#she doesn't want to “drag me down”

[gayclubsoap]

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[svnflowermoon]

y'all go from being feminists to tearing these women down within seconds oh my god it's 2024 can we please stop viciously tearing one woman down to bring another up i don't care what side you take but saying vile shit about either woman and their music is disgusting, please grow up

[shannonsketches]

He said "Fuck this shit, I'm out" I'm crying. Toriyama's Vegeta was so top shelf 🤌

(From Neko Majin Z Chapter 5!)

[vv-ispy]

on one hand I totally understand tropes are popular but on the other hand I think Amos is a lot more compelling as a middle aged woman trying to figure out her life after a loveless relationship than a mother figure ya know

[softquietsteadylove]

Ahhhh second first date! Second first date! Of course i need to know how it goes!!

"And the server was definitely super jealous of me."

Thena laughed again. That was all she'd been doing since they left the house, she was quite sure. Since Gil 'picked her up', that was to say.

It was very sweet. He had showed up at her guest room door, dressed up and with a charming smile, even making an attempt to look nervous. He asked if she was ready, offered his arm; he was the perfect gentleman for their first date.

Her second chance.

Of course she had to know more about their first-first date. And Gil was happy to elucidate her once she insisted enough that telling her that much would not cause her brain to catch fire (as the doctor seemed to have implied in some way).

"But it was a nice dinner, then I walked you back to where you were staying at the end of the beach," he recounted, his eyes completely starry. "I had never gotten to actually have a romantic walk on the beach, before. Total bucket list stuff."

"It sounds lovely," she remarked mildly, without much choice with no memory of it for herself.

"The moon was out and everything, and it looked really pretty with your hair and your white dress, and the shawl thing-y you had on over it." Gil gestured vaguely to simulate the flowing garment she had worn over her bare shoulders. It certainly painted a picture, and she was quite sure she knew what he was referring to, having glimpsed a long white shawl in their closet.

She tried not to laugh too hard, mindful of the gentle atmosphere of the bakery. The tables were really just for people waiting for orders. They didn't have a fancy coffee machine, or an official barista. But Gil did bring out cups of real, boiled hot cocoa from the back--a secret only for their own, of course. They were waiting on their fresh baked pastries to come out and cool.

"I was so distracted by you that I didn't even realise when we were back at your doorstep," he sighed, but his comedic tone faded. He looked at her more softly, leaning his cheek against his hand. "I told you flat out that I was having such a good time I wished you were staying further away."

Thena attempted to laugh into her mug, this time.

"You laughed at it then, too." He sounded more wistful now. "But I told you I was serious and asked if I could see you again. I don't know why you were so surprised."

Probably because she had never been one to be asked out by someone like him. Men, sure, but not very sweet, very funny, very honest gentlemen like Gil. Just...men. She wasn't approachable enough for someone as sweet and charming as Gil.

She still thought that, to a degree.

"But you agreed, and I asked if I could kiss you too," he at least smiled at this part of the story, although his longing for the past remained. "You said I didn't have to ask, which wasn't a yes, but I guessed I was supposed to read between the lines."

Again, the Thena in the story and Thena herself in the present were different people. But she felt her stomach clench faintly at the idea.

"I did kiss you," Gil sighed, returning to his lighter, more jovial tone. "And it totally blew my mind. I mean if I wasn't in love with you already, that would'a done it."

"Gil," she admonished lightly, partly laughing and partly sheepish at the description of this passionate kiss she couldn't remember at all.

"What?" he chuckled before taking a sip of his own hot chocolate. "You wanted to know. And that date changed the rest of my life, sweetheart."

She liked it when he called her that. She nodded, looking down at her mug. "I suppose I did. It's a nice story."

"Yeah," Gil concluded, although his sigh felt a little heavier.

She still didn't have any memories of her own to contribute. But she attempted to jump over that wave of guilt, trying to put a smile back on his handsome face. "What was our second date like?"

He clearly knew what she was trying to do, but he kept quiet about it at least. He pulled himself up in his seat and started his next story. "Well, we were still on vacation. I asked a little more about you, and you at least told me you were an artist, and you were there on leave because you found teaching wasn't really your thing."

Thena winced faintly. She was sure that was an understatement. She did have memories of teaching before moving to their current residence, and none of them made her glad to have them instead of memories of Gil.

"I told you that I had been a boxer in college, and that I was just working some boring office job and also wanted," he paused to shrug and make a face, "a change of scenery."

They were both in the midst of becoming different people when they met. How fascinating, Thena mused. Although she was quite sure Gil had always been sweet and charming and funny. Just a feeling.

"It was actually you, on that date, who asked what I liked to do for fun," he admitted much more quietly. He looked down at the table, picking at a chip in the lacquer. "I told you I liked baking and you said I could try working part time in it, just to see if I liked it enough to make it my job."

"It sounds like something I would suggest," she agreed. It was hard to imagine the man she knew now doing anything else, really. Although it was almost funny to imagine him stuffing those muscles of his into a regular office suit.

"I said I'd give it a try," he chuckled, reaching for her hand. She gave it reflexively, sense memory knowing Gil much better than her own mind. He kissed her knuckle. "And now I have the best job in the world."

She smiled down at their adjoined hands as well, feeling as if the weight of the world were on top of them. "The date, Gil?"

"Right, right," he chuckled, allowing her to move the story away from the more emotional of the topics. "Well, you suggested that, and I asked about your art some more. And since the restaurant looked kind of full, and I didn't think that was your scene, I asked if you wanted to walk along the boardwalk a little first."

"We walked by a bakery there, and you asked me what everything was, since I was 'the expert' and all."

That also sounded like something she would say; Thena attempted not to roll her eyes at herself.

"I pointed out the regular stuff," he shrugged and even looked at the pastry cases in front of them in the moment. "Croissants, cupcakes, they had some tarts. You asked about one in particular."

Thena tilted her head as he paused, but she leaned back as he did, having been so sucked into the story that she didn't even notice Ajak coming over with two small plates.

"Thanks," Gil smiled at the petite woman, obviously familiar with her.

"Thank you," Thena added, keeping her eyes on the woman who only smiled and waved in response. Ajak knew her, Thena was aware, but Gil had been determined that they could meet formally when Thena felt more ready to reintroduce those parts of their life to herself.

"This is called a petit four, just a small cake," he chuckled, turning his own plate so she could admire the little dessert from all sides. "It's pretty old school, but you asked me about it when I pointed it out to you. I bought one so you could sample it, even though you told me not to."

Thena eyed the little dessert. It seemed to be vanilla, small and glazed completely white. There was something on the top of it.

"I add just a little sea salt to mine. Call it a secret ingredient."

It was just a hint of salt, but it sank into the sweetness immediately. Just like on that day five years ago, she had tasted the saltiness of the ocean air around them as she took a bite. She could remember the wind on her skin, and how warm Gil's hand was in contrast. The smell of the little shop and the breeze around them, and Gil's cologne wafting gently over to her.

Thena whipped her head up at him. He blinked at her sudden movement but didn't say anything. He was trying to read the expression on her face.

She didn't have any other memories of it. Just that one moment had jumped out at her as she had tasted that same taste--perhaps an improvement upon it. She could remember Gil's smile as she had told him that she liked it.

"You promised."

"Hm?"

She blinked, trying not to cry over a silly little cake. "You promised you would make me one sometime. I told you I expected it to be better, since you were indeed, 'the expert'."

Gil teared up immediately. Of course he did, the gentle hearted giant. "Y-You-"

She looked down at her cake again, the pressure immediately mounting. "It's just that one moment. I can't remember past that. But-"

Thena startled as he launched from his seat across the tiny cafe table from her. He caught her lips at a funny angle, but they both tasted like chocolate and vanilla and sea salt. Her eyes fluttered.

"Sorry," he chuckled, offering a sheepish grin as he seated himself, ignoring the worried glances of other bakery patrons. "Couldn't help myself."

"Hm," she pursed her lips faintly, and he returned to his cake, unable to keep himself from staring at her. She dabbed at her lips, resisting the urge to fan herself. She still had her coat on, but it felt far too hot now in their little corner by the window. "Whatever happened to asking?"

"You told me I didn't have to ask."

[bitegore]

every so often i have to really wonder about the people who watch me talk about how badly i want someone to let me hurt them and fantasize about murdering imaginary characters i like and somehow assumes i'm a sub primarily and wants to be killed and chased and not, like, do the killing and chasing

[sociallyawkwardseal]

Okay, so not fanfic/writing stuff but do you ever think of how close Calla and Kody used to be? How sweet and bright and encouraging she was towards him when they were younger? How friendly and warm she was? How they smiled at each other? It makes me want to eat rocks.

[silvreflames]

heavy on “I fear being alone more than anything else. So why do I do this? Why do I push away the people I love? What is so very wrong with me? I don’t know. And I don’t know how to make it stop.”

[quietwingsinthesky]

watching taxi driver but what i am actually seeing is the elaborate alternate version im constructing in my head where lucifer has to escort sam through hell in order to save bela, who didn't deserve the fate she got, and sam is so filled with hope that he can right this wrong and complete the trial and then when they get there she's a demon <3

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

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[gothcarmelasoprano]

maw why are these troll accounts linked through my ex best friends STILL following me

[fazcinatingblog]

I saw a sign at the train station saying to not feed the birds because if they're fed, they'll be more likely to be hit by a train

And I just.... I mean....

[ipatrichor]

OKAY SO. content warnings for near-drowning, injury, death, and eldritch horror stuff typical of a call of cthulu oneshot. (dw tho i promise no pets die)

in the back of the cabinet under the front counter, there's a tiny coraline door that leads nowhere- just a white wall. however, when you touch this wall you go right through it into an unknown space beyond. ronnie spots it first and decides to ignore it until the old man who works with us, van (yes we called him old man van) crawls through and disappears at which point we investigate.

the premise is that we all work at 7-11. no one schedules the shifts bc the manager doesn't fucking care, so we've all showed up today. our group is comprised of:

- ronnie, she/her, a herbo with a dog who shits on the floor of the 7-11

- morgs (short for morgan), she/they, a punk lesbian who used to date ronnie before things ended badly

- cody, they/them, an amateur ghost hunter who's always high and has more parkour skills than sense

- eide (pronounced eed), they/them, a mystery with a backpack they keep almost as close as they keep their secrets.

ronnie's dog, commander ozzy, goes through and eide ends up following to retrieve him. thankfully commander ozzy didn't go far, and all eide sees is a room with winding tunnels leading away from it and pipes along the walls. when they return they tell us not to go in, closing the cabinet and keeping watch. the group splits- cody and morgs smoke outside and discuss their curiosity, eide texts an unknown party, and ronnie waits behind the counter.

eide goes to the back to snack on inventory while leaving their phone behind. morgs and cody return while the coast is clear, and cody takes their backpack and sneaks inside. two men come looking for eide, but ronnie and morgs lie and say they don't know an eide so the men leave. eide comes back out, learns what happens, and goes out into the front parking lot but is too late to catch them.

around this time, the manager comes back and insists on going after old man van despite ronnie's protests. after sticking his head inside, though, his sanity is greatly damaged and he returns nearly catatonic, barely aware of the world around him. ronnie does her best to deal with this, but is left with no assistance.

meanwhile, cody records their trip and leaves a trail of pencils. they begin to explore the tunnels while morgs keeps watch back in the 7-11 with cody's beloved pet lizard, galcan (short for galactic cannibalism). morgs glances inside to take another look, and while she does ronnie returns from stuffing the manager in a closet and yanks her out despite her resistance.

they argue, bringing up their messy breakup. morgs reveals that cody is in the tunnels, and ronnie is horrified and insists on going to find them and bring them back. the two do so, following the pencil trail.

eide comes back inside, finds them gone, and frustratedly enters the tunnels to find them. ronnie and morgs argue again, and morgs ends up splitting off from the group while eide finds a sacrificial dagger and ronnie follows the pencil trail looking for cody, who is having just a lovely time filming things.

they all hear a loud banging noise and rush towards it, reconvening in a cafeteria-esque room. galcan is happily returned to cody’s pocket, and a child's ball bounces by itself from a hallway leading to a weird door with an old-fashioned padlock and a tray of food next to it. ronnie is desperate to leave, and morgs teases her for being scared while eide investigates the food and cody films the door.

morgs promises to leave if ronnie goes and touches the scary door, which she reluctantly does. on the way out, though, a curtain separating the cafeteria from the kitchen moves somewhat and morgs just has to investigate. she calls cody over and the two joke around about the meat grinder and the gross hair in the sink. cody pokes it with a pencil and it feels squishy, which grosses them out. the drain starts to bubble and flood, alarming the trio who quickly make up their minds to leave- much to ronnie’s relief.

meanwhile, eide has gone further down the hallway, past windows that reveal only flat blue, and finds the bridge of a submarine. there’s a radar with nothing showing up, and a parascope that reveals nothing but more blue. the other three follow, and are trying to all get their shit together and persuade everyone to leave when something shows up on the rader. it’s getting closer, and when ronnie looks through the parascope she sees huge, indescribable creatures heading toward the submarine at impossible speeds. they slam into the submarine, loud bangs sounding and pipes beginning to burst.

they start running, only to find that there are several inches of water and rising on the floor. the pencil trail has been washed away, but ronnie remembers the way back and runs that way, cody pulling morgs along after her while eide pauses to investigate the strange door that’s now unlocked. they find a book and some information in a car’s glove box, and then take off to try and catch up with the others.

the water is rising fast, and as they come to an intersection all three see something that gives them pause. off to the right, ronnie sees commander ozzy swimming and runs towards him. on the left, cody sees galcan swimming and checks their pocket, confused to find her still safely inside. directly ahead, morgs sees a horrifying disproportionate creature waiting for them.

when ronnie reaches commander ozzy, instead of her dog she finds a piece of broken off pipe floating in the water and takes it. further down the tunnel is a green sign that she hopes will lead to an exit, and she wades toward it. eide catches up as the others follow her, all panicked.

the sign says exeunt, but cody points out that they’re in a submarine- any exit here will likely lead to the ocean instead of to the 7-11. despairing and resigned to swimming back through the tunnels looking for the original passage, they turn back only to find space bending around them and the green sign in front of them again. out of options, ronnie opens the door next to it. water rushes out into the rooms beyond, and they follow and quickly work together to shut the heavy door behind them to trap the water out.

they find themselves in a room with a single table in the middle, and a pitch black doorway on the other end with a bloody handprint on the wall next to it. with nowhere else to go, the group ventures onward- ronnie in the lead with a phone flashlight and metal pipe, morgs next with two knives she doesn’t know how to use, eide following and keeping their backpack close, and cody bringing up the rear with galcan and a vape pen because there’s no way they’re dealing with any of this sober.

as they move, the walls around them become narrower. they move, remaining metal but rhythmically expanding and contracting as if breathing. this tunnel ends in another room, empty except for what looks like a person sitting in a chair with their back towards the entryway. they breathe oddly, in a way that moves their whole body, and it’s the same rhythm as the walls.

ronnie, pushed to her absolute limit, wastes no time attacking the figure. she gets in a few solid swings with the pipe, refusing to stop as the others stare. the creature rises and turns, revealing itself to be a twisted abomination, and roars- lashing out at ronnie, who ducks out of the way and hits it again. she keeps attacking it until it lashes out and grabs her with a massive hand, squeezing and doing a fair bit of damage.

cody is afraid enough that it turns to anger, shouting ‘hey! that’s my coworker!’ and lunging. they latch onto the wrist and stab it, causing pain but failing to make it let go of ronnie. she manages to struggle out of its grip, but its other hand lashes out and impales cody through the ribs- missing vital organs and galcan’s hoodie pocket, but now dangling them from its hand as it moves.

meanwhile, the sound of the roar reverberating through her head and now cursed with the knowledge that the submarine itself is alive and the creature is just part of it, morgs examines the walls and pipes and starts turning nozzles, hoping to hurt the entity in some way.

catching on to her plan, ronnie hefts her pipe and starts smashing the pipes on the walls. these attacks cause steam to fill the room and hallway, gradually reducing visibility but also seeming to hurt the creature as the submarine itself screams.

kept functioning by adrenaline, cody starts sawing at the three fingers impaling them, trying to cut themself loose without removing the objects to minimize blood loss. it’s slow going, however, because all they have to work with is their pocket knife.

with the hand not wearing cody as a decoration, the creature swings at ronnie and morgs. morgs manages to dodge, rolling and coming up with knives ready and a wildness in her eyes, but ronnie is less nimble and gets slammed into a wall. behind them, eide finally pulls the secret from their backpack- a double barrel shotgun- and fires, staggering the creature. they then move to help cut cody lose, using the sacrificial knife they found earlier.

ronnie continues to attack the pipes, more steam spilling out and greatly impacting visibility. morgs tries to escape but gets turned around, running into the creature and getting grabbed. it knocks her unconscious and tosses her aside as eide gets cody loose, dragging them away to relative safety and reloading their shotgun.

ronnie, meanwhile, can hear the cries and yelling of her coworkers. she has a moment, remembering their frequently shit interactions and all the things she calls them assholes for, and decides- fuck it, if she’s going to die for her shitty coworkers, then so be it. she keeps breaking the pipes, even as the steam spilling out keeps burning her, until she’s gone.

ronnie is dead. morgs lies on the floor unconscious. cody still has three giant fingers impaling their stomach, likely bleeding out. eide stands functionally alone, their shotgun and their determination against the creature. they stand their ground, take aim, fire-

and everything goes black.

when they’re aware again, they’re sitting in a chair next to two hospital beds. in one lies cody, asleep but on the road to healing. in the other is morgs, who still has yet to awaken. her heart moniter flatlines, and all eide can do is watch, barely aware of the world around them, as the hospital fights to keep her alive and manages to restart her heart. whether she’ll ever wake up again or not, there’s no way to know.

[one-winged-dreams]

these are strange times for berry club

[ddejavvu]

this is depraved, but grinding on logan’s happy trail to get off 🫢

Hands Free - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, drinking, don't like don't read.

You've caught Logan at a bad time. The surly mutant is a complicated man, and one with less psychological damage than him might be eager to whip it out whenever, but Logan isn't. He's busy brooding, and he's not to be interrupted when he's got a bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other.

But you need him. There's a pit in your belly that's only made worse by the scowl on his face, and your cunt aches beneath your now-slick panties for something to envelop. You're desperate for Logan to fuck you, but there's no way you'll convince him if he's not in the mood.

"I can feel you staring," He grumbles, eyes still cast to the floor as he takes another swig of burning liquor, "What do you want?"

There's no polite way to say you.

"Uhm," You shift on your feet, thighs clenched, "I'm just feeling- I'm a little, um, I-"

"Spit it out."

"I need you." You breathe, ashamed by the sentence, but Logan's face remains untouched, nothing moving but the lingering smoke from his smoldering cigar.

"I'm not in the mood." He grunts, like it isn't obvious.

"I- I know." You fall awkwardly silent again, rising onto your tiptoes and falling back to your heels. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up-

"Don't make a mess." He shifts in the chair, lowering his hips until they're level with his abdomen, offering you the best seat in the house.

He's shirtless, which means that if you can't have his cock, or his fingers, you can get the next best thing. A combination of the friction from the waistband of his jeans, and his toned abs, blanketed with coarse, wiry hair.

You mount him eagerly, which isn't hard to do seeing as his chair has no arms. It's got a back so that he can lean against it, but your support system is his chest, where you firmly plant your hands in preparation to get yourself off.

There's a dark line of hair that trails from the bottom of his navel and disappears beneath his waistband, flanked on either side with a sharp line of muscle that tapers down towards his cock in a V. His body is a work of art, and you only wish his equally gorgeous face was pointed your direction.

No matter- you won't push. You're lucky he's letting you get off on his lap, you'll take what you can get.

"Easy," He grumbles, rocked by the sudden jerk of your hips. As you settle into a steady rhythm you realize you've already failed his one directive of not making a mess, but there's no way to stop or slow the steady stream of slick that's pouring from your weeping cunt. It's sobbing, slobbering, begging for a cock, but you drag it flush against Logan's abs and mat his happy trail down with your translucent arousal.

"One fuckin' job," He gripes, reaching down to swipe two fingers through the slick that's glistening on his stomach as you find better friction near the waistband of his jeans. The texture of the denim is rough, and you realize with giddy desperation that he's getting hard in his pants despite his insistence that he wasn't in the mood.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth for a taste, his cigar left behind in its ashtray on the side table. He doesn't relinquish the bottle, but he takes equal sips of that and of the mess you're making on his abs.

Finally, thanks to the sizeable bulge in Logan's jeans, you're able to hump your way to completion on his stomach. It's not hard, considering you'd been achingly horny before, but without something inside of you your release feels empty and wasted. You'd use your fingers if you could, but you can't move your hands or you'd faceplant on Logan's chest, and you don't want to invade his space any further in case he decides your privileges have been revoked.

"Poor thing." He murmurs when your hips slow and you're panting against his chest. You glance at his face but he's staring at your cunt, not at you, "She's so hungry."

It takes him one, two, three seconds to reach for his belt, "Well, c'mon. Up now, there y'go." As you shimmy up his abdomen, slicking his happy trail up with your release once more. As soon as he's able to free his cock he slides a hand under your ass, boosting you up so that you're finally able to sink down onto his red-tipped, leaking cock.

"Jesus, she's sucking me in," He grunts, his voice gruff and ragged, "How long were you waiting to ask me?"

"Too long." You whine, pussy already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now in utter bliss from finally being penetrated after all that teasing, "I- hnngh! My toys don't work anymore. They're- they're nothing like you, I can't use them. I can't ever finish."

Logan scoffs, still in a mood as sour as the liquor on his breath, but his hands find their place on your waist as he helps bounce you on his cock, "Shame. Those were supposed to keep you busy. Guess I'll have to do it then, hm?"

You nod vigorously against the crook of Logan's neck, your nose buried where his neck meets his shoulder, and where sweat accumulates sticky on his skin. You lick it up, and Logan hisses against the mouth of his bottle as he takes another swig.

"Fine." He grumbles, butting the bottle up to your head and forcing it against your lips, "Take this, take a nice big- there you go. That'll make you sleepy," He vows, and the head rush comes just like he'd warned. His hips begin shifting, circling slightly in gyrations that only add to the pleasure of bouncing on his dick, "And this'll knock you out, crazy."

[bi-writes]

mail order bride meeting 141 for the first time 🙏

mail-order bride

he likes the way this moment sounds. it will end soon, when you both walk out the door, but for now, he sits, and he doesn't want it to end.

it's not just the sound of the television. his favorite football team has finally fucking put one into the corner of the net. the announcers cheer, but this isn't all that he hears.

the cat is in the kitchen. he can't see it, but he hears it (the little fucker). she's pawing at the cat grass that sits above the sink now. when he leans forward, he notices her little nose pushing it around before she takes a bite out of it.

she leaves the basil alone.

and then there's the sound of you. your feet in the bedroom. when you pass by the doorway, he can see you in different states of getting ready. when you pass by this time, he can see your eyeliner is on both eyes now, not just one, and your hair doesn't have clips or pieces to hold it in its style anymore. it lays perfectly now; he did a double-take when he saw it this way for the first time. you're rifling through the closet now. your clothes used to be in their own drawers. separated. socks not touching one another. your half of the closet, and his half. perfectly divided.

he doesn't remember when it happened. he found your bra under his t-shirt today. he was going through the jackets because your dresses were now between them. in the bathroom, he almost stuck your toothbrush in his mouth because they rest side-by-side in the holder.

when he looks around the room, he can't see where you begin, and he cannot see where he ends. he doesn't see where he started.

but he can see where you will go.

you bounce into the living room, holding up two hangers. there's dresses on each of them, one a dark color, the other light, and you hold them in front of simon who's still sitting on the couch, his head in his hand as he concentrates on the game (where he pretends like he hasn't been thinking about you too hard to really focus).

"simon?" you call, and he grunts, looking over at you. "which one do you like?"

he looks over the two dresses before looking at you. he hums, leaning back against the couch. he shrugs before looking back at the telly. you would look like perfection in either of them, but that isn't what you asked, and that isn't the answer you want.

"the darker one. like ya in tha' color."

you smile a little before going back into the bedroom, hanging the other dress back up and laying the other one out on the bed. you rummage through the dresser for proper undergarments, picking a soft lace pair of panties with a matching bra. you slip them on before stepping into the dress.

you reach around for the waist, and when your attempts to grab it are futile, you look over your shoulder towards the door.

"simon?" you call out gently. "could you come here, please?"

there's a shuffle of sound before simon steps into the bedroom. you point to your back, smiling at him shyly.

"c-could you help me? i can't reach the zipper."

he makes his way over to where you stand in front of the mirror. you watch as his eyes roam over your back, as he takes in the sight in front of him. you swallow as he drags a few knuckles down the length of your spine, his eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror before he takes the zipper in his hand and pulls it up. when he finishes, he steps a little closer, dipping his head to look at you from over your shoulder. you turn your head to look up at him, smiling.

"everything okay?" you ask softly, and he clicks his tongue, sliding his hand from its place on your back to wrap around your middle. he spreads a big palm over your tummy before dragging you backwards, your backside pressing against his front.

"mmm..." he scrunches his nose a little, running a pink tongue over his teeth. "look fuckin' beautiful."

you giggle, looking away, spreading your palms along your cheeks to try and make it less hot, less warm--fuck, it's so hot, isn't it?

you pull away to go for your shoes, picking them up from the closet. you take a seat on the bed, trying to ignore simon's stare (impossible), and you put the shoes down to slip your feet into them. just as you bend to buckle them, simon tsks, and you sit up as he kneels down in front of you.

"simon, you--"

"shut it," he mutters, reaching down and picking your foot up by the ankle gently. he wraps the strap around it, fastening the buckle, and you open your mouth to say something, but then he bends, giving your knee a soft kiss before reaching for your other foot.

your eyes meet again as he wraps it around your ankle. he smirks, just enough, and your lip wobbles a little as he fastens the next shoe before setting it back down on the floor. he puts his hands on his knee to get up, standing to his full height, and your neck strains as you try and look up at him.

at times, you feel at odds. he anticipates your needs before you even know what they are yourself. he pushes your meals in front of you just as you realize you're hungry. he helps you to the top shelf whenever you need it, picking you up from your waist without even a grunt. he feeds the cat when she cries, he wipes the tears from your face just as they fall.

you want to be more. you want to be his wife. your life is leisure and warmth, you are cared for like a fine porcelain doll, but what are you to him? what do you do for him? what is it that you bring, why are you here, why did he ever even want you if he provides and all you do is take, take, take?

the pub is alive. the lights flicker and glow a warm orange, and there's many crowds around tables, cheering and laughing and clinking pints together. you swallow as you look around; a crowded place with lots of unfamiliar faces. you freeze at the door, blinking, trying to take it all in. just as you stiffen, there's a presence right at your back.

an arm circles around your middle protectively. simon's warm hand rests at the curve of your waist, and you look up at him. he stares down at you knowingly. he's wearing his mask, obscuring his entire face except for his eyes, but you've learned to read him all the same. his hood darkens the shadows over him, but you see what he's telling you easily.

'm right 'ere.

simon moves you in front of him, walking just behind you, and he leans over to murmur in your ear as he guides you forward.

"in the corner, luv."

you barely have time to register that your husband just called you love when you see an enthusiastic wave meant for you out of the corner of your eye.

simon showed you their pictures, but the grainy selfies from his phone don't do them any justice. kyle has a pearly smile and round cheeks (troublemaker, he could get away with anything with those eyes). johnny has an infectious grin and wild curls that fall in a line down his head (a wild card, he's got eyes that you can't read and a leg bouncing from his terrible inability to sit still). and then there's john, hidden under a beanie and a rough smile (all business, all thought, because even out here, he can't stop his mind from wandering back to the papers on his desk and the cries for help he can't ignore).

johnny's smile drops a little when you come near. he eyes the hand that simon has on you, the proximity of your bodies. he raises a brow when you hold out your hand to shake, gawking when he eyes your other hand, the ring that sparkles there.

"ach, LT..." johnny swallows hard. "is this...is she--?"

simon clears his throat. "this is my wife."

"steamin' jesus," johnny breathes, leaning back in the booth. he picks up his drink and knocks back the entire thing, choking a little as he looks between the two of you. "what the fawk?!"

you blink, stepping back, and simon takes a seat beside john, shaking his head.

"fuckin' hell, johnny. behave," simon mutters. "'s not--"

"ye said y'were showin' us yer new lass," johnny quips. "not yer wife!"

you look at simon, laughing a little.

"simon, you didn't tell them you were married?"

"tha' was need t'know," simon mutters, rolling his eyes. you giggle, looking around for somewhere to sit. simon doesn't give you much time to choose--you let out a shaky breath as he picks you up from your hips, sliding you up and onto his thigh. he spreads his legs a little to accommodate you, but he's such a big man.

simon holds one hand at your back, and the other lays flat against the table. it's easy, falling into conversation with them. they don't talk about work. they're infatuated with their lieutenant and his surprise wife. they ask if he owns pajamas. they ask if he takes the mask off to sleep. they ask if simon whittles, if he listens to music, if there's a snack that puts him in a good mood (jaffa cakes, you tell johnny, who cackles with delight).

when simon gets up to have a smoke, you're surprised. simon never leaves you alone in a public place, ever. he's always at your back, even at the grocery store. he likes to take you aisle by aisle, and he doesn't care if it makes the trip longer, because he doesn't like to have you out of his sight for very long.

he gives you that look, one that you can read. you're safe with these men.

you agree. they bring simon home, every single time.

"awwww, no' gonna give yer lass a smooch, LT?" johnny winks. "'s alright, we don't care. won't think ye a big softie cuz o' it."

simon rolls his eyes, pocketing his cigarettes as he stands by the table. he dips his fingers into johnny's pint and flicks him with it before leaning over and kissing you lightly through the mask, a chaste kiss that already leaves you reeling.

you blink, caught off guard, and you blink up at simon so slowly, a syrupy smile falling over your face.

"LT, that wasnae a real one," johnny rolls his eyes. "wut, are ye scared of us?"

"shut your fuckin' mouth, sergeant, i'll make y'do laps tomorrow."

"big baby."

you watch simon take the back door, letting it swing shut behind him. you excuse yourself, following after him, pushing the door open and blinking to adjust to the dark light of the alleyway.

there's stars out. they sparkle, and you pause to stare up at them for just a moment before making your way to where simon leans against a brick wall.

it all reminds you that you're just small. not small, but smaller than simon, and compared to what stares at you across a violet sky, you are nothing but specks in time. you're drifters, composites of organic matter that somehow, for some reason, exist at the same time.

simon's eyes find your own in the dark. it's hard to see; the only light nearby flickers, and it's hard to focus, but you can see his eyes clearly, magnetized even when the rest of him seems so obscure, hiding from your view.

your smile is clear, too. the watery lines of your eyes, they glow, and when you come near, you and simon are in your own bubble, a pocket of the universe that cannot be explained. he has found you, and you have found him, and even when the night sky tries so hard to hide the things you know are there, it isn't strong enough to take away what exists in the in-between.

you slide your fingers under the hem of his mask. this kind of thing is practiced. the same thing you do when he comes home every day. the only acts of service he ever allows, the only things he ever lets you do.

you ask yourself always what it is that you provide. what it is that he sees in you that you can't seem to see in yourself.

maybe it's this. maybe it's the grounding. the gravity he never used to feel, the orbit he could never quite get himself to maintain, the taut line of connection that's been severed ever since the only people he's ever loved were ripped right out from underneath his ribs.

he puts his hands over yours when the mask is over his nose. his palms over the backs of your hands, warm skin over soft, something broken over something seeking.

"you don't want this," simon whispers, and you frown a little, shaking your head.

"how...how can you say that?"

"i'm not..." he flinches a little. "not made for this. 's not wha' y'think."

you're eyes water. you aren't sad. you're upset.

"y-you have no idea," you whisper. "i know what i want. you can always tell when i'm lying, am i lying now?"

"'s not--"

"simon," you stop him. "look at me," you sniffle, and he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, before finding your gaze again. it's frightening, what he sees. he sees nothing that he expects. no deception. no fear. the honesty, it terrifies him. the reality of accepting what he can't understand hurts inside. it trickles deep, down to his toes, along his spine, a curdling in his stomach that he can't believe because there's no way that someone can love me when i can't fucking love myself. "am i lying now?"

"no," he breathes, and your smile is sickly sweet. he doesn't understand. he doesn't get it. nothing in his life has ever been this easy. nothing in his life has ever been just for him, all for him, just his, and no one else's. there has never been a piece of life that has ever pitied him enough to let him have it exactly as it is, and yet here she is, my perfect girl, arriving on my doorstep.

like you dropped straight from heaven. angels with soft hands and a timid face and a shadow with soft fur and big eyes and terrible little temper.

simon's hand is an anchor on the back of your head. tilting you to the side, drawing you near, until you are on your toes, and your face is canted up.

you kiss in the dark. your mouth slots over his, hands gripping the front of his jacket as you try and get even closer to him. he's a little shy at first, letting you lead while he follows, but it only takes a few seconds for you to feel his hand stiffen against your head as he kisses you feverishly.

you smile between kisses. he smiles, too. you giggle, and he huffs, and he chases you with more kisses as you cradle his face between your hands and whisper between soft presses, i'm sorry and i know and it's all i've ever wanted.

when you pull away, he doesn't let you go. he presses your forehead to his, connecting you somehow, breathing in the warmth that you radiate to try and calm the pulsing of his blood that rushes in his ears.

when your eyes open again, and you look at each other, everything is suddenly clearer. whatever he saw before, everything must have been in black and white.

he sees in color. the stars align. they fall, one by one, sparkling as they form a pattern, one undiscovered by anyone before him, one he will keep all to himself in the time that follows. when he kisses you again, he memorizes that pattern.

he knows it will always lead right back to you.