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if i look back, i am lost

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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@ohcroculus
OHCROCULUS' MAIN MENU: REQUESTS── OPEN!
❝ ask for a number in letters with your prompt, it'll be delivered as soon as posible ❞
“what do you want, simon?”
the question had burned his lungs, if he had to admit it. as if it were the smoke from a tear gas canister he hadn’t managed to throw over his shoulder.
complicit glances, smiles hidden beneath his balaclava, the tension you could feel wherever you were next to him. but to say out loud that he was interested? heah, it would be easier to shoot him and set him on fire than for him to admit he was vulnerable.
because simon didn't knew how to love. he didn't knew how to care, he didn't knew what was that, but he did it without meaning to because the first time you connected in that bar, you never stopped having that conection. and the warmth he had... he wanted to share it with you from the start, with guilt, because a soldier like him deserves nothing more than comrades. but something stable? a partner? someone who smiles at him and kisses him gently? nah. that’s asking too much of the lord.
and he ain't catholic.
you looked at him intently, with your heart in your hands. he didn't move a muscle. a soldier's body, after all. maybe at some point, the bullet casings falling to the floor held the same interest as asking him this. or maybe the other way around.
“i…” he stammered a little and felt embarrassed. he already told you that, hadn’t he? he’d found you interesting enough to let his guard down, but now that he had you in front of him and you were asking to take it a step further, he felt like the same teenager with pent-up emotions whom no one had taught to love. to kiss, to hug, to whisper “i love you” while cradling a face. he didn't knew how to love. "i'm sorry if i gave you the wrong impression." he said, sharply. "but i dont'-" his voice almost betrayed his true feelings, "i don't know... what i want." it was a lie. but how could you tell? you remember last night, when he offered his warmth to your coldness. to your loneliness, saying how scared he was of burning you up. how you had to let your guard down to express how much you wanted his presence next to you just so now he could say he didn't knew what he wanted? "fuck you." you barked. and he could see the way your heart bleed in the floor as you walked away, but he couldn't hold it. he would rather let the dirt soil it than let his dirty hands—which don’t know how to hold love—do so.
i've been so busy that i forgot i haven't posted at all, i'm so sorry.
i'll try to post these days! ♡
"simon!"
simon jumps in bed, your hands gripping his arm tightly, and for a second he thinks someone has just break in until your next words reach him. "there's a rat in the kitchen."
"what?"
"there's a bloody rat in the kitchen. go kill it."
he wonders at what point in his life he stopped chasing terrorists, criminals, traitors to the homeland... and started worrying about such domestic things as paying the electricity bill, fixing leaks, cleaning the attic and killing rats.
but of course, he's still sleepy. so he huffs a brief answer.
"you must have imagined it, luv."
"simon, i swear for my dead grandpa that there's a rat in the kitchen." you insisted, almost trembling. like your nervous system couldn't differ a rat from a intruder –even though a rat could count as an intruder–. "i was drinking some water when i heard it squeak and scratch the wall."
he flipped and faced the wall.
"then leave it be."
"simon i'm not going to sleep knowing there's a rat in the house."
he thought that you would stop, but then, your hands were on his shoulders, shaking him up.
"bloody hell." he hissed, already standing up and walking towards the kitchen with you walking behind him.
already working in writing requests and some stuff i have for remus !!!
soon! ♡
it's inconvenient.
that's the first thing simon tells himself.
you're not military. no clearance. no gun calluses on your hands. you talk about your work and stupid little things like the weather or the bills of your apartment like they matter. and somehow, they do.
he catches himself listening too closely. memorizing the sound of your laugh like it's intel. running threat assessments that always end the same way: dangerous, because he cares.
price notices. ghost hates that price notices.
he keeps his distance. keeps it professional.
still, every time you walk away, simon thinks the same thing—
"maybe..."
...
"did you already fed her, my love?" he asked softly, above your shoulder. you looked to the side to see his eyes focused on grace.
"yeah, already. why?" you giggled very softly, making the baby in your arms to coo at her father.
he, for his side, sulked a bit and it made you warm inside.
"i wanted to do it."
that 'maybe' years ago turned into a 'happily married with a happy baby' in the present and he couldn't be more happy than that.
"you should try for something more... modern." you muttered as he was scratching the back of his neck while you waited for your coffee order. his hair grew a bit these late three months and he was thinking about cutting it off.
dennis and you had been talking outside your shifts together and honestly, it was really refreshing to talk about stuff that wasn't patients, etymology or dr. robby's evident ptsd.
he raised his head and his big sad eyes looked at you.
"uh... uhm—" he stuttered. "modern you say? i don't know if modern would suit me. i mean, my old hairstyle was nice and clean. i don't need to... show off or stuff like that." he mumbled with a shy smile.
you tilted your head and nodded softly.
"yeah, but you have a good face." you pointed out. "besides, showing off is not that bad. anyone would like someone with a bit of ego."
"a bit of ego? that's... that's not my thing." he smiled a bit. "i mean, i've always thought that i was... average." he looked at you a bit sheepishly. "am... am i average?"
"a mullet would be good." you said as you stand up when the girl in the bar calls your name.
happy new year! 💗
you + simon + your daughter <3
simon’s daughter is crying. she’s so tiny, a preemie with her little baby onesie still a bit too big on her as she wails her heart out. you, her mother, stare at her as she gets red in the face, humming to her, brushing hair away from her face.
you blow some cool air at her, trying to calm her down, and when simon holds his arms out and you place her in them, she stops crying immediately. she’s so tiny compared to him and his big arms, big hands that cover nearly all over her belly as they try and keep her from crying more.
she stares up at him with his own big eyes, curious, her hands reaching to tug at his blonde hair that he’s growing out.
“si-“ you say, sighing as you collapse back onto the armchair, “i’m- i’ll get started on the…the…” you’re so tired, being awake since 3am today, taking care of your daughter. it’s her first christmas, and you want it to be perfect, and it’s simon’s first christmas since he’s been honourably discharged, and you want it to be perfect.
the potatoes. you have to get started on the potatoes, but you can barely form proper words.
“shh.” he gently rocks your daughter in his arms, “once she falls asleep, i’ll get started on the potatoes.”
“and the veggies and the turkey…?” you say, blearily, “no, si- c’mon, you can’t cook all that.”
“i’ll make mac and cheese,” he says, “the one we used to eat all the time at your old flat. breadcrumbs and stuff.”
a pause, your eyelids ghost over your face. how could you get so lucky?
“si.”
“love.” he says, kissing you on the top of your head, “sleep, me and violet will be here, makin some pasta for the two of us, sleep lovie, i don’t want my wife sick from not sleeping enough.”
it’s your first christmas as his wife, and that makes something tingle in your stomach as you fall asleep.
violetverse <3 : 141 vists | red velvet
ughhh i wanna write about harry potter but it's so fcking difficult try to write in british english im going crazy its not even a joke
this is literally me
ughhh i wanna write about harry potter but it's so fcking difficult try to write in british english im going crazy its not even a joke
i'm starting to understand why people like price because i found dr. robby from the pitt really hot omg who said that
john price who has a thing with you he doesn't wanna adress.
because he doesn't want be obvious with you— the one who told him once that had daddy issues because your father was a deadbeat.
but it is obvious.
he never adress you by your name. calls you sweetheart, love, dear, even pumpkin. he takes you out, pays for your food, buys you clothes. let's people wonder about if he's your father, your sugar daddy or just your boyfriend with an age gap going on.
and maybe he does like to make people squirm in the other tables. maybe he does like the idea of planting a seed of uncertainty in your own head too.
because if he doesn't say it out loud, then it's not wrong, he thinks to himself, looking you in the other side of the table, fixing the shirt he bought you before inviting you today.
it's not wrong to make you ponder too. he's wishing you'll submit first.
oe loco todo el fokin mundo m odia watafac
DENNIS WHITAKER IS THE TYPE OF BOYFRIEND...
(afab!reader in mind).
dennis whitaker is the type of boyfriend that never had any partner before, but always tries his best with you thanks to his family's advices.
dennis whitaker is the type of boyfriend that blushes and looks down with a soft smile to himself everytime you introduce him as "your boyfriend."
dennis whitaker is the type of boyfriend that always has something in his mind, but never say it out loud until you mention it.
dennis whitaker is the type of boyfriend that got a boner the first time both of you had a make out session.
dennis whitaker is the type of boyfriend that whimpers in bed when you suck him off for the first time and cums too soon like a teenager all over again.
dennis whitaker is the type of boyfriend that hides in your neck as he thrusts inside you really slowly after putting a condom because it's the only one he has and he doesn't wanna come so fast.
dennis whitaker is the type of boyfriend who only can whimper, whine and sigh as both of you keep moving before he makes you come and promising the next time he'll do it better.
and of course, dennis whitaker is the type of boyfriend who ask you for feedback with a few stutters after your first time together because he wanna improve for your pleasure.
a/n: u got me. im into the pitt. real deep. the day i learn how to put gradient colors in the text will be legendary.
i need more friends mmm
WATCHING THE PITT RIGHT NOW i should start writing ngl