just grab him by the front of his dress blues jacket, careful of the pins and you pull him down into a kiss. This one wasn’t for show, it was just you and Tommy out here. This one was everything he hadn’t been able to say in words, every long glance he’d given over the last few years, every nervous laugh he used to cover up how red his cheeks were from watching you cut vegetables, every time his hand brushed yours like he wanted to hold it but he was just too fucking scared. Tommy kissed you like he was starving for it. One of his hands slides up to cradle your jaw, the other wraps around your waist and hauls you so close there wasn’t a breath of space left between you.

When you finally pull back, you’re both gasping. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t believe this was real. “Still wanna be my fake date tonight?” you ask softly, a giggle threatening to leave your lips.

He laughs, breathless and wrecked. “Only if you’ll let me be your real one after.”

You smiled wider and kissed him again right there next to that tree. You kissed him like there was never a doubt in your mind that this was where you’d end up. Because there wasn’t a doubt, not anymore.

tags ;; @peachyproserpina @getaapologist

[warfaredoll]

𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

this was supposed to be your daddy…

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 — you had it all planned out. the wallet Erik kept eyeing at the store? bought and tucked away. his favorite cologne, the snacks he loved, and the socks he claimed “mysteriously disappeared” every week? wrapped and hidden. you had even picked out the perfect card, handwritten with your favorite memories of him as a dad. and a little drawing your son had made folded inside a card you helped him write. you even had tiny handprints stamped in paint and framed, ready to make him tear up like he always did when it came to your little boy. every detail perfected. the plan was to wake up before him, decorate the kitchen table, and surprise him like he deserved. but of course… Erik beat you to it. you stirred awake that morning, confused by the warm light in the room and the empty spot beside you in bed. when you sat up, you were met with the smell of breakfast something sweet, something savory, and the faint sound of little feet running across the hardwood floor. then, a knock on the door “Mommy!” a tiny voice giggled, followed by a clumsy push as the door creaked open. your son peeked in, messy haired and smiling, holding a bouquet nearly half his size. a mix of your favorite flowers; sunflowers, peonies, wild daisies spilling over the edges of his arms. “daddy says happy fathers day to you” he said proudly, barely understanding the meaning behind the words. Erik appeared behind him, shirt slightly wrinkled, smile wide “happy father’s day baby” he murmured as he leaned in to kiss your temple “or should I say… thank you for making me a father.” you blinked, slightly confused and still dazed. he walked over, setting a tray of breakfast down on the edge of the bed. pancakes shaped like little hearts, fruit on the side, coffee just how you liked it. then, he handed you a folded piece of paper, edges a little bent, colored in with crayon and scribbled pen. you opened it. inside was a hand drawn card, a messy sketch of the three of you Erik, your son, and you holding hands beneath a stick figure sun. beneath it, in Erik’s neater handwriting it read “thank you for the love you give, the life you brought into this world, you didn’t just make me a father you made me the best version of myself.” your throat tightened, “you were supposed to be the one getting spoiled today” you managed to say. Erik just grinned, settling beside you on the bed as your son climbed up between you both “I already got the best gift. every day when I look at you two.” you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as your son leaned into your lap, playing with the petals of the flowers he’d brought. Erik kissed the top of your head again. later, when you finally got to give him your own surprise gifts, Erik smiled so big you thought your heart might burst. he pulled you into a hug, held you close, whispered “thank you for everything. you made me a father.” and even though it was technically father’s day, Erik made sure you knew, you were just as much a reason to celebrate

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 — the basket sat on the kitchen table, wrapped neatly in soft tissue and ribbon. you had filled it with all of Tommy’s favorite things, along with a new mug that said #1 Dad (almost), a little framed ultrasound photo, and tucked beneath it all, a tiny white onesie that read “daddy’s first father’s day.” next year, your baby would wear it. this year, Tommy just stared at it like he couldn’t wait. you watched him from the couch, your belly full and round, he walked over slowly, knelt beside you, and laid his head beneath your bump like it was the only place in the world he wanted to be. his hand spread gently across your belly, thumb brushing over the stretch marks you were still getting used to. he didn’t look at them the way you did, to him they were everything. “Tommy” you said softly, running your fingers through his buzzed hair “are you sure you don’t want to do anything? I made plans for us to celebrate you today.” he didn’t answer at first just pressed a kiss to the side of your stomach, then looked up at you with those soft tired eyes. “I’d rather be here” he said “like this.” you let out a little breathy laugh, brushing your thumb down to his cheek, then to his ear lovingly. “you already gave me everything” he whispered “I don’t need anything else.” the baby kicked once, just gentle enough to make his hand shift. he smiled slow, and a little teary. the kind of smile he only gave you when he didn’t know how else to show how much he felt. he tucked his face into your belly again, arms loosely wrapped around your waist like he was protecting both of you from the whole world. “I don’t know how I got this lucky” he murmured into your skin “I don’t even care if I never figure it out.” you didn’t say anything back. you just kept your fingers in his hair, your other hand resting over his on your belly, and the three of you stayed like that. and even though the baby hadn’t arrived yet… Tommy was already the kind of father you always knew he’d be

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭 — it wasn’t his first Father’s Day but this one felt different. maybe it was the way your daughter had insisted on coloring a crooked heart next to the words “best dad ever” in her homemade card, or maybe it was the weight of your newborn son sleeping soundly against your chest, his little hand curled near your collarbone. maybe it was just that Elliott had become even more of a father in these past few weeks sleepless nights, baby bottles, diapers, and still somehow enough energy left to braid your daughter’s hair and make her laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world. you leaned against the bathroom doorframe, baby boy in your arms, watching him as he stood at the mirror. fresh from the shower, towel slung low around his waist, his skin still damp. he ran a razor carefully along his jaw, shaving down the dark stubble until only the mustache remained a little signature look of his, something that made you smile every time. he caught your eyes in the mirror, flashing you that familiar smirk. “how do I look?” you barely had to even think about it “Handsome.” you replied, he looked away for a second like you still made him nervous, even after all this time. then he tossed the razor aside, wiped down the sink, and turned toward you, arms already outstretched for the baby. “here, let me take him so you can go get dressed.” you both took turns, tag teaming parenthood as you always did. while he changed the baby and helped your daughter into her dress, you slipped into your own dress, touching up your makeup with one hand, smoothing your dress with the other. you loaded up the car, Elliott clicking the carseat into place while your daughter climbed in with her sparkly shoes and tiny purse full of plastic makeup. you sat in the passenger seat, stealing glances at him while he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally reaching back to hold your daughter’s hand. at the restaurant, you stepped out onto the sidewalk in your heels, smoothing your dress as Elliott circled around the car. he carefully lifted your baby from the seat, cradling him against his chest. you turned to your daughter and offered your hand, but she took Elliott’s pant leg instead. you walked beside them, and something about it made your chest ache in the best way. there he was your man, with a baby in his arms, a daughter clutching his leg, and the kindest heart tucked underneath. he looked over at you with a smile so soft it made you smile. “you know” you said as you all walked into the restaurant, “they’re both gonna grow up knowing what it means to be loved right.” he looked down at his son, then at his daughter, who was already proudly telling the hostess it was “her daddy’s special day.” then he looked back at you. “I hope so” he said. and as you sat at that dinner table, tiny crayon in your daughter’s hand, baby snoozing peacefully in Elliott’s arms, you knew Father’s Day didn’t need anything, it just needed him

𝐑𝐚𝐲 — the soft click of your mascara tube closing was followed by the sound of small feet thudding against the floorboards behind you. “Ray” you called gently, eyes still on your reflection “can you help him put on his shoes?” he was somewhere behind you, and then one arm slid up gently around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. careful not to smudge your makeup “yeah, I’ll do it right now” he murmured, his buzzed hair brushed your skin as he pulled away. your 3 year old son came running down the hallway in a fit of giggles “come here little man” Ray said, already grinning as he chased after him “no shoes! noooo shoes!” your son squealed, trying to escape down the hallway again, Ray caught him in three steps, lifting him effortlessly into the air. “gotcha” he said, flipping him gently onto his shoulder, your son laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe “Ray his hair” you warned with a laugh, “you’re gonna mess it up.” Ray shot you a quick look over his shoulder as he carried your wriggling son to the couch, settling down with him perched across one knee “I’ll fix it” he promised, before turning to the little boy, Ray slid the tiny sneakers on one by one, fingers moving carefully as he tightened the velcro straps, making sure they were snug but not too tight. you stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them. Ray sat there on the couch in black dress pants and a fresh white button up, your son bouncing slightly on his leg “Alright” Ray said, standing with that little grunt dads always make, and lifted your son into his arms as Ray spun him in a lazy circle before planting a kiss on the top of his head. “shoes are on, and then we hand him off to Grandma.” you tilted your head smiling “and then it’s just you and me.” your mom’s minivan rolled up and your son was halfway down the driveway before Ray even set him down. she scooped your son into a hug then, catching your eye over his head “you two be responsible tonight.” she said, you rolled your eyes at that and waved them off, the moment the car disappeared down the street, Ray’s arms came around your waist from behind, warm palms spreading over your hips, then sliding lower, cupping your ass through the soft cotton of your dress. he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in “Mm there she is” he murmured, kissing your shoulder “I’ve missed this” your hands found his, his grip tightened. you turned in his hold and kissed him, messy, tongue first, breathing heavy through your nose, his hand came down, fingers spreading over your lower belly rubbing it slowly, he whispered it against your mouth “another one wouldn’t hurt.” the words sank in. you leaned back just enough to look in his eyes there it was, he really wanted it, wanted you, wanted everything, again. “you trying to get me pregnant again already?” you teased “If you let me” he murmured. his hands were flat against the small of your back like he needed you closer. your fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulders, clutching him through the fabric of his shirt as his chest rose and fell unevenly against yours.

you smiled against his mouth, eyes half opening “Ray” you breathed, then kissed him again slower. your palm slid up his back “we have dinner reservations remember? your father’s day thing.” he didn’t stop kissing you not at first. he groaned soft but frustrated, nose pressed to your cheekbone, breath hot and impatient “Mmmfuck” he exhaled through his nose in a huff, like the words dinner reservations physically pained him. you felt him debate with it, his cock already half hard between you, your warmth, your lips, your scent and the damn calendar block in his mind that said 8:00 PM, steakhouse, father’s day, dress nice. he dipped his forehead to your neck with a grunt, kissing you there once more. “we either do this now or go hungry” you whispered arching an eyebrow. he pulled back finally, jaw clenching as he straightened up. one deep breath through flared nostrils, then another. he looked down at his chest, saw the faint wrinkles in his shirt from where you’d gripped it, he brushed them down with one hand, muttering something low like jesus christ. then “okay” he said, he turned, grabbed the car keys from the hook by the door, then reached back for you with the other hand, lacing his fingers into yours “let’s go” he said, tugging you behind him “before I change my mind”

𝐒𝐚𝐦 — the kitchen smelled like glue, the counter was a mess of glitter, uncapped markers, and little sticky beads. you sat beside your daughter, helping her finish the last details of her father’s day surprise. her small fingers smudged with paint, the craft was simple: a paper plate flipped upside down and painted yellow, with orange and red ribbons glued to the bottom to look like a proper medal. across the center in bold neat lettering it read: BEST DAD she may have picked out the sparkly letter stickers, but the handwriting? that was all you “done!” she announced, sitting back proudly. you smiled, brushing a bit of dried paint from her cheek “okay” you whispered, leaning in like it was a secret “ready to go show daddy?” she nodded, you picked up the plate carefully and followed her barefoot steps out the sliding door, into the backyard where Sam was hunched over something in the grass. you saw him before he saw you shirt slightly damp with sweat, hands working to tighten bolts on what looked like the frame of a new playset. he was focused, a little sun kissed, completely at ease. the sight of him like that still did things to you. “daddy!” your daughter called out, breaking into a run with the plate in her tiny hands. Sam looked up just in time to catch her as she ran into his arms. “hi sweetheart” he laughed, lifting her easily “what’s this?”, “look, look!” she said, shoving the plate between their faces “for you!” he took it gently, looking at the craft like it was the most precious thing he’d ever been given. his smile was soft and big “wow” he said “this is beautiful. thank you baby. I love it.” you walked up beside them, arms folded. Sam looked at the plate again, turning it slightly in his hands, then raised an eyebrow at you playfully “I didn’t know her handwriting got so good” he teased, leaning in to kiss your cheek “yeah she started writing full sentences just yesterday.” you playfully said “should we enroll her in art school already?” he grinned, one arm still holding her tight, the other holding the masterpiece. she leaned her head on his shoulder, giggling proudly, and you reached out to brush a hair strand behind her ear “honestly” you said, eyes moving from the plate to Sam “I think she’s just got really good taste.” Sam kissed the top of her head, then yours “she gets that from her mom.” there was no medal big enough to hold how good he was at this. but she’d made one anyway.

happy fathers day to all the fine pa’s & DILF’S 💐

AND CLEARLYYY I HAVE A FAV so ray’s is like 2k words longer than the rest 😏🙈 #mybabydaddy

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི