#they STAYIN SILLY

[pinkydude]

"Oh man I should clean my mod to-do list and finally get on making my commission sheets" he says, as a wave of Art Juice TM suddenly hits him outta nowhere

UGHUUUHH HH Done with the LINE, EXCITED TO COLOR IT

[catinasink]

FUCK IT NO MORE SADPOSTING!!!

WE STAYIN SILLY!!!!!

[dragonspiral-tower]

sorry I still can’t get over this. just. fuckn

“aye what happens if the sableye dont use this very specific move in this very specific way”

“…don’t even worry abt it man”

[mollysails]

guys we need more bullet train edits with funky music playing on the background please

[yndlings]

I'm still not over that I pre ordered the reigen pop up parade figure from the official store and never got it... rest in ass

[oceantornadoo]

protective ex-husband!simon, implied violence/break-in

“i know! and that’s when i told her-“ you paused, your hand halfway to the keys at the bottom of your purse. your apartment door was open, a menacing sliver of darkness awaiting you. “hey, i’m going to have to call you back.” you ended the call with your friend, slowly backing away from your door. shit. you knew you locked the door when you left for work, and no one else had a copy of your key. a creeping sensation came over you, like someone was watching from within. slowly, you retreated, taking the elevator down to your apartment’s lobby as the anxiety crawled through your body. you wracked your brain, wondering if you should call the police. wondering if they would even believe you. there was only one call to make.

“come on, pick up.” you tapped your foot impatiently as your ex husband took forever to answer the phone. it was all you could do to not think about your home being violated, about a potential stalker or date gone wrong.

“‘ello?”

“si- simon, it’s me.”

“i know, lovie. that’s why i picked up.” you let out a quiet sob of relief at his voice, the bottle on your emotions starting to leak.

“what’s wrong?” his voice changed, immediately hearing your silent tears. he could always read you too well. “i don’t want to bother you but” you hiccupped. shit. “but my apartment door was open and i’m pretty sure i closed it, i usually do. i don’t know if im being silly but now im in the lobby and im just scared, simon.” there was a fumbling sound, the echoes of simon zipping up his jacket and pulling on his shoes.

“go to that cafe across the street, dove. go get yourself one of those overpriced hot chocolates. i’ll be there in 15.”

9 minutes later, your shaking hands were tapping random patterns on the cafe table, unable to raise your drink to your mouth without spilling it. your eyes were locked onto the wood grain, counting lines to distract yourself.

suddenly, a gloved hand covered yours. you looked up and there he was, your ghost in all his glory. you forgot everything for a second, forgot the past arguments and the strained silences, and flung yourself into his arms. you breathed in his comforting scent of pinewood that masked his cigarettes, a cologne you got him four years ago for christmas. your face was wet, and as he pulled you back to check you for injuries, his thumb brushed a stray tear away from your face. you didn’t even realize you were crying.

“‘s okay, baby. i’m here now. give me your keys.” you fumbled for your keys, purse strap sliding off your shoulder as your hands shook too much to keep it balanced. simon caught it gracefully, finding your keys in the same pocket you always kept them. “stay here. i’ll be back.” you nodded instinctively. only when you saw his figure retreat to your apartment building, clothed in all black like a figure of death, you realized you hadn’t told him your new apartment number.

twenty minutes passed. simon’s presence had worked like medicine as your heart rate has now dropped back down to normal, your hands stable enough to finish your drink. any other person would be worried for simon’s safety, but you knew the only person you should be concerned for was your intruder.

“you’re stayin’ with me tonight.” he was back, looking exactly the same. he wasn’t even winded. “thank you simon, but don’t be ridiculous. i can get a hotel. you live so far from my work anyways.” he approached you, crowding into your space as he leaned over you, even with a cafe table in between. “consider it payment then.” he tilted your chin up with his left hand as he hid his other one, covered with blood, in his pocket. “one way or another, you’re in my bed tonight, dove.” you gulped at that. “and i’ve got riley in the car. you wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” of course he had gotten your cat when he checked out your apartment. riley hated men, but never simon. cheeky bastard.

“you win.”

fast forward a couple of hours and you were getting ready for bed at simon’s, belly full from the meal he had made you. riley made himself at home on the living room couch, of course. “he’s in my spot.” you gestured to your cat on the couch. “wha’ d’ya mean?” your husband simon was now in sweats and sweats only, clean from the shower he had after you both got home back to his place. you pretended not to see him methodically wash blood out of his fingernails, reasoning quite easily with yourself that it was for a good cause.

“my couch for tonight.” simon moved toward you and you avoided his eyes, trying not to stare at how beautiful he still was. muscular but thick, torso adorned with scars you used to trace on sunday mornings when you both stayed in bed until the afternoon. he gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “told’ya you were in my bed tonight, dovie.” you swallowed and he watched your throat move, memories of you swallowing something else countless times rising to the surface.

“don’t be silly, simon. that would cross a line.”

“what line?” his arms were crossed now, drawing your attention to an unfamiliar tattoo right above his heart. a small dove.

“we’re not together anymore, simon.”

“you’re still my wife.”

silence. he was always like this, pushing you until you broke. he was unwilling to compromise, even on the smallest of issues. usually you’d fight him, spit fire until you lost your voice. tonight though, you were reminded of how he was the only person you were able to call, the only one committing dark sins without asking, all for your safety. instead, you threw your hands up and walked into his bedroom, mechanically stripping as you put on one of his shirts and a pair of boxers. you felt his eyes on you, burning a hole through the fabric. you were tired, so tired of this push and pull.

“what.” you whipped around, all venom. his eyes were impossibly soft, holding yours with a peaceful caress. “you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you.” your fire went out at that. “you’re just trying to get me naked.” you mumbled, looking down as you fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. you watched as his body came into view, pressing your forehead against his bare skin.

“could see you in a thousand layers and you’d still be the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen, dove.” ever so slowly, your hands crept up his body to grab his shoulders and neck. he picked you up with ease, turning the lights off and tucking you both in bed. “when did you get the tattoo?” you asked in the dark.

“3 months and 12 days ago.” what would have been your 3rd year of marriage, your anniversary. you lowered your head and gave him a kiss right where the tattoo was. “can we talk about it in the morning?” you snuggled into him, that familiar scent calming you once again. “always, dove.” he kissed your forehead, smiling in the dark.

----

idk why im obsessed with the break-in and simon to the rescue trope but its fueling me lately

[ask-deca]

1nf0

hell0, every0ne. here's a few th1ngs y0u m1ght l1ke t0 kn0w ab0ut th1s bl0g.

wh1le 1 am the ma1n 0wner 0f the acc0unt, 1 w1ll all0w y0u t0 ask m0n0 s0me quest10ns as well.

ap0l0g1es 1f 1 answer asks a b1t sl0wly, as AD w1ll be draw1ng s0meth1ng f0r m0st 0f them.

1 w1ll n0t take 0ff the mask. *d0 n0t ask me t0.*

1f a quest10n has already been answered, AD w1ll resp0nd t0 1t w1th a l1nk t0 the answer. 1 am aware that the search feature 1s, as s0me w0uld say, "hella br0ken y0", but 1 request that y0u at least try t0 search 1t f1rst.

here 1s AD's website. see 1f y0u can f1nd b0th l1nks t0 my area! 1 must say, 1'll be qu1te 1mpressed 1f y0u d0. :]

[noirandchocolate]

‘Because she likes people,’ said the witch, striding ahead. 'She cares about 'em. Even the stupid, mean, drooling ones, the mothers with the runny babies and no sense, the feckless and the silly and the fools who treat her like some kind of a servant. Now THAT’S what I call magic–seein’ all that, dealin’ with all that, and still goin’ on. It’s sittin’ up all night with some poor old man who’s leavin’ the world, taking away such pain as you can, comfortin’ their terror, seein’ 'em safely on their way…and then cleanin’ 'em up, layin’ 'em out, making 'em neat for the funeral, and helpin’ the weeping widow strip the bed and wash the sheets–which is, let me tell you, no errand for the fainthearted–and stayin’ up the next night to watch over the coffin before the funeral, and then going home and sitting down for five minutes before some shouting angry man comes bangin’ on your door 'cuz his wife’s havin’ difficulty givin’ birth to their first child and the midwife’s at her wits’ end and then getting up and fetching your bag and going out again…. We all do that, in our own way, and she does it better'n me, if I was to put my hand on my heart. THAT is the root and heart and soul and center of witchcraft, that is. The soul and center!' Mistress Weatherwax smacked her fist into her hand hammering out her words. 'The…soul…and…CENTER!’ Echoes came back from the trees in the sudden silence. Even the grasshoppers by the side of the track had stopped sizzling. 'And Mrs Earwig,’ said Mistress Weatherwax, her voice sinking to a growl, 'Mrs. Earwig tells her girls it’s about cosmic balances and stars and circles and colors and wands and…and toys, nothing but TOYS!' She sniffed. 'Oh, I daresay they’re all very well as decoration, somethin’ nice to look at while you’re workin’, somethin’ for show, but the start and finish, THE START AND FINISH, is helpin’ people when life is on the edge. Even people you don’t like. Stars is easy, people is hard.’ She stopped talking. It was several seconds before birds began to sing again. 'Anyway, that’s what I think,’ she added in the tones of someone who suspects that she might have gone just a bit further than she meant to.

--Terry Pratchett, "A Hat Full of Sky"

[kits-ships]

hiii friend 1, 5, 8 and 10?

coinflip said i go with the doctor for this one :3 <3 thank u for the ask!!

1. Describe their first date.

I almost forgot what their first date was, but I remembered!! It was on a random, unnamed planet that shared a lot of similarities with Iceland's geography/ecology. Olive had drunkenly admitted that she wanted to see a hot spring the night before and, trying to go somewhere secluded, the Doctor brought them to the aforementioned, generic planet.

It was very nice and gave them lots of cuddle time as they soaked, and they even got to meet a little herd of puffy, bird-like creatures! They were very friendly and made cute peeping noises. The date did end a bit abruptly though as a big, alien creature tried to steal and eat Olive </3

5. Do they argue often? If so, what do they argue about?

To be honest, I don't think either of them are the type to argue (the Doctor will if you give him a reason, but...!!!) Still, they do have disagreements! Olive often reacts emotionally, ignoring the logic of whatever situation she finds herself in. Cut to the two of them debating the best way to handle a situation- Olive wanting to rehab a bunch of cute, alien creatures that need love while the Doctor tries to convince her that they cannot feed that many mouths!! It's the little things you know?

8. What do they love most about the other? Why?

Olive likes that the Doctor is a free spirit that isn't afraid to break a few rules!! He always wants to help people be the best they can be and goes through a lot of physical/mental pain just to keep marginalized/endangered beings safe.

The Doctor likes that Olive is so nurturing as well as good at communicating! A lot of people know that the Doctor, for the most part, sucks at opening up about his emotions; especially ones like love, anger, and sadness. Olive, however, is always the first to communicate any issues or concerns she has with something and is very patient with him when he's not quite ready to open up <3

10. Do they share any hobbies or interests? How do these things bring them together?

Yes! One fun fact is that, in his sixth incarnation, both the Doctor and Olive were vegetarians! (Olive still is, though!) The two of them also enjoy reading together- especially to each other. For example, the Doctor doesn't need much sleep compared to Olive, so she likes to have him read out loud until she falls asleep ! In return, she'll read him random, American literature as well as poetry when he isn't feeling very well mentally <3

They also both obviously like travelling! The Doctor has his TARDIS and Olive has/had her van and a camper. Sure, her van can't travel through time, but it did its best........... Plus it was a cute shade of yellow so :3

[ichimu]

gonna start a new japanese drama and boy oh boy i’m sure this time i won’t cry like a baby 🙂

[ratterwolf]

Birthday good or birthday bad, it depends on a year, but no matter what, this always brightens this day

My friend and I have been sending this video to each other on our birthdays since we first met in middle school. It's been 15 years and we're still doing this every year :))

[transolar]

mischief moodboard

posted! I wasn't completely sure how to do this so I hope its ok !!

[isatoru]

when it costs a fortune to just exist and Stay Alive TM

[bulkbarnes]

sarah snook and kieran culkin emmy winners !!!!! here’s to stayin silly

[anjaelle]

I Think She Knows

Pairing: Tangerine x Black!Reader Warnings: Drunk!Tangerine, Needy!Tangerine, Jealous!Tangerine, (Kinda Toxic Behavior) Word Count: 2.4K Summary: In which Tangie starts realizing things and absolutely does not have the bandwidth to deal with it. Because babygirl is bad at most things, and feelings are at the top of the list. a/n: Something something... I don't advocate for getting drunk and being weird at your not-girlfriend's house. Thanks!

(gif source)

--

When it fully hit him, it was like being mowed down by a 10-ton truck.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. The way his chest suddenly rose and fell made him made him question if his heart was attempting to escape his ribcage just to be closer to you.

You were talking about...something. You came over wearing a skin tight red dress and you carried your shoes in your hands as you tiredly strolled into his kitchen.

Actually, he remembered what you were talking about.

You mentioned how tired you were of having to talk to idiot men, but that stabbing them in the head for your efforts was almost worth the annoyance. Ordinarily he probably would've just laughed or made a smart ass comment about how lucky he was that he could be around you without the threat of violence. But you mentioned fighting, did a small spin in a circle, and did something akin to a silly jig to show how secure you felt in your dress.

He felt his thoughts halt in their tracks, and he suddenly couldn't remember his own birth name, let alone how to form a coherent sentence.

You didn't even seem to notice. Or maybe he hid it well. Because the conversation continued like he hadn't malfunctioned right in front of you. Maybe he was running on autopilot. That had to be it.

He swallowed hard, ran his fingers through his mess of untamed curls, and shakily came back into himself with the heavily realization that he was deeply in love with you.

Did you even know? Was it evident on his face like ostentatious neon lights in the middle of a darkened street? You kept talking about your day and he tried to listen intently. But his own brain wouldn't shut the fuck up.

When he realized that he broke the one rule you two made (which he introduced), he wanted to walk into the Atlantic Ocean with rocks in his pockets. He loved you. You weren't even dating. You were definitely seeing other people and he realized he slowly cut out every other person he'd ever fucked just to spend more time with you.

God. He'd dropped SO many other people. He could remember canceling potential hookups just because you wanted to hang out. Of fucking course he couldn't tell you this now. He'd look like a massive idiot.

"Are you alright? You seem off." You suddenly asked. Your beautiful eyes seemed to roam his face in genuine concern. Death would've been easier to face. In fact, death has notoriously been much easier for him to face.

He forced an assumedly easy grin on his face and shrugged, "I'm just listenin', babe."

You quirked a suspicious brow at him, but continued on with your story of your mission. Every so often he could feel himself staring at your mouth and the way your nose seemed to crinkle at certain memories of the night. He was suddenly hyperaware of how much he seemed to be study your every move. Had he been doing it this whole time?

On some level, he was confident that he could tell you exactly how many birthmarks you had on your entire body.

God what a sick fucking freak.

Suddenly his mouth started moving as if it wasn't connected to his own goddamn brain.

"You stayin' over tonight?"

He'd cut you off mid-sentence with the question. Naturally, you shot him a look that screamed contempt.

"...Maybe." You cut your eyes at him in a subtle challenge.

He felt like he didn't sound the least bit convincing, but he straightened his back to force an air of confidence that he obviously didn't have, "Well I need to know, because I might have plans. With a girl. Tonight."

He wasn't sure what he expected your reaction to be. Maybe he wanted you to be jealous. Or maybe he wanted you to try and convince him to change his mind. It was childish, but he wanted you to give him...something. Instead you raised your brows in surprise.

"Oh, really?" You grinned, "Is she cute?"

Oh come on. He thought.

"Yeah, a real stunner." Stunner? What the fuck was he saying? He couldn't stop himself, "Rebecca's tall, blonde, a model. Fuckin' sexy. So gorgeous."

He watched you slip your heels back on and adjust the top of your dress to hide your bra. He wanted to grab your beautiful face and kiss you. Instead he was spiraling and you didn't even notice.

"Blonde?" You seemed skeptical. Yes, good. "Since when do you go for Blondes?"

"Since always, actually. You think I tell you about everyone I've shagged?"

You shot another cutting glare in his direction, and he fought the childish giddiness rising in his chest. When you looked away from him to tap away on your phone, he tried to figure out what else he could say to get your attention again.

"You're in a particularly bitchy mood today." You suddenly said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should leave, then." He responded, much harsher than he intended to. He winced the minute the words left his mouth and you looked like you wanted to throw something at him.

"Since you wanna be a dick, fine. I'm having Jamesy pick me up."

You threw your jacket on and started tapping on your phone again, which irritated him to no end.

"Jamesy?" He spat, "Who the hell is Jamesy?"

"You think I tell you about everyone I've shagged?" You threw back at him in an almost perfect accent. He deserved it. But he started to panic as you headed towards the door.

"Well fine." He countered, though it sounded akin to a whine, "Stephanie's probably on her way, anyway. I don't want to watch you two fight over me or somethin'."

"Nobody's trying to fight over you, shut up." You mumbled, shoving your phone in your pocket. You took a second to pull the door open, but hesitated, "And also who's Stephanie?"

"The model."

"You said her name was Rebecca."

He stumbled over his words but finally came up with, "I--it's...You just have to be right all the time, don't you?"

He caught the way your mouth twitched in an attempt to fight a laugh, and he really wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you back into his apartment. But your phone dinged again, and you pulled it out of your pocket, "Look, when you're done throwing this little temper tantrum, and you figure out what your problem is, text me. Otherwise, sort your shit out."

Tangerine was having a terrible night. His face sat in a permanent frown as he stared into the fake embers of his electric fireplace and nursed a mason jar of vodka. You were out there getting railed by some prick named James who's too fuckin' old to still be going by Jamesy. And you probably weren't even thinking about him and how he's absolutely piping a real person named Bethany. Stephanie. Rebecca.

♫ I wish, I could just make you turn around Turn around and see me cry There's so much I need to say to you so many reasons why You're the only one who really knew me at all♫

He'd lost track of how many times Phil Collins' miserable pleading played on a loop through his speakers. He felt like a goddamn loser. He scrolled through your Instagram noting that you truly had the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. And you were so funny. Maybe the funniest person he knew. Even the emojis you used were cute.

He wanted to jump in front of a train.

"'Maybe you should leave then' you fuckin' idiot." He mumbled pitifully to himself. "What if I just like...went to her house? What if that guy is there? What if she doesn't answer? What if she tells me to fuck off? What if I tell her and she never speaks to me again?"

He stared at his phone sending and unsending his texts to you over and over, trying to figure out what to say. Or if you'd even read it. Suddenly his phone vibrated and a text from you popped up:

You've sent and unsent me like 9 messages. What the fuck do you want?

It took him 8 minutes to find an Uber to your place and 20 minutes to get there. Was he drunk and irrational? Maybe. But goddamn it, you were his woman.

You just didn't know it yet.

When he got to your floor, he started knocking incessantly on your door.

"Babe," he whined, drunkenly, "darling, are you still mad at me? I'm sorry." When he pressed his damp forehead to the cool metal door of your apartment, he didn't even realize how much he was sweating, "I know I said I was fucking that model. Um. Sabrina! Rhonda? Whatever the hell. But I lied. I'm a filthy fuckin' liar."

He pressed his ear to the door, but he didn't hear anything through the thick metal.

"Please don't fuck that James prick--I'm not callin' him Jamesy. I reckon the man is nearly 40, BARE MINIMUM!" He pressed his palm to the door and called your name again, waiting for you to open it.

When you didn't, he slid down to the floor and cradled the half empty mason jar to his chest.

"So take a look at me now, there's just an empty spaaaace. And there's nothin' left here to remind me. Just the memory of your faaaaace. I'm not leaving 'til you talk to me!"

He felt the back of his head thud against the door but he was too wasted to really feel it. He'd definitely feel it come morning, for sure. His eyes drifted closed as his mind started to wander. Maybe you were asleep after being fucked into the middle of next week. Maybe the guy was telling you to ignore his desperate pleas for attention. He wanted to throw up everywhere.

"Fuckin' Jamesy." He mumbled, crossing his arms in childish disappointment.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and you stumbled out of the door with another woman, giggling uncontrollably. You both held bags of fast food in your arms and it was clear you'd had something to drink as well. The minute you caught a glimpse of him sitting slouched in front of your door, he noticed you exchanging looks with the red headed woman by your side.

"Tangerine, what are you doing here?" You carefully asked, clocking the booze in his lap.

"Nevermind that," he slurred, stupidly, "where's Jamesy?"

The tall, slender red-headed woman raised a hand and waved, "Hi, I'm Jamesy. Do we, like, know each other? Or?"

Tangerine groaned and rested his head against the door again, "Ugh! Jamesy's a lass? How the shit am I supposed to compete with that?"

The woman turned to you with a curious look on her face, "What is he talking about?"

"I don't know. Can you hold this please?" You handed the bag of White Castle to your friend and approached the sad, drunk assassin sitting on the floor outside of your apartment. He looked pitiful. When you brushed his curls from his forehead, you noticed that he was sweating vodka. "Okay, sweetness, you need to get up."

When he looked at you, and saw the concern on your face, he gently touched your cheek and frowned, "You're so pretty, baby. You're the prettiest person I've ever seen in my whole entire life."

"You're pretty, too. But you really need to get up. And you're heavy as fuck, so I need you to help me out here."

"Okay," he nodded sharply, shoving the jar of vodka into his leather jacket pocket. And it surprisingly fit. You didn't question it further. You took a step back and held your arms out in case he lost his balance as he rose to his feet.

It was like watching a 5'11 baby deer.

He leaned against the door, trying to keep his balance, as you grabbed your share of the food from your friend and kissed her goodbye as she left for her Uber.

"What kind of girl is named Jamesy?" Tangerine muttered, as you attempted to unlock the door.

You sighed heavily, "Her name is Siobhan James. But I couldn't pronounce Siobhan when we were little, so I called her Jamesy and it stuck."

"That's so cute. I reckon you were a cute kid." He mumbled, resting his damp head on your shoulder. "You're a cute grown-up. We'd make cute kids."

"Yes, sweetness. We would. And also you're soggy."

"Mhmm." He kissed the shoulder that was covered in his sweat and mumbled, "I'm so sorry I was so, so mean to you, angel face. I was just being a massive dickhead."

"Yeah, you were." You agreed, giving up on trying to unlock the door while he leaned onto you.

"I--I just love you a whole fuckin' lot and I don't know how to deal with that shit. Because, like, you could have anyone you want. So why would you want me, you know?" He grumbled.

"There are a lot of reasons why I want you, Tangerine. You never have to feel insecure about that. I'm just...confused. You decided that the answer to this was to make me mad?" You scratched his scalp, "Does that make sense to you?"

"I wanted you to tell me that you didn't want me to see other people."

"Why would I tell you that, if that's what you want?" You asked, sincerely, "I stopped seeing other people because I love just spending time with you--"

"Hang on. You stopped seeing other people? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked." You finally managed to unlock the door, and you both stumbled over the threshold.

"Here I was thinking you were getting pounded by lumberjack-built twats named Jamesy. I was in my apartment crying to Phil Collins for nothing?"

"I guess so." You tossed your keys on the kitchen island as he stumbled to the couch and face-planted into the cushions. By the time you showered and changed, he'd fallen into a deep sleep beside the bottle of water and advil tablets you placed out for him.

"And for the record..." you kissed him on top of his head and turned the lights out, "I love you, too. But you probably won't remember this. So we'll revisit it tomorrow."

[oceantornadoo]

protective ex-husband!simon, implied violence/break-in *gender neutral version*

“i know! and that’s when i told her-“ you paused, your hand halfway to the keys at the bottom of your backpack. your apartment door was open, a menacing sliver of darkness awaiting you. “hey, i’m going to have to call you back.” you ended the call with your friend, slowly backing away from your door. shit. you knew you locked the door when you left for work, and no one else had a copy of your key. a creeping sensation came over you, like someone was watching from within. slowly, you retreated, taking the elevator down to your apartment’s lobby as the anxiety crawled through your body. you wracked your brain, wondering if you should call the police. wondering if they would even believe you. there was only one call to make.

“come on, pick up.” you tapped your foot impatiently as your ex husband took forever to answer the phone. it was all you could do to not think about your home being violated, about a potential stalker or date gone wrong.

“‘ello?”

“si- simon, it’s me.”

“i know, love. that’s why i picked up.” you let out a quiet sob of relief at his voice, the bottle on your emotions starting to leak.

“what’s wrong?” his voice changed, immediately hearing your silent tears. he could always read you too well. “i don’t want to bother you but” you hiccupped. shit. “but my apartment door was open and i’m pretty sure i closed it, i usually do. i don’t know if im being silly but now im in the lobby and im just scared, simon.” there was a fumbling sound, the echoes of simon zipping up his jacket and pulling on his shoes.

“go to that cafe across the street, dove. go get yourself one of those overpriced hot chocolates. i’ll be there in 15.”

9 minutes later, your shaking hands were tapping random patterns on the cafe table, unable to raise your drink to your mouth without spilling it. your eyes were locked onto the wood grain, counting lines to distract yourself.

suddenly, a gloved hand covered yours. you looked up and there he was, your ghost in all his glory. you forgot everything for a second, forgot the past arguments and the strained silences, and flung yourself into his arms. you breathed in his comforting scent of pinewood that masked his cigarettes, a cologne you got him four years ago for christmas. your face was wet, and as he pulled you back to check you for injuries, his thumb brushed a stray tear away from your face. you didn’t even realize you were crying.

“‘s okay, baby. i’m here now. give me your keys.” you fumbled for your keys, backpack strap sliding off your shoulder as your hands shook too much to keep it balanced. simon caught it gracefully, finding your keys in the same pocket you always kept them. “stay here. i’ll be back.” you nodded instinctively. only when you saw his figure retreat to your apartment building, clothed in all black like a figure of death, you realized you hadn’t told him your new apartment number.

twenty minutes passed. simon’s presence had worked like medicine as your heart rate has now dropped back down to normal, your hands stable enough to finish your drink. any other person would be worried for simon’s safety, but you knew the only person you should be concerned for was your intruder.

“you’re stayin’ with me tonight.” he was back, looking exactly the same. he wasn’t even winded. “thank you simon, but don’t be ridiculous. i can get a hotel. you live so far from my work anyways.” he approached you, crowding into your space as he leaned over you, even with a cafe table in between. “consider it payment then.” he tilted your chin up with his left hand as he hid his other one, covered with blood, in his pocket. “one way or another, you’re in my bed tonight, dove.” you gulped at that. “and i’ve got riley in the car. you wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” of course he had gotten your cat when he checked out your apartment. riley hated men, but never simon. cheeky bastard.

“you win.”

fast forward a couple of hours and you were getting ready for bed at simon’s, belly full from the meal he had made you. riley made himself at home on the living room couch, of course. “he’s in my spot.” you gestured to your cat on the couch. “wha’ d’ya mean?” your husband simon was now in sweats and sweats only, clean from the shower he had after you both got home back to his place. you pretended not to see him methodically wash blood out of his fingernails, reasoning quite easily with yourself that it was for a good cause.

“my couch for tonight.” simon moved toward you and you avoided his eyes, trying not to stare at how beautiful he still was. muscular but thick, torso adorned with scars you used to trace on sunday mornings when you both stayed in bed until the afternoon. he gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “told’ya you were in my bed tonight, dovie.” you swallowed and he watched your throat move, memories of you swallowing something else countless times rising to the surface.

“don’t be silly, simon. that would cross a line.”

“what line?” his arms were crossed now, drawing your attention to an unfamiliar tattoo right above his heart. a small dove.

“we’re not together anymore, simon.”

“you’re still mine.”

silence. he was always like this, pushing you until you broke. he was unwilling to compromise, even on the smallest of issues. usually you’d fight him, spit fire until you lost your voice. tonight though, you were reminded of how he was the only person you were able to call, the only one committing dark sins without asking, all for your safety. instead, you threw your hands up and walked into his bedroom, mechanically stripping as you put on one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. you felt his eyes on you, burning a hole through the fabric. you were tired, so tired of this push and pull.

“what.” you whipped around, all venom. his eyes were impossibly soft, holding yours with a peaceful caress. “you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you.” your fire went out at that. “you’re just trying to get me naked.” you mumbled, looking down as you fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. you watched as his body came into view, pressing your forehead against his bare skin.

“could see you in a thousand layers and you’d still be the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen, dove.” ever so slowly, your hands crept up his body to grab his shoulders and neck. he picked you up with ease, turning the lights off and tucking you both in bed. “when did you get the tattoo?” you asked in the dark.

“3 months and 12 days ago.” what would have been your 3rd year of marriage, your anniversary. you lowered your head and gave him a kiss right where the tattoo was. “can we talk about it in the morning?” you snuggled into him, that familiar scent calming you once again. “always, dove.” he kissed your forehead, smiling in the dark.

—

someone requested gender neutral so i hope i did you justice! i consider dove, love, lovie, and baby to be gn so i didn’t change them if you were wondering