#guess the player for his price

[sportbarcelona]

Guess The Player Highest Value

[girljeremystrong]

[tojisun]

Poor poor hockey! Simon :(

he lost and now the only thing to make him feel better is a good bj

this made me twitch so here u are my love !!!

!! comfort/smut - minors dni; hockey au; praises (in a tender way and but also in a kink way); D/s-ish; some semblance of plot ig // 2.4k words (LMAO)

the horn blows, marking the end of the game and, with that, the end of spec gru’s season.

it was heartbreaking to watch the way the boys' bodies slump, their loss descending onto them like heavy rain. the arena shakes, screams from the opposing team's fans piercing your ears, but you can't blame them, really—they won on home ice, against the leviathan of the league. it is a tremendous win for them, and a devastating loss for your side.

you feel your hand getting squeezed and you turn, looking at johnny's fiancee, seeing the way her own face is crumpled in her sadness.

"i guess that's that, huh?" she says, comforting, her voice a quiet whisper that was almost devoured by the loud cheers.

sometimes you forget that she's an athlete too; that she feels things a lot more intense than you do because she understands the grapple. the desperation. the way how everything you give and everything you put out is, at the end, not enough.

you sniffle, holding her hand tighter.

"i'm so proud of 'em," you say wetly, unable to compartmentalize your grief.

she laughs, the sound of it so empty of any humour but not any less kind.

“i am too.”

you both turn your gazes back to the rink and watch the teams shake hands with each other, the players finally amiable like they hadn’t just been tussling on ice, all sparked by the sharp tension that buzzed throughout their play.

you watch as simon takes a lap, patting the backs of his team members with his lips pursed, but otherwise he is put together. and yet here you are, shaking, lips wobbling, nose twitching because you are trying your best not to cry. it isn’t like you were the one who lost so you wonder why your heart twinges with so much pain; why is it that you are the one holding back the tears?

simon turns to the crowd, roving his eyes past bodies, until they finally lock on you. his lips twitch into a smile; you give him what you hope is a big one—the type of smile that will let him know how in awe you are of him, win or not.

they skate away and you all shuffle out, preparing for the flight back home.

.

it was expected for the players to fly back home together—a semblance of normalcy even amidst the staggering defeat. it was their last attempt at showing sportsmanship; at showing the hounding media that despite the abrupt end of their season, they remained close-knit. 

simon understands it, of course. it was a media play, one that contends with the politics of the league, but it was difficult to act impartially, especially when they were making their way back, empty-handed, from the home ice of the team that had defeated them. it was difficult to not show the turmoil in their hearts, but they all managed to hold their heads up high during the exit and that was that.

they didn’t talk about it much, avoiding that last game as best as they could until the briefing, but hunger thrums in their jowls—no one was satisfied with being the second best. 

the promise of a better next season hung above them, but it is still so unreachable.

simon feels angrier than usual, unable to stop himself from taking this loss personally. like what costed them their win were only his shortcomings; like this defeat was his sole failure because he did promise to lead his team on ice, with price unable to stand as their official captain during the games. he had promised to score the most, after all, and had promised to keep the opposing puck out of price’s net, but he failed in both and, well, here they are.

back home, anguished. defeated.

he–

simon's phone rings, a quiet trill that echoes in the empty locker room. 

he shoots awake from the swirl of his thoughts, sluggish as he pulls it out of his bag. he expected it to be laswell or keller, or maybe their coach, but simon feels his world tilt when he sees your name flashing on his screen. and just like that, like he wasn’t even drowning in his self-doubt and self-hatred, simon feels like he can breathe again. 

he feels lighter, his anguish seeping out of his pores, leaving him with nothing but his flesh and his heart and his love. 

simon picks up the call, hears your voice, then he is up and running back home. 

.

there is a sense of urgency in the way he finds you, his cold body folding into the warm touch of your own. you gasped out his name, surprised at how fast you have him back in your arms after a whole season of flying and leaving and pursuing his chance at the cup—

“i’m home, petal,” simon murmurs, his voice deep and beautiful and longing, and you giggle, your eyes watering, before you nuzzle into his chest.

he breathes you in, the faint smell of ozone and rain and something distinctly flowery fills his nose, and somehow this is what grounds him, his blood spiking as desire and need fill him up instead.

and it trickles into him like wafting smoke—soft, gentle, cascading like a warm kiss. it is still intense, hungry, but it is tender. quiet. like everything about simon’s buzzed energy had transformed into this careful folding. the anger, the desperation, all of it snuffed out for a vulnerable moment.

“baby,” you begin, voice muffled from where your head is still pressed on his chest. “love, you did so well.”

he shakes, his words failing him now. 

you pull back just enough and he sees the glazed look in your eyes as you stare up at him, your lips curled in your smile. “i’m so proud of you, si.” 

his heart stutters inside the cages of his ribs, jumping, before it lodges itself in his throat. 

you giggle at his wordless tremors and press close again, your body melting onto his again, before you tip your head back to his chest but this time, instead of a nuzzle, you greet his beating heart with a kiss. one that is so light he barely feels it from his shirt, but simon feels so shaken. 

he feels so raw. 

you are holding him like he is the best thing in this world. like all his bulk and his size and his anger is still worth this softness.

“i need you,” he croaks out, unable to stop the way his feelings bloat and rage in the pit of his stomach. 

“you have all of me,” you reply, breathless, your eyes still blown open, wide and full of wonder. then they shift, turning sharper, gaining edge; still careful, coaxing, but overwhelming. “tell me, my love. tell me how you need me.”

“fuck,” simon rasps out, feeling like he’s running out of air. his fingers twitch, digging deep into your skin, feeling it mould under his touch.

he’s missed this, alright. he’s—

“mouth,” he finally manages to bite out. “wan’ feel your mouth, love.”

“okay,” you croon, kissing his pec again. “sit f’me?”

simon doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the way he falls to his ass on the plush mattress, bouncing a little bit because of the force, before he spreads his legs open, so, so desperate. 

you have your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, canines dimpling the flesh, and simon feels like he is burning from the inside; doused with the fires of need, spark untamable, licking up, up, up.

“come on, firelily,” he rumbles, needy. “c’mere an’ kiss me.”

you huff, fond, and fall to your knees, scooting close to him. 

it was silent as you fumble with his sweats, tugging at the drawstring and grumbling when the hem gets snugged on his hips. simon chuckles, pushing your hair out of your face before he juts up just enough to give you room to slide his sweats and his boxers down.

the cool air makes him tremble and you murmur something. it was so faint that he doesn’t get to catch what it was, but his curiosity sizzles at the sight of you licking your palm, shyly with how you refuse to meet his eyes. he almost teases you, his cheeks round with giddiness, but then you wrapped your fist around his half-chub, and his sanity is razed. 

simon hisses, eyes fluttering close at the warm curl of pleasure.

jesus. he’s missed the feeling of this; your hand is softer, more supple, around his cock. it was so different from when it was his own fist rubbing himself, beating at his angrily flushed cock with desperation only for his peak to tip over mutedly, and not enough to truly satiate his hunger.

but this? fuck. 

simon doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering, his head thrown back at the curious pace of your hand, not really jerking him off but mapping along his veins almost in quiet awe. 

“‘m not gon’ last long if you–” he gasps at a particular twist. “if you keep doing that.”

“oh, no we can’t have that,” you tease, chuckling, and simon’s reply builds on the tip of his tongue, cheeky, but then you’re already moving, your back folding, your breath hitting his sensitive head.

his thighs tense in his anticipation, his stomach locking. you flit your eyes up at him, pupils blown wide in your own ragged need, before he jerks at the feeling of your tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, licking up, and teasing his leaking slit.

simon moans, guttural, his voice caught on the back of his throat. he drops his hands to his sides, fisting at the sheets as you keep licking, teasing his slit and tracing his veins, lapping at his cock so messily. 

if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re inexperienced; all sloppy and curious, like you’re attempting things you’ve probably seen in porn, but then you close the ring of your mouth around the bulbed head, suckling like it’s a goddamn loli, while your hands drop to squeeze his balls, and simon’s gone. 

“shit-!” he gasps out, battling air like he’s back on ice. 

he bucks his hips forward, unable to help himself, and only stops at the warbled sound of your surprise.

“fuck,” he hisses, hand coming up to swipe the hair from your sweaty face. “i’m sorry, darlin’. didn’t mean t’force it down. s’just that y’r so good.”

he keeps petting your cheek, overtaken by his desires and no longer able to stop the string of words trickling from his heart. “missed you lots, swee’art. missed you so much—take me deeper?”

your cheeks hollow as you hum, so obedient for him.

“yeah, jus’ like that,” simon trills, his chest rising as he breathes in deeply. his stomach flexes at the feeling of you swallowing more of him, taking his thickness past your gummy cheeks and into the wet vice of your throat. “shit, baby. christ. y’feel so fuckin’ good ‘round me. so perfect an’ wet.” he giggles, drunken in his bliss. “such a messy baby y’are. so sloppy. y’wanted my cock that much, din’ya? so hungry f’r it.”

there’s a wet slurp when he hits the deepest you could allow him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. you choke, your body lurching in protest, but simon is at the throes of his pleasure and his rational thoughts are devoured by his gluttonous need, and simon knows it is wrong to ask but—

“hold it in? can you do that f’r me, love?” he croons, his voice curling in his euphoria.

he knows this is playing dirty; to use your weakness—the deep rumble of his voice and the gentle beckoning—to make you weak, malleable. to make you just as desperate for him because he knows all you want to do is to be good for him even when it has you straining, your eyes filling up with tears. he knows it is wrong, but he can’t help it. he wants you this way.

and you want him like this too—his desires sharpening, shaping him to be mean and dangerous. his thickness fills you up, pressing at the roof of your mouth and trapping your tongue underneath the weight of his flesh. your larynx is stretched out, stuffed, but simon is looking at you so adoringly, his own ecstasy so dizzying, so addicting.

you nod, sniffling, finally replying to his question because you want him to feel good. because you want him to lose his restraints when it comes to you.

because you want him to use you until he’s truly relaxed, his body exhausted with something beyond his heartbreak. with something beyond his loss.

simon’s lips wobble like he knows what it is you are thinking of. 

he fucks your throat that way, gentle and sometimes slipping into something so mean it makes you squirm on your knees, the muted throb of your strained legs finally turning into staticky numbness, but you don’t complain, your jaw relaxed as you let simon use you.

he growls out his praises, his words chewed on in his peaking euphoria—nose flaring, cheeks flushed red—or lilting as he teases you—pulling his cock out enough that all that is left is the head, and you whine because you want him in, please simon. wan’ more please—

“gonna cum, sweetheart. gonna cum—fuck!—gonna—”

simon throws his head back, a blinding white filling his eyes and his ears ringing. his body trembles at the intensity of his orgasm, immense pleasure overtaking every synapses in his body until all that he feels is the feverish wrap of your mouth on him.

he flicks his eyes down, panting, and twitches at the sight you make—jaw slack, eyes faraway, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. 

you look, fuck, you look angelic like this.

simon cups your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your teary eye. you focus back to him slowly, blinking owlishly. 

“shh,” he croons, gentle. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you.”

a whine builds from the back of your throat and simon hums, responding to your wordless babble, trying to ease you back down from the fog. he continues to hold you even amidst his oversensitivity, waiting so patiently so he can take care of you now.

yeah, he thinks to himself as he continues to return your unblinking stare. i’m glad to be back home. 

hope this was good :'33 once again pls dont judge me for my blatant self-indulgence hhHHHHH oki oki mwah!!

[geekylled]

Ken Sato, outfielder for the Yomiuri Giants, comes clean about giant spending habits!

In a recent interview, All-Star player Kenji Sato confessed to spending absurd amounts of money on grossly large sports memorabilia— mostly his own.

“I have a good, totally plausible reason for it,” Sato had plead, unconvincingly.

Sato bat an average of .420 last season, which puts him among the best. “It’s— ugh. Hm. Erm. It’s.” Unfortunately, he struck out severely in attempting to explain his spending habits.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it!” Sato swore, but then refused to give exact numbers in terms of pricing for those who may want to “try it”.

For the readers not in the know, a 15-foot recreation of Sato’s jersey recently went viral when commission details were leaked to the public. Our interviewer asked for a comment concerning the jersey, to which Sato is quoted to have said: “Well. I guess you can say I have a pretty big fan.”

[lushrue]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader pt 2!

part 2 of this au finally! i'm so glad people like it! comment if you wanna be added to the taglist, already planning pt 3 so there will be more where this came from 💗

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8

your name was announced through the loudspeaker as you skated onto the ice, all covered in sequins and polyester. you’d always thought it was a little bit silly, the conventions around figure skating costumes. that fit that Margot Robbie threw in I, Tonya about the ridiculousness of it? yeah, you’d had a moment like that once or twice. the rough fabric scratched your arms, the glint of the sequins drew focus away from your expressions. but you still felt elegant as you set your mark at center ice, hitting your starting pose in the silence before the music began.

breathe in, breathe out. focus. momentum is everything, remember your character, focus going into your jumps.

in the moment before your routine started, you flicked your eyes up and scanned the crowd. it was something that you’d done ever since your first routine that you took to competition. usually, you were looking for your parents, their smiling faces and the flash of your mom’s digital camera. now, though, it became more curiosity, finding a spot to let your eyes settle when you weren’t looking at the judges’ table. it was then that you saw them. four big, brutish hockey players sat shoulder to shoulder in the stands. the one with the mohawk (soap, you remembered) lifted his hand to wave at you, only for the man beside him (kyle, you guessed from this distance) to swat it down.

the shock must have played out on your face, because you saw price smirk as your music began playing. you let the sound seep into your bones and just like that, it all melted away and you skated.

…

the four of them watched pretty intently for the first few seconds of your routine. price was focused on the placement of your body, how you kept your center of gravity in the middle at all times. he had to admire how precise you were in your movements, like you knew the physics behind all of it. for all he knew, you did. he could tell you were skilled and he liked that about you. talent recognizes talent, or however the saying goes.

kyle was simply admiring your choice of music. Moonlight Sonata, though basic, was like black coffee, he thought. a classic choice that never really got old, but so many things could be added to it to make it new and exciting. and watching you skate to it, he felt like he’d never heard it before. he watched your face more than anything else. you were so expressive, a story playing out in your eyes, and he soaked it all up. it was like reading a novel, and this one was a page-turner.

ghost was watching the lines of your body. it was like you were painting the air as you moved, each flick of the wrist and lift of the leg deliberate and purposeful. it all served to make a pretty picture. every now and again, he’d look at the thin lines your skates left on the ice, the swirls and curves detailing everywhere you’d been. much prettier than the harsh notches he left behind when he stepped out of the rink, he thought. just like you, they were delicate.

soap was far less interested in the artistry or skill of it and more focused on you. the way your hair moved as you spun on the ice, the way your costume clung to your skin. he couldn’t even act as if he wasn’t watching disrespectfully, thinking of what your body might look like under the spandex and sparkles. you lifted your leg and began spinning, and soap thought he might keel over right then and there. ghost nudged him as he adjusted himself on the bench, a silent gesture that told him to behave.

johnny gestured to price behind kyle’s back, getting his attention. “didn’t i tell ya, cap? a right beaut, that one,” he said, earning himself a flick to the head from ghost. price chuckled, turning his attention back to where you were winding up for a jump. two turns in the air and you landed perfectly. he knew you would, you talented thing. “yeah. a beaut,” price responded, a small smile curving his lips.

...

you skated remarkably, in your opinion. it was a relatively simple routine, but with every completed skate, regardless of skill level, came a sense of accomplishment. as you hit your ending pose, you made eye contact with your hockey players in the stands again. ghost’s face was unreadable from this distance, but you caught the pleased expressions of the other three as they clapped for you. soap had a glint in his eyes that spelled mischief and made something in your stomach tighten. kyle was looking at you like the artist you perceived yourself to be, almost how you imagined someone would look at their favorite painting. and price’s face had pride written all over it. you caught an almost imperceptible nod from him, as if to say well done.

you bowed to both sides of the rink and skated off the ice, a performer’s smile on your lips. it wasn’t entirely fake, not like it had been at some competitions. this time, it was born of the idea that four of the men you’d been watching, nay, pining after for a month were finally turning their attentions to you. for the first time in a while, you wondered what someone besides the judges thought of your routine. the worst part was, you needed them to like it. you felt the intense need to please them, keep them coming back for more.

the four of them found you in line for the concessions, grabbing a hot chocolate to soothe your cold bones in between programs. your free skate was coming up next and you knew you’d need a little pick-me-up before then. as you thanked the high schooler who’d poured your drink, you turned to walk away and almost collided with a wall of solid muscle. price, you’d realize as you looked up. “told ya we wanted to see ya, bonnie!” soap’s voice chirped from behind the broad shoulders of the team captain.

you glanced around him, noticing kyle and ghost stood off to the side. kyle was all polite smiles and ghost looked as though he was aware of how much space he was taking up, supremely uncomfortable as people brushed past him. soap was stood off to the other side of price, arms crossed over his chest. then your eyes turned up to the captain himself, feeling a sense of pride radiating off of him. you weren’t sure why; this was a man who barely knew you. but it made your stomach flutter all the same. “good performance you put on out there, love,” he said, the rumble of his baritone voice more compelling when it was directed at you. you’d seen the boys scramble to follow his orders before during a game, but you’d thought it was just his rank on the team. no, you realized, it was definitely the voice.

“thank you,” you replied sheepishly, clutching the warm styrofoam cup in your icy fingers. “i’m glad you all liked it.” kyle spoke up, stepping a bit closer to where you stood. “liked it? i loved it! you’ll have to tell me more about how you choreographed it, the musicality was insane!” “easy, garrick,” ghost’s voice rumbled from where he stood, a bit muffled by the black surgical mask. “don’t wan’ to scare off our pretty bird.” oh, you could get used to that. you spoke up, your eyes flicking between the four of them. “actually, i still have another program to skate.” you hesitated, almost worried you were being too forward. but then you continued. why not live a little, take some risks? “if you all wanted to stay, that is.”

you didn’t have to tell them twice.

taglist: @cadotoast

[p0orbaby]

@randombush3 violated my inbox to request this so you have her to thank

old!money, boarding school reunion, and some other bits im too common to explain !

-

The reunion gala is being held in the dining hall, which is now unrecognisable, strung with white fairy lights and overrun by women who look like they’ve stepped out of a Tatler feature on “The New Guard.” You and Leah arrive late, her fingers laced loosely with yours, her face caught in a look of quiet amusement she’s been wearing ever since you explained what the event actually was. The type of function where everyone’s name rhymes—Tillie, Millie, Mintie, Lottie—and they all wear headbands, pearls, and just enough Loewe to feign not trying.

“Are you sure I’m dressed for this?” Leah mutters as you step into the room. She’s in a black blazer, simple but sharply tailored, and trousers that cling to her frame in a way that has made you a little distracted all evening.

“You’re perfect,” you say, squeezing her hand. “Besides, half of them are just here to drink champagne and complain about the wallpaper”

The first person to approach you is Tillie Worthington, née Price, whose voice hasn’t changed since you last heard it at seventeen: clipped, nasal, and deeply amused by everything. She air-kisses you, one cheek then the other, leaving a faint trace of Jo Malone behind, and sizes Leah up with the kind of interest usually reserved for auction lots.

“This must be your footballer,” Tillie says brightly, as if she’s been handed a guest list and not just guessed from Leah’s posture, which screams athlete. “Leah, isn’t it? How marvellous. I’m Tillie, darling. Went to school with your girl. She was an absolute terror in Upper Fourth”

Leah shoots you a look, equal parts entertained and confused. “Upper Fourth?”

“Year Nine,” you mutter.

“She had all the girls swooning,” Tillie continues, ignoring you, her attention fully on Leah now. “They’d leave her chocolates in the locker room. Did she tell you that? Or is she still pretending to be shy?” She winks.

Leah grins, leaning into the banter. “She’s not shy”

Your cheeks are already burning when Mintie Sotherby appears, dragging her husband—a man who looks like he was born holding a yacht steering wheel—behind her. Mintie is as you remember: glossy and terrifying, with the kind of presence that made underclassmen weep in corridors. She zeroes in on Leah like a heat-seeking missile.

“You’re the Arsenal one, right?” she says, tilting her head. “You’re on my husband’s fantasy football team.” She pauses, turning to the man at her elbow. “Aren’t you, darling?”

“Er—yes,” he says, with the enthusiasm of someone who doesn’t know his own players. “Very good value for money”

You’re about to step in when Lottie—of course it’s Lottie—arrives, carrying two glasses of champagne and a third that she thrusts at Leah. “Here,” she says conspiratorially, her vowels clipped like a BBC anchor. “You’ll need this if you’re meeting everyone. They’re all positively feral tonight”

Leah raises the glass, her grin widening. “I’m starting to see that”

The night is a whirlwind of introductions, champagne, and remarks that range from condescending to bizarre. Leah handles it all with a grace you’re sure she didn’t think she had, charming your comrades like she’s been doing it for years. But the moment you’ve been dreading comes as you’re cornered by Pippa Hardwicke, your former dorm mate and now a full-time collector of scandal.

“Oh, and let’s not forget the time she got caught sneaking into the boys’ school across the lake,” Pippa announces, her voice carrying over the din of conversation. “Right through the headmaster’s garden. She had to scale a wall in a dress she’d nicked from the laundry room—can you imagine?”

Leah turns to you, eyebrows raised, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “Is this true?”

You’re halfway through an attempt at deflection when Pippa adds, “And she left her shoes behind. Do you know how hard it is to explain a pair of muddy Louboutins in the middle of a rose bush?”

Leah bursts into laughter, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m going to need to hear all of this later,” she says, her tone low, conspiratorial.

You groan, pulling her away as Pippa prepares to recount the time you tried to rig the voting for Head Girl. “We’re leaving. Right now”

“Leaving?” Leah says, grinning as she falls into step beside you. “Baby, I’m just getting started. I’ve got so many questions. Like, how many times were you caught sneaking around? And did you really steal the dress?”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” you mutter, though the warmth in her voice is impossible to resist.

“I am,” she says, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “But I also love picturing you in the middle of a garden, barefoot, running from security. It explains so much”

[thewertsearch]

So pacified, he listened to what I had to say, a8out my recent travails with the law, and Pyralspite, and what I'd come for in truth - the treasure he'd 8een keeping safe for me.

There's the fucker.

I cradled the oracle in my synthetic hand, as if appraising 8y w8 the mystic qualities it still concealed. With my vision 8fold seared away, I was as 8lind to its secrets as the old Doctor was to its present wherea8outs. I'd learned to keep it cloaked from the awareness of the man who once called me his protege, a 8ackhanded term of endearment from a smug manipul8or. Loc8ing his so called dark pockets was the only gam8it I had in countering his milktongued dou8lespeak.

Milktounged is such a great descriptor for Scratch's bullshit. I'm willing to bet that the Expatriate came up with that one.

I wonder what Scratch's plan was for Mindfang? Perhaps she was just another vector for manipulating Vriska - a particularly effective one, too, since she's serve as a mouthpiece her descendant would naturally trust.

The expatri8 for indiscerni8le reasons seemed naturally surrounded 8y such a void in the Doctor's awareness, and so was uniquely fit to inherit the or8. The Doctor could not see his treasure, nor I into it.

It's been implied a couple of times that the ancestors have access to Aspect powers. The Expatriate appears to have some sort of passive Void ability, and Mindfang's (presumably) effective use of the Fluorite Octet suggests that she, too, can manipulate luck. She also referred to Redglare as a 'true seer' in her journals, implying that that each Guardian might also share their offspring's Class.

This is a pretty interesting idea. The Guardians are children of Sburb, same as the Players, so there's nothing really stopping them from having pseudo-Player status themselves. They don't seem to have Dream Selves, but it's not out of the question that they could even ascend to God Tier, if they died on a Quest Slab.

It also means that the human Guardians probably had powers, too. Could their advanced knowledge of Sburb be derived from Mom Lalonde's status as a pseudo-Seer?

I guessed exploiting some technological means of gazing through its surface may have 8een simple enough, 8ut I hesit8ed. Every expedient granted 8y its counsel, though never instantly, came at a price. Knowing his n8ture, I'm surprised I only now recognize it as yet another instrument of his spurious 8enevolence, dangerous 8y way of selective divulgence. The sense of infalli8ility his oracle 8rought me was superficial, and in hindsight weakened my readiness.

Unsurprisingly, the cueball's answers have the same asterisk attached to them as Scratch himself. It doesn't lie, but you'd be a fool to think that means it can't manipulate you. Like all of Scratch's games, it's rigged as hell; you can't win, and you probably shouldn't even try.

…mind you, there might be a way to keep its answers unambiguous. If you restricted your queries to yes/no questions, then it couldn't phrase its responses to give Scratch an advantage.

At the same time, though, there's nothing forcing it to answer a given query with a single word. It'd probably just insist on answering in full sentences.

The gr8est mistake I have ever made was asking the or8 when I would die. 8ut as I revisited the prophecy surrounding this unfortun8 query, something struck me. I thought of the man I would have as a m8sprit centuries from now, who was said to command an army of 8easts. The one it called the summoner.

Mindfang dated Primordial Tavros?

...that poor bastard.

[teeldaa]

I wanted to rant a little about Wyll , Mizora and Raphael,their prewrite versions and my issue with how Larian wrote devils and cambions in general and some theories :p This has been sitting in my drafts for a while, I got sick and completely forgot about it ...I think i got carried away with my Raphael theories, because of that i wasn't even sure if I wanted to post this or not(warning:a lot of yapping) And sorry in advance for my bad English :p

Wyll and Mizora first thing that bothers me is i see a lot of people saying Larian rewrote Wyll because EA players didn't like him, but that's not true?!I was looking through Larian's interviews, they either said they’ve redone Wyll because it wasn't working for them, they lost a little bit of narrative room for telling all these stories that he had(x) or they weren’t telling his story as well as they could have done(x)so it was Larian's decision and not players feedback. Pre rewrite Wyll: He wasn't related to Ulder Ravengard, he was a descendant of Grand Duke Eltan,the founder and leader of the Flaming Fist.these are the lines that were datamined during ea(source)

Although Duke Eltan founded the flaming fists, his family had to sell their interest to pay off debt... in the release version if Wyll doesn't sign the contract with Mizora and Florrick is still in jail Cordula Eltan confronts him about Ulder(might be an Easter egg)

after getting caught for thieving, Wyll was sent to flaming fists by his father.he pointed out that he wasn't a good fighter and didn't fit in well there and then one day Spike and his fellow goblins attacked the village

this is the part that a lot of people miss,you could only get these lines if you modded the ea to play as origin Wyll(x) when confronting Fezzerk the narrator said these

Your belly crash into memory, Spike was the one who slashed out your eye this one held your head while he did it

The bile rises in your throat, you hate this cockroach, you hate his chief ,You hate…yourself you'd been selfish,lazy,lustful. you'd all but invited goblins to a slaughter

and If you made Wyll torture the prisoner, Spike would say"The Blade always knew how to throw a party!" So I guess Goblins used throwing a party as an excuse to trick Wyll into letting them in!

I think what they were going for with Wyll was... A nobleman who had to meet high expectations put on him by his status and his dad, went through a very traumatic experience(humiliated, injured, witnessed the slaughter of an entire village)and had no way of fighting back! he was in need of rescue and had no one to help him, so he took Mizora's deal and became the blade of frontiers to prevent that from happening to other people?!

I often see it being said EA Wyll was a "fake hero" or a "glory hound" or … which are not true, He was the only companion who prioritized saving the tiefling refugees over finding a cure, was ready to die for them and would have left the party if you sided with Minthara. He wasn't "evil" he just had more flaws... Wyll decided to break his pact after Mizora asked him to pay "a price he wasn't willing to pay", they were arguing then got kidnapped by mind flayers. these lines are from modded Wyll origin(x) said by the narrator:

one moment you'd been bartering with Mizora for freedom. the next whisked away by tentacle monsters

what was it Mizora had said?oh yes- 'over your rotting corpse'

Spike found Mizora's pod and put a collar around her neck that neutralized all her powers, She communicated with Wyll through his eye and promised to free him if he saved her. Before the party got to the goblin camp, drow came and took Mizora to Moonrise tower and apparently they had"big plans"for her I think this version of Mizora was working for her father based on these dialogues(x)

Mizora: Get .Me .Out of here Wyll: and if i don't? Mizora: then my father will. and your eternal soul will be his.

maybe that "big plans"had to do something with her dad?! The lines that implied she and Wyll might had been romantically involved at some point were these:

Wyll: Don't tell me - someone came to you, an object of desire. made you better. More than better Wyll: Same happened to me. Tav: Someone, yes. who was it you saw? Wyll: An old lover. tempting as a trail of rose petals, and just as fragrant.

and for anyone wondering what does she smell like...

Tav: Tell me more about this old flame of yours. Wyll: A giver and taker. without her, id hardly be who i am, for both better and worse

I kinda get why they decided to change their dynamic, but they made it so much worse... what Wyll and Mizora had was a toxic codependent relationship with a power imbalance but the game was taking it more seriously...in his act1 romance scene You could hug him and make him feel safe. the only datamined Wyll/Mizora interaction we had was this! and this version Mizora is way better! She didn't treat Wyll like a "dog" or use weird degrading pet names. i wish they kept her straightforward and no-nonsense attitude, she had so much personality, probably more content and plot relevancy too She was already lawful evil and the game made that very clear, making Mizora treat Wyll in a super dehumanizing way was just unnecessary in my opinion and it didn't do neither of them any favors. the release version Mizora supposed to be a cambion but she's not really written like one. the most important part of cambions lore is that they are outcasts! They grow up very lonely because they are never accepted by either society, Even in the bg3 artbook it is mentioned that they have to be resourceful to survive "as the forsaken of two races"

They're not always evil, they can be neutral or even rarely good(depending on their mother's alignment). I feel like they were doing a way better job with datamined version of Mizora, You could actually see her half human side more. Tying Wyll to Karlach's story was a bad idea… Zariel's characterization feels kinda off(Karlach called her the biggest liar in all the realms??)and Mizora doesn't exactly seem like the type of person who works for her...Zariel is a warmonger obsessed with stopping the Blood War because if the demons win they will conquer the Material Plane and start destroying things, she's more of a“the ends justify the means” type of evil. Zariel is not into politics of hell, i feel like Wyll should have been forced to fight in the blood war just like Karlach because that's the only thing Zariel cares about. and...if Zariel doesn't own Karlach's soul then why does she want her dead?!Shouldn't Mizora order Wyll to capture her alive?so she can take her back to Avernus? i find it kinda odd there's not an option to ask Mizora to remove your tadpole. I think she should be able to that, In that datamined interaction she had this dialogue:

That's an illithid tadpole in your brain, let it fester for long and you'll be birthing a squid from your head hole. You want that thing out? Brush the dust out of your eye and get over here.

And bg3 has a prequel comic called "Mindbreaker"and a devil(an erinyes who served Bel) did remove an absolute tadpole...

Wyll's transformation into a devil confuses me! The dialogues makes it look much more significant than it actually is...it's just horns, i wonder if Larian was originally going for a more drastic change, bg3 concept art Devils have very distinct features... and btw Mizora turning Wyll into a devil should have cure him, ceremorphosis doesn't affect fiends...

I feel like if they didn't tie Wyll's story to Karlach and didn't change his father, they could have kept most of Wyll's previous content like his ea romance scene which was great And it could still work for the current Wyll. Was all that changes really necessary? And they didn't even give Wyll a unique starting outfit when his Keyart Armor was already in the game files and it looks perfect on him.

Mizora's father Just for fun, there was this Harbs Narbs theory(x) that Mizora's father was Levistus(Archdevil of Stygia) Levistus is the Infernal patron of vengeance and betrayal,His followers are called bladereavers.he is an honorable duelist and his favored weapon is a rapier in that video he said that blade of frontiers tag gave Wyll an automatic rapier proficiency and armor of agathys(Levistus tieflings have that spell) ...and the spell" Tomb of Levistus" was datamined Levistus is described as a tall humanoid male with dark hair, a neat goatee and an extremely pale complexion but would be able pass for a human if not for his pointed teeth and coal-black eyes that practically radiated darkness. Mizora concept art also happen to have "extremely pale complexion" "coal-black eyes"and looks more human compared to other devil and cambion designs...

(I really like this design, specially those small blades that are hanging from her dress. I think the outfit she's wearing now in the game was supposed to be for her human disguise and this was for her devil form) I couldn't find anything else about Wyll, But i think he suffered the most from the upper city getting cut. I am very curious about his EA version's father and his role in the main plot...He probably was the main focus of Wyll's quest in act 3(because Mizora was supposed to end Wyll's contract if he freed her from Moonrise) I imagine this version of Mizora could also become a camp follower, She was tortured badly by goblins so it makes sense that she would help us defeat The Absolute...

Probably not a hot take, but I don't think they should have completely rewritten his entire character that late in development(Just to be clear, I like release Wyll and i think Theo Solomon did an incredible job voicing him.I just wish the narrative treated him better) I completely understand why someone would prefer the current version he's a sweet, loyal and brave folk hero but in my opinion he would have been more popular and resonated with more people if they kept his old self. EA Wyll was more charismatic, chaotic and extroverted, He had A LOT of struggles and flaws but he was trying his best to overcome them and that made him more relatable. The difference between EA Wyll and release Wyll to me is like the difference between Batman and Superman, Batman has a way bigger fandom and more films, games, cartoons and...even though Superman is this uncorruptible and aspirational symbol of hope with so many cool super powers. Another thing I like more was how they were doing the warlock/patron dynamic. The relationship was much more personal and complicated and original version of Mizora was superior in every way (I could be wrong, but I always assumed from the way Wyll talked about the powers Mizora was giving him that the whole thing was some kind of allegory for addiction) that's all i had to say about Wyll and Mizora...

Raphael first the stuff they cut

the most important thing that got cut was his deal that he could solve your tadpole issue in exchange of your soul

in this interview Senior Writer Adam Smith said this:

In one situation, for instance, a devil will approach players with a bargain for their soul. That might seem like an offer to immediately reject, but that deal might also help players understand and control the change happening to their character as the result of a magical parasitic infection.

and in this one Swen Vincke said he is a potential solution for the tadpole problem:

even in the first encounter he says "Oh, A mere trifle. How dear is one's soul, Really?" when you ask him what he wants. ...so i guess that means you could have had Raphael as your patron?!

it was datamined that he wanted the artefact (x) not the crown

the person that supposed to be inside the artefact, helping you and not letting you turn was Orpheus, so Raphael wanted him...for some reason!

there is also this List of All Cut Content!apparently Raphael supposed to be a Merchant and soul coins were there for trading with him...

Raphael the Merchant - Originally Raphael was meant to be a fully viable option to remove your tadpole, in fact the "Soul Coin" items that you collect in game where originally meant to be a powerful alternative currency accepted only by Raphael in exchange for possibly retrieving your soul as well as a long list of incredibly powerful artifacts from the House of Hope that would be sold by Raphael himself.

originally Karlach didn't have her Infernal Engine(x)so that's probably true!

in early access If you didn't give Gale magical any artifact, he would make a deal with Raphael(x) Gale would inform you that he no longer needed anything from you, he didn't exactly tell you why but if you passed the wisdom check the narrator would said this :

You flutter through his mind like a bat through the night and you see… fire. You hear laughter. You smell brimstone. mocking words drift back to you.'This is the House of Hope.'

Origin Karlach could have made another deal with Raphael! she had unique datamined dialogues with him and Korilla

there's 4 unused Raphael models(with different hair style)in the game i see people calling them earlier iterations but they are not, they were datamined all together later in the early access along with companions dream lovers in one room(it was called AA room) They could be for some sort of cut content/quest lines?!

Concept art Raphael doesn't have hair so idk maybe these were supposed to be his different human disguises?! Even in this early live stream he had the same devil model with black hair while his human disguise looked like Lord Farquaad...

this was also on that list of cut content

Mol and Raphael - Isn't it odd how Mol will just escape from Raphael on her own and say it was "easy?" Well it turns out that's because they cut whatever the final leg of that quest was meant to be, instead they allow Mol to escape on her own which more or less skips to the end and around the cut content.

there's one Yurgir line!(you can hear his datamined voice lines here)

now, Leave me. I must prepare for my return to hell, Triumphant.

(thanks @doomsbutt for looking that up) apparently it was supposed to trigger as a fallback for when Raphael can't appear! The tag checked for that dialogue says "Sets if the Last Justiciar contract was completed, but Raphael didn't show up" Currently this is not an option in the game, but we could have just tell Yurgir he can be freed by killing the rats!so maybe there was supposed to be an option that got cut ?!

Astarion and Kith'rak Voss asking Raphael for help were added after rewrite

in early access the game locked you in a cutscene when Raphael visited the camp, you couldn't switch character, pickpocket him or see his health bar!also in ea Korilla wasn't spying on the party

in conclusion Astarion quest, Raphael's dialogues with Karlach and Dark Urge + everything in act3 should be new. Raphael probably originaly had A MUCH BIGGER role, He was mentioned in all the larian's earlier interviews and was on all of the promotional stuff... I think they changed him really late in development as well *take with a grain of salt*larian beta tested the game in july 2022 I heard about that version twice, What they both mentioned that had changed was the House of Hope. one of them said even Hope and Haarlep didn't exist in that version*again take with a huge grain of salt, I heard from someone who had heard it from a beta tester in both cases*

the release version (@tellmeallaboutit sorry it took so long...I changed my mind several times while writing this, then forgot about it for a while...) I know it's because of that late rewrite but in my opinion Raphael's writing in Act 3 is not great!(like everything else in act3) He has a really good set up but it just goes nowhere,his deal just sucks...after Yurgir quest i was excepting the contract to be a song or poem, option to negotiate the terms, and consequences...but nope!nothing! And then you can just go and steal your contract?!(pretty sure that's not a thing, since contracts are magic that bonds your soul to a devil not a actual piece of paper)and even if you break the contract, he won't kill/punish you for some reason. First i wanna rant a little about Hope…i think after they decided to cut all of Raphael's original content, they wanted to give the player a reason to kill him so they made her! she is a prisoner who is being tortured to accept Raphael's deal and...that's not how Infernal Contract works, terms become binding when both parties willingly sign the contract, the contract is void if the devil uses force or even threats. this is from Fiendish Codex II :

The same goes for buying slaves...there's a reason why devils go out of their way to corrupt mortals and offer services, why bother making contract if they could just buy people?! that aside my biggest gripe with Hope is she's not representing hope as a concept , she's very brave and strong-willed but kinda pessimistic. literally the first thing she say to you is"you came. such a shame. curiosity killed all the cats it won't be so kind to you"like??!Isn't that the opposite of inspiring hope? i was re watching her cutscenes and majority of her dialogues are quite cynical...i feel like whoever wrote her and HOH quest straight up confused hope with persistence, strong will and determination! IMO Isobel is a MUCH better character to represent the concept! for anyone who says "Why can't Wyll and Karlach stay in the House of Hope"they cant! Hell is very lawful hierarchical place. You can't just stay there, other more powerful devil will absolutely attack and take over HOH right away after Raphael's death. Another thing that really bothered me about Hope's situation is that it doesn't really line up with what Raphael was saying earlier... To make it easier to explain what I mean, i tried to analyze pre-rewrite stuff separately first: *Disclaimer:I'm not talking about current canon of the game This is mostly just my thoughts and speculations as to what his character and story might have been before the rewrite, i know I'm most likely totally wrong* Destroying people's hope was not exactly Raphael's goal, He even gets upset if you agree to take his deal in the first encounter"Oh. That's disappointing.I prefer it when my clients put up a fight…" and"i really am at my magnanimous best when people make an effort" That's why IMO it just doesn't make any sense for him to torture and imprison a person who didn't take his deal right away, Since he explicitly wanted his clients to have hope and go explore all the options they have, because for some reason he was sure they can't find anything and going to fail every single attempt"only to realize victory was never an option" then they themselves come to him and ask/beg him for help and he gets to be their"savior" The thing I find interesting about pre rewrite Raphael that is completely gone in act 3 is his savior complex and how he tried to portray himself as someone who helps people in need. "House of Hope" is a VERY common name for nonprofit organizations that provide treatment, shelter, financial assistance and...(if you google it and pass through bg3 stuff you can find many of them)I don't think the name's a coincidence because of this line"This is the House of Hope, Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed lavishly"he was supposed to be an option to heal your party from the parasite. He also talking about having"boundless compassion" and "infinite mercy" and his the gathering card is called "Fiendish Savior"These are not things I associate with the devils or the hells. He is named after an archangel. Raphael is known in various religions as an angel who does acts of healing. The name Raphael means "It is God who heals", "God Heals", "God, Please Heal" in Christianity "he is the patron saint of travelers, young people, happy meetings, nurses, physicians, sick people and medical workers. He can cure blindness, eye afflictions, nightmares and..." in Islam "he is a beautiful angel who is a master of music, he sings praises to God in a thousand different languages, the breath of which is used to inject life into hosts of angels who add to the songs themselves."

In the final release the name Raphael seems very random for a cambion but if we look at his cut content it makes a lot of sense,He was supposed to be the party's patron who would cure their "eye afflictions" This could be remnants of Mol's original quest, but notice how even her blind eye healed after she took on Raphael's deal. He could also fix Gale's orb and Karlach's "condition", Maybe that's why he was named after the archangel of healing. another thing I've noticed is in his boss fight when you try to hit him with radiant damage he says this:

I don't think a cambion should be able to that, because "Radiant damage doesn't do anything special to demons/devils but they aren't particularly resistant to it either" No creature is immune but aasimar and celestial do have resistance to radiant damage. and there's also angel/devil aesthetic in the HOH decor...

Both of these are definitely Raphael, The devil one is sticking his tongue out, There's a lot of tongue imagery in Raphael's clothing concept art as well. The angel one(?)has some kind of plants around his head same as that one Ascended Fiend design on the HOH floor(The actual design has antlers instead of those)

Speaking of Ascended Fiend, I find it really hard to believe that they made a uniquely detailed model just for a phase of his boss fight that could be missed. There is no cutscene or explanation why he has a third form(i know about that cut"Mephistopheles, hear your son!..."line but I don't think it's canon anymore, and it's definitely not the original reason why this form exists, The design is already on the HOH floor and on his clothing concept art so it was supposed to be something that he already had) It doesn't look like a devil to me...It is designed in a way to draw all your attention to its head...it has 3 animal skulls smashed together(?)and Stag Antlers. Correct me if i'm wrong but i don't think that skull is for a real animal right?! And those stag/deer antlers are the most in you face part of this design, They are also seen in one of Raphael's concept art design and even in Korrilla's outfit on her chest.

This made me wonder what exactly that Ascended Fiend design was even supposed to be(I saw some say it's a pit fiend But it does not look like a pit fiend at all, pit fiend are heavy, have big muscles and gargoylish appearance)And what's with the antlers? Okay, here's my delulu theory: I think the Ascended Fiend's design and Raphael as a character were both inspired by a Wendigo.

"Wendigos are described as having long limbs, long, sharp claws, and teeth, and their eyes are said to be sunken in and glowing red. They are also said to have a long tongue that they use to lick their victim's flesh and can shapeshift into other animal and human forms." "The Wendigo was gaunt to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled tightly over its bones. With its bones pushing out against its skin, and its eyes pushed back deep into their sockets, the wendigo looked like a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave.What lips it had were tattered and bloody … Unclean and suffering from suppuration of the flesh, the Wendigo gave off a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition, of death and corruption" "The wendigo craves human flesh and is constantly starving for it. The wendigo is known to have its preferences: the sweet fat of children, the soft skin of women, the course muscles of men (especially warriors and hunters) Wendigos are embodiment of gluttony, greed, and excess; never satisfied after killing and consuming one person, they are constantly searching for new victims."They also stalk their preys for a long time and prefer to terrify them before moving in for the kill. the description kinda fits the design right? Notice how Raphael's eyes are sunken into their sockets in his human form. this also explains why there is so many tongue symbolism in his house and concept art...and looking back at Raphael's dialogues again, there's a lot of Food-related proverbs/idioms/phrases (they definitely toned it down in Act 3), some even could possibly indicate that he might have been based on a wendigo"through a nice juicy brain""My last contract here fed me for decades" He also called greed his"favorite virtue" and Shadowheart said this about him"there were no right answer with that devil. He was toying with his food-us""A devil sought us out, Teased us with his help…But he also stared as if we were the banquet, Rather the one on the table."(this is a cut line from ea)

There's this line in act2"I have this picture in my head of you tossing and turning in the middle of the night, thinking strange things, dreaming strange dreams..." In Cree mythology, wendigo can possesses people through their dreams and cause its victims a feeling of insatiable hunger, the desire to eat other humans, and the propensity to commit murder. And these were "urges" from early access:

Nausea twists your stomach, But it's hunger not revulsion, Something inside you clammers for blood, For death and only the the tear of flesh will do.

Amid this flurry of questions you feel something else deep inside you, A hunger, A lust for blood.

Durge is the last addition to the origin characters so ea urges should have been for something else so...idk. i looked up to see if wendigos are a thing in 5e but I could not find a solid answer...(put pin on this, I'll have more to say about Raphael and dreams) Another big thing I feel was really missing and should have been explained in act 3 is Why was Raphael so sure that his clients wouldn’t find anything and always come back to him to matter what...first two act was setting up Raphael as someone who likes to play games that he is sure his clients cant win but there was no such game in act3. I believe the current narrative wants me to think it's all an act or it's just him being overconfident but that doesn't make much sense, He acts as if he has never failed before and has the upper hand and lots of advantages in these situations, He shows his true form right away and never hides the fact that he's evil and even denies you If you accept his offer in the first encounter. To me this is someone who is looking for a challenge. You can see this in the way he dealt with Mol and Yurgir(their act2 voice lines were dataminded in patch 8 of EA, So their deals with Raphael were written before that late rewrite...) In act2 Raphael trapped Yurgir in the Gauntlet of Shar by offering help to Lyrthindor...so Raphael did put Yurgir in a situation where he had no other choice but to accept his deal. I'm having a bit of a issue with this quest... i know they tied Astarion to this quest after the rewrite(this is why there is no deal when Astarion is not in your party) and It was supposed to be an option to free Yurgir(because of that unused line i mentioned earlier, I wonder if we were going to see free Yurgir again in Avernus cut content...)So they have changed this quest at least a little. I feel like Yurgir's soul was not Raphael's number 1 priority, He made a deal with Yurgir. There was always a loophole in that deal, He could have sent someone else to kill Yurgir all this time but he didn't. it seems to me that he's just messing with him? And there's this line "My last contract here fed me for decades"as if he keeps getting profit out of that contract?!i don't think he's getting those dark justiciars souls?So what or who was he feeding on all this time? This should have been the quest that basically established what type of person Raphael is and how he makes deal, But the difference between this deal and what he offered the player is so big that it doesn't seem like they were made by the same person. In Yurgir's case the contract was a song, there was a loophole in it, and Raphael didn't play fair, The "perfumed trickster" in act 3 suddenly is an honest and fair devil who doesn't backstab his clients?

Yurgir himself was soften up a little too much in act3, I liked that he was this evil, ruthless devil who could easily kill you and enjoy it, But had a sense of honor. he was reduced to "uwu little rabbit" in act 3 As if we did not see his bed and this is not the same person who said "I made him watch as i ate his concubines and young, Then i fashioned a codpiece from his skull.""Owe you? Every breath you take from this moment now on is my reward to you. Few walk away from me intact."idk it's just a bit inconsistent for me... And there's Mol! She was presented with a deal from Raphael and then suddenly She got kidnapped after right after that...I don't think it was ever confirmed that Raphael was involved in her kidnapping but "It's only a matter of time before the apple is plucked."and"she still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left"kinda makes me think he may have known this was going to happen?!He had no way of knowing this was going to happen and I don't think it's even possible for him to be responsible for her kidnapping, But he spoke as if he knew... And then in act 3 you can just find Mol and give her back her contract and that's it... which was pretty anticlimactic. It just feels unfinished and rushed, Probably because they cut off Raphael's content and Mol's original story was connected to that said content?! Maybe I'm just being nitpicky but i feel like Mol should have known Raphael's a devil?! He offered her a deal and smelled like sulfur?Like what kind of deal did he offer her that didn't require revealing his identity? (*take with a grain of salt* It wasn't just Mol, If what i heard from that version that they play tested is true, There were supposed to be more children npcs in HOH and i have a feeling the devil with the silver tongue in Wyll's story who took the farmer's daughter away is also Raphael. This could be a cut storyline?maybe?) There are also these lines that do not make much sense to me"You're the best thing for business since the Second Sundering. Countless sorry souls came running to my door after your work in the grove." "To repay you for the souls sent my way, I offer a taste of the truth."Which souls is he talking about here?Why would "Countless sorry souls"go to Raphael specifically after the grove incident?

after rewrite Those were all the pre-rewrite stuff... Kith'rak Voss scene with Raphael must be new, He was a very different character and was involved on that big "The Creche vs The Cult of the Absolute" fight in Rosymorn Monastery that got cut. Raphael originally wanted the artefact not the the The Crown of Karsus so him want to be ruler of nine hell is probably new?! which is ridiculous If you know anything about hell hierarchy and power scaling(the reason is to enforce law and order(?) as if hell isn't already like that and Asmodeus isn't a primal embodiment of lawful evil) Maybe that's just me but Raphael's writing in general feels very different in act 3, My guess is that they gave him to another writer after rewrite, he seems to have been written by a more skilled and talented writer before that...like if you compare the first meeting with him to his monologue before fighting him, the difference in quality is very much noticeable. Raphael himself went from being very smart, snarky and manipulative to straightforward, blunt and comically unselfaware. I guess the current narrative wants me to just ignore all the earlier stuff?! And i have other nitpicky issues, "Down comes the claw" is supposed to be a reference to Raphael's lullaby in Act 1 but that doesn't make sense,This was what happened between the cat and the mouse, and Raphael was supposed to be the fox watching them. if they player was the mouse, who is this cat that they were brightly smiling at? And why "claws coming down" was a form of "love"? My guess is that the original meaning of that rhyme is something that has been cut. In my opinion, the House Of Hope quest itself was pretty underwhelming with lot of questionable writing decisions and basically was a weaker and less interesting version of hag's lair in act 1. I feel like the writer was much more interested in shocking people or getting a reaction than writing a good story. The last thing that bothers me in act 3, Raphael suddenly out of nowhere became really obsessed with law and order...I mean that's what he says but he never really does anything to show that he cares about those things? His house is a chaotic mess and Neither Hope nor those "Eternal Debtors" should be there. Devils can take someone and torture them without owing their soul ONLY IF those people to come to hell themselves(which wasn't the case with Hope) and I couldn't find anything about those "Debtors" in dnd lore. What is even the purpose of their existence beside shock value? Those who sell their souls to a devil become divine energy for the hells, Lemures or soul coins after they die, All of which are relatively worse outcomes and i think he should have served an archdevil in Avernus(but he doesn't)...All that talk about hell's laws but he lowkey not following any of them... IDK maybe he wasn't originally meant to be lawful evil? In act2 he said this about Mol "She cheated, of course, but that's half her charm"i don't understand how can you find cheating charming if you love law and order so much? and he also said this"After all, if there is one rule I hold dear, it's that one must always give the devil his due." Doesn't this contradict what he's saying in act3? He basically said he doesn't care about any rule beside "giving the devil his due" here... And there's Raphael's magic the gathering card "Fiendish Savior"

MTG cards have 5 colors, each of them has their own meaning and mechanic(you can read about them x,x) Raphael's card is half black half red. Black is color of lack of ethical restraint, Power at any cost , self-interest and ... which still kinda fits his character. Red is "impulsive and emotional. The color of passion, frivolity, and chaos"."Red values freedom above all else. It wants to do what it wants when it wants, and to whom it wants, and nobody can tell it otherwise.""Red believes that life is an adventure and that it would be much more fun if everyone stopped caring about rules, laws, and personal appearances and just spent their time indulging their desires through experience." I think this was made before that late rewrite, because it doesn't really fit him any more.(Wyll card is also red and that's definitely for his EA version) Red doesn't always mean chaotic alignment but character with half red half black card are very often chaotic evil. Unlike devils, Cambions can be other alignments beside lawful evil so maybe they were doing something different?!or maybe he wasn't even a cambion?

(Just a warning, I'm about to over analyze a lot of details in bg3 artbook, early access and prequel comic to guess what they might have planned for Raphael before the rewrite, if that's something you don't really care about you should stop reading...A lot of this is just my theories and speculation about the og storyline) Raphael's design I think just like Wyll and Gale, they didn't give Raphael his actual design and he stuck with his ea placeholder model. His final design is really bland and it looks nothing like his concept art. (i can't post more photo because tumblr's limit but you can see them here) I prefer all of them to what's in the final game right now, all of these designs are very bold, detailed and fancy, which I think fits Raphael's over the top personality better. They all have a black and red color scheme with lots of gold jewelry. There's a lot of nature symbolism(vines,roses, thorns and...), Eyes, Tongues and dragons in there as well. I also really like how Raphael's devil form has unique features and isn't just basic tiefling with wings like the release version. I don't know what this is but apparently it was important enough that has its own section on his page...

Another thing I noticed, Gortash's final outfit is very similar to some of Raphael concept art. Specially that early sketchy design (even that dragon tattoo was originally meant for Raphael) similar symbolism: Eyes, Tongues, skulls and dragons, None of these can be found in other Gortash concepts So idk maybe this is just an unused earlier design for Raphael? (Is it just me or the dragon on Gortash's collar looks a lot like Tiamat? it's literally a dragon with several heads. I don't see how she could be related to either to Gortash or Raphael so i didn't look more into it)

Another thing all of these designs have in common is that they are clearly inspired by Jareth the Goblin King and different customs he wore in 1986 Labyrinth. It reminded me of this tweet from back in ea where one of the dev even compared Raphael to Jareth.

that kinda explains why there were children npcs in HOH in that beta version of the game... I was thinking about this comparison then something suddenly clicked for me, Jareth was a manifestation of Sarah's desires(at the beginning movie in her room you can see a picture of David Bowie with her mother). He was offering Sarah her dreams and was trying to get her to submit to a fantasy...And that's EXACTLY what the original dream visitor from early access was...Which is interesting because when i was reading about Wendigo, That also reminded me a lot of EA dreams and urges(They can shapeshift into different human forms and posses people through their dreams and...) I knew Raphael's original role was to be a solution to our tadpole problem in exchange of our soul and be a Merchant. So I thought he would be an ally against the Absolute, but probably had his own evil agenda and dealing with him had its own consequences(kinda like an evil equivalent of Malady from DOS2)...It never actually occurred to me that the reason he wanted Orpheus and our souls was because he was with the cult...This sent me down a rabbit hole. If you haven't played early access you can watch all the dream sequences here. just by these alone it's obvious that the dream person isn't the tadpole specially in the last dream Where their mask fell off... And I think the Absolute and the Dream Visitor were supposed to be the same person...There was this conversation with Lae'zel:

Tav: Those dreams linger in my memory. Do you think that strange figure will come back? Lae'zel: It is a certainty. I had assumed our parasites served a ghaik Elder. But i believe they serve a greater master still. Tav: The Absolute is this 'master'. I'm sure of it. Lae'zel: Perhaps. 'Absolute' may be a mere pseudonym behind which this master hides. Whatever this voice, Whoever this master, It dominates dreams and unites minds.

Minthara also had this line in EA"The Absolute has spoken to you already, in whispers and dreams, but at Moonrise you will be in her presence." and Absolute's pronounce changed depend on the person you're talking to. EA dream visitor was referred to by two names in the game files: Daisy and Desire. This was datamined about multiplayer(x)

Daisy: can have up to four "Daisy" character in game , one for each avatar, The "default" Daisy is the host. Desire : only one "Desire" in the game.based on the Daisy made by the host.

Some NPCs in game files also were referred to as desire, So they were probably Daisy in disguise. for example one of them was Counsellor Florrick.

I recently watch this(x)Remember i mentioned those 4 unused Raphael models that were in the same room with origin character's dream visitors. Now i know what they are, They aren't for cut content 4 naked models are customizable dream visitors for each 4 avatars and there are 4 Raphael for each of them because Now there are 4 extra Emperor with those customizable Dream guardians in there instead ...(They aren't in the separate room like EA and Origin don't have their own Daisy now so they aren't there)

Looking back at EA footage now, I think the original visit to HOH probably was a dream sequence...unlike the release version Raphael would only come to camp at night after a long rest and when the scene ended the whole party was knocked down (Basically you would wake up from it)

I think that's why he said a "lullaby" would suit the occasion? And if you talked to Shadowheart after the first dream, There was an actual option to tell her that our dream visitor could be "that devil, Raphael"

I didn't even remember this because i usually didn't use the tadpole powers(They were to have severe consequences) and i think you only get this if you met Raphael before you get the first dream...Does anyone know what Shadowheart would say if you pick this option?

There's also this Raphael's cut line:

I have a thousand mistresses, Karlach. Fear and pleasure blend quite well.

(I think it could be a reference to “Just fear me, love me, do as I say…”?! ) "thousand mistresses" is something that is not really physically possible BUT if was the dream visitor, this explains who these people could be. I think every person that was tadpoled had their own Daisy.

The Cult of the Absolute itself has changed quite a bit after rewrite, There was this theme of "Power at a Cost"that is gone. The Absolute was going to offer you "powers" but indulging in those corrupting powers would send you down a dark path and had long-term consequences. "Cultist of the Absolute"MTG card had this in the description "you embrace power at any cost, and if it consumes you, so be it." Now the Emperor is the one who insists that you should use this powers, but consuming tadpoles has no real impact, it just a for a powerup system.

I was re-reading bg3 prequel comic Mindbreaker, I noticed something really interesting. At the end of the first chapter a group of true souls teleported to a library to perform a ritual. Then suddenly they started speaking Infernal while they were standing on something that looks a lot like the marks on Astarion's back...

And then a tadpoled priest of Kelemvor "father Alby" killed the true soul lady that was standing in the middle, using a dagger that looked like Rhapsody(it wasn't a 1 to 1 copy but the design were pretty similar) and after that a portal opened and he was like"now it is revealed to us, my fellow true souls…the glory of the Absolute has no limits!" Okay so who's this ritual is for? (It's definitely not for neither The Dead Three, their chosen nor The Netherbrain), And why is this "ritual" look so similar to devil worshiping?! At the start of chapter 2 the comic described whatever happened there as this:

Divine magic is power imparted by a god upon one of their worshipers, a reward for prayer and good service in the deity's name. But there are other paths to power as well…Dark pacts with strange beings whose magic and influence rival the glory of the divine, even if they are not called gods by those who define such things. woe to any who fall under their sway or drink deep from their corruption.

It implies the Absolute is not a real God, and the description doesn't really fit the Netherbrain neither. The use of those "powers" that the Absolute offered were described as "Dark pacts"

After all that, I looked into whether or not devils even could have dream powers and turns out yeah a certain type of fiend do! There's 3 type of incubus/succubus, EA dream visitor was really similar to the fiendish type who are neither devil nor demon : "Fiendish succubi commonly used their ethereal form to slip through walls to reach a mortal's bedside, and linger there as they slept. Here, they filled their victim's dreams with debauched scenes and whispered of forbidden pleasures, tempting them to indulge in dark desires, appetites, and taboos. The more the succubus did this in their dreams, the more vulnerable their victim became to temptation in the waking world. Eventually, the succubus entered the mortal realm directly, in a pleasing form previously seen only in the dreams, and befriended or seduced their victim, so they could influence them directly and indulge all their desires so they would perform evil deeds of their own free will. When the victim was utterly corrupted, such as by committing three betrayals of thought, word, and deed, their soul was in the grip of the succubus, without need of contract or pledge. For a more virtuous victim, this corruption might take longer, but their downfall was all the more rewarding for the succubus. Finally, the succubus slew their victim with a kiss, and the corrupted soul went down to the Lower Planes as their prize." "Fiendish succubi could become ethereal by slipping into the Ethereal Plane. They could also magically charm a humanoid, in sight up to 30 feet (9.1 meters) away, and make them obey any command they gave them. The victim might resist, especially if made to perform a harmful or suicidal action." It's all very similar to EA dream visitor and that also explains why EA dreams were so seductive but the only thing that doesn't line up is succubus could only have one charmed victim at a time...so i'm not really sure.

Looking back on it now, I think the character who replaced Daisy wasn't the Emperor, It was The Dark Urge(or more precisely Bhaal) What we were resisting in EA dreams was the dream visitor themself, not the urge to kill them. This would happen if you failed that charisma check(I find it weird that some people still insist that original Tav was Durge/a Bhaalspawn even when the writer straight up confirmed that's not true.) My theory is those "urges" were the consequences of using the tadpole powers and not resisting the dream visitor. The character that the emperor replaced was actually Orpheus(Emperor existed even before the rewrite. I'm not sure what his original role was, But his name was datamined back in ea) Orpheus was the person in the artefact that help the party and prevented them from becoming mind flayers, Based on this datamined conversation with Halsin (x)

Halsin: You're aware of the monster inside you. You don't bow to the Absolute, like the true souls do. How is this possible…? Tav: A being called Orpheus is protecting me; Shielding me from the worst of parasite's magic. Halsin: That sounds…novel. But alright, Who is this Orpheus? I'd like to bend the ear of anyone who knows about these things. Tav: I don't know the truth bout him. I'm not sure he even has an ear to bend. Halsin: Hmm. There's so much stock you can place in mysterious friends with unknown agendas...

These were also datamined about Orpheus (x)

in the game files " the cube contains the long imprisoned spirit of a gith general, who wants to fall into our party's hand in effort to eventually break free."

He's forcing Shadowheart to either join the party or get killed by the party - either way the cube will be where it wants to be.

A mysterious character who is trying to survive and break free, who prevents the party from turning into illithid and Shielding them from the Absolute's influence...That's just the Emperor now. Raphael originally wanted the artifact, so there should have been some sort of connection between him and Orpheus. Orpheus from Greek mythology was a poet and musician who descended into the underworld/hells to bring her wife back, So maybe there was something going on that got cut? .............. Small rant about Mephistopheles I feel like they just slapped him in the game last minute... The fact that Mephistopheles had the Crown of Karsus but did not use it does not make any sense. Mephistopheles is a wizard, ruler of Cania and second most powerful devil next to Asmodeus. he was desperately looking for divinity so he could beat Asmodeus and take his place.(Especially considering what happened between him and his cambion son Magadon just for a portion of the god Mask's divinity. he managed to get only a fraction of that )He could have use the crown, Steal Asmodeus' divinity and easily defeat him. "frigid archivist who made a miracle into a museum piece" is not really who Mephistopheles is ,he's very power hungry and his "most damaging issues" are his "rampantly unchecked megalomania and recklessness in the pursuit of power" The chosen stealing the crown from him is weird on itself(IMO None of them were smart or strong enough to pull that off)And then Mephistopheles did not go after them and let them carry out their plan?why?! I even think Raphael being the son of Mephistopheles was something they added later for several reason: Everything that connects Raphael to him was added after the rewrite(Him wanting The Crown of Karsus, Astarion asking about his scars and Haarlep). This makes him way too similar to EA Mizora, She was supposed to have a powerful devil father. Raphael's concept art looks a lot like Yurgir and other devil concepts from Avernus cut content and shouldn't he be blue?!Because I read somewhere that Mephistopheles's red skin is the result of the experiments he did on himself and he was blue before all that?!

Mephistopheles's deal with Cazador and him wanting 7007 random souls is also kinda ooc for him. He is the one archdevil who prefers quality over quantity("He has the advantage of having the lowest quotas of the archdevils but with the limitation of the highest standards")that's why he's in debt to some of the other archdevils like Dispater and Levistus. He also only makes deal with skilled wizards and cunning sages(Cazador doesn't really fit the bill) My theory is Astarion's back scars originally might had something to do with Raphael himself. Cazador's lair in bg3 art book looks different, Notice how the set up for the ascension ritual isn't there(Instead there is a pool of blood?)

if you look at Astarion page on BG3 artbook, it is mentioned that whatever is carved on his back is part of a poem.

Mephistopheles doesn't make contract in poem form. When the set of the MTG cards that included bg3 characters was released, They published this video explaining each card, Brandy camel (community manager at d&d i think)said this about about Raphael:

Later in the same video she said this when discussing Astarion's card:

He's an individual who's kind of been operating in that place between being rising to nobility but hasn't quite made it there yet, So he's kind of under the thumb of Raphael and he's not super happy about it.

So originally i thought this could be a mistake but if Raphael was EA dream visitor, I can see how he could be involved with Astarion. Here's a little summary of Astarion's og storyline(source of datamined stuff here) So there was this chosen of the Absolute "the Butcher",He and Cazador had a rivalry over who get to control the Baldur's Gate graveyard.(You could have sided with either of them) Cazador sent some of his spawns to investigate the cult, We were supposed to meet them in act2. Astarion wanted to ally with a monster hunter named "Spencer" against them, But if we talked to spawns we would learn that "the Butcher" send his apprentice "Ohler" to the graveyard(he was putting tadpole inside the skeleton's head and that made them hostile toward the vampires ) then an ancient and powerful vampire called"the Alluring" killed him. They also mentioned how they were happy with their situation and that Cazador is an okay boss"It is good. You don't age and everyone is afraid of you. Cazador is a bit strict but he makes sure we are fed" So about how Raphael might have been involved, "the Alluring" was called "Desire/Alluring" in the game files so he(?) was EA dream visitor in disguise... That explains why Astarion was the only one who had nightmare about Cazador instead of tempting dreams like the rest of the party. also in ea if you speak on dead on gur and asked him who sent him he would say this :

Astarion : Who sent you… Was it Cazador? Gandrel: No… Maiden Fel… Astarion : Who is Maiden Fel? Gandrel: Reason… Even monsters… Have nightmares…

If hypothetically Raphael was Daisy, this "Maiden Fel"was also probably him too? ................ so here's another delulu theory: (I know it's not very likely, I wasn't even sure to include it) Raphael's name still bothered me, I couldn't help but think there must be a reason why they name a devil after an archangel. So I checked to see if I could find some sort of connection between Raphael and any of d&d deities(since angels associated with gods) i have two guesses. the first one is Beshaba. Beshaba is "chaotic evil deity of accidents, bad luck, misfortune, and random mischief" and her holy symbol is the horns of a stag. She is the twin sister and sworn enemy of Tymora, the goddess of good luck(they are kinda like Shar and Selune) Raphael has this line in act1"They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don't they?" "Tymora was the most famous deity around the country of Cormyr, after she protected their capital, Suzail, during the Time of Troubles. Her efforts prompted a resurgence of her faith throughout the nation." and there's this one fallen temple of Tymora in the city of Tantras literally called the unlucky"House Of Hope"(x) Raphael has these dialogues "One might say you're a paragon of luck. I'll be there when it runs out" "You're out of luck." which didn't happen This is less likely guess because dnd evil deities don't really have angels... my second guess is Lathander. He's the deity with most similarities to Archangel Raphael "Lathander was a deity of creativity, dawn, renewal, birth, athletics, spring, self-perfection, vitality, and youth. He favoured those who dispelled the undead and blessed those who planted new life. Lathander was also the god called upon to bless birth and fertility related ceremonies.""A common symbol associated with Raphael is the color green. This color is often used to represent healing and renewal, which are two of Raphael's primary areas of expertise. The use of green in depictions of Raphael can also be seen as a nod to the natural world, which is often associated with healing and growth.Finally, Raphael is sometimes depicted holding a fish, which is a symbol of abundance and fertility. This symbol is particularly relevant to Raphael's role as a healer, as it represents the idea of restoring balance and vitality to the body." And both Archangel Raphael and Lathander are commonly associated with the Sun. Lathander is also a god of "hope and beginnings", He and his followers"Strive to bring hope to others" that one statue in the House of Hope with a sun behind his head and plants around his neck looks pretty similar to Lathander's statues in the game...

There's more to this if Raphael was the Original dream visitor. Daisy also spoke of "change", "growth" and a "beautiful and glorious renewal" If you look at the art of "Cultist of the Absolute" MTG card, You can see a window on the background that looks a lot like Symbol of Lathander. In the prequel comic there was this panel where one of the protagonist asked the tadpoled true soul"father Alby"what happened to him and why is he doing all of this, he replied"A simple answer to both questions, I have been Awakened" Novices in the Lathanderian faith are also called the Awakened. In original storyline that supposed to happen in Rosymorn Monastery(x) Kith'rak Voss got some kinda information from there that he wanted to tell Vlaakith about! He had this cut dialogue "I will make for the plane-gate. Vlaakith must hear of this!".The Absolutists REALLY didn't want this information to reach Vlaakith. Even Daisy was going to make an appearance because of it, this was datamined:

We need a system for showing daisy and making them talk to the player in the world// Daisy insists that the player shouldn't let Kith'rak Voss escape.

Why is this information obtained from a temple of Lathander be so important to the cult of the Absolute? Avernus was supposed to be playable and Zariel was also an angel under the command of Lathander before her fall. so maybe there was something going on between Raphael and Lathander ?! like i said I know it's not very likely... ............. So that's all i had to say, I tried to look into it more specially stuff that was datamined from patch5 and 8 of Early access(there was A LOT)but i couldn't find much, Most of the stuff from those patches were deleted or unlisted on YouTube... Just remember I’m literally just sharing my opinion, it is not a personal attack on you or your taste :P ok bye.

[lovecla]

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, nico hischier x you:

FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT, game plan:

➴ chapter warnings: none <3

➴ word count: 1.5k

💌 from me to you: and here’s the first chapter of fake it ‘till you make it! posting this sooner than expected in honor of last night’s game. can you guys believe we have nico hischier as our captain? how lucky are we? anyways! i hope you all like this! (the posting schedule will be just like TYPA, every other day!) ♡

𖧷

WHEN YOU tell people that being friends with a hot, young NHL player isn’t at all that great, all they do is look at you like you’re batshit crazy, and give you one hundred and fifty four arguments trying to make you, someone who’s been friends with a guy who’s been a NHL star player for the past few years, see how wrong you are.

You love Nico Hischier. You really do. You met him when you were just eighteen, being friends with his sister, Nina, and immediately locking in with Nico. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving man you have ever met in your life, and now that you’re twenty-three, almost twenty-four, you can see how rare men like Nico are.

But now that he’s a famous player, captain of an entire team and known for being one of the hottest men in the NHL, you sure feel like you’re paying a high price for being in his life.

Not in a bad way, though. It just sucks to see the amount of women throwing themselves at his feet, and what sucks even more, is knowing that he won’t even blink an eye at them because he’s head over heels for Nora Ellis, a crazy girl he met two years ago at a party.

Nora is beautiful, you’ll give him that. And usually, you wouldn’t be upset with him having a crush. In fact, you and Nina are always encouraging him to engage in new relationships and meet new people, so that he isn’t only worried about his job.

Nora. She’s the most beautiful black woman you have ever seen. She’s intelligent, she’s funny and she knows things about Hockey like no one else— being the daughter of one of the most talented coaches in the NHL does that to you, you guess.

The only problem with Nora Ellis is the fact that she only cares for men who are in a relationship.

Married or dating, she doesn’t care. Her only goal is to make them give up on their partner to be with her, and once she gets tired of them, she finds another mission to busy herself with.

Nico doesn’t seem to notice that. To be fair, no one really does. She can be very subtle and discreet, and the only reason why you caught up on that in the first place is because every party you go to, you try to blend yourself with the walls, so you don’t get too much attention on yourself.

Nico always tells you to stay by his side and mingle with his friends, but by the end of the night, you’re always sitting near the bathroom door, with a drink in your hands, watching the party unfold with attentive eyes.

And turns out that a lot can happen in the bathroom of a party full of NHL players and Nora Ellis.

So you know she’s not good for him. You’ve tried to talk him out of it more times than you can actually recall, but it’s a dead end. Nico’s in love with her, and has been for two years now. He won’t give up on her unless something really drastic happens, but since Nora is really good at what she does— destroying relationships for fun—, nothing will ever rise to the surface.

“She’s so… pretty,” Nico sighs, sitting on the couch beside you, making you sigh and put your book down, not forgetting to mark the page you were in. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

You smile, touching his cheek, watching with awe as his dimples appear. “It’s fine, Dimples.”

He rolls his eyes as he always does when you call him that, and continues.

“You’re the only one who still listens to me ramble about Nora,” he pouts. “Nina said that if I talk about her one more time, she’ll fly to Newark and personally destroy my phone so I can’t call her anymore.”

You laugh loudly, perfectly picturing Nina saying that.

“And Luca?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Luca just says I need to move on.”

“Well, he’s always been more patient than Nina, that’s for sure,” you nod, placing your book on Nico’s coffee table and bringing your knees close to your chest, resting your head on them. “But… he’s not wrong, y’know?”

Nico gives you the puppy eyes, as he always does whenever someone mentions that he should get over Nora, and you sigh again.

Seeing him like this sucked in every way. And you’ve tried everything— get him on dating apps, blind dates, normal dates, pointing at a pretty girl at a party, literally everything.

And still, he’s not budging.

“I wish she would just look at me. I’m handsome, right?” He looks at you, brown eyes filled with despair.

You spend some seconds analyzing him, as you often liked to do. His brown, hazelnut eyes that shined bright everyday, his hair that’s now a little bit longer than usual, his legs and arms which are absolutely huge— when did he get that big anyway?— and his perfect, charming smile and dimples.

“Emma?”

“O-oh, yeah, you’re… fine, I guess,” you shrug, trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out. Weird. “It’s not about you, Nico, I’ve said that before.”

“Okay, but why won’t she pay attention to me, then?”

Because you don’t have a girlfriend, is what you want to say.

Wait.

“Oh my God!” you jump in your seat, scaring Nico who lets out a loud scream and jumps out of the couch with you.

“What the— Emma.” He puts his hands on his hips, trying to look scary, but you brush him off.

“I know how to make her fall in love with you,” you smile, walking around in circles, trying to organize your thoughts inside your head. Nico. Nora. She thinks she’s in love. Nico’s happy. They get together. She’ll leave him after three months or so. Nico’s sad. But! Nico’s moved on. “God, how did I not think of that before?”

“What are you talking about—”

“We have to date.”

Nico stares at you like you’re crazy, his eyes big and confused. He opens his mouth a few times, probably trying to think of something to say, before closing it and inhaling the air.

You wait for him to say something, but when it’s obvious that he won’t, you continue:

“I know it sounds crazy, and I know what you must be thinking, but hear me out,” you step closer, looking up at him. “Girls sometimes don’t pay attention to guys because… well, because they can’t really see them. Like, for example: there’s this one guy in my office which I don’t care about, he’s just my coworker and nothing else.”

“What does this have to do with—” you put your index finger over his lips, shushing him.

“Wait,” you say. “So, he’s there and he isn’t anything. Until, one night, I had a dream that he’s dating me. And suddenly, I wake up and go to work, and I can’t see him the same way I did before. I start noticing how nice his hair is or how tall he is. Do you understand it now?”

Nico smiles, scratching his forehead with his finger.

“No, Emma. That doesn’t even make sense.”

You snort. “Because you’re a man. But trust me on this one, Nico. The second Nora sees you with someone else, she will notice you.”

Mostly because she’s a whore, but we’ll keep that to ourselves for a while.

“Do you have… like… a crush on me or something?” His face is now red and he gets closer to you, placing his hand on your shoulder while he looks like he’s trying to comfort you. “Is that why you want to do this?”

“What— No, what the hell!” you can feel your face getting warm and you step away from him. “No, I don’t have a c-crush on you. I just can’t stand you talking about her anymore. I’m your friend, so I will help you.”

Nico sighs, relieved it seems, still looking unsure.

“You don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to,” you say, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “I know it sounds crazy and I know you probably think I’m trying to get something here but in reality—”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?!” you can’t hide your surprise, almost shouting with how loud you spoke.

He smiles, sitting back on the couch, spreading his thighs and stretching his arms. “I mean, you’re never wrong about these love related things. You did get my sister an amazing boyfriend and you did manage to convince my brother to ask that girl out, and now they’re married. So it’s probably my turn to accept your love advice and shit, right?”

You’re starting to feel bad about this whole thing, because you know Nora will probably break his heart in thousands of little pieces, but what else can you do?

It’s the perfect plan, you think to yourself. It’s flawless, and it will work.

“I try my best,” you give him a half-smile, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “But you have to promise me something.”

Nico nods. “Anything.”

“If this doesn’t work out, then you'll move on.”

“Emma—”

“It’s not healthy for you to be thristing over someone for this much time,” you sit on the couch next to him and place your hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “We will fight, and we will fight hard, but if there’s no results in three months, and I’m being generous, we’ll move on. Okay?”

Nico stared at his hands, biting his lips before looking at you again.

“Okay.”

𖧷

<next chapter>

[bunnyreaper]

𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸 𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.7k warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), cheating (not from reader or john), older male younger female, future daddy kink) notes - dropping chapter one just because i need to get it out of my head ! a lot of setup really, but i swear we will get somewhere soon!! also on ao3! ♥

The rain had been threatening to come for days now—thick grey clouds lurking in the sky like a promise, but so far no drops had seemed to fall. 

It's easy to get lost looking out the window, as the gunmetal sky gains an amber hue. The dinner you'd cooked had long gone cold—your boyfriend staying late at work again instead of coming home. It's easier now that it's almost a habit, to take your mind off things by staring at the sky, the record player crooning in the background. 

You suppose if you took him out of the picture, life wasn't all that bad. The house the two of you shared was nice and homey, your job was mundane and untaxing and exactly what you desired, and your friends were solid. 

James was the only sticking point, with his eyes that were never quite blue and his heart that was never quite yours. You suppose you knew deep down, without ever really knowing. 

The creak in the floorboards and the sound of a voice pulls you from your thoughts, bringing you back into the room.

"Knock knock." A sonorous voice rings out as a head pops around the door of the living room, before John Price—your boyfriend's father, makes his way inside.  

You force yourself to be present, offering an unbridled, warm smile at your guest as you playfully greet him. "Captain." 

"Darling girl." He replies, your smile mirrored on his face. He sets down a box of beers on the table and starts to take off his jacket. "Tried texting you to let you know I was headed over, saw the light on, and the door was unlocked." He explains, as if he hadn't made his own way inside before. 

It never bothered you, your place feeling more like home to John than his own little house on the other side of town. 

You rise to your feet, heading through to the kitchen on instinct—he brought beers, which means you'll grab the bottle opener for him before he even needs to ask. "Sorry, John, I kind of zoned out for a good while there." 

His footsteps are heavy as he follows you through, with an easy swagger to his steps as he brings through the beers to put in the fridge. "You should lock it even when you're in." Authority laces his tone, as he directs his paternal instincts at you.

"Yeah, I know." You laugh, nodding along, as you're so used to the way John can't help but look out for you at every opportunity. You move on autopilot, taking the box from him and setting the beers in the fridge before taking one, uncapping it, and handing it back to him.

His gaze follows your every movement, observing you as his thoughts tick over with every passing second. "Everything okay?" He asks, seeing right through you, as he always seems capable of. The concern that's clear in his voice almost makes you flinch—you get so unused to being cared for when he's not around.

You force a tight-lipped smile onto your face as you force yourself to whisper some excuse, even if it isn't too far from the truth. "Tired, it's been a long week." 

John's brows furrow momentarily, and the slightest frown plays at his lips, which you know from experience means he doesn't believe you, but he won't push it for now.

He wraps his hand around the neck of the beer, taking a deep gulp before wiping his beard with the back of his hand. "Where's James? The two of you should be cuddled up on the couch, unwinding." 

"Still at work." You shrug, turning away from John to try and find something to busy yourself with—currently, wiping down the counters and loading the dishwasher. 

"Guess I'll keep you company then." John chuckles, his voice soft. Despite only being here for mere moments, his quiet presence is already starting to lift your mood. 

You turn to him, naturally falling into a more playful spirit as you lean over the kitchen island, pausing for a moment. "Hopefully my company won't be too much of a disappointment then." 

"I don't think that's possible, love." He answers without missing a beat, his eyes serious even if the smirk on his face isn't.

John always knows how to make you feel better—you couldn't have asked for a better support system when it comes to your life with James. His mother is lovely, endlessly self-sacrificing, and sweet, but now more focused on her growing children than her adult son—especially since James never seems to appreciate her as much as he should.

She raised James without John by choice—rightly or wrongly deciding not to tell anyone who the father of her teen pregnancy was. John was leaving for the army and wanted a different life for himself than the one she and a baby could offer, so she kept the burden to herself and let him go. That's how she told it, that's how it seemed to be when James showed up at John's door over two decades later and confirmed his father had no idea he existed. 

The two have been making awkward attempts to make up for lost time in the years since, with you and your unfolding relationship witness to the whole thing. James had gained another father, you had gained... a friend?

"You say that now." You wink, knowing full well that you've found ways to exhaust and annoy John Price before. 

He takes another sip of his beer, longer and slower this time, as if savouring the taste. "Getting as much of you as I can before I ship out on Monday." He admits. 

Your heart sinks just a little. Even though it's been years of John disappearing to god knows where, it never seems to stop causing you to worry. How would James deal with it if he never came back? How would you? 

Like so many other things in your life with John, you've become practiced in the way you are around each other. Despite having a million questions, you know he can answer none of them, so each time he gets dragged off to someplace unknown, you find a silly way to get something out of him. 

Last time, you asked if the nation's flag had a star in it, and it did. You could almost imagine him in a different country every day that he was away, until he came back to you both. 

Today, you fell back on an old favorite. "Flip-flops or snowsuit?" You ask with a giggle. 

"Ha, flip-flops." He answers quickly, confirming that wherever he's headed, it's hot weather, he drinks some more as if to silence the rest of the words on the tip of his tongue. 

You know by now that John prefers the cold.

"Hopefully I'll be able to catch the kid before I go." He adds, referencing James—he always tries his best to say goodbye to you both before he goes, now he has a reason to come home. 

You grit your teeth at the mention of your boyfriend, knowing you won't see much of him this weekend either.  "Sunday is your best bet, he'll be hungover after the stag do he's going to tomorrow." The one he only told you about two days ago.

"Those were the days, eh." John smirks, tilting his head as if to recall a memory. As an army man, you can only imagine the shit he's gotten into with his squads, the places around the world he's gotten drunk out of his mind and done god knows what. He has so many years on James, so many stories you'd love to hear.

"Too busy playing lawn bowls with your comrades now?" You can't help but tease him as you always do, the two of you falling into your back and forth with a familiar ease. 

He tuts, sending you a playful glare that forces you to ignore the way it makes you feel. "Less your lip, young lady." 

You have to ignore the way that makes you feel too— fuck, you're lonely, and you need James to just fuck you already. 

"Absolutely, old man." You snap back, never able to resist the urge to tease him for his age. He's only in his early 40s, hardly an old man at all, but you still love to wind him up about it.

"You're the one listening to Otis Redding." He huffs, raising a brow as if to suggest you don't have any room to mock him with your own habits. 

You suppose you do listen to golden oldies, knit for fun, and prefer nights in rather than nights out.

"You're the one who bought it for me." You counter, as John had bought the vinyl for you, along with many others. If anything, he was transforming your music taste into his, one album at a time. 

"That I did." He chuckles, before finishing his beer with one final swig. You're setting a fresh one down in front of him before he can even ask. "You won't drink with me?" 

Perhaps he feels left out drinking alone.

You wrinkle your nose, catching a whiff of hops that makes your stomach churn. "Even you can't convince me to drink that swill, I'll grab something, though." You concede that at least, turning to reach the shelf up high to where you keep your liquor. 

John is offering his bottle up as soon as the clear liquid is poured into your glass. "Cheers, love." 

Your glasses clink as your eyes connect, a soft, sincere moment passing between the two of you that makes your heart beat a little faster. You were awfully fond of the older man. "To your safe return." 

"I'll drink to that." He toasts, before downing half of the beer in one go. "You still owe me the dinner that you promised me last time, I'm coming back to collect." 

"I actually have some I can reheat, it was for James, but since he's staying late..." You offer, your sentence trailing as you battle to keep your thoughts on the man in the room with you, rather than the one who isn't. 

"Can't let your lovely cooking go to waste now, can we?" He grins, deeply pleased to be getting one of your meals. 

You turn to the oven, pulling out the two plates that are still warm, food piled high on top of them. "Glad it's appreciated." 

John pauses, his eyes trying to meet yours, yet you continue to avert your gaze, focusing on grabbing cutlery for you both. You said too much. 

"You don't feel appreciated?" He asks, voice softer—concerned all over again. 

As you sit down beside him, setting the two plates down, you struggle to meet his eye as your feelings swirl and conflict inside you. If anyone offered the perfect understanding ear, it would be John, and under any other circumstance, you'd happily tell him all about what ails you. "I don't... think it's appropriate to talk to you about my relationship troubles." 

His posture stiffens, his voice hardens, and his food is temporarily forgotten as his protective instincts kick in. "But there are troubles?" 

Now, you find the strength within you as you force a laugh from your throat and a spark into your eyes. "Oh no, I meant hypothetically." You joke, hoping he takes the bait. 

Instead, a hand reaches out to settle on yours, warm and firm and reassuring—ebbing away at your propriety. "Love, you're a terrible liar." He whispers, yet unable to keep the smallest of smiles from tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Or you're just used to reading people for a living." You counter—after all, you tell James you're fine all the time, and he's never suspected any different.

"That too." John laughs, as he pats your hand and begins to rub circles over the back of your smaller hand with his calloused thumb. "You have to talk to someone." 

There's that commanding, authoritative, caring voice again—the one that makes you relent every time he uses it on you. 

"I will, just... not my boyfriend's dad." You whisper meekly, guilt stabbing through you as the words leave you. 

He nods understandingly, patting one more before he pulls his hand away, and goes to twirl pasta around his fork. "Why? I might be his father but a blind man could see the way he takes you for granted." 

Hearing the words out loud, verbalised by someone else—verbalised by John of all people, feels like a stab wound to the chest. You'd felt it for so long, assured yourself that you were just going crazy, ignoring the way James cares for you, assuring yourself that nothing was amiss. But John sees it too, sees it in his own son.

"Well, I don't think men who wouldn't take me for granted actually exist." You laugh bitterly, stabbing at your own plate of food before swallowing a bite—you're sure it would've tasted nicer when it was actually fresh. 

John's jaw clenches, a hint of frustration passing through him as he watches you, hurting and hiding it all away. "Then you're dating the wrong men, darling. We exist."

You take a deep breath as you try to let go of the ugly feelings within you. Men like John do exist, good men, caring men. 

"And yet you deprive women of your company, how cruel." Your eyes roll back sarcastically as the grin breaks out onto your face. 

Any woman would be lucky to have John, but for as long as you've known him, he's kept himself to himself. Now he preaches his own virtues like you have something to look forward to, and yet men like him always seem to be out of reach. 

"I'm a busy man." He shrugs, taking a bite of his food before rushing down another as gentlemanly as he can. 

"And yet here you are." 

He nudges you with his knee, flashing you a smile. "Spending time with my favourite girl." 

It takes everything within you to remain calm and remind yourself that he doesn't see you like that. You're just his son's girlfriend, that he happens to get along with, very well.

You giggle anyway, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of his statement. "Ah, waiting for the main event."

John sets his fork down with a clatter, his attention now fully on you. "Love?" 

"Yeah?" You swallow, wondering just how he's going to chastise you for your self-deprecation. If you had a pound for every time he's told you to be kinder to yourself, or gently corrected you when you make jokes at your own expense, you could probably afford to pay for the therapy you clearly desperately need. 

"I didn't just come to see James." He admits, the words a quiet confession.

He's right—the two of you have become fast friends ever since your introduction, and find nothing uncomfortable in each other's company as you wait for James to come around. 

You nudge his knee back, making your chair spin more than his. "You came for Otis and some lovely pasta." 

"And good company, couldn't ask for a better way to spend my evening." 

Your stomach flips at his words. You know he isn't flirting, but you'd be lying if you said his constant compliments didn't make you feel better than you had in ages. 

Maybe you should tell him about things with you and James, maybe he would have some good insight. After all, he must have a wealth of relationship experience under his belt.

"John..." You start hesitantly. 

"Bunny?" He asks, the intensity of his blue eyes firmly fixed on you—the nickname he reserved when he was feeling especially fond. 

The front door all but crashes open, and a frustrated growl rings out from the hallway as keys are thrown down and shoes are kicked at the shoe rack. "Fuck, I need a drink." 

James appears in the kitchen just a few seconds later, practically ripping his hair out the roots as he snarls to himself. His expression softens when he lays eyes on you and his father. 

"Hi." You greet him, feeling rather apathetic at his late appearance. 

"Hey babe. John." He nods, giving his father a manly slap to the back before he gets to work on tugging his tie.

"Alright son." John greets, lips quirking into a smile at his son's appearance. 

James steps forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, which you receive with a forced smile and no affection of your own. Both of you are blind to the frown that flashes onto John's face. 

As James pulls away, he rips his tie from his neck, bundling it up before throwing it at the hamper and turning away.  "I'm heading straight for a shower, I'll be back down soon." He calls out, disappearing up the stairs two at a time. 

"Yeah, see you soon." John offers, a hint of frustration to his voice—he's never been all that fond of his son's manners, as he's mentioned on numerous occasions. 

The mood feels a little stifled now, as both you and John eat your meal with an uneasy silence hanging over you. You hear doors slam upstairs as James makes his way around the house, likely leaving a mess behind that you'll have to clean.

You knew why you felt worse at this moment, your opportunity to talk to someone snatched from you by his untimely appearance. He's always late home, couldn't he have been a little later? 

What puzzled you was John's shift in demeanour—it didn't sit right with you. Perhaps he felt ignored by his only son, the one he'd been waiting for this entire time. It's funny, you supposed, the way you both find solace in each other over the similar treatment you get from the younger man. 

"Everything okay? You've gone quiet." You ask John, it being your turn now to play the concerned friend.

You know him well enough too to know his smile right now is forced—you don't need to be a trained SAS operator to notice the way his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Fine, love, just thinking." 

John was a man who could probably stand to think a little less, especially when he's at home. It's one responsibility you found yourself picking up all this time, as you tried to make his days away from war lighter.

You nudge him again, practically trying to force the playfulness into him with the push of your knee. "Well, we can't have that, can we? I hear it's dangerous." 

He barks a laugh, pulled out of his glum mood, and back into the room with you. "You never fail to make me laugh, darling." 

"Might be my proudest accomplishment." You giggle, feeling oh so pleased with yourself. "What would your soldiers think if they knew the fearsome Captain Price had such an atrociously bad sense of humour?" 

He rolls his eyes, but that bright smile that splits his handsome face doesn't waver. "Eh, not sure if it's atrocious, most of the lads' jokes make me groan." 

You roll your eyes at that comment. "Most things make you groan." 

"You don't." 

"Not for lack of trying." 

There's a solid second of silence before you realise the heavy yet accidental innuendo in your comment. You feel your face burst into flames, mortification taking over you as you meet John's shocked expression. "I mean—" 

"I know what you meant, love." His laugh warms you as he seems to take the whole thing in stride. "That blush is quite something, though." 

You throw yourself into your curled-up arms, hiding away as you're unable to look John in the eye any longer. He's your boyfriend's dad, almost twice your age, and you're making jokes about him groaning. It's a tough battle to force the thoughts out of your head lest you blush any harder. "I'm gonna go stick my head in the oven." 

"And ruin your pretty face?" 

"You're making it worse." You whine, pushing yourself further into the safe cocoon of your arms.

"I'll stop." John laughs, hand coming to settle on your back as he soothes you. "But it's nice to have cheered you up." 

"I suppose..." You sigh, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. Your blush abates as the two of you continue to eat until your plates are clean. 

 "All done?" You ask, gesturing to where John is setting down his cutlery atop the plate. 

"It was perfect. Thanks, love." He says sincerely, a hand resting on his stomach as if to add to the sincerity of the gesture. 

"Anytime." You smile, taking the plates and heading over to the dishwasher. "If I'd have known you were coming, I'd have gotten dessert."

John knows you wish you would've had more notice—even if he's had to tell you many times that you don't need to clean the house and cook a three-course meal every time he happens to pop over. "Only got the marching orders this afternoon." He shrugs as if to absolve himself of any responsibility. 

"Do you know how long you'll be gone?" You ask, voice quieter as you return to his side. 

"A month, probably not too much longer." 

A month was fairly typical. "Well, make sure you come home to us." 

Come home to me, you think selfishly. 

"Always, darlin'." His eyes burn with a promise, and a sense of joy at hearing those words. "Someone's gotta keep that old soul of yours company." He winks. 

"So, I'll get initiated into the bowls team soon?" You wink back. 

John finishes off his beer before laughing once more, the sound filling you with warmth. "Maybe you can be my pool partner." 

"I can't play pool for shit, John." You whine, remembering the last time you tried to play pool and ended up injuring yourself, as well as sending balls flying all over the pub.

"Guess you're due a lesson then." 

Once more, you're interrupted at the most inopportune time. 

"Keeping the old man company for me?" James asks, meeting your gaze over his father's shoulder as he rubs a towel at his dripping hair. 

"Somebody has to." John teases, more poking fun at himself than at anyone else, and the two of you share a laugh. 

You begin to mourn the light moments you've had, as the atmosphere shifts once more at James' arrival, and you feel yourself growing tense and unsettled. You watch in silence as James looks around for the bottle opener, and you make no effort to help or tend to him.

It's John who breaks the awkward silence. "I won't stay too much longer, leave you two to enjoy your night." 

You stand, the stool scraping back loudly against the floor as you do, making your hair stand on end. "Uh, actually, I think I'm gonna sleep. You should enjoy some father-son time." The smile on your face is polite and perfunctory. 

"Goodnight love." John smiles, soft and genuine, as he watches you walk away. 

James speaks up too, but the words barely register. "Night babe." 

As you reach the threshold of the kitchen, you turn back once more—John's eyes are still on you.

"Stay safe, John." 

"Yes ma'am." He nods, holding your gaze until you disappear up the stairs. 

You try not to think of the look in his eyes when you fall asleep that night.

———— 

Time seems to go differently when John is deployed. Despite not being anything more than your boyfriend's father, you're still always filled with worry waiting to hear from him. Outside his military family, you and James were the ones waiting for him to come home with bated breath, and with John's disastrous love life, you found yourself the only woman waiting to welcome him back to civilian life. 

As you stare at your inbox, waiting for anything to come through, you find your thoughts drifting easily to other things in life—to John.

You're his friend, if you can even call yourself that—but you miss him when he's gone. Back on English soil, he's visiting you and James pretty frequently, coming over for dinner or helping around the house—since James is useless with a drill. 

Things are different when he's gone, though sometimes you feel like you're the only one who thinks that. 

Your boyfriend doesn't worry like you do, despite being closer to the man, though James has never been the most emotional of guys to begin with.

Despite work keeping you busy, and friends inviting you out for drinks, you often find yourself waiting for a text, or anything from John—just to know he is safe. 

Your phone chimes one Monday afternoon, interrupting your monotonous work day with something different. The timing makes your heart soar, as it must be from John letting you know he's back in Hereford—the notification you see instead is the end of everything as you know it. 

A message request from an anonymous account: "I'm sorry for you to find out like this, but I couldn't keep the secret any longer." 

Attached to the message is a series of pictures, and a video from a bar, of James entangled with another woman in a way that couldn't be mistaken for anything else. You recognised the tie, the one he'd worn for the first time only a month ago—the one he'd thrown in the laundry before rushing off to shower. 

The nausea overwhelms you in an instant, sending you rushing for the bin beside your desk as the content of your stomach leaves you in harsh retches. 

Everything that happens after is a blur, as your co-workers rush to your aid—your closest work friend seeing the messages on your phone as she pulls you to the bathroom, cleans you up, and makes sure you get home safe and sound. 

She doesn't want to leave you alone, but you know that company right now will only make the whole thing worse. You wander around the house in a haze, tending to your chores like nothing has changed, and your world hasn't been turned upside down. 

That deep, unsettled feeling you've been getting as of late? It all makes sense now—why you never truly felt at ease around the man who was supposed to love you. And yet, a part of you felt relieved. Relieved that you weren't crazy, relieved that you weren't to blame for the way things had changed lately, relieved that you finally had the chance to walk away. 

You haven't stopped thinking about the text all day—wondering how the fuck you're going to confront James and not rip his head clean off of his body, how you're going to end your years-long relationship and upend because your boyfriend couldn't keep his dick to himself. 

The clock on the wall ticks away, counting down the moments until he comes home from work, late as always. At least now you know why. 

Your phone chimed again a while ago, probably whatever excuse he had cooked up—you hadn't even bothered picking the damn thing up to check the notification.  

A knock at the door pulls you out of it all, as you move on autopilot to go answer.

Did he forget his keys? Or has he gotten himself drunk to the point he can't put them in the door anymore? 

On the other side of the door isn't James, isn't your cheating, good-for-nothing boyfriend but John. 

His beard untrimmed and eyes dull—the scent of cigars rolling off of him in waves. "Hello, darling girl." He says his usual, as a smile tugs at his cheeks. 

"Hi." You offer in return, your voice almost completely motionless. Time seems to slow as you stare at the man before you—usually, you'd greet him with a quick hug and a bright grin, so pleased to see him safe and on your doorstep. Yet, the day's events have stolen that joy from you. 

John picks up on your mood almost immediately, head tilting in concern as his eyes roam over you. "Bad time?" 

"No." You shake your head as you step aside. "Come in."

John scrapes his boots against the doormat before he takes them off, along with his jacket.

"Tea." You whisper, snapping into action as you turn and head to the kitchen. You almost always make tea when he comes over—you don't even have to ask anymore. 

"Thanks, love." His voice rings out after you. 

Focusing on making the tea helps calm you somewhat, and you pull out two mugs to make a cup for yourself too. 

How were you going to tell John? The news would ruin him. How are you going to tell John that you'll be leaving his son's life, and therefore his? 

Your heart falls deeper into a pit of misery at that thought alone—the loss overwhelming you. 

"James home?" 

"Still at work." You whisper, not trusting yourself to speak properly without the bitterness unfurling and the truth spilling out. 

John scoffs from behind you, but you know he isn't really all that bothered. "Oh, right. No heroes welcome from my lovely son then." His sarcastic words are graveled. 

"Saves you from all his silly questions, I suppose." You shrug, still not turning to look John in the eye. "Though you put up with mine, so." 

"Yours don't ask me to break the law." He huffs, short and sharp, before he perks up again. "Didn't actually get to bust out the flip-flops this time, though." He offers, a hint at your last conversation. The weather was milder than he expected then, you suppose he was rather pleased about that. 

You let the silence settle over the two of you as you continue to make your drinks, focusing on the way the unfurls from the bag and changes the hue of the boiling water. Next is the milk, semi-skimmed because James doesn't like full fat—at least that's something that'll change for the better once you leave. 

The thought makes you freeze. 

"Love, what's the matter?" John's smokey voice is soft and sweet and coming closer—laced with concern. 

Your chest tightens, impending doom feeling like it's right over your shoulder—everything is going to fall apart in 3. 2. 1.

The milk bottle falls free from your hands, crashing to the floor with a wet splash—the cold milk is easily ignored as a hand comes to rest at your back, pulling you away from the edge of the abyss of your pain.

"Talk to me, what's going on?" His voice is more insistent this time, but still just as concerned. He ignores the pool at both of your feet in favour of consoling you. His features are knitted together in a terrifying amount of worry that makes you crack completely. 

"John." You whisper shakily, finally meeting his eyes. 

His baby blues are filled to the brim with care for you, with concern and confusion and a million unanswered questions. "Yes, darling?" 

"He's cheating on me." 

There's a beat before John explodes. It's not the bombastic, showy anger where things get screamed—he's quiet and seething and eerie, his words spat through gritted teeth. "He's fucking what?" 

Your whole body begins to shake as the truth tumbles free, solidifying itself as reality now it's spoken aloud. "He's cheating on me with one of his coworkers, Lucy." 

Not that it mattered whether it was Lucy or Georgia or some girl from the club or whatever. 

John stiffens—his shoulders squaring up, his jaw clenching and his body tightening like he's going to war. You've never seen John Price the soldier, but you imagine it's something like this "When's he due home?" 

"I don't know." You answer honestly. You don't know, and you don't particularly care. At least you'll never have to wait for him to come home ever again.

"I'm gonna ring him—" John snarls, shoving his hand into the worn pocket of his jeans as he grabs his phone. 

"Don't." Your hand shoots out to still his wrist, though you know the effort would be futile if he truly chose to ignore him. "Please." 

"If only I'd have fucking raised him." John seethes before launching into action, he moves around you to grab the kitchen towel, ripping off piece after piece as it soaks up the spill. He throws the half-empty bottle into the sink, as milky white sprays up the backsplash. 

"It's okay." You whisper, genuinely feeling that in a sense, it is. You've been betrayed, but at least now you'll be free. 

"It's not okay." John moves to stand before you again, his arms braced on your shoulders as he looks down upon you, craning a little to get closer to your height. "Love, you're perfect, you're too lovely for him, how could he hurt you?" 

"How could anyone hurt something so precious?"

"Not precious enough, clearly." You scoff, wondering where it all went wrong. Right now you felt the furthest thing from precious, from loveable and perfect and everything else John said. Fuck, you feel like you're turning him against James. "Sorry, I feel like I shouldn't be talking to you about this—" 

"I'm on your side, yeah?" He interrupts you with good reason before your thoughts can spiral any further. His grip tightens a fraction as his thumbs move, slowly and reassuringly, across the bare skin of your shoulders. "He's my son, but he's a fucking bastard for this. You deserve better, love." 

The sweetness in his voice makes you snap. Why wouldn't you have a man like John? So caring and kind and knowledgeable—older and experienced and so out of your reach. 

"I don't—" The tears start to flow freely, as you desperately search John's eyes for answers. 

"Shh, come here, I've got you." He pulls you in close, his arms wrapping around you in a warm, secure embrace. His smell surrounds you, the soothingly familiar smoke coating your skin. Lips press against your forehead delicately, as he holds you like he's holding every piece of you together, bit by bit. His body is like his presence—solid, unwavering, ever-present.

"I've got you, everything's going to be okay." He whispers, over and over and over again, chanting it like a prayer.

In his embrace, firm and reassuring, you might actually believe him.

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[sportbarcelona]

Guess The Highest Value PLAYER

[sooniebby]

Hey brother. I ain’t quite sure if you’re receiving this request or not (didn’t figure how to send them corrrctly yet), it could you write something with tsukkishima or Kuroo, please? With a character that is also somewhat smart academically but stupid for other shit. A intelligent himbo, if I can call it that way. And the other character is just feeling this weird sense of pleasure by putting the reader back on his place with some sort of dumbification. Thanks man

ఌ 𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐎

꧁ 𝙏𝙚𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙤 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Word count › 1.4k

Rating › NSFT

Warnings › you’re very dumb :/

Kinks › light degradation

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

“That’s not how it works, Nekomata-San…” 

(Name) glanced back at Kenma with a confused look. “Why not? Isn’t the ball supposed to not hit the floor?” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“So then double hitting it should be fine.” 

“We can’t. It’s illegal.” 

“You can’t go to jail for that. There’s no law about it.” 

Kenma wanted to jump off a roof. He simply sighed and shook his head, deciding his mental health was worth more than explaining volleyball to his coach’s grandson. (Name) was honestly just confused on how something could be illegal in a game. 

“Kenma! Oh, afternoon, Nekomata-San.” Lev yelled, quickly bowing towards (Name). 

“Where’s Kuroo?” Kenma asked, wanting someone else to entertain (Name) before his brain turned into mush. 

“Dunno! I just got here,” Lev said, noticing only Yaku and Nekomata (the coach) was there. “Where is everyone?” 

(Name) hummed. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic?” 

“But… they were at school.” Lev said. 

“They could still get stuck in traffic.” 

“But they only have to walk. There’s no cars.” 

Lev looked confused out of his mind while Kenma simply wondered how could someone be so stupid but be one of the smartest kids at the school. He sometimes wondered if it was the price (Name) had to pay to be a top student. 

“What’s today’s date?” (Name) suddenly asked. 

“October 15.” Yaku said, walking over towards them. 

“Ah, It’s Kuroo’s birthday tomorrow!” 

“No, it’s Kenma’s.” 

“Ah,” (Name) blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry, Kenma.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“So are they just getting a party ready for Kenma? Oh, but why wasn’t I told?” Lev pouted. 

“Because you’re annoying.” Yaku grunted. 

Kenma shook his head. “I doubt it’s for me. Wouldn’t they do it tomorrow? We’ll have practice tomorrow too.” 

Nekomata coughed, earning the boys attentions. “(Name)… did you forgot the day you were born?” 

(Name) blinked. “I don’t think so. It’s September 15.” 

His grandfather sighed. “No, it’s today.” 

Kenma wondered how one could forgot their own birthday but he kept his mouth shut. Lev quickly went on a spew of questions on how (Name) could forget while Yaku simply muttered a happy birthday. 

“Ah, but that doesn’t explain why they aren’t here,” (Name) muttered. 

It did but no one had the heart to tell him. 

The door to the gym suddenly opened with Yamamoto, Kuroo, and few other players holding a cake. They yelled out a happy birthday with grins on their faces while (Name) just looked confused. 

“Who’s this for?” 

“Uh, for you.” Yaku said. 

“Ah! Right, thank you!” (Name) took the cake out of Yamamoto’s hands and blew out the candles, a small smile on his lips. After the quick happy birthday song, they all cut the cake into equal slices for everyone. 

“Nekomata-San, did you really forget your own birthday?” Kenma asked once (Name) was left with the largest slice of cake. Birthday boy gets the biggest slice, Nekomata had said. 

(Name) blushed. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you… But I was busy worrying about what to get you.” A cute smile appeared on his lips. “I guess I forgot about myself for a moment. I’ll give you your gift tomorrow.” 

“Ah, okay.” Kenma was honestly surprised (Name) would give him something since he had forgot his own not too long ago.

Maybe (Name) just had short term memory.

“Nekomata!” An arm suddenly wrapped itself around (Name)’s neck, causing him to wince. Kuroo grinned mischievously as he pulled (Name) close to him. 

“You’re going to choke him.” 

“He’s fine. Eh, Nekomata, I heard from Lev that you don’t know how volleyball works.” 

(Name) pouted. “I was only wondering why something was illegal if there’s no laws against it.” 

Kuroo blinked, a confused look in his eyes. He wasn't expecting that level of stupidity but he’d ignore it. “Those brains of yours certainly can’t help with everything, huh? It’s okay, though, you have me to teach you.” 

Kenma felt awkward being here. It felt oddly sexual with the way Kuroo was holding (Name) close to him. The more lustful look in his eyes while (Name) looked into it in a way. 

He should go for his sanity sake. “I finished my slice. I’m going to go practice now.” 

“Oh, okay.” (Name) muttered, meekly waving him goodbye. Kuroo simply hummed. 

Kuroo waited until Kenma was gone before pulling (Name) outside. (Name) went along with him, a blush creeping on his face. Once they were outside and behind the gym, Kuroo easily manhandled him to press against the wall. 

“Cute, I love when you play dumb.” Kuroo chuckled, pressing light kisses on (Name)’s neck. 

“I wasn’t!” (Name) mewled. 

Kuroo and (Name) were dating, which was something only Yaku and Yamamoto knew. And it wasn't because they told them. It was more of they were having sex in the locker room and Yaku and Yamamoto hadn’t actually left yet. 

It was a traumatising day for them both but they were nice enough to never tell anyone. (Name) mainly didn’t want his grandfather get angry or anything. 

“Tetsuro, they might hear us,” (Name) muttered, watching as Kuroo pulled down his pants. 

“They’re busy practicing. We can be quick,” Kuroo grinned, reaching down to slip a finger inside only to feel the string of something. He blinked and looked at (Name) who looked as if he wanted to die. 

“Oya? Is this what I think it is?” 

(Name) flushed. “No, it’s not a dildo!” 

Kuroo still wondered what he saw in (Name). “I know that. It’s called a butt plug. I’m shocked you used it,” he laughed, reaching inside to pull it out. (Name) groaned as he felt his hole now clench around nothing. 

“Did you have it inside you all day? Thinking about me…?” Kuroo smirked. 

(Name) pouted. “You said you’ll be happy if I did…” 

“Hm, did I?” Kuroo slipped in two fingers easily, enjoying the needy whines he earned from him. “You just do whatever I say huh? Don’t think for yourself.” 

“What..?” (Name) whined. “I do think. It’s impossible not to.” 

Kuroo simply shook his head and slipped out his fingers. “Do you want me, (Name)?” 

“Please.” 

(Name) wrapped his arms around Kuroo’s neck as the volleyball player grasped his legs and held him up. His legs quickly found themselves wrapped around his waist as Kuroo reached down to push his cock into (Name)’s twitching hole. 

From the butt plug that was inside of him the entire day, his cock easily slid in, earning a whimper from (Name). It certainly took some strength to hold him up but Kuroo was able to began his slow thrusts, enjoying the small gasps that left his boyfriend’s lips. 

“Tetsuro, it feels good.” (Name) babbled, his grip tightening around Kuroo as his thrusts began to pick up speed. His back was rubbing up against the wall, possibly causing them to collect dirt but he didn’t care. He loved spending his time with his boyfriend and having sex on his birthday was arousing to him. 

(Name) quickly pulled him in for a kiss as his thrusts began to feel sloppy. Maybe it was the thought of getting caught or the fact that (Name) was really walking around school with a butt play all because he said he’d like it but Kuroo felt as if he was about to cum already. 

He wanted to last a bit longer but thought maybe it’s good he’ll cum now. So they won’t be out gone for too long. 

The two continued to kiss, allowing them to moan without being heard as (Name) could feel himself getting closer. The grip on his legs was driving him crazy as he felt Kuroo use them to move (Name) back into him with each thrust. 

Sounds of soft gasps and squelching filled the air was the sun began to set. In a weird way, it was oddly romantic. With a few more thrusts, (Name) came first, arching his back as he gripped Kuroo’s shoulders painfully. Kuroo was right behind him, grunting as he pushed in deep inside. 

(Name) shivered at the warm cum inside him, wondering if he was really about to walk home with it inside. Kuroo simply hummed, not sorry at all for not pulling out. A pout appeared on (Name)’s lips as he was about to complain until he noticed that they were no longer alone. 

There stood a traumatised Kenma and Lev. 

“Kuroo….” 

“Nekomata-San…” 

Oh, fuck. 

“(Name)?!” And his grandfather?! (Name) was shocked to see his grandfather right behind Kenma. 

(Name) felt himself faint. Oh, no. His grandfather really just saw him butt ass naked with cum dripping. Kuroo himself also wanted to shrivel up and die right then and there from the glare his coach was giving him. 

Yeah, he was gonna have to kiss that leader title goodbye. 

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

I hope I did Kuroo Justice lol! Thank you for requesting! And requests are open!!

[generalllimaginesss]

Here’s a little piece based on Megan Moroney’s song Reasons to Stay.

Warnings: angsty bf! Jack, toxic relationship (you can usually tell if I’m depressed or not based on what I post lmao), but like this is really really toxic so don’t read if that’s a trigger for you. I think I made myself go crazy while rereading it.

Reasons to Stay

I asked Jesus for a sign

And today I haven’t cried

It’s only 2 p.m. but that beats yesterday

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

The status of having an NHL boyfriend was alluring to a lot of girls. The fame was something that always felt new, thousands of people, strangers, screaming the name that you hold near and dear to your heart. The money eased the fear of bills and gave a freedom the average person would never experience in their lifetime. The influence that you hold as a WAG always playing in the back of your mind anytime your finger hovered over a button to post a picture, wondering if the caption was classy enough to hold your status.

The truth is that looks can be deceiving. The girls that threw themselves at Jack made for a constant state of insecurities to pool in your brain, sloshing around anytime Jack was home late or turned his location off. The money bought things that made you smile, a Louis Vuitton here, a Mercedes there, but the feeling of being in debt to the man that let hate spew from his mouth anytime you accidentally stepped out of line pulled at your being, anxiety grasping at the freedom, one not capable of being present without the other.

Was it really freedom?

Was it the price of freedom?

Maybe.

Maybe the price was the amount of tears that flowed when he rejected an outfit for you to wear.

“You’re not leaving in that. I don’t date sluts and that makes you look like one,” his reasoning rang, slicing through your ears and bouncing around anytime you bought clothes.

Today was a good day, though.

He had kissed you goodbye, asking if you would be making dinner tonight.

He’d be home tonight, you thought, willing yourself to think positive and fighting against the urge to dwell on the fact that he had come home with a hickey the night prior. He insisted it was a hickey, but you weren’t too sure about that.

But he’s yours tonight, that’s all that matters. That keeps you going; the possibility that tomorrow he will be yours is your driving thought. So you went about your day as if the life you were living were a dream and that you were living the life as the girlfriend of a famous hockey player who made millions.

Maybe it’s normal to have to be small. Maybe you just have to compensate for the huge platform that he had. He had earned it after all.

Seriously, what did you do other than keep the house tidy and go to his games? That’s normal….right?

You just had to tell yourself that it would be ok. It would be harder and messier to leave than try to push through.

And when you’re drunk at 3 a.m.

You don’t call your ex-girlfriend

It’s been a couple months since you

Brought up her name.

So I guess that’s a reason to stay.

The guys had gone out after a win, guys only. No girlfriends or wives. That’s what Jack said, at least. They were celebrating the guys achievements, some records broken, and it was just for them.

That was fine with you. He had an amazing game: his second hatty of his career. He needed a night to let off some steam and just be a boy.

The picture of him and Nico with Jack’s ex looming in the background was just a coincidence, yeah? Jack said she was a puck bunny, so she’s probably just going from guy to guy.

As soon as he walked through the door, the smell of bourbon wafted through the air, attaching itself to every air molecule in the apartment and meeting you like a familiar friend. This wasn’t the first time he had come home in this state. It wasn’t even the 5th or 6th.

“You’re up,” Jack’s words were slower than normal, the effort to produce the words coherently proving to be more tasking than normal. He took in the view of you curled up in an Ugg blanket on the plush cushions of the couch, noticing the lines that the tears had been drawing for the past hour. He took note, but not responsibility. He told you where he was and what he was doing, no harm no foul.

“Just couldn’t go to sleep,” Your voice was weakened, something you despised about yourself. You used to view yourself as strong and independent. Sticking up for what was right was was something you took pride in, but being in a relationship with Jack had slowly chipped away at that, so nonchalantly that you were the skeleton of who you once were before you could do anything about it.

Jack’s balance teetered from the left to the right, making a ship at sea during a storm look like a walk through the park. He stumbled as he tried to take his shoes off, a cue that you learned meant you needed to help him.

He did so much for you, so would it really be awful to just help him out?

As you slipped one AirForce off, you took notice of the bruises that feathered his legs, probably from the intense game tonight.

You could feel courage bubble, coming to a boil before you made your next statement, “I noticed your ex in a picture that Nico posted…what’s that about?”

“Baby,” He slurred, attempting to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear but pulling it instead, kissing your forehead after you winced at the tension. “You’re the only one that matters,” And with that he sucked you right back into his intoxicating blue eyes. They held a secret confession of his love for you. One that only you could see and he could feel.

But you don’t try like you used to

You don’t look at me the same

You used to say you’re sorry, now

Whiskey’s what you blame

How much can a heart take

‘Til it’s really your last chance

I’m a giver, but I’ve given all I can

We both know that I ain’t one to walk away

But I’m runnin’ out of reasons to stay

Things hadn’t always been like this.

Jack hadn’t always been like this.

He used to surprise you at work with two dozen roses, or wrote sweet love notes on sticky notes and stuck them to your vanity. He used to put in effort.

He used to want you.

What were you thinking, of course he still wanted you. He wouldn’t be in a relationship with you for the whole world to see if he didn’t want you, right?

He hadn’t bought flowers in a long time, though, and the sticky notes had slowly made their way to a drawer for safekeeping, none there to replace them. The vanity was bare, loneliness radiating from it every time you passed it, the feeling resonating in your soul.

It was as lonely as you.

Jack had come home drunk again last night, the smell of the liquor laced the words he shot at you with a poison that made them burn when they hit you. Everything that came out of his mouth felt like lashes against your skin.

“You’re so fucking boring, Y/N! You think you’re so perfect and you’re not! You think you’re better than everybody around you, but you’re not! You’re a fucking bitch, you cunt!”

He went on like that for at least an hour, going on and on about how he deserved better, how he could have anybody he wanted but settled for you.

It hurt even worse because it was so untrue. You battled with yourself for years because you compared yourself to those around you constantly. Jack knew this. He had been there for your breakdowns when your family had made you feel like a disappointment, or when you never thought you would be as pretty or talented as the other girls in the hockey scene.

Did he just forget this?

How were you going to smooth this over with him?

It felt like all you did was make excuses for him just to be able to live with him.

Why?

How did he completely change you? Wreck you? He had gutted out who you once were and left the bare beams that held you up. He had conditioned you to allow him chance after chance, no matter how bad he had fucked up.

And you just let him.

As the sun played a game of peekaboo through the curtains, you had made up your mind that you couldn’t justify the way he was treating you anymore. It was wrong.

The smell of bacon and eggs lured you into the kitchen to see him shirtless, standing over the stove as he busied himself with making breakfast. His back muscles flexed as he maneuvered about the stove. He looked perfect, as if he hadn’t verbally assaulted you and your character last night.

Before you could say anything, he had sensed that he was being watched, catching a glimpse of you as he turned his head slightly to the left.

“Morning. Didn’t wake you up, did I?” His voice was raspy, probably from partying for most of the night, but it sounded like he cared. It was refreshing.

“N-no. Um, I just felt like I should get up,” Reassuring him felt like an attempt to just keep the peace. Don’t say anything to set him off, don’t be combative. He’s cooking breakfast for you, so everything’s ok.

“Good. Hey, about last night…I’ll be honest I don’t remember what I said, but if it was bad it was just from me drinking too much. The boys may have gotten me to drink more than I normally do…” he trailed off as he plated the breakfast he had made for you, placing it on a placemat at the bar and pouring a cup of coffee for you, 3 creams and 2 sugars.

He remembered.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You walked to the bar taking a seat.

The morning consisted of the two of you genuinely enjoying the presence of the other, catching up on what’s going on in each other’s lives and promising to not let it get this way anymore.

Before Jack left for practice, he had placed a kiss to your lips ever so gently, “I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft and sweet.

How was this the same Jack from last night?

You were sure that you had to be going crazy.

If I go find somebody new

I’d lose your mom and sister too

You know me and how much I hate change

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

And I ain’t perfect either, we all make mistakes

But that don’t change

The Michigan sunset was absolutely breathtaking. The orange and purple hues painting a picture so perfect that it could never be replicated on a canvas. The distant sounds of the guys on the lake could be heard in the distance, the chill of the wind carrying the hoots and hollers from the water to you and Ellen, sitting on the deck attached to the back of the house.

The smell of the deck and the sound of the hundreds of frogs from the water felt like a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from.

“Jack would probably kill me if he heard me say this, but I really hope you two get married soon. I’d love to have you as my daughter, you know? These boys are a lot sometimes…” Ellen chuckled as she nodded to the boys in the distance.

The comment caught you off guard, a response in favor felt forced, but how were you supposed to tell her that her son was making your life a living hell?

“You’d have to take that up with him,” You smiled at her, not revealing the relationship that was slowly eating away at you.

“I promised to never pressure them to do something that they weren’t ready for, so I’ll let him choose the right time. I just know we all love you. Anytime the other two call home they always ask how you’re doing. I know they talk to Jack about you, too. We didn’t think he’d ever be ready to settle down with a girlfriend, much less one as amazing as you,” She went on, pulling her jacket tighter around her as the absence of the sun left goosebumps on her skin.

“It’s getting cold out here, let’s head inside and you can help me make dinner. I believe we have some wine if you’d like some,” She stood up and headed to the kitchen, waiting for you to follow suite, you smiled.

It was almost a sad smile, grateful that even though Jack wasn’t the man he should’ve been for you, his family loved you. They made you feel safe and loved. They were a safe haven from the toxic tendencies that Jack had taken up when the two of you were in New Jersey.

“I’d love that, Ellen.”

The sound of bare feet padding rapidly against the blades of grass that ran from the dock to the deck made you and Ellen turn your heads towards the window, watching on as Quinn, Luke, and Jack were racing towards the house.

Luke won, his long legs giving him an unfair advantage against his shorter counterparts. Quinn came in second as Jack has tripped over himself.

“What’s for dinner?” Luke panted, reaching for a water bottle out of the fridge and attempting to sit on the couch.

“You’ll find out after you change out of your wet swim trunks,” Ellen gave him a stern look, him raising his arms in defense as he left to go to his room for dry clothes.

You felt an arm snake around your waist, the smell of lake water and sunscreen following behind it. At first you jumped, worried that you had done something wrong.

He chuckled at the sudden movement, not realizing that he was the problem.

“Jumpy, are we?”

You smiled, trying to not cause an issue with him.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expecting you to be so cold,” You felt nasty as you lied through your teeth.

After a few minutes, he finally decided to retreat to the shower to wash the day off of him. You took in your surroundings while he was away.

Quinn and Luke played the Xbox while Ellen prepared the vegetables for dinner and Jim smoked the meat outside. You had been loving this family for years now. You and Ellen had become so close, easily somebody you loved as if she were your own mother.

Jack wouldn’t be the only person that you would have to let go of if you were to leave. As much as you loved his family, it was only natural for them to take his side, something that you understood and admired. You could only wish somebody would take up for you no matter what, and he had 4 people willing to do that for him.

You couldn’t imagine the thought of having to start over with somebody new, having to meet their parents for the first time and being disappointed that they weren’t Ellen and Jim. Being disappointed that their siblings wouldn’t pay the extra money when they accidentally forgot to keep your Snapchat streak going since it was almost 4 years long. Quinn and Luke texted you almost as often as they texted Jack. You were like their sister.

The thought of starting over was enough to have tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. Whatever Jack had done, you couldn’t expect him to be perfect. He’s human, after all. You’d stay if it meant you could keep the Hughes in your life.

I'm runnin' out of patience

Damn, I hate to say it

I'm runnin' out of patience and grace and at the end of the day

Findin' last resort reasons we're okay

Ain't a good reason to stay

“Jack you have purple bruises all on your fucking neck! How stupid do you think I am?!” You barked at him as he sat on the couch facing you.

“Stupid enough to think this is the first time this has happened,” His smug smirk and body language made you want to hurt him. You wanted to hurt him as bad as he’s hurt you for so long now.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you, Jack Hughes. You are the most disgusting person I have ever met and I hope your life becomes a living hell that you can never get out of,” The words came out calmly despite their harsh meaning. It was eerie, making the hairs on Jack’s neck stand up.

“Where do you think you’re going,” He watched as you made your way to the shared bedroom, hearing the sound of a suitcase zipper open.

He jumped up, heading straight for you, but froze as he watched you throw clothes into the suitcase. When that one became full you found another one to shove your clothes into, until the only things left were things you didn’t normally wear.

“What are you doing?” He spat, realizing that the grip he had on you was being relinquished.

“What does it fucking look like? I’m done. I’ve gone crazy trying to love you and I want out. I can’t do this anymore!” You tried to yell, but your throat constricted as it tried its best to sob. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you like that, though. He had put you in this state of survival long enough.

“You’re going to regret this…” He trailed off, following you as you threw everything into your car.

“Maybe so, Jack. But I will never regret it as much as I regret falling in love with you. You are an awful person, and I hope everybody will see that one day,” You slammed the door shut and put the car in reverse.

As you made your way down the driveway and street, Jack’s figure became smaller and smaller. Nobody would ever make you feel this way ever again, and you felt sorry for whoever fell into the trap that is Jack Hughes after you.

*

*

*

*

HAHA IM SO SORRY!! Also this in no way reflects who Jack is in real life because I, obviously, don’t know him personally. This was so bad though, so I’m actually really sorry.

[ltbarnes]

Back to December (1/2)

Summary: Your new job as an assistant for the CEO of a big, shiny company was supposed to be a good thing. Instead your ex from uni who completely ghosted you out of nowhere several years ago happens to be one of your superiors. It doesn’t help that he’s only gotten more handsome over the years. But you hate him for leaving without an explanation, and he seems to hate you too. Everything is just fucking great.

Pairing: ex!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: OFFICE AU (Ghost is not ceo but he’s up there in the company somewhere), exes to enemies to lovers, harassment, past emotional violence/threats, ghost was a rugby player in uni lol, blood

A/N: I’m finally dipping my toe into another fandom 🫣 I’ve been obsessed with the cod men for months now so I suppose it’s time. this is the first part of two, maybe three. we’ll see where my imagination takes me!!

Part 2

Masterlist

So many years spent wondering what the hell happened that night, and there he is on the opposite side of the meeting room table gathering his papers into a neat pile. Simon always was organized, you remember.

He hasn't seen you yet. Or maybe he doesn't recognize you. You don't think you have changed that much, but you never know. More as a person than your appearance, you guess.

Maybe that's why you haven't fell down to the floor crying yet—you would have just a few years ago. Seeing your ex-boyfriend for the first time since you were 20 might do that to you.

But you just feel anger. Anger over the fact that Simon has the audacity to have grown into his looks that way, and that he's successful and has this great scruff on his face and that he just left and never said a word to you again. How dare he have a good life when he just abandoned you and your relationship that night all those years ago without giving you a reason for it.

Your new boss clears his throat, sitting down at one of the ridiculously expensive chairs right next to you. You didn't notice him come in, and you certainly haven't gotten used to his intimidating presence yet.

"Garcia, you have about...fifteen minutes to go through your presentation. I have another meeting with Hill soon." Mr. Price pauses to look down at his wrist watch for two seconds in the middle of his sentence, before nodding towards the beautiful redhead standing with a small remote in her hand.

For some reason this company seems to be where models who get tired of their careers come to work. You didn't exactly get that memo. It's only your second day here, and you feel intimidated by everyone. Maybe that's the way an assistant should feel.

"Y/l/n, you keeping notes for me?" Your head tilts up dangerously fast at the mention of your name, taking a few seconds too long to process his request, before nodding obediently.

"Yes, sir."

Your fingers click too loudly against the keys as you frantically try to draw up a document with the correct font and size. It's too quiet in here. You haven't done anything wrong, yet it feels like everyone is waiting for you to misstep. Your anxiety is a bitch.

"Riley. Riley, what the hell?" you hear someone whisper angrily. It's not until you hear a pen clatter to the floor that you dare to look up his way.

Honey brown eyes stare right into your goddamn soul. Your breath hitches, speeding up the pace of your anxiety-ridden heart even further. More than what's acceptable for sitting still in a work meeting. But your momentary weakness over catching his attention soon disappears, to be replaced by your anger again.

You look away with a clenched jaw, focusing on the keyboard right beneath you. Simon is still staring at you. You can feel it. Feels like it always used to do, but this time you don't want it. In your ideal world Simon Riley would not sit opposite you, would not stand up to join the beautiful, model redhead to hold a presentation where he keeps stumbling on his words all the time because of your presence. At least you think it's your presence, but you're not sure if it's in a good or bad way. For you it's bad.

But it does make you feel good that he keeps having these space outs—tripping over his words, forgetting them all together. It is not a good presentation on his part, and Ms. Garcia is getting increasingly more irritated at him for his lack of delivery. You hope she scolds him for it afterward. God knows you would like to throw every curse word you know at the man.

Should you be this angry after all these years? Should you have let it go a long time ago? Should you have stopped acting as if being with another man after him is betrayal? Probably. The last question is probably the answer to why you haven't really moved on from your hurt.

It just makes you so mad—for a year he was your entire world. Simon hugged you from behind each time he encountered you out in public and played with your hair as you fell asleep in his arms and woke you up with his fingers tracing patters on your hip. He fucked you until your bed broke and made love to you so gently you might as well have been made of glass to him. Two weeks from your anniversary he stopped talking to you. Not one thing of his was left in your dorm the next morning, and you didn't see him on campus even once during the term he had left of school. The few friends you had in common didn't talk to you anymore.

It broke your heart, to be abandoned like that. That night was already shit, and Simon just decided to make it ten times worse. You were in shock and all you wanted was his comfort. To find out he had left? You barely made it through that next semester.

For years you have pondered over what part of you was so unlovable that Simon couldn't even bear to say another word to you. Maybe his inability to function properly during this meeting wasn't due to shock, but instead disgust over having to be in the same room as you. Fuck, you are mad, and yet so scared that you have to meet him every single week from now on. You're not strong enough for that.

"That was...something. I expect you to be better prepared next time I see you, Riley," Mr. Price says, clicking his pen while pointing it towards Simon. "Don't know what the fuck that was," he mutters under his breath while rising from his chair.

You follow swiftly. The chair is too loud as it's pushed back. You cringe. Gathering your laptop and your papers is ungraciously done. Price still waits for you though, for some reason, but he sighs and puffs while doing so. Everyone else is quiet, besides the slap to his arm Simon receives from Ms. Garcia. They're probably dating. Two perfect, good looking people having perfect sex in their perfect apartments. You hate them both.

You try not to look at him as you walk out behind Mr. Price. But you still say a 'have a good day' that is too quiet to the room, answered with a few nods and some 'you too' back.

A small squeak of surprise escapes your lips when your boss comes to an abrupt halt in front of you. A millisecond is all it would take for you to have crushed into him, and that squeak leaves heat travelling to your face. He turns around, facing the room once again, with his usual glare.

"Don't bloody stare at my new assistant. I don't want another HR-situation with this one. Especially talking to you, Riley."

Price pins his glare on Simon, who gives him an equally harsh glare back. You are just about ready for the floor to break so you can fall through to the bottom level and run out of here. But you're frozen in your place, clutching your belongings to your chest tightly enough to make a computer-sized dent in your skin.

Without another word, your boss turns around and heads out of the room. You couldn't have moved any faster if you wanted to—already tight on his heels while your heart rate desperately tries to calm down. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. What the hell are you going to do? Ignore Simon and hope that you manage to avoid him for however long you'll work here? It feels kind of impossible, but the last thing you want is to talk to him. You couldn't.

You've just put down your things on your desk right outside of Price's office when he speaks again. His voice always manages to make you jump in your place, head flying up to meet his gaze.

"If Riley, or anyone else, gives you any trouble—you tell me," he says, unflinching and stoic.

You gulp, frozen in your position. "Oh—I, okay. Thank you." The words come out quieter than you wanted to.

"You seem like a good kid. Don't want these fucking fools to chase away 'nother one of my assistants."

The door to his office is closed the next second. You just stand there, dumbfounded and a little confused, but still flattered in some way. A good kid—you'll take that.

Popcorn crunches underneath your sneakers as you push yourself past the people going up and down the stairs, trickling out of the stadium with happy smiles on their faces and lively conversations exchanged now that the game is over. They won. The players are still out on the field, celebrating their victory with slaps to each other's backs, jumping up and down, impromptu attack hugs. You are giggling too, watching them.

Simon has torn his shirt off, sweaty, blond hair a mess as he shakes his head. Johnny just poured water all over him—the guy always gets so overexcited. And goddamn, your man looks good as he has that rare smile on his face.

The game was a really good one on his part. Everyone in the team calls him 'Ghost' because of how quickly and seamlessly he moves despite his size. And the big tattoo of a man wearing a skull mask on his arm. But once  he's out on the field, the players never expects his speed. At least one player during each game runs right into him, as if he was invisible. A ghost.

He hasn't noticed you yet, where you stand leaning against the railing. It's freezing out. The first really cold September day, and you didn't think to bring a proper jacket. But you don't really care, because seeing Simon and your friends this happy has plastered a permanent grin on your face.

"Riley, your girl!"

Someone shouts and points at you, alerting your boyfriend of your presence. His head whips in your direction, brown eyes pinpointing you in your place before a 6'2'' man starts barreling towards you. Simon throws the water bottle in his hand away carelessly as you giggle furiously over his excitement.

"Fuck, love," he says as he reaches his hands out, lifting you over the railing within a second. You yelp in surprise.

"Wha—Simon! Put me down!"

Simon just holds onto you tighter, pressing you close to him with your feet still in the air. How is he this strong? "Not a chance, Princess. We fucking won. I'm celebrating with my girl."

You chuckle, holding onto his shoulders while looking down at his sweaty face. "I know. I'm so proud of you."

A shy grin grows on his face, slowly setting you down onto the fake grass. "Really?"

"Really. It's the best you've ever played. Wanted to shout to everyone that it was my boyfriend doing all the best throws out there," you tell him, now looking up at him instead. God, he's tall.

Simon's mouth comes crashing down onto yours, giving you a sloppy kiss that makes you laugh.

"I lov—I loved having you here." Simon pauses in the middle of the sentence, as if he was supposed to say something else. "You're my fucking lucky charm, you know that?"

"I'm not so sure about that. You have lost quite a few games with me here as well," you tell him, ruffling his messy hair with your hand.

"Don't matter. I feel lucky anyway." A boyish grin adorns his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your head. "Now, tell me why in the hell my little lady is out here freezing her arse off 'cause she didn't bring a jacket? Like I told her to do?"

You groan, giving him a glare. "Stop. I should have listened to you, you were right, and all that. I know."

"Well, better for me, 'cause I get to rub my sweaty arms all over you now to warm you up."

"Go shower, you idiot." You push at his chest gently, rolling your eyes. He pretends to stumble backwards, holding his hands up.

"I will. Just wait a few seconds here, will you?"

Simon keeps walking backwards, waiting for your nod of confirmation, before breaking out into a jog towards the locker rooms.

You embrace your torso with your arms, rubbing up and down with your hands to warm your skin. There's so many players left on the field, still messing with each other like rugby teams usually do. Some you recognize—like Johnny and Gaz. They're your friends too. Others you have seen in passing at parties, in class. Some you only know because Simon complains about them to you. The fly-half never was his favorite. Graves, something? They're constantly at each other's throats.

Simon comes running out onto the field once more, this time with his jacket in hand. You sigh, scratching the skin above your eyebrow with a small smile.

"Si—you didn't have to. I'm fine," you say as soon as he's within earshot.

"Shut up. I'm being a bloody gentleman, just like my mum taught me."

The jacket is laid gently around your shoulders. You tug it tighter around you, because despite your words it is cold. And you love his jacket.

"Look at you. So fucking adorable."

You smile up at him, scrunching your nose. You love this fool. You love Simon Riley, have done so for many, many months. Haven't told him yet though. But it can wait—you have all the time in the world.

Simon is avoiding you. A week of not seeing him even once, despite the fact that you work on the same floor. You haven't attended any more meetings since your second day, but you still would have expected to run into him in the break room, or in the hallway. Hell, you've even delivered paper copies to his office and still haven't seen him.

You don't know what you feel about that. You are mad at him and you definitely don't want to be forced into an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend, but still not knowing why he left has chipped away at every ounce of confidence you had in yourself. Even now at your grown age. It's been several years since. It's pathetic. Maybe Simon realized that on a Friday night in December during his senior year of college—you are pathetic.

God, why are you still that 20-year old girl? Why are you sitting at your desk, 3:30 PM on a Wednesday, obsessing over every flaw you can come up with all because of a stupid man?

The anger you held towards him last Tuesday has morphed into deep self-hate. You begin to understand his perspective. He doesn't want to interact with the silly little girl he broke up with ages ago in her silly little assistant job. Simon is a senior executive in this company, for god's sake. He doesn't even have to send a second glance your way.

"Y/l/n! Coffee!" your boss yells from within his office. But the yelling and cold tone still doesn't offend you like it would any other person—it's just the way he is. Price has actually been pretty nice to you. You like him as your boss, despite his less than chipper attitude.

"Yes, sir," you shout back, rising from your seat.

You smooth down your dress, fiddle with your hair in the reflection of your laptop, before taking a deep breath. It's just a short trip to the break room. No big deal. Nobody actually cares that you are the new girl.

It's practically empty as you arrive, besides a man reading his newspaper in the corner while seemingly on an important call. Seems a little arrogant, but you know he's high up in the company. At least you think he is. Price doesn't like him. He told you so the first day.

A sigh of relief escapes your lungs as you walk to the expensive, Italian coffee machine. You press the double espresso button. No sugar, no milk. Just straight, black coffee for your boss. Kind of reflects his personality. It buzzes loudly as coffee drips into the cup, you standing there waiting patiently. It has started raining outside. You'll probably be soaking wet tonight once you come back to your apartment.

Someone comes standing beside you, taking a mug off the highest shelf. You catch a glimpse of his expensive suit before glancing upwards. Your lips part, almost just as shocked as you were last Tuesday. You can't catch a fucking break, can you?

"Johnny?"

The now bearded man, with a full head of hair as well, which he definitely didn't have when you last saw him, turns around towards you with a stoic expression. It doesn't change once he gets a good look at who said his name.

"You work here too?" you ask before gulping.

"Y/n," he says, a frown growing in between his eyebrows. "I work here, yes." The Scottish accent that you used to like listening to is now impossibly deeper.

"Uh, I—how you doing? It's been...a while." You glance away, cowering under his gaze. Soap always used to be so kind to you, treated you as if you were one of the boys. Insisted you call him Soap, something only his friends were allowed to call him. Now there is a hidden undertone of distaste in the way he looks at you. "See you've gotten rid of the Mohawk."

"I'm alright. Good to see ya', Y/n, but I gotta go back," he tells you. For some reason you feel like he's actually not all that happy to see you.

"Oh. Okay." The disappointment in your voice is clear. "We'll probably see each other again soon, I guess."

Johnny has already started walking away when the words leave your mouth. You hear him mumble a halfhearted 'Take care, lassie" before leaving you there dumbfounded and upright hurt with your boss's coffee cup. What was that?

You always knew Johnny was as loyal of a friend you could be, but...you didn't know he hated you that much. Especially when you didn't actually do anything against him. Not that you did anything against Simon either. That you know of. But, you know.

The short interaction leaves you jarred for the rest of your work day. You still get things done, but the look on Johnny's face is in the back of your mind the entire time. What did you do that was so bad that John goddamn MacTavish hates you for it?

It wasn't enough to work with the man who broke your heart, but your ex-friend as well. His best friend. You will never be welcomed here if half of the company leaders consist of people who have a grudge against you spanning years.

When the clock strikes 6, Price sends you home. He will probably stay for another few hours, you think, because there has been empty takeout containers in his office the morning after every day this week. You tell him to have a good night, he answers with a grunt, and then you and your bag take off through the hallways.

Your heels click against the floor as you walk through the mostly empty office space. Some rooms still have their lights on, casting shadows over the mahogany desks and the important people sitting behind them.

You halt your steps as you hear two voices wrapped into a conversation with each other. Someone must have left their door open. You don't want to eavesdrop, but it gets hard to resist when you recognize Johnny's voice from earlier.

"You can't avoid her forever," he says.

"Well, don't you think I fucking know that?"

You freeze as you instantly recognize the deep, rumbling timber of Simon's voice answering Soap. Fucking hell—they're talking about you. You can't not eavesdrop now.

"It's just—it's fucking hard, you know? She just walks in here all..."

"Met her in the break room earlier. Making coffee for Price."

"Yeah? She said somethin'?" Simon's voice sounds curious, eager almost.

"Asked how I was doing, the usual. Didn't know I worked here, it seemed like." A sigh sounds from the room, and you press yourself even closer to the wall. Please, for the love of god, don't let anyone walk by. "I couldn't just act like normal. I can't be fuckin'...nice to someone like that. When I know your past."

"What—you were fucking rude, or what? Just ignored her?"

"No, for fuck's sake. Left pretty quick, though. I just don't have any respect for things like that. You know that."

"Yeah." Simon lets out a bitter chuckle. If you could see him, he'd probably be shaking his head now. "I'm still fucking angry, you know? Can barely stand to be in the same room."

You bite down on your lip, shaking your head to yourself. You can't listen to the two of them talk about how much they hate you. How they don't have respect for 'things' like you. It's nauseating. Your limbs shake with poorly contained anger, but still the urge to cry is even stronger.

But there's no other way out than past his office. So you brave it—practically sprint by with your hand covering the side of your face in hope that they won't see who it is. You don't think they do. The blinds were down.

A single, pathetic tear slips down your face as soon as you exit the building. Cars fly past you, lights blaring everywhere, noise unending. You just want to go home. But you know the overthinking won't stop there.

As the obnoxiously loud alarm disturbs your sleep that finally came about three hours before, you groan into your pillow and wish for it to be anything else but Thursday. You want the weekend. You want to sleep in and wallow in the fact that you probably won't have this job for very long after what you heard Simon and Johnny say about you yesterday.

You don't even bother putting on heels this morning. An old pair of ballerina shoes and a thick, fuzzy sweater over your dress is what you drag yourself to the office in. It's cold and you're exhausted and sad. You can't stand people not liking you—it takes over every part of your being. And when it's Simon...

There's a meeting going on. Price gave you a list of everyone's coffee orders and made you run over to the shop across the street. You see Simon's name taunting you at the top of the list. A cortado, extra sugar. Fuck, he's still the same.

It takes twenty minutes of queuing before you manage to get to the counter. Another ten to have everyone's order ready. The bag is ridiculously heavy as you carry it out of the coffee shop. The meeting will probably be over by the time you arrive, and then Price will curse you out and you will cry, because today you cannot handle even the smallest criticism.

You're a little sweaty by the time you reach the fourteenth floor of the building, which is fine, but the panting doesn't exactly add to your charisma that somehow seems to repent your coworkers from your person. For a minute you stand outside the meeting room, gathering yourself enough to be somewhere near presentable. Not entirely, but as close as you will get.

The door is shouldered open with a little force. More than you thought it would take. Nobody really gives a thought to your presence—they continue the meeting as if you weren't there at all, and you like it that way. You try to match each coffee to the right person on the list. But there's thirteen of them, and you have yet to learn everyone's name.

You feel Simon's eyes on you the entire time you spend in that room. He's anything but subtle, staring right at you without shame. He doesn't even answer as someone calls him by name. And it's pure spite leaving him for last. His order is the only one you know by heart, but keeping him waiting for a few extra minutes is deserved, you think. Maybe it just gives him more fuel to hate you, but if he's going to hate you, you might as well give it right back.

His ring-clad fingers clasp around the paper mug, slowly bringing it up to his lips as if taunting you with the existence of them. God, they are so full and pink and—no. Don't even go down that route. It'll all make it so much harder to live like this if you keep thinking about how fucking attractive Simon has become with his still blond hair slightly unkept from running his hand through it during the day and how his shirt strains against his muscles and the fact that he is still so, so tall.

"This is cold."

The room falls silent, at least you think it does, as Simon's harsh voice echoes throughout the confines of the four walls. The coffee belonging to the person sitting beside him is steaming. You know he's lying. He sets down the mug on the table, glaring up at you with such distaste in his eyes. You never thought that look would be reserved for you.

"Can't even get a bloody coffee order right, can you?" Simon's chuckle is deprecating, shaking his head to himself as if his irritation almost amuses him.

But you just flinch. He doesn't see it, but you think the rest of the room does. His tone fucking hurts. And that he would publicly humiliate you like this?

"Oh, uh..." You want so badly to have a good comeback, something that will make him shrink in his chair, but all you can get out is a stupid 'oh'. Standing there all small and speechless makes you feel dumb. "I'll get a new one."

Your response seems to catch his attention. His gaze flickers up, back to you, and the cruelty falters for a few seconds to be replaced by something likened to...regret? Probably not.

"Riley can drink his cold goddamn coffee. He'll survive," Price chimes in, waving with his pen as a signal for whoever was speaking before to continue.

You nod, clenching your jaw to stop the trembling, before escaping out of the room as quickly as possible without it seeming suspicious.

A shaky, deep breath is inhaled and exhaled as soon as you get out. It was already a bad day, yes, but nearly crying because Simon told you his coffee was cold? That's just childish. You need to pull yourself together if you're going to keep this job. Price clearly doesn't like weakness.

The rest of the day is calm. Mostly you're reviewing Price's schedule, emailing people back and forth about changing meetings and setting them up. He even gives you an extra break, which is so well needed and probably out of pity, but you'll take it.

You realize that you are so fucking petty when your final task of the day, once again, is to deliver some kind of contract to Simon's office. You know he's out on a meeting with a client—you heard him walking past earlier, talking to that client on the phone. You gather your belongings, say goodbye to Price, before heading towards Simon's on your way down.

Stepping inside feels like walking right into his arms. His cologne hangs heavy in the air. Fuck him for still using the same scent.

The entirety of his office is neatly organized, everything in its place. So you move things. A sharpener gets to change its designated spot from desk to shelf. Files labeled under 'F' gets shoved in between 'S' and 'T'. You even go as far as taking out some of the files from one folder, placing it in another. The printer gets unplugged.

Doing something to his old copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that stands proudly on display in his bookcase crosses your mind, but you do want to stay alive long enough to see the end of the week, at least. You remember one time when he slept with it as if it was a stuffed animal. You're being petty, not suicidal.

Your final masterpiece in your rampage is the unscrewing of a wheel on his desk chair. Just the thought of Simon pushing his chair back only for it to suddenly tilt makes you giggle. God, you really are a child.

Any sane person wouldn't even notice half the things you've done in here. But Simon is not sane. This can throw off his entire day, week even. You know from firsthand experience.

Yeah, Simon goddamn Riley broke your fucking heart and now has the audacity to punish you for it. You won't take that.

Simon has been in such a bad mood the entire day. You heard him cursing all the way from his office. Some poor intern got yelled at in the hallway (you really are sorry for that), and you overheard a few of your colleagues mention that he didn't speak to anyone during the entire morning meeting. Price apparently cursed him out for it in front of everyone. That's a little funny, at least.

On one hand you feel proud of your ability to still piss him off without him knowing. On the other hand, you're not too happy yourself. Your situation hasn't exactly changed—half the office still hasn't talked to you, and the ones that do keep strictly work related conversations. You're lonely.

Despite it being Friday, you get off when the sun has already set. It's pouring rain outside and you don't have an umbrella. You really don't have the energy to deal with that as you gaze warily out of the window from your desk. You could take the subway instead of walk all the way home, but you would still get soaking wet during the trek to the station.

"Goodbye, Mr. Price. Have a good weekend," you say, popping your head into his office with a sweet smile on your lips.

"Call me John," he answers without even looking up from whatever report he's reviewing. Still that monotone voice as if he's always tired of hearing people talk.

"Oh. Uh—okay, John," you stutter out. What? He never lets anyone call him by first name.

"Get home safe," Price tells you. Has he grown soft? What's happening? "Have a fuck load of reports needing organization on Monday." There it is.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head lightly, before mumbling another 'bye' to your boss. He lifts his head in a subtle nod as answer. Actually, you might have a chance to stay here if he likes you. He is the CEO after all.

The hallways are dark except the few offices still lit up like every night. These people barely have a life outside of work, it seems like. It's kind of sad. Then again, you don't either, if what counts as a life is having friends and significant others and people who care about you. But at least you have time for doughing in your couch and taking a walk around the neighborhood.

But your daydreaming and overthinking of course leads you into trouble. Rounding the corner forces you right into another person, making you stumble backwards a few steps before a clammy hand grabs your arm to stop you from falling.

"I'm so, so sorry," you say, looking up at the man standing in front of you. It's that executive-something Price doesn't like. Shepherd? An American.

"Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, darling," he says, without backing away from you. He keeps that close distance, letting you feel his dank breath properly.

You gulp, before attempting to release your arm from his grip. He doesn't budge. Your heart rate speeds up instantly.

"Haven't talked to you properly before, sweetheart. Just seen you strutting 'round these hallways in your dresses." He looks down at your wide eyes, before they slowly rake over the rest of your body. Your chest starts to heave up and down as if you've just come back from a run. It's clear he wants something more than just a simple conversation with the new assistant.

"I'm—I'm sorry. I have to go. Train," you stutter out, attempting to tear yourself away from his harsh grip around your arm. You can't.

"Don't be like that, darlin'. I just wanna have a talk, that's all," he tells you, his warm breaths hitting your face.

"Please, sir, I really have to go. We can talk on Monday."

Shepherd raised an eyebrow, gaze flickering down to your chest again as if you can't see it clearly, before tapping your cheek condescendingly with the palm of his hand.

"Alright, sweetheart. Come into my office on Monday. Appreciate it if you'd wear one of those pretty dresses. Makes my day much better, having somethin' sweet to look at."

A wet kiss is pressed to the back of your hand—something that he might think is gentlemanly, but sends shivers down your entire spine out of disgust. You're frozen still as he squeezes your hip before he leaves, leaving you to hear his dress shoes clink against the floor.

The further away he gets, the harder it gets for you to breathe. Panic grows in your chest, tears already threatening to fall as you finally get yourself to move, rushing towards the elevator and pressing the button too many times.

He was so close. And the way his grip tightened as you tried to step away, the squeeze of your hip. It's too much like last time. Too much like that fucking December night all those years ago.

Clear pictures of Philip and his friends flashes past the forefront of your mind as you rush from the elevator, already heaving from your tears. It's empty, thank god, since the guards are posted outside of the main entrance. Philip morphs into the man from just a minute ago. Pushing you against the wall at that party, grinning right in your face as you tell them to stop.

The backdoor leading into the alleyway beside the building is where your feet leads you towards without consulting you. It's better, maybe. You don't want anyone to see you like this.

But those goddamn revolving doors acting as the main entrance starts to move, you hear that, and soon enough someone steps inside with haste in their walk.

"Y/l/n!" someone shouts angrily. You know exactly who it is. "Why the fuck did you move all my stuff? I swear to god—"

Your back is facing away from him, but maybe he still sees the way your shoulders shake from behind. Maybe that's why he falters in his steps. Maybe that's why he decides to cut the first real sentences he's said to you directly since you started working here short.

The last crumb of composure turns to dust, and your hand flies up to your mouth to muffle the first real sob from your lips. You escape through the door, out into the cold, rainy alleyway as your cries turn too forceful to stop.

It's wet and dirty and crawling with grovel as your knees hit the ground harshly. You manage to turn yourself around to lean your back against the cold brick wall instead. It'll all bring you grief later, but right now your legs can't carry your weight.

With a bang, the door flies wide open once more. Long legs bend down, big hands on your arms.

"Y/n. Y/n, c'mon. Why are you crying?"

Simon's voice is drowning in urgency, his shakes of your shoulders almost forceful. But you can't stop crying. And you're still so fucking angry with him.

"Don't touch me," you sob, pushing his hands away from you. The rain grows heavier the same second, soaking the entirety of you as you sit there on the dirty ground.

"Alright, alright. I won't," he breathes out, holding his hands up beside him. Those big, veiny fucking hands that you have missed every day since he last put them on you. "But you gotta tell me what's wrong."

"Why?" you almost yell, tilting your head up, away from the palms of your hands previously hiding your face. You get raindrops right in your eyes. "You hate me, don't you? Can't even stand to be in the same room as me!"

"Y/n," he growls, as if he's scolding you with the simple mention of your name. "You know bloody fucking well I don't hate you. Now tell me what the hell's making you sob like this. You're sitting on the ground, for fuck's sake."

You dry away your tears, despite it being so futile in this rain, while letting out a bitter chuckle. "All due respect, you're the last person I wanna talk to."

Simon lets out a shaky breath, one filled with frustration. "So fucking stubborn..."

He shakes his head. "Just—just let me drive you home, at least, okay? The trains from this station are cancelled. Blowing up to a storm."

The words you were about to force out through your tears disappear completely. Instead you just stare at the man now looking down at you with something likened to concern. Still has that frown in between his eyebrows.

"I'm not going to get in a car with you, Riley," you mumble out. If you had your way it would sound angrier, more assertive, but your voice fails you.

"Riley, huh? That's where it's at?" Simon scoffs, as if he didn't call you by your last name a few minutes earlier. "Just get up, c'mon."

"No." You shake your head, looking down in your lap. In reality you're not just apprehensive because of your anger towards him—he's a man at the end of the day, and you are his ex-girlfriend who he dislikes very strongly.

"Are you—for god's sake." He shakes his head again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Y/n. I would never harm you. Not any woman," he tells you. How can he still read you this well?

You don't answer. Just take your wet sleeve to dry away even more tears. How to stop crying in front of your ex seems to be an art you haven't mastered yet.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal. You let me get you a taxi home, after you get out of this fucking rain and step inside. That alright with you?"

You nod with a sniffle, reaching for your bag beside you.

"C'mon."

Simon nods towards the door, reaching his hand out. You take it, because there's no chance you would manage to get up all by yourself. But that's the only reason.

He holds the door open for you, letting you slip inside again. Exactly how much the rain soaked you hits you as you step inside, instantly freezing cold and uncomfortable. And goddamn your right knee hurts. Falling down to the ground did come with consequences, it seems.

"Fucking hell," Simon mutters under his breath as soon as he gets inside, dripping water down onto the shiny floor. His suit is entirely soaked too.

You see a glance of yourself in a mirror as you take off your heels. There's mascara underneath your eyes. You try to remove it furiously with your fingers.

"Don't have to do that. Nothing that I haven't seen before," Simon speaks up from behind you, looking at you as well through the mirror.

You glance up at him, just for half a second, before lowering your arms slowly. And then you rummage through your bag with trembling hands, finding a napkin you kept from a restaurant. You dry away the mascara with that instead.

Simon looks at you, really looks at you, as you stand there dripping water onto the floor and makeup ruined and your clothes dirty. You feel so vulnerable underneath his gaze. What is he trying to find?

"Bloody hell, Y/n. You're bleeding for fuck's sake. That's a fucking gash."

He points at your knee. You look down, seeing the outpouring of blood running down your leg from the open wound right below your knee. It does look very, very bad. Like, you're slowly becoming nauseous by looking at it. How didn't you notice it earlier?

"Oh."

"I'm driving you wether you like it or not." Simon stalks up to you, grabbing a hold of your arm to put it around his shoulder. His arm sneaks its way around your waist. Fuck.

"Do I get a say in this?" you ask. You know what the answer is, but you also don't understand. What is this? Why is he doing this for you? A few days ago he was talking shit about you with Soap and humiliated you purposely in front of your co-workers. Now he's getting worried about you crying and driving you home from work?

"No."

Part 2

[willowsnook]

hey girlll could you do a gin and sprite one please🤭🤭

josh allen x reader

watch your fucking mouth

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

JA: It’s Wyoming-OU Hate Week, baby!

You rolled your eyes as you read the text from Josh, already typing a response.

Y/N: Wyoming has to actually be good enough for it to be a real hate week.

JA: Watch your fucking mouth! >:(

Smiling, you walked into the training facility, greeting the other athletic trainers. You’d been with the Bills for a couple of seasons now and had quickly become a player favorite, partly because you were the only trainer under 30.

You set up your table, ready for Keon Coleman to come by for his pre-practice wrap. He greeted you as you were finishing up and hopped onto the table.

"Josh was pouting this morning," he told you with a grin. "Guessing you did something?"

"Why would I be involved?" you asked innocently.

"Hmm, let’s see..." Keon pretended to think. "Maybe because he’s obsessed with you."

"He is not obsessed with me," you said, focusing on his ankle. "It’s Wyoming-OU Hate Week, that’s all."

"I didn’t even know that was a thing," he said, confused.

"It’s not," you deadpanned, making him laugh.

"Are you talking bad about me?" Josh’s voice came from behind you. He was frowning playfully.

"Never," you smirked. "Why are you here? What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. I just came to hear your apology," he said, and you rolled your eyes.

"You’ll miss practice if you wait for that," you shot back. Keon laughed as you tapped his leg, signaling that you were done. He hopped off the table and walked off.

"I think we should bet on this weekend’s game," Josh said, raising an eyebrow.

You crossed your arms, intrigued. "Okay, I’m listening."

"If my Cowboys win, you have to come to a game with me during our bye week," Josh said confidently.

"And if my Sooners win—which they will—you have to take me to Lombardo," you countered.

Lombardo was a fancy Italian restaurant in Buffalo you’d been dying to try. While you made good money as a trainer, it wasn’t quite enough to justify splurging there.

"Deal," Josh said, holding out his hand. You shook it, sealing the bet.

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

You grinned widely as you slid into the passenger seat of Josh's car, dressed in a nice red dress with matching heels. OU had kicked the shit out of Wyoming.

"I’ve fasted all week for this," you joked, smirking at Josh, who pouted beside you. He was dressed up in a button-down shirt and slacks, clearly still a little sore about Wyoming’s loss.

The restaurant was even more stunning than you’d imagined. Your skin tingled as Josh gently placed his hand on your back, guiding you to the table.

As you browsed the menu, you stole a glance at Josh. You’d always had a small crush on him—his golden retriever energy had won you over from day one. Seeing him dressed up like this, looking every bit the gentleman, made your heart race. You felt yourself growing warm, thinking about how you had his full attention tonight.

"Should we get a bottle of wine to celebrate?" you teased. "Maybe the $300 one?"

Josh shot you a pointed look, and you laughed.

"I’m just joking. I’ll behave," you promised.

When the waiter came to take your drink orders, he turned to Josh first. Without hesitation, Josh said, "We’ll split the Château Angélus."

You froze, snapping your head up at him. The waiter left, and you were quick to protest. "Josh, that’s way too expensive!"

"You wanted it, princess," he said with a teasing smirk, making you blush.

Your cheeks were still warm from his “princess” comment, and the two of you fell into easy conversation as the night went on. The food was incredible, and the wine tasted just as luxurious as its price tag suggested.

As you finished the last bites of dessert, Josh leaned back in his chair, watching you with a soft smile.

“You know,” he started, a little more serious now. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? What’s that?”

He hesitated for a second, then met your eyes, his voice gentle but sure. “I think we should call this what it is—our first date.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked at him, stunned. “Our...first date?”

Josh nodded, his expression sincere. “I mean, we spend all our time together anyway, and... I’ve liked you for a while now. I just didn’t know how to say it.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But sitting here with you tonight, it feels right. Feels like it’s time.”

Your heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through you. “I’ve liked you too,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

Josh’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up. “Well, now you know. So, what do you say? Think we could make this official?”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, your nerves melting away. “I’d like that.”

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “Good. Because I don’t plan on losing any more bets to take you out again.”

You laughed, squeezing his hand. “Guess I’ll have to think of another one then.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, your hands intertwined, feeling like everything had just fallen into place.

[mytheoristavenue]

DS Incel!Gyutaro Shabana x Reader x Chad!Tengen Uzui + Wives- Treat You Better

Summary: Nothing makes your best friend, Gyutaro angrier than your crush on Tengen Uzui.

Warnings: rivalry, incel mindset, misogyny, fem!reader, bisexual!reader, bisxeual!hina/makio/suma, polyamory

Most everyone knew of your terrible crush on your friend Tengen. You'd gone to middle school and high school together, so imagine your delight when he told you over the summer after senior year that he'd been accepted onto the football team of your first choice university.

Naturally, you both drifted a bit after beginning the first semester, but you weren't bothered by that. He was busy, you were busy, it was fine. You'd always heard a rumor that he was a player, which kept you from persuing him. That's why when you began to see him with different girls around campus, you didn't bat an eye.

After all, you had your own friends and busy schedule, you didn't have time to get torn up about what your old friend was doing behind closed doors. That didn't keep you from wishing you were one of those things, though. Two such people you'd crown close were the Shabana siblings, who had their own reputations, so they couldn't really judge you for looking past Tengen's. At least that's how you felt. In reaility, they had a lot to say about it, especiallyreality the older brother.

"You know that guy's a total man whore, right?" He groaned, opening his laptop for class to start. "Fuckin' him would guarantee you a disease."

"That's fine, have you seen him?" You dismissed with a dreamy sigh. "Catching something from him would be a blessing."

Gyutaro couldn't believe what you were saying, it was so gross. "Oh yeah, I'm sure those pretty pink eyes of his are a small price to pay for a lifetime of having your shit burn when you pee."

"Oh, shut up!" You snapped, punching his arm. "You're just jealous that he pulls and you don't!"

"I could totally pull if I wanted!" He retorted bitterly. "Just got better shit to do. And besides, you know he has a fuckin' harem, right?"

"Oh, he does not." You rolled your eyes, taking out your books and computer.

"He so does," Gyutaro insisted. "Ume told me."

"And how would she know?" You snickered, brushing your hair behind your ear, making him pause for a moment. He hated it when you did that, it always made him crash like an old desktop.

"Mukago told her." He stated simply, believing his baby sister like a professional textbook as a reliable source. "Nakime told Mukago, Douma told Nakime, Mitsuri told Douma, and Suma told her. Suma's one of his girlfriends."

"Wow, I guess word travels fast, huh?" Your smile fades a bit. You did know who Suma was, you'd met her a few times through Tengen.

"Oh, God, don't look now..." Gyutaro groaned, interrupting your thoughts, tilting his head toward the set of stairs that divided the sides of the lecture hall. There was the man of the hour, striding up to you with a confident and serene smile.

"(N/N)," Tengen titled his head, crouching beside you. "How's my favorite girl today?" Even though you knew his words were disingenuous, that didn't keep them from giving you butterflies. His eyes flickered over to your friend who adamantly ignored him. "Shit, my bad, I didn't realize you were in a conversation." He raised a fist to Gyutaro as a greeting, who begrudgingly bumped it with his own. "Hey, dude, good to see ya, keepin' my little buddy company I see."

He simply scoffed, turning away, signaling that your crush could have a word with you. With a smirk, Tengen shifted closer, whispering to you. "So listen, sweets, I'm havin' this party Friday and I was hopin' I might see you there."

Gyutaro could already guess your answer, mouthing sarcastically as you spoke. "Oh my gosh, I'd love to! Thank you!" What he didn't anticipate, however, was for the 'jock' to then turn to him.

"Hey, man, you should come too!" He chirped enthusiastically. In reality, as much as he hated to admit it, he knew Tengen was a good guy. Other than hearing that he got around, he'd never heard a rumor about him that didn't solidify him as a cool guy.

"Whatever, maybe."

-----

Gyutaro didn't like this at all. Walking you and Ume into a frat party like some sort of bodyguard felt terrible and powerful at the same time. You'd dragged him along because he refused to let either of you go without him. Now here he was, dressed in an outfit you'd picked for him, hair styled by his sister in a much nicer half up-half down than his usual one. The two of you had even held him down to paint his nails and apply makeup to his face. The only thing that made it worth it was the way you looked at him, red-faced like you'd never truly seen him before.

"(N/N), you came!" Chirped a deep voice from deep within the house. Through the crowd emerged Tengen, followed by a small posse of women. "I'm so happy you're here," He smiled before turning to your guests. "And you brought the Shabanas, oh hell yeah!" He extended hands for them both to shake and Ume graciously accepted, gushing internally. Gyutaro on the other hand cocked a brow at his hand before reluctantly shaking it.

"Well, listen," Tengen smirked, raising a hand towards a nearby doorway. "Drinks and snacks are in the kitchen, we got plenty so don't be shy!" His attention shifted back to you. "As for my little buddy here, I was hoping to have a bit of a talk with you..." He smiled softly, leaning close to your ear. Gyutaro didn't miss the way the women Tengen was with snickered behind him and it raised his guard that much more. "One on four..."

You swallowed dryly, not caring what his last words could have meant. Your long-term crush wanted to talk to you away from the bustle of the party, this was huge! "S-Sure, let's go," You nodded, much to your friends' chagarin.

"Don't worry," The jock smirked, straightening his back again, taking your hand in his. "I'll bring her back in one piece, promise." With that, he turned away, leading you down the hall, followed by those three beautiful women.

Ume tugged on her brother's jacket sleeve, begging him to go with her to get a drink as he watched you disappear into a bedroom with someone he hated. Some party this was.

-----

"Make yourself comfortable..." A chipper, soft voice called when you entered an empty bedroom. Suma, the girl you'd met before placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you towards the bed. She sat behind you, laying her head against your back, seemingly already very comfortable with you.

"Easy up, baby," Tengen's cool voice called as he sat on an armchair at the foot of the bed with one of the women in his lap and another sitting on the floor, her head on his thigh. "We don't know if she'll say yes or not."

"Y-Yes to what?" You asked, swallowing a hard lump of nerves, feeling Suma's silky hair leave your shoulder.

"First off, I'd like to clear up a few rumors," He said calmly, lounging with his magenta gaze trained on you. "I'm not a whore, and I don't have an STD." Your face caught fire and your jaw fell slack. Had he heard what you and Gyutaro had said in class? He must've. Before you could apologize, he continued. "And this isn't a harem. The four of us are..."

"Polyamorous." The woman in his lap said, her soft lilac eyes running over you as if she wanted to see more of it.

"That's right, pretty." Tengen praised, pressing his lips to her scalp. "Forgot the word." The woman on the floor pouted up to him, nudging his thigh with her chin. "Oh, my bad, where are my manners?" His hand came down to her head, raking a blonde money piece into the rest of her inky hair. "(N/N), these are my girls, Hina, Makio, and you've already met Suma." He formally introduced. "Girls, this is (Y/N), a very special friend of mine."

"So..." You stammer, feeling like a mouse in a trap. "That means...you're in multiple relationships or..."

"No, just one," Suma clarified into your ear with an affectionate nuzzle. "We all love each other a lot..." Your face reddened with the implications of her statement.

"W-What does all this have to do with me, though...?" You manage to ask, trembling against the cuddly girl, eyes pleading up to Tengen for a straight explanation.

"I'll cut to the point," He smiled sweetly, leaning forward to place a hand on top of yours, followed by Makio, Hina, and then Suma. You felt microscopic under their gaze, wrapped in a mysterious comfort. "We like you," He admitted with a charming smirk. "We all do, a lot."

"O-Oh, uhm..." You flustered, breaking eye contact, trying to slip your hand away but his fingers were already closing around it, pulling you closer. "T-That's very sweet of you but, I-I'm not sure I'm interested..."

"Oh, don't say that, give us a chance!" Suma whined into your ear, snuggling closer, arms snaking around your middle. "You're so pretty and sweet..."

"Suma, chill," Makio warned, flashing her a stern look from over the edge of the bed. "You can't just beg her until she says yes, that's not how love works."

You couldn't help but feel dizzy, suffocating on her Japanese cherry blossom perfume, mixed with the way your tummy would turn at her touch. "W-What is it that you want me to say yes to...?"

"We want you to be our girlfriend, sweetheart." Hina piped up, her stare still gentle and needy as it was earlier.

"Couldn't have said it better myself, baby." Tengen finally spoke again, shifting beneath her. "Look, I know you've had a crush on me for a while, but I didn't wanna act on it because I didn't think you, ya know." He paused to smirk, his shaved brows bouncing with mischievous intent. "Swung that way."

"W-What way?" You swallowed dryly, shuddering when you felt Suma's lips press into your trapezius.

"I didn't think you liked boys and girls," He answered with a knowing grin. You weren't sure how he found out, you were only out to a few very close friends. Not even Ume and Gyutaro knew. "I also didn't think you'd be cool with this," He laughed sheepishly, still somehow remaining. "Sharing, that is."

"If I said yes," You muttered, peering at Hina and Makio shyly before your eyes flickered back over to Tengen. "I would be dating all of you? I'd be all of yours?"

"And we'd be all yours," Makio smirked, playfully batting her lashes at you as she scooted closer to the end of the bed, abandoning her boyfriend's lap for yours. "'Course we'd all also belong to each other."

"You can share us, can't you, cutie?" Suma spoke up again, peppering kisses on your back."

You felt a depression in the mattress to your left, followed by a weight on your shoulder. From the corner of your eye, you could see Hina's long onyx hair spilling over your shoulder, covering your torso, and pooling on your lap. "Don't feel pressure, love, this isn't for everyone." She sighed, snuggling into your arm. "But we have so much love for you between the four of us, you'd never get lonely."

Finally, Tengen stood, looming over you with a saccharine smile. He leaned down and you felt a pair of hands tilt your chin up to him. Slowly, his lips met yours in an innocent yet loving kiss, not a hint of sinful motive behind it. You couldn't help but melt like butter in a pan when his lips brushed yours, especially feeling ghostly kisses pepper your thigh, nape, and shoulder.

"C-Could I have some time to think about it?" You asked, breathless and entranced as he pulled away, just a hair from you.

"'Course you can, pretty girl." He cooed, shifting away further, motioning for his girlfriends to do the same. "Girls, give her some space." You felt like you might pass out, dizzy from the sudden overwhelm. "We'll let you go, I bet your friends are startin' to worry. Go enjoy the party, baby."

With that, Hina helped you stand they all walked you out of the room and down the hall to the main room. "Just come find one of us if you wanna talk, okay?"

You nod, still blushing with your hair messed up. The polycule disappeared into the crowd, giving you much-needed space, just in time for another set of feminine arms to catch around your neck from behind. "(Y/N)! Where have you been, we were worried sick!" The sensation of her presence made your skin buzz, reminding you of the way Suma had doted on you for the past hour.

"I wasn't worr-" Gyutaro huffed before noticing how rigid you were, placing a hand on your shoulder, and turning you around. God, were you flustered. Your cheeks were pink and your hair was tangled, the thought of what could have you in such a state made his blood boil. "What the hell did that asshole do to you?" He snarled, grabbing you by the shoulders sternly. "Did he take advantage of you? You didn't drink anything he gave you, right?"

Suddenly, a dopey grin cracked across your face. "H-He..." you swallowed, correcting yourself. "They...asked me out."