#i think. not in a profound way but more like making themselves a place to talk to and come home to if that makes sense

[cursezoroark]

reguri and their nonchalant way of picking up kids into their weird family. specifically nemona and Moon. walk with me.

[melaninfury]

ASTROLOGY HARSH OPINIONS |||

Hi. So I heard you were looking for me...

Welcome to some good television. Its always 18+ round here so gear up.

Please don’t take this as astrological facts. These are more my experience and perspective. The whole chart and aspects must also be considered

~ Mars conjunct Neptune try stepping out of your illusions for me, no like take your foot and move out of LA LA LAND. Put down the vice, quit the maladaptive daydreaming, focus your mind off that person that didn't say anything just gave you the look and get to stepping towards your reality please...thank you bookie thank you. Not only that if you don't have an outlet why are you storing fucking trauma in your goddamn mind and body huh...? To many questions try answering them instead of letting them accumulate like a 18 question multiple choice quiz.

~ Mar conjunct Jupiter, let it be known that we all tried to tell you at some point you are alot to unpack, beliefs actions and change. When an idea or understanding hits your body it literally just explodes into the major truth or effect anything you touch can grow bad or good. Don't nobody got to give you the courage when this is placed a certain way. 9 times out of 10 you already started. Can be loud but not speak wise...Big Dog Vibes literally...lol

~ Mercury in Cancer tighten tf up or keep getting talked over plain and simple that sweet shit which is really trying to not upset people shit is going to turn you into a huge crab of an asshole no pun intended until you face that emotional baggage.

~ If that person has multiple placements in your 12th, and Chiron and malefic contacts that leave little to no room for joy, peace and love leave it thats a fucking enemy believe it because it will show you.

~ If your Saturn is in Aries and you have an anger problem and not a i start my own business or have my own or I am secure in leadership and discipline you just have one big ass problem. Get disciplined and I do mean fast cause your lesson are quick and harsh.

~ 8th house moons I repsect your deep profound psychological study on your parent and in turn yourself but please let that body see some sunlight and vitamin D including on the hard days no cave man tendencies will make you feel less in the dark. You isolator. Still one of the worst pains can come from this so be easy on yourself now.

~ Sun Conjunct Mercury is the real ego problem in our society.

~ I AM SO SORRY LEO and ARIES. I misjudged and misplaced my deep understanding of fire tragedy and absolute fucking ego that truly and will only stem from loins of a SAGITTARIUS. The literal evil of the fire signs. Fake easy going bull I tell you and trust me tooo much to say. The ego on these things runs forever, especially if they were ugly (to themselves) before i'm sorry. They are way to deep into the social pool and hierarchy anything at that point including you they think they can "analyze" boy just plug your ears if this one isn't to healed cause....

~ Y'all know that scene in another cinderella story, TOO MESSY! Boooooooooooo do better lol

~ Libras my libras the messiness has to stop, the unhealed ones are giving us all a bad name and I refuse to be surrounded by low class bitches that obviously has never seen BALANCE in their life claiming to be libra gang under guise of deviancy. Shame.

~ Never have a boss thats a Libra and the energy isn't grounded that bitch is fake... JKJK but especially with a cancer whammy no fire or earth outside of Capricorn selfish overworking ass energy to ground it. I'm telling you now its is a disaster.

~ If your workplace has a bunch of cardinal people....treat it like a carnival you do not know these people nor trust them in or outside of work. Special cases included getting everybody info and doing synastry to triple check I don't make the rules.

~ Virgo Energy is the real I wish a bitch would.

~ If that man has planets like Mars and Mercury and Saturn all over that Sun and Moon just know he is lords pet project and its best you leave him alone, most likely a lesson waiting to happen for the both of yous.

~ Scorpio mars will sexually manifest you even when you don't want them. Don't be toxic with it leave it alone because they like that they thrive off that they are in their power with that.

~ Chiron is something I notice people like to ignore then i look at their Chiron placement and i see exactly why for example homie your Chiron is in libra in your 5th house maybe your ways and the people you like are just not the best for you. When this is conjunct Juno IN MEN PLEASE RUN. Associating love or connection with this placement especially unhealed is not the healing bond you think it is

~ Somebody's Chiron conjunct your Lilith and/or mars can be a threat to you or perceive you as one.

~ Well how many times are you going to hide your trauma mars in the 8th. its right there but you want get angry at people when they trigger you but don't nobody know whats wrong with you.

~ Look to your Saturn to understand your hardships on a deeper even ancestral level, generation curses, losses and debt even lack of self worth. Master that Saturn and start uncovering your pain.

©️ All Rights Reserved @melaninfury

[notmorbid]

these violent delights.

dialogue prompts from these violent delights by micah nemerever.

i never told you my name.

who puts those awful ideas in your head?

you're forever assuming the worst.

what's that face? you look like you're going to cry.

you're one of those people who worry all the time, aren't you?

i don't worry, i ruminate. they're distinct actions.

nothing made you. you just are.

beautiful things are supposed to hurt.

people tell you you're shy all the time, don't they?

i don't know how i ever got on without you.

a little trouble is a good thing for a young person.

i wasn't born yesterday. i know what kids get up to.

it's good to have guns to stick to.

you could do anything to me and i'd let you.

i'm not ready to be seen. not yet.

i don't need you to treat me respectfully. i'm not made of glass.

tell me you love me, at least. please. i need to know somebody does.

do i look normal? i can't tell if i look normal.

you can get away with anything, as long as you act like an authority on the truth.

don't tell me what i want.

you know you're just about the worst liar i've ever met.

i don't think you've ever felt anything that didn't hurt you.

you're so square, you're a cube.

i just want you to believe me when i tell you you're worth something.

there are limits to what you can expect people to understand, without living it.

you can't fight everybody all the time. you still have to live with them.

i forget how blue the sky can be outside the city.

i'm going to push you off a cliff, you fucking boy scout.

thank you for trusting me with this.

be a kid while you still can.

please believe in the things i try to tell you, instead of the things you think you deserve to be told.

if the sun touched you for even a moment, you'd go up in flames. like a vampire.

your voice changes when you're angry.

what a lonely, dreary thing it is to know the truth.

you never look away, even when your eyes are closed, but i'm never certain you can see what's really there.

tell me you need me. in those words.

can i tell you something? that i'm all but certain you won't believe?

i never lie to you. but sometimes, i wish i could.

you never let me pretend the truth is alright when it isn't.

you have a profound, elusive sadness about you.

you didn't. please tell me you didn't.

you and your awful little games.

why would i bother to grow my own conscience when you're always around to pester me?

you're going to help me escape.

this house is a shadowbox, never meant for human things.

you have no right to stop me, and you're not going to try.

you're sweet, when you want to be.

do you want me to kill ____? i mean it.

it might do you good to be an orphan.

you're just so sincerely creepy.

wealthy people pay handsomely for the privilege of ignoring cries for help.

i've never seen you like that before. not once.

i've decided to learn to be impulsive.

the worst damage humans do isn't rooted in malice, but in thoughtlessness.

there's such a thing as right and wrong. anyone can figure out the difference if they're willing to think for themselves.

there's no part of you i can't see.

i don't want to hurt you. please don't let me.

you're ridiculous, sometimes. but that's alright.

i don't want you right now. go home.

i'm not like you. i don't even have a shape of my own to hold anything else in place.

i'll never matter the way you do, and you know it.

say what you need to say.

if you say the word 'deserve' one more time, i'm driving us off a bridge.

i've been meaning to talk to you about ____.

i'm worried about what you're getting into.

you don't see me. you can't. you never could.

it's your life. you're entitled to make your own mistakes.

i want you to know you deserve better. you don't have to put up with ____.

you scare the hell out of me. you really do.

you look the same way you always have.

i was worried i'd lost you.

i'll take care of you. i don't need you to be brave.

all i want to do is make you happy, and you're the unhappiest person i've ever met.

i would rather be cruel than weak.

i want you to let me be nice to you today. i don't care if you think you deserve it.

this place looks like somewhere in a jigsaw puzzle.

it's always been real for me. every second.

please don't say anything to my mother.

we can't fix it if you don't tell me what happened.

i'll call you when i can stand the sight of you. don't hold your breath.

hiding the truth is still lying.

i thought you'd finally trust me if you knew i'd kill for you.

i'm just as much of a monster as you are.

i was missing part of myself my whole life, until i met you.

righteous fury leaves no space for fear.

you can always talk to me. about anything, okay? i love you no matter what.

you played [game] in school, didn't you?

no one tolerates boredom worse than the idle rich.

someone needs to be looking after you.

you know you can't actually stop me, right?

i want to be able to look at you.

when you need to, you will understand.

i'm only ever early when i'm afraid.

people talk themselves into the strangest things when they want to look impressive.

in the end, there's no difference between trusting someone and underestimating them.

[ryzheling]

⟡ ݁₊ . of hardened steel and devotion.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ character: knight!endo yamato (wbk) x princess!reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖ contents: sfw, slight blood mention, banters? nothing much is happening rly they're just chatting :l ⊹ ࣪ ˖ a/n: didn't mean for it to get this long but royal au is fun :o ⊹ ࣪ ˖ wc ~ 1k (not proofread) | pt.2

The final fleeting light of the hour shines through the thick velvet curtains when the last of the kingdom begins to retire for the night, the east hall now devoid of life as the doors shut behind tattling tales of the noblemen. The looming backrest sits plush along your spine, muscles tense and taut as the woes of the day lie heavy on your shoulders.

You would’ve thought to return to your chambers and hit the hay instead of dallying your rest, but the comfort of such silence in the hall is too precious for you to pass up. You stare at the rolled parchment on the side table just to your right, the frayed edges and blotted ink reminding– more like taunting you with the unfinished record of the event prior.

You have half the mind to tear it in two, the notion so appealing it almost had you reaching out for the scroll when the huge oak doors swing open, heavy and creaking loud. Your breath almost stops at the figure entering the hall.

Metal clunk against metal, and the particular sound sends a shiver down your spine when the man in steel and iron steps further into the hall, eventually reaching the dais where your seat, along with your parents’ – the kingdom’s rulers – line side by side.

The knight then descends to one knee, deliberate and methodical, the act a reverence in and of itself. His head is bowed low, one arm on his raised thigh while the other perches on the hilt of his sword.

Your sweeping eyes do not miss the crimson streaks splattered across one too many surfaces of his armor, though you pay them no mind as you drag your gaze to where his eyes are supposed to be through the helmet.

“I prayed for your safe return,” you mutter. “Glad to know the gods haven’t abandoned me yet from how often I have been cursing those petty old folks.”

“No god could ever wish upon my death if milady herself had graced me with her well wishes,” comes a muffled voice, and you know he’s holding back from shrugging a nonchalant shoulder.

You scoff bitterly, planting an elbow on the armrest before resting a fist underneath your jaw, “There is no such thing as that. You lot die so easily I almost think you were genuinely seeking it in the first place.”

His head rises just a tad bit, as if he’s peering up at you through the little slits on his visor, “Is that worry I sense?” You halt at his response.

Worry? For him? This man has got a knack for being so full of himself it seems.

You turn your head to the side to hide your eye roll. “What nonsense. The only time I’d ever worry about you is when this kingdom falls.” Which is never.

Hopefully… you think.

A quiet, breathless laughter fills your ears, sparing him a glance from you. “You wound me, princess.” He quips. You can see him shifting on his shin, though you make no move to gesture for him to stand.

You could, but there’s really no need, because he would’ve done it himself if he wanted to, that pompous man. And knowing him, he would stay down by your feet until he breathes his last, if only that was possible.

Another blanket of silence settles, profound yet pleasant in a way–

“You haven’t been sleeping, milady.” Nevermind.

You mentally include him among the denizens residing in your cursed list.

“Are you insinuating that I look unkempt and–” your face contorts then, clicking your tongue in irritation. “Actually, do not answer that. I rest just as soundly as anybody living in this castle, thank you very much…”

You falter, the words hanging in the still air and trailing themselves off. You stare quietly as he reaches out a gloved hand to tug his helmet off, slow and practiced with an ease that only he could muster. Gently, he places the headpiece onto the ground beside him with a faint tink.

The sight before you draws in all your remaining focus. Like it always has. Like it always will. Thick and messy lock of obsidian spills out, a pair of bright cerulean eyes catching yours in a swift trance as he runs a tantalizing hand through his hair.

“With all due respect, princess, even with my vision partly shielded, I could clearly see your unease from across the hall.” Endo’s voice is clearer now, so smooth and lilted with slight jest that your toes nearly curl at the baritone.

You finally grace him with a look, a proper one this time which he responds in kind. Too kind, in fact. A soft exhale, a heartbeat passing in sync with another, and he watches as you rise from your seat – your throne – to stand right before his kneeling form.

Delicate hands come to brush over the infinity mark displayed on his throat, his breath catching before you move to cradle his face. There’s a squint in your eyes when you lowly chide, “One more word from you saying I appear to be hideous, Yamato, I will have you scrubbing the bathhouse like some common peasant.”

He grins up at you, all teeth and canines, dirt and grime and everything you’ve grown to be fond of.

One thing about him, Endo’s ever so shameless in putting down his task in regards to providing you his undivided attention. He should be reporting to you about his recent expedition in lieu of… whatever line it is that you two are crossing right now.

But alas, you decide perhaps a forbidden apple is much sweeter than the ones served to you on a silver platter.

The shades of his blues swirl, you realize. Wild as the tattoos running down his arms, clear as the skies and burning like the sun as if they could scorch you alive in a flame of his devotion should you ever peer into them.

For the eyes that are signs of the soul within, his is one bound to duty and honor, and a prey to sin and temptation.

His armor chinks as he moves to splay his hands on the side of your waist, the fabric of your clothes heating up underneath his touch. Endo rests his head against your stomach, down facing the earth as if surrendering himself to the ground you stand on.

Such a strong, capable warrior, and yet just a man in the presence of his beloved.

He takes in a deep breath, inhaling your scent until all his senses are drowning in it before he chuckles deep. “Put me in the worst of hell, and it is still you I seek both retribution and redemption from, milady.”

so locked in i have dents on my nose now from my glasses lol (will be resting my eyes now ..)

©ryzheling. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else!

[dreamingofthewild]

I might get hate for this hot take, but I will say it anyway because there have been a lot of Mystra defence posts lately. Content warning for religion critical ramblings (I feel like I need to preface this with a disclaimer that I am not an atheist).

Tl;dr - I think people struggle to see how Mystra abused Gale because worship is romanticised to a certain extent in fantasy, especially when it comes to the 'good' aligned gods. Yet his story, like Shadowheart's, is a criticism of transactional faith - specifically where the line lies between devotion and exploitation.

Please note that these are just my opinions from what I have observed from the game, and interesting meta posts from other users on this subject. I don't claim to be an expert on religious practices - or an expert on Gale. I am open to discussion, and my intent is not to invalidate other people's opinions or headcanons.

I just always feel the need to defend Gale when people defend Mystra - as he seems to be the only person in the game that people think is exempt from the 'cycle of abuse' theme.

In my opinion defending Mystra by claiming she "has her reasons" for how she treats Gale is essentially the same as the "God has a plan for everyone" response people use when something bad happens. Similarly, justifying Mystra's demand for Gale to use the Orb as her way of "protecting her domain" closely resembles telling someone they've sinned and the only way to redeem themselves is through sacrifice or death. This reasoning follows the same troubling logic: "God is good, God is great, and whatever God asks is justified because we depend on them."

According to this logic, obedience is mandatory, without question or challenge. That logic places worshippers in a one-down position where obedience trumps consent, curiosity, or self-preservation.

Mystra's relationship with Gale was undeniably exploitative, and we should question rather than blindly accept her motivations. She withheld crucial information about the Orb until he became an actual liability, and even then, only to protect herself. She had alternatives - she could have asked him to retrieve the Crown, and he would have - but instead, she told him to die. If you want proof that she is only caring about herself - and not the fate of Faerun - watch what happens when you allow Gale to use the orb in Act 2. I think giving Mystra the crown at the end of the game proves that Gale was never a threat to her.

Gale’s status as her Chosen was contingent upon his obedience and usefulness, making him little more than a tool for her ambitions. Being a Chosen is nothing more than, ''I will give you these powers in exchange for your service to me''. As a deity, Mystra had no genuine need for mortal companionship or intimacy beyond creating emotional dependency and isolation. Encouraging such profound reliance on her praise that Gale would willingly contemplate suicide is morally reprehensible. Gale's acquisition of the orb was rooted in a desperate attempt to impress Mystra (he mentions that he felt like her attentions were slipping from him i.e. he thought the was doing something wrong) - a pursuit she surely recognised and could have prevented if she had just communicated with him. Yet that would require caring about him, and not just what he can do for her.

She calls his actions selfish, when she never told him the true nature of the orb until it was relevant to her, and didn't acknowledge that he was doing so as an act of devotion. He also spends the whole game actively trying to feed the orb so it doesn't detonate and harm others, which is far from being selfish. Yet many people in the fandom call him manipulative for doing so.

Is Gale really selfish for wanting to impress his Goddess, and then for wanting to live?

Gale wasn’t a real threat; he was an example. A warning. Her message was simple: defy me, and I will turn you into a weapon against yourself. His devotion, cultivated since childhood through Elminster’s influence, was used against him. He was isolated, praised, elevated and made dependent on her approval. His powers came at the cost of servitude.

Defences of Mystra’s behaviour can be unsettling. Gale certainly isn't flawless - he is ambitious, sometimes reckless, and lacks wisdom. But perhaps he was too young and vulnerable to shoulder the responsibilities of being a Chosen. Had he not been isolated through his relationship with Mystra, he might have had peers or mentors capable of offering guidance and restraint. If Elminster hadn't entered his life when Gale was merely eight years old, perhaps Gale wouldn't have developed such intense ambitions in the first place. Gale’s character and choices were deeply influenced by an environment that prizes ambition - an attitude common among wizards in the Dungeons & Dragons universe.

If Gale was born during the spell plague then this makes Gale, who admits that he was summoning rabbits as a babe, even more special and worthy of the attention of Mystra.

Mystra's abuse of Gale does meet grooming patterns where - a powerful adult ''builds trust, meets needs, then slowly sexualises the bond before discarding the victim once usefulness wanes''. She was his mentor before his lover and in a line that was removed from the game he says that when she revealed herself to him 'he couldn't say no'. Once again, we have to question why Elminster sought Gale out and he role - intentional or not - that he had to play in putting Gale on this path. Especially since in the lore he was helping Mystra find new Chosen when she returned - and why would he not recommend Gale. Once again, Gale felt that her attentions were slipping, which is why he wanted to impress her, and he was discarded until he was useful to her again (to get the crown).

This dynamic mirrors real-world religious abuse - particularly when leaders tie love, worth, or salvation to sacrifice, silence, and obedience. People in such systems are often taught that suffering is noble, doubt is betrayal, and punishment is deserved. You can see this is Gale's personality - eager to please, terrified of abandonment, and reluctance to set boundaries.

Gale’s arc in BG3 is partly about breaking free of this cycle. He’s forced to confront the reality that Mystra’s love was never truly unconditional or healthy, and he has to define his own self-worth outside of that toxic relationship. That’s a painfully familiar journey for a lot of people who leave (or are cast out of) controlling religious environments- they have to unlearn self-loathing, reclaim their autonomy, and build meaning from within, not from the approval of a distant authority.

Many players miss this interpretation because Mystra is presented as a good-aligned deity, and Gale is imperfect. I feel like religion and worship is romanticised to an extent, and so the good gods are considered to be good in a way that reflects real world zealotry, and so they assume that Gale must’ve done something to deserve her rejection. Rather than reflecting on the ways that the gods exploit mortals and punish any flaws, or human traits such as curiosity.

Her being on the neutral alignment, and Gale having very human imperfections, doesn’t excuse her actions or make the relationship healthy. It just shows how deeply this kind of manipulation can hide in plain sight when cloaked in authority and framed as divine purpose.

Yet, I don't think that people are ready for this conversation yet. Not only does it criticise real world religion, it criticises how religion is often romanticised in video games. The gods are often humanised, and so we attribute human characteristics to them. It's then so easy to justify their actions, or to even side with them.

This is what I mean when I say that Gale's storyline can't be easily translated to the real world. Gale, unlike Shadowheart and Lae'zel, has a direct relationship with his goddess. Lae'zel and Shadowheart were raised in cults, whereas Gale was not.

Unlike them, we don't see the institution that cultivates the environment he grew up in. Which is wizarding institutions and the very nature of chosen's.

As this is popular in DnD, I think it gets romanticised, and so people can't see the problematic aspects of this system. Thus, they feel the need to defend Mystra.

Translating that to the real world is harder because you would have to make Mystra a mortal, where the story then loses the religious aspect. However, their relationship is still a toxic one, defined by uneven power dynamics and the exploitation of those with talent. By recognising that their relationship is toxic, you are then forced to recognise how abusive their relationship is as a God and a mortal.

I firmly believe that fantasy shows us that if the gods were undeniably real and came in many formats, more people would be religious. I know that what you like in fiction doesn't always equal real-world behaviours. However, sometimes you have to ask yourself why you are quick to defend Mystra if you criticise religion in real life.

I am not saying that you should hate Mystra. After all, it's nice to have a morally dubious female character fulfilling a certain role that's usually dominated by men. But I am saying that you should be critical of her and recognise that she was abusive towards Gale.

Just so you know where the 'Mystra haters' are coming from.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[coralhoneyrose]

Why Chrom Fire Emblem is The Husband of All Time: An Essay

SO. There was a screenshot going around of a reddit thread asking about how Chrom has managed to maintain such lasting popularity as a Fire Emblem husband even 6 years after Awakening came out. Given how beloved he still is another 5+ years later, I could not resist taking the opportunity to talk about just what I think makes him so great and endears him to players.

Character Introduction:

Let’s start out the same way Awakening does—with Chrom’s in-game introduction. This is one of the immediate ways Chrom sets himself apart. The game boots up and before anything else happens, Chrom is there expressing his unshakable faith in the player character. You take down the Bad Guy™ together, he turns and gives you this wide, puppy-ish smile and then you push him out of the way to take the hit from an oncoming spell in his stead. Right away you know this is someone your player character cares about deeply—and clearly that care is returned, because he’s immediately running over to make sure Robin’s alright.

Of course, as we all know, things go south very quickly after that. But as the cinematic plays out, and you proceed to watch yourself stab him in the chest, the *first* thing he does, the very first words out of his mouth are: “this is not your fault”. Chrom has just been completely blind-sided and arguably betrayed by his best friend, possibly his spouse, and his immediate instinct is to absolve Robin of guilt. He is literally more concerned about Robin blaming themselves for what happened than about his own imminent death. That alone tells you so, SO much about the depth of their relationship. It tells you both how deeply Chrom cares and how well Chrom knows Robin too. And not only that, but his final request, the ONE and only thing he asks of Robin before dying is that they will promise him they will escape from this place. In his last moments, his single “selfish” wish is for Robin to assure him that they will do what they can to survive. Chrom’s final request is for Robin to give him the comfort and peace of mind he can only obtain through the assurance that even though he won’t get out of there himself, Robin will. He just wants to be able to die believing they’ll take care of themselves and be alright—and knows them well enough to realize that unless he makes them promise, they likely won’t.

AND THEN. And then!!!! You jump cut to Robin waking up in the field with all the sunshine and Chrom’s smiling down with the softest expression and his ridiculously blue eyes. He lifts Robin up by the hand and pulls them right up to his face (because he has no concept of personal space, apparently) and OUUuuggh.

Those scenes in direct sequence make me so insane. You get Chrom’s life ending with Robin immediately followed by Robin’s life starting anew with Chrom. Chrom’s unwavering faith in them and his eagerness to extend his hand and bridge the gap between them from the moment they meet until his last breath. The warmth and kindness and love that Chrom treats Robin with is communicated so effectively in the first few MINUTES of the game it honestly makes me feel unwell. Showing how profoundly Chrom cares for Robin immediately endears him to the player. And he only gives you more reasons to love him as the game goes on.

Personality:

There can be a tendency in some corners of fandom to simplify Chrom to just being either a generic prince charming type character or a lovable himbo. I’m not here to police how other people enjoy him, but I will say that those characterizations fail to get at some of the aspects of his personality I find most compelling.

Chrom is deceptively nuanced. While there are certainly ways in which he aligns very closely with the standard jrpg protagonist, I suspect that a lot of his enduring popularity is the result of the ways he deviates from it too. He is brave and loyal and cares deeply for his friends, yes. He has profound conviction in his ideals and strives to do the right thing, as is typical for that archetype…but what makes Chrom so lovable is his determination to keep trying to be good in spite of the ways it does not come easily to him.

We see this in the Valm arc, when he’s struggling to reconcile his own beliefs about justice with his sister’s ideals for peace. We hear echoes of it when he talks about the horrors the Ylissean people endured at his father’s hand and how despite that, he has never been able to understand how Emmeryn forgave them for the cruelty they once directed her way. He has so much admiration for his older sister’s ideals despite the fact that peace is not his first instinct. 

When Emmeryn first sacrifices herself, Chrom is consumed with grief and rage, and it takes some time for him to understand why she made the decision she did. “Peace above all else” is just not how he’s programmed to operate…yet he wants it to be. If you count the drama CDs as canon, then that serves as another excellent example as well—where the message of his sister’s sacrifice is so lost on him that his first instinct is to respond to it with violence and prejudice and hatred directed at the very people she sought to reach out to. For a moment there, we see him veer from the person he wants to be towards what we as the player can only assume is the person his father left him afraid that he would become.

And yet he finds his way back. He stumbles, he lashes out, but his love for his friends and fear of losing more of those he holds dear is able to help him course correct.

I love that tug-of-war in him. I love that we get glimpses of the darker paths he could have gone down and that there are tangible consequences for his mistakes. Early in the game, we see Chrom lose control of his temper and how Gangrel and Aversa are able to take advantage of that to officially declare war on Ylisse. Chrom later tells Gangrel that were he alone, he can imagine losing himself in that need for vengeance but reiterates that it’s love that is able to keep him from succumbing to that.

And it’s not only that he’s able to stop himself from being horrible—his losses are the catalyst for him coming into his own as a leader. He’s able to pick himself up and hold himself together to see their troops through the rest of the war. And he manages that despite the fact that in the course of mere days, he lost both his home and his most important person and has been freshly saddled with the duty of ruling an entire country. That’s…a lot. And really goes a long way in demonstrating Chrom’s incredible strength of character and conviction. We get some wonderful moments of vulnerability where he confesses to being riddled with doubts about his own capabilities and worthiness, but in spite of that, he is still determined to try to be the person that Ylisse needs him to be.

All of this leads me right into another wonderful aspect of Chrom’s personality, which is that he is just…so driven by emotion. He feels DEEPLY, and while the narrative definitely uses that as a way to hurt him and force him to grow at times, something that really stands out to me about Chrom is how the story isn’t here to send a message that it’s wrong for him to be that way. Chrom’s big feelings are one of his greatest strengths in addition to his greatest weakness—they’re what saves his life and ultimately Robin’s too, if you go the sacrifice ending route.

And ya know what? I honestly think that’s such a breath of fresh air. I love how much he does NOT embody the emotional disconnectedness that you see pushed a lot of times with stereotypical masculinity. I love that he is the hero, and he's gallant, and very traditionally "manly" in a lot of senses…AND that he's also very emotional and guided by his heart. If you’re playing with f!Robin then you wind up with a really refreshing inversion of gender stereotypes from that: in which Chrom is the emotional decision maker and Robin is the more calculating and logic driven of the two.

Beyond his big heart, I can’t talk about what’s so charming about Chrom’s personality without touching on the ways he embodies a certain level of gap moe as well. Chrom is so stern and serious, as well as quite charismatic when he’s speaking from a place of passion. But on the flip side of that, we get to see him as an absolute bumbling mess when he’s out of his element. He’s easily embarrassed / flustered, self-conscious about his appearance, and often socially awkward where romance is involved. While these traits may seem of minor importance compared to the whole rant above, I think they’re really important for humanizing and rounding him out.

There are lots of other nuances to his characterization that go a long way in fleshing him out too. Despite being a prince, Chrom is blunt and completely unmindful of formalities. That, along with his impulsivity, definitely gets him into trouble sometimes. He’s melodramatic and blisteringly sincere. He’s a little bit clumsy and doesn’t know his own strength. He has a dry sense of humor and can be surprisingly funny. He’s optimistic and trusting—not due to naivete or stupidity but because he has decided that giving people chances and believing the best of them is an important value to him and one that is worth embodying in how he lives his life. 

Lucina’s presence in the story and his immediate and complete acceptance of her is an extremely effective way of demonstrating what an incredible father he is too. Honestly, he just has really wonderful relationships and deep admiration for a lot of the women in his life and that absolutely earns him points in my book (and I suspect in many others’ as well). When you look at all of that together, I don’t think it’s hard to understand why he’s so beloved.

Design:

Slightly less serious note here, but I think it warrants discussion regardless because character design absolutely contributes to player’s feelings about and interpretation of a game’s cast members.

And Chrom is…well, he’s eye candy, honestly. He’s got the nice, exposed arm, the messy blue hair, the completely nonsensical outfit he somehow manages to look handsome in anyway (his questionable sense of fashion is a charm point, okay?). Add in the square jaw and the surprisingly long eyelashes and he’s just. He’s very pretty. Idk what to tell you. Bonus points for the summer scramble cg where he has the most inexplicably flat butt of all time. And I really do believe that some of the oddities of Chrom’s design lend memorability to him and go a long way in setting him apart from other lords in the series with similar design concepts. The insistent asymmetry across many of his outfits, the fact he’s showing a little skin, idk it just WORKS. Chrom is hot, I don’t make the rules.

Relationship with Robin / the Player Character:

Last but not least, I want to talk about Chrom’s relationship with Robin.

I touched on some of this in his character introduction already, but Chrom is just…the biggest Robin stan. If Robin has only one fan then that is Chrom. If Robin has no fans it’s because Chrom is bleeding out on the floor with lightning in his gut. 

He just has such deep respect and admiration for them. He values Robin’s opinion and insight and thinks so highly of them and their ideas, often serving as an enabler in many cases (setting the boats on fire, the volcano, etc.). Chrom’s faith in Robin is SO unshakable that when his daughter tells him that Robin is going to be magically controlled and forced to murder him, his response is, “That won’t happen because Robin and I love each other so much that everything will somehow be okay. No, I will not elaborate.” And ya know what? He was RIGHT. Their bond DOES wind up being so strong that it’s able to change fate. The narrative is quite literally validating his slightly ridiculous insistence that him and Robin just care about each other The Most of Anyone Ever. He is Robin’s biggest advocate from the moment they meet when he defends them from Frederick’s suspicions all the way to the game’s close when he either assures Robin that their life was worth preserving or, as in the case of the sacrifice ending, that he will spend the rest of his own life searching for them until they return.

Honestly the fact that Chrom was willing to potentially risk dooming the whole world to the fell dragon’s awakening 1,000 years down the line just so he doesn’t have to lose his comfort tactician is WILD. For the game’s hero to literally say “we don’t have to defeat this evil for good, the people of the future can figure it out” JUST so he can keep Robin is absolutely unhinged behavior and I love it. I think it’s incredibly humanizing that he’s a little bit selfish about the people who are most important to him…that despite his willingness to sacrifice himself or run headfirst into danger, he draws the line at losing Robin because he’s already lost his most important person once and he’s not going to let it happen again. Chrom and Robin absolutely come across as a little codependent and a lot obsessed with each other and personally I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And then there’s his love confession to Robin. GOd...

I think that’s the most flustered Chrom appears in any content in the entire game…and it’s because he treasures their friendship so deeply that he is petrified about messing it up or saying the wrong thing. I love that he goes into their S support dead set on NOT telling Robin what is going on but the second he realizes that Robin is under the impression he doesn’t care about them or like spending time with them anymore he is so horrified and desperate to correct that line of thinking that he blurts out the full love confession on the spot.

He’s SO earnest throughout the whole thing, but then at the end he hits you with the whole “this is the best day of my life”, and the “You are the wind at my back and the sword at my side. Together, my love, we shall build a peaceful world, just you and me” (thank you Matt Mercer for your services), and the cg image of him staring right at Robin with what are basically heart eyes and. I just. There were no survivors.

That’s not even their only proposal / love confession scene either! The fact that the game gives us an entirely separate alternate proposal that’s more serious in tone is the icing on the cake. How many ships out there can say that they get not one but TWO canon proposals that are both that good? Truly no one is doing it like chrobin.

Closing Remarks:

Chrom is a well written and nuanced character who struggles and grows over the course of the story while always remaining true to himself and his ideals. His intense and unending trust, admiration, and love of Robin endears him to the player from the moment the game begins all the way to its conclusion. He is kind and good while still being fundamentally flawed (and it doesn’t hurt that he’s very handsome to boot). Bearing all that in mind, while the message of Awakening may be that nothing is inevitable, Chrom’s conceit and execution were always going to lead to MANY of those who play the game coming to love him and pick him as Robin’s husband…and there may be no greater evidence of that then the fact I’m out here writing all of this eleven years after the game’s release.

[vividdreamer]

For a character with so much depth, Lae'zel sure is criminally underrated both in fandom spaces and in-game. I feel like if bg3 had to have one playable character only, Lae'zel would be GROUNDBREAKING — and I know that's an unpopular opinion. But her story could end in so many ways, each challenging your beliefs and leaving you with profound questions about yourself and the world.

Lae'zel wants to care about people but her compassion was beat out of her as a part of her training. Her life was all "kill or be killed" and despite talking about her "kin" with respect and idolation, they're the same people who would have killed her as a child — if she couldn't get to them first. She doesn't have a real family; she never speaks of any best friends, siblings or parental figures. But despite the fact that her life is so void of any warmth, safety, or comfort, she believes it'll be worth it in the end when Vlakith ascends her. That shit feels oddly relatable to me, someone who was raised in an abusive religious environment.

She could continue her death march on the path she was born into, ending her story as a complete tragedy and a gut-twisting lesson: No, actually, there is no point to sufferring. There is no promised good to come after it. No reward for having a "heart of stone," as she puts it. You only lose. Because the thing about powerful beings like Vlakith is that... why would they care about you? How do you think they came to be so powerful in the first place? By being charitable? Ha. You can't have power over people, and remain benevolent and honest at the same time. People won't immediately bend over backwards for you if you aren't at least lying, manipulating, or cheating them in the bargains that you make.

In this case, Vlakith is a lich. She's not interested in giving. She can't become a god without taking her power from somewhere or something. That's the paradox of gods. They have to take, not give, to sustain themselves. Even when they do offer "blessings," it comes in exchange for something that benefits them as a net gain. In the long run, you will lose far more than you gain.

However, Lae'zel's story can also be one of hope — when it doesn't end with her soul consumed. Through small, consistent choices, she can break down the walls obstructing her from vulnerability, compassion, and self-identity. She can choose courage over faith, and question the ways and behaviors she had to take up in order to survive. It's so depressing trying to come to terms with the idea that you might have been cheated your whole life. I wish this theme was explored more in the game. Lae'zel retreating into her tent, withering away in spirit and health as she wonders what her childhood could have been if the circumstances of her birth were any different. Until, one morning, she walks out and goes back to sharpening her sword.

It would be beautiful, moving, and tearful to see it in action! But even with what we've got in the game as it is, you see her gradually start to sympathize for her camp companions as they challenge their own ordeals. She says it pains her to see Shadowheart suffer Shar's wrath after refusing to kill Aylin. She is proud of Astarion for killing Cazador.

And there are so many other moments like that where her inner compassion slips through the cracks, and I think in those moments you see the real Lae'zel. The Lae'zel when she's choosing her own path, taking back her agency, and molding her own identity. A story that could end with her rejecting both Vlakith and Orpheus, because (and she says it herself) her destiny is hers to decide. It's a bittersweet beginning to the rest of her days.

[loredrinker]

Framing Forgiveness - Solas Atonement Ending (Romance)

There are a few things that stand out for me around Lavellan’s forgiveness of Solas in the Atonement ending. 

1) Only a romanced Inquisitor speaks words of forgiveness to Solas specifically 2) Lavellan’s forgiveness comes before Mythal speaks  3) Mythal does not ask for forgiveness 

Lavellan Forgives 

Forgiveness is not comfortable; it is controversial because it can be viewed as weak or foolish. However, it is an incredibly strong act of free will and when given in truth, it offers spiritual, emotional and psychological healing. It liberates the forgiver and the forgiven.  

I’m actually impressed that the devs made this choice in the game and chose to tie it to love, framing it as an intimate and emotional act - an act of love.  

Forgiveness is about choosing to let go of resentment, it breaks cycles of guilt and vengeance, it helps to shift beliefs rooted in self-loathing. It does not erase what has been done. But it grants Lavellan agency. To forgive is to refuse to be defined by suffering. She is not the victim of his betrayal but takes ownership of how this story ends.

And what makes forgiveness powerful is that it forces the forgiven to see themselves through the eyes of the forgiver. For a man who has spent so long seeing himself as the betrayer, the destroyer - what must it be like to be met, instead, with grace – from the woman he admits he betrayed? 

One of the more difficult aspects of forgiveness, and why some may struggle with it, is that it isn’t always earned. Some don’t like that Solas could be forgiven before he has earned it. But the game doesn’t present forgiveness as a reward – it presents it as a gift. And that is when forgiveness is at its most powerful, when it can change a person, when it offers healing.  

Limiting the forgiveness to a romance is interesting. To have all characters forgive Solas would have made forgiveness feel like a general moral principle, rather than the personal act of emotional transformation I think Veilguard was going for in the Atonement ending. It also offers the idea that true redemption begins with love, not with punishment. If we only forgive someone when we feel they have fully atoned, then forgiveness is not about grace, it’s a transaction.  And that’s the messy thing about forgiveness, it comes first, when there is no guarantee that the forgiven will atone.   

I think for Solas’ arc, that gift of forgiveness is highly symbolic and impactful considering his history.  

And I love that the devs chose to position her forgiveness ahead of Mythal.  

Lavellan’s Forgiveness Before Mythal’s Release 

Sola's life has been dominated by Mythal – a bond as profound as it was painful.  With Lavellan offering forgiveness before Mythal speaks, she is standing independently from Solas’ legacy of entanglement with Mythal, away from all that pain and regret. 

Lavellan’s forgiveness is not divine or bestowed like a ruler pardoning a crime – her forgiveness is mortal, intimate and human.  By positioning this before Mythal, we are reminded of his humanity, but also of his personal connection to Lavellan, that she symbolizes a place for him to belong as himself – as Solas. He was Solas first, after all.  

Solas’ turning point isn't dictated by Mythal’s authority alone, but also by this personal moment.  If we, the player were only given Mythal’s voice at the end without the voices of Rook and Lavellan before her, it might have felt like a convenient way to absolve Solas of his guilt.  Instead, this gradual approach – Rook’s appeal, Lavellans’ forgiveness and then Mythal’s release – make this emotional shift feel earned rather than a deus ex machina moment.  

Mythal Does Not Seek Forgiveness Nor Offer An Apology 

If Mythal had asked Solas for his forgiveness, it would have acknowledged that Solas had power over her in that moment.  By having Mythal not seek forgiveness, the game reinforces that their relationship was never truly equal, that Mythal always dictated the terms.  Mythal had to be the one to dictate the terms of their parting.  It is also a fascinating exploration of their differences – Solas carries guilt, Mythal carries responsibility. She acknowledges they did many wrongs together, made terrible choices together, but she does not seek emotional resolution for it. 

If Mythal had apologized it would suggest that the past can be undone, old wounds closed.  But Mythal doesn’t give Solas any of that. This is very fitting – Solas' entire story has been about trying to fix his past mistakes.  Mythal’s lack of apology forces him to accept that some things cannot be undone and she denies him an easy emotional resolution. Instead, he must find his own way forward, despite the wrongs he did.   

Lavellan’s Forgiveness – Mythal's Release 

Mythal releases Solas as a leader releases a soldier. Lavellan stays as a lover choosing to stand beside him. Mythal says “I release you.”, Lavellan says “There is no fate but the love we share.” Mythal’s statement is about a duty ending.  Lavellan’s is about love enduring.   

But Solas’ fate is in his own hands now – and that moment where he looks back at the tear in the Veil, he is choosing.   

I feel like I need to add that this isn’t about diminishing Rook here. Rook offers a chance to atone - tied to duty. Returning the dagger to Solas is a gesture of trust, an acknowledgment that he still has a choice - but it comes with an expectation: bind yourself to the Veil. Set things right. Like Mythal, Rook does not release Solas from consequence.  

But this post is focused on forgiveness - its power, and that Lavellan offers the personal, emotional resolution that Mythal withholds.

I really appreciate the game having the courage to incorporate forgiveness into this world state. To offer grace as an aspect of this story’s ending is beautiful and fitting in the Veilguard setting, a game where many of the companions have to walk through their own forms of forgiveness and letting go.  

Forgiveness can be uncomfortable because it challenges the idea that justice is solely about punishment. It forces us to reckon with the full complexity of a person - not just their worst actions. In Solas’ case, it requires seeing him as more than the sum of his crimes - it demands acknowledging that he was not only a destroyer but also someone who cared, who loved, and who suffered. And by contrast, it demands viewing Lavellan and her forgiveness in the same light - not as naive or weak, but as someone making a deliberate, choice of strength to see beyond her own pain and shape what comes next.  

[riseokau]

CINEMATIC LOVE

Theme: bestfriends to lovers

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x fem reader (yuna)

w/c: 5k

Warnings: kissing, a little of angst

story: A quiet rooftop movie night, a soft drizzle under the stars, and two best friends who have spent years dancing around their feelings for each other. As the world fades away, they find themselves facing the unspoken truth they've both been waiting for. In a moment that's neither dramatic nor flashy, they discover that sometimes the most perfect love story is the one that's simply theirs.

a/n: got this idea while listening to cinematic love by dokyeom. Also this is my very first one shot if there's anything that you think I should change plz so tell me and I'd love to know your thoughts!

Seokmin's POV

"You need a main character moment."

It was something I'd been rehearsing since the morning.

Not because it was profound or anything — I mean, come on, it sounded like a line from a coming-of-age film with a slightly-too-quirky male lead. But it was the kind of thing Yuna would smile at. Not roll her eyes — well, maybe she'd do both — but the kind of smile that tugged at the side of her mouth before she realized she was giving it away. That was always the goal.

The sun was still hanging high when I left my apartment. Hot pavement radiated up through my sneakers, and the air had that sticky warmth that made every fabric cling to your skin. Typical summer in the city — loud, sweaty, alive. Kids laughing in the distance, a dog barking from a balcony somewhere overhead. The kind of day that was made for ice cream and spontaneous plans.

And yet, I knew where she'd be — probably holed up in her apartment with the curtains drawn and her laptop screen glowing judgmentally at her.

She hadn't said as much, but I could tell. The texts had gotten shorter. The calls came less often, and when they did, there was a weariness in her voice. Like even talking was one more thing she didn't quite have the energy for.

I climbed the steps to her building two at a time, heart pounding slightly from the heat more than the effort. Still, I paused outside her door.

Three knocks. Sharp, but not rushed.

There was a moment of silence. I could hear soft music playing inside — something instrumental and moody. Typical Yuna soundtrack when she was deep in her own head.

Then the door creaked open.

And there she was.

Hair tied up in a lazy bun, loose t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, her glasses slightly askew. She blinked at me like she'd just come out of a nap, or maybe a fog.

"Hey," she said, voice low and scratchy in a way that somehow made my chest ache.

I held up the two paper tickets like they were winning lottery numbers.

"Movie night," I said. "Rooftop screening. 7:30. You, me, and a critically-acclaimed love story with subtitles."

She squinted at the tickets like they were written in another language.

"It's Wednesday."

"Exactly."

"That's not a reason."

"It is if you're free."

"I'm not."

I tilted my head. "Really? What pressing plans do you have? Intense scrolling? Judging yourself for not writing? Alphabetizing your sticky notes?"

Her mouth twitched, and for a second, I saw it — the ghost of a smile. She sighed and leaned her shoulder against the doorframe.

"I'm just... stuck, Seokmin," she murmured. "The words aren't coming. I feel like I'm floating in place."

"Which is why," I said, stepping closer, "you need a main character moment."

There it was. I said the line.

She blinked.

Then laughed, soft and incredulous, like she didn't mean to. "Did you rehearse that?"

"Maybe."

Her smile cracked through fully now, and I swear, it lit up the entire hallway.

"I've got snacks," I added. "Your favorite — the caramel popcorn that gets stuck in your teeth and makes you hate yourself a little bit."

"You're really playing all your cards."

"And I brought a blanket. Just in case you try to use 'city breeze' as a dramatic excuse to cancel."

She studied me, eyes narrowing slightly — not in suspicion, but like she was trying to see through me. She always had that look. Like she was reading a line I hadn't said yet.

"Is this a pity invite?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"No," I said. Too quickly. "I just... I thought of you. That's all."

She didn't say anything. Not at first. Just looked down at the tickets, then back up at me. Her expression softened, like she was letting go of something heavy she didn't realize she'd been carrying all day.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Just let me change."

I exhaled — probably too visibly — and she smirked as she turned and disappeared into the apartment.

While I waited outside, I glanced down at the tickets again. The film was one I hadn't even heard of until that morning — some artsy, atmospheric indie flick with a too-long title. But it had an open rooftop venue, fairy lights, skyline views, and a soundtrack that screamed nostalgia. That was all I needed.

Well, that — and her.

She came out ten minutes later, wearing a light denim jacket over a sundress, her hair now loosely curled and a tiny bit frizzy from the humidity. She looked casual, effortless — the kind of beauty that sneaks up on you if you aren't paying attention. Not that I ever stopped.

"All set?" she asked.

I held out my arm with an exaggerated flourish. "Lead the way, main character."

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the grin she tried to hide.

And as we stepped into the fading sunlight, the sky a soft peach behind the buildings, I couldn't help but wonder:

Maybe this was the moment the story began to change.

.

The rooftop is peaceful now. The movie has started, but the world around us feels suspended, as if everything has slowed down, just for a moment. The screen flickers with soft light, casting a glow that dances over the crowd, bathing the people in a warm, golden hue. The air is heavy with the warmth of summer, but there's also a cool breeze that slips between the cracks, brushing against the skin like a whisper. It smells faintly of grilled meat from the food trucks down below, the kind of smell that makes your stomach growl without warning.

I can hear the soft hum of the city beneath us — the distant rumble of traffic, the muffled chatter from nearby conversations, the far-off clinking of bottles and glasses from a bar that's open late. But up here, on this rooftop, it's quieter. A space carved out from the noise. There's an unspoken intimacy in the air — the kind you don't notice until it's already there.

And then there's her.

Yuna. Sitting beside me. Just being.

The space between us is narrow, but it feels wide in the most unsettling way. We've been friends for so long that this proximity, this closeness, should feel easy — normal, even. But tonight it doesn't.

Tonight, everything feels sharper. More vivid.

I can feel the heat of her shoulder brushing against mine. It's not an uncomfortable heat, not at all. It's the kind of warmth that feels natural, like we've always been this close, like the space between us has always existed. It's the sort of warmth that lingers on the skin long after the touch has gone, like a mark that can't quite fade. And it doesn't make me uncomfortable — no. It makes my heart beat just a little faster. Makes the air feel thick and full of possibilities.

Our legs are stretched out in front of us, and I feel the lightest touch of her leg against mine. A brief, accidental brush — but hell, it's enough to send a shock through me. It's not the first time this has happened. We've sat this close a hundred times, in our cozy spots in the apartment, on the couch with our legs tangled under blankets, eating takeout and laughing at old sitcom reruns. The usual. But tonight? Tonight feels different.

I'm aware of every little detail now. The way her knee hovers just above mine, the way the fabric of her dress brushes against my skin in the gentle breeze. It's so small, so subtle, but I feel it like it's electric, like my whole body is hyper-aware of her in a way it's never been before.

I reach for the popcorn in the middle, mostly out of habit, to break the silence that's settled around us. She looks at me for a second, her eyes flicking over the motion of my hand as I stretch toward the bag, and she reaches for it too. Her fingers brush against mine as she takes a handful, and it's like the world narrows for a brief moment, the touch reverberating through me in ways I'm not quite ready for.

"Thanks," she murmurs, her voice low, soft, and I nod, swallowing down the sudden dryness in my throat.

She's not looking at me now. Her attention is on the screen, her eyes fixed on the characters as they wade through their messy, complicated love. The plot isn't anything new — two people falling in and out of love, a lot of misunderstanding, a lot of heartache, the typical trope. But I'm not really watching the movie anymore.

I'm watching her.

The way the soft glow of the screen catches her face. It highlights the curve of her jaw, the delicate arch of her cheekbones. The shadows across her features make her look... different, like she's someone else, someone new, even though I've known her for years. I watch the way the light bounces off her skin, making it glow in a way that's almost otherworldly. Everything about her feels softer in this moment, more real than anything I've ever seen in a film.

I notice her lips — how they part ever so slightly when she smiles at a line from the movie. It's a small, almost invisible shift, just a curl of the corners of her mouth, but it's enough to stop me in my tracks. I've seen that smile a thousand times, but tonight it feels like the first time.

Her eyes flicker toward me, and I realize I've been staring for too long. I look away quickly, clearing my throat, trying to focus back on the movie, but I can't shake the feeling that something has shifted. Something between us.

I laugh at the next line from the movie — something witty, something meant to be funny, but I'm aware of how shallow it sounds in the silence that hangs between us. Yuna doesn't even notice my laugh, or maybe she does, but she doesn't acknowledge it.

I catch her glance, though. Her eyes flicker to my face, briefly landing on my lips as they curve in amusement. And for a second, I wonder if she notices how close we are now — how our breaths are almost in sync, how my hand is barely an inch from hers. I wonder if she feels it too — that something in the air, that almost-connection that we've been dancing around for so long.

I can't help it. I want to ask her. I want to know if she's thinking the same thing I am.

But before I can say anything, the movie shifts into one of those cliché scenes — the one where the couple, under the stars, shares a vulnerable confession of love.

It's supposed to be one of those grand, sweeping moments in the story, the kind you see in every romance. But tonight, it feels different. Tonight, it hits. The words the characters exchange feel too real, too close to what I've been thinking for weeks, for months.

I glance at Yuna. She leans back, her arms stretched behind her, resting on the blanket. Her eyes are trained on the screen, but I see the soft furrow in her brow, the way her lips tighten as she watches the couple on the screen.

"Things like that only happen in movies," she murmurs under her breath, half-joking, but I can hear the sadness, the weight that lingers beneath her words. The longing, too — the part of her that still believes love, the real kind, only exists in fiction.

I feel it. The ache behind her voice. And I hate it.

It's as if she's resigned herself to the idea that this — the kind of connection we've had for years, the kind that feels effortless, natural, like it could be something — could never be more than something that only happens in the movies.

I freeze. The words I've been holding back rise up in my chest, and before I can stop myself, they slip out.

"Do they have to?" I whisper, and it feels like I've shattered something in the space between us. I don't even realize how heavy the question is until I see her reaction.

She freezes too. For the briefest of moments, her hand hovers in the air, the popcorn suspended just above her lap, like she's forgotten how to move. Her eyes snap to mine, and there's a flicker of surprise — no, more than surprise. Shock.

It's so quick, but it's there — in the way she freezes, in the way her breath hitches.

I hold her gaze, not looking away. I don't want to. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest, each beat growing louder, faster, as the seconds stretch between us.

Her lips part, but she doesn't speak at first. It's like she's collecting herself, like the weight of the moment is too much to say something casual, too much to just laugh it off like she's always done.

"I—" She begins, but the word hangs there, unfinished. Like she doesn't know how to continue. It's not uncertainty, though. It's more like... too many things have built up, too many unspoken words between us, too many years of waiting, of pretending that we were just friends.

Her eyes flicker away from mine, back to the screen, but the look in them doesn't fade. If anything, it deepens. It's sharper now, like she's searching for something — or maybe she's trying to hide something from me. But I don't think she can. Not anymore.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to close the distance between us — not physically, but emotionally. It's too much to carry, this feeling that's swelling inside of me, this thing between us that neither of us has acknowledged out loud. It's always been there, buried beneath our jokes and shared moments, but tonight, it feels like it's on the edge of spilling over.

I wish I could wrap my arm around her. Pull her close, make it easier. But it feels too soon. Too soon, and yet, I'm not sure how much longer I can wait.

For a long moment, we sit there, side by side. The city hums below, the movie flickers, and time feels like it's both moving and standing still. We don't speak. We don't need to.

But something has changed. I can feel it. The tension in the air is almost tangible now, and it's not going anywhere.

And when her voice finally breaks the silence again, it's softer this time, almost like she's saying it to herself. "I guess... things don't have

.

The air feels cool now, the kind of cool that always settles in after the heat of the day has faded away. It's the kind of chill that brushes your skin like a soft caress, inviting you to savor the quiet moments before the night truly takes hold. The breeze carries the scent of something distant, like the faint smell of grilled meat wafting from one of the late-night food trucks nearby, but it's so soft that it's almost imperceptible. There's something comforting about the city at this hour — the streets are still lit but far fewer people are out, and it's as if the whole city is slowing down, taking a collective breath before the rush of the next day.

We walk side by side, our footsteps in sync, but tonight it feels like we're walking through a dream — slow, deliberate, but with a sense of unease, like something's on the edge of being realized. My thoughts are tangled, restless. I can feel the weight of them in my chest. I glance over at Yuna, and the way the lamplight spills over her hair, casting it in a soft, golden glow, makes my heart skip a beat. It's funny how something as ordinary as the light can make her seem so... ethereal. The waves of her hair catch the light in this way that makes her look almost untouchable. Her expression is peaceful, but there's something deeper, something I can't quite read. It's like she's somewhere between here and another place, lost in thoughts she hasn't shared yet.

We've walked down these same streets before. Countless times, in fact. But tonight, every step feels like we're on unfamiliar ground, even though the path is so well-worn. The rhythm of our shoes hitting the pavement feels different — heavier, as if the weight of our words, unspoken, is beginning to pull on us.

And the silence. It's not the kind of silence that's awkward or uncomfortable — not anymore. It's the kind of silence that carries meaning. It's the silence of things that have always been there, sitting beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise. And maybe tonight, the right moment is finally here. But it's not easy. Not for me, at least.

"Yuna," I say, my voice coming out rougher than usual. It's not just the cool air that makes my breath feel thicker — it's everything. All of the things I've never said, the things I've kept locked away because I've been too scared to speak them out loud. But they're spilling out now, whether I'm ready or not.

She turns her head toward me, her eyes soft, as if she's already sensing that something's about to change. Her gaze is expectant, but it doesn't pressure me. It's the way she always is with me — patient, understanding, like she knows I need time to find the right words, even if it takes longer than I want it to.

"I've never said this," I continue, my throat tight with the weight of what I'm about to reveal. "But there's... there's so much I haven't told you."

She raises an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face, but she doesn't interrupt. Instead, she stops walking, just enough to make me slow down too. Her eyes stay on mine, steady and calm, like she's waiting for me to let the words come as they need to.

I try to breathe in the cool night air, steady myself. "I've written you birthday cards," I say, and even as I say it, I realize it's been something I've thought about for years. "Do you remember those birthday cards I always get for you? The ones that always seem to fall short of what I really want to say?"

She nods, the soft smile she's wearing doesn't quite reach her eyes, though I can see the tenderness in the way she's listening to me. I can feel her presence so keenly, like I'm standing at the edge of something, and I'm afraid to take the leap.

"I've written them — God, I've written them at least ten times," I continue, the words coming faster now, almost like a confession. "Ten different versions of what I wanted to say to you. But each time I stopped. I couldn't finish them. It never felt like the right thing, the right words. It was as if no matter how hard I tried, nothing could ever fully capture what I felt."

I chuckle softly, but it's not a happy sound. It's a bitter one, filled with the weight of all the things I never allowed myself to say. "Maybe that's why I kept hoping you'd open the door and just know. I kept hoping that somehow, you'd sense it. That what I felt would be enough, even though I never said it."

I pause, swallowing, trying to fight the lump in my throat. My chest feels tight as if I've been holding my breath for years, waiting for this one moment, for her to hear me.

"But it never was," I add quietly, the regret slipping out before I can hide it. "It was never enough."

I look at her, waiting for some sort of response, but she's silent. She doesn't speak. She just looks at me with those deep, dark eyes, studying me in a way that makes me feel like she's peeling back every layer of my thoughts. It's like she can see straight through me. I feel so exposed, so vulnerable, but for some reason, I can't look away.

The stillness between us feels heavy now. The city around us continues its quiet hum, but it's as though we've stepped out of it. All of it — the noise, the world, the distractions — fades, and there's just us. And in that silence, I wonder if she can hear my heart beating in my chest, wild and erratic, unsure.

"Seokmin..." Her voice breaks through the tension, soft and tentative. She says my name like it's a question, like she's unsure of how to respond, or maybe she's unsure of me.

I stop walking, and she does the same. We're standing under a streetlamp now, and the glow from it makes her look even more surreal. Like something out of a dream. The light catches the edges of her face, accentuating the delicate features, the sharpness in her eyes, the way her mouth trembles just a little when she speaks.

I take a step closer to her, but not too close. I want to respect the space between us, but it feels like I can't stand the distance any longer. The air around us is electric now, thick with everything we haven't said.

"I always thought love had to be loud," she says, her voice quiet, barely a whisper against the city's distant murmur. But I hear every word. "I thought it had to be dramatic. A big confession. Fireworks. All of that." She gestures with her hands, almost as if she's brushing away the idea of it. The image of love she's held for so long.

I feel a pang in my chest. I understand. I've always understood. I don't want that either. I want something real. Something subtle. Something that doesn't require grand gestures, just presence. But the words are stuck in my throat, heavy, pressing down.

"Yeah," I say, barely above a murmur, "I thought that too." My words are too simple. But it's the only thing I can offer right now.

She doesn't say anything right away. Instead, her gaze softens, and her breath hitches as she meets my eyes again. There's something different in her expression now — it's not the casual detachment I've often seen from her, but something else. Something that feels more like awareness. Like we've crossed a line we can't uncross.

"But you..." she says, her voice lowering, the words like a quiet confession. She steps forward, ever so slightly, and the shift in her presence makes my breath catch in my throat. "You've been the quietest, clearest thing in my life. You're the one who's always been there, even when I didn't want to see it. The one who showed up, who understood." Her words spill out, tentative but sure, like she's finally letting go of something she's been holding for a long time. "And I think that's what I was waiting for. For someone like you."

The world shifts around me, and I feel like everything has finally clicked into place. A weight lifts from my chest, and a warmth settles in its place. My pulse quickens, and for a moment, I'm at a loss for words. How do I tell her that I've been waiting for the same thing? That I've always known there was something about her that called to me, something that didn't need to be loud or grand — it just needed to be real?

But I can't say it. Not yet. Not like this.

"I..." I start, but the words stick. I want to say it, want to say everything I've been feeling, but it's too much, too soon. So instead, I take a step closer, closing the space between us. Her eyes are still locked on mine, like she's searching for something in me — for the truth, maybe. Or for something I haven't found the courage to say.

And in that moment, I know. I know she's waiting for me to make the first move, but I can't rush it. I can't force it. So I just take a deep breath and say, quietly, "I don't want loud, dramatic love either."

She doesn't pull away. She doesn't laugh it off or look at me with uncertainty. She just watches me, the silence thick between us, until I finally reach out and brush my hand against hers. This time, she doesn't hesitate. Her fingers curl into mine, the warmth of her hand slipping into mine like it was always meant to be.

The city hums around us, but in this moment, I don't need the noise. All I need is this quiet connection, the unspoken understanding between us. And maybe that's enough. Maybe that's all we need.

.

The first drop of rain hits the back of my neck, sharp and cold, a sudden contrast against the warmth of the night air. Then another, and another, until the sky releases the weight it's been carrying. The drizzle starts as a gentle whisper, but it soon grows into a soft, persistent rain, falling over us like a secret, quietly shared between the two of us and the world. The rain isn't heavy or loud — it doesn't demand attention — instead, it settles around us like a delicate curtain, wrapping us in a cocoon of intimacy. There's something fragile about it, almost as if this moment, this connection, could be swept away at any second.

I barely notice the shift in the air, but the moment the first raindrops hit, I feel a shift inside myself. There's a certain comfort in it, as though nature itself is signaling that this, right here, is exactly where we're meant to be. Not a moment too soon or too late. Just this soft rainfall, like it's giving us permission to be here with each other, in this quiet, stolen space where time seems to slow.

Under the streetlamp, the rain catches in the light, sparkling in the golden glow. It doesn't feel like the city anymore. The world beyond the pool of light is lost to us, blurred into shadows. The mist from the rain floats in the air like a veil, softening everything, blurring the harsh edges of the world we're leaving behind. All that exists is the light, the rain, and us. The city's noise is just a hum, distant and faint. It's as if the world has quieted for us, given us this brief, perfect moment, where nothing else matters but the two of us standing here in the rain.

I look at her — really look at her this time, taking in every detail that's always been there but has never felt so real. Her hair, damp and darkened by the rain, clings to her face in wet strands, glistening as the light from the streetlamp catches the droplets. Some of them collect at the tips of her lashes, and when she blinks, I see the water shimmer against her dark eyes, making them deeper, almost bottomless. Her face, half in shadow, half in light, looks different in the rain. Softer, more delicate, more there. Like she's been revealed to me in a way I never understood, even though we've known each other for so long.

I've seen her laugh, seen her smile, seen her angry, but this — this is different. The quiet of the night seems to have drawn something out of her, something that isn't obvious, something that isn't spoken. There's a stillness in the way she's looking at me, a soft focus in her eyes that tells me she's no longer unsure. The hesitation, the distance, the things we've both kept hidden — they've melted away with the rain, dissolving into the soft night air.

She's standing close now, close enough that I can feel her breath, warm and steady, mixing with the cool air between us. The way her chest rises and falls, each movement so gentle, so calm, gives me a sense of peace that I didn't know I needed. Her body is warm against mine, but the warmth doesn't come from the heat of the night or the streetlamp. It's something else. A quiet kind of heat that lingers in the air between us, something so familiar that it feels as though we've always been here, standing like this, waiting for this moment.

And then, there's this unspoken shift — a pull, subtle but undeniable. Everything slows down, like the rain itself has decided to freeze time for us. I can't say who moves first — is it me? Is it her? Maybe it's both of us, slowly leaning in, drawn together by something far deeper than the simple proximity of our bodies. The distance that once felt too wide between us is suddenly gone, erased by the shared space we've carved out in this rain-soaked night. My heart is racing in my chest, a steady thrum, like it's trying to escape, like it knows that this is what it's been waiting for.

And before I can fully register what's happening, her lips are there — soft, tentative, brushing against mine in a way that makes everything feel fragile, like we're both unsure of whether this is real or not. The kiss isn't anything like the ones you see in the movies — no fireworks, no rushing adrenaline. It's quiet, hesitant, almost awkward, like we're both testing the waters, unsure of what we're about to do, but too drawn to each other to stop. Her lips are warm against mine, the moisture of the rain mixing with the warmth of her skin. I feel the faintest tremble from her, and I know it mirrors my own.

For a few seconds, it's unsure. Like we're both learning how to be here, how to be with each other in this new space. Her fingertips brush lightly against my arm, tentative, like she's unsure if she should hold me, touch me, or pull away. It's such a small, delicate thing, but it's exactly what this moment is — small, quiet, delicate, and yet somehow so profoundly right. The rain falls steadily around us, but it's not cold. In this moment, the rain feels like a gentle barrier, like a shield from the rest of the world. It's just us. The rain. And the soft, tentative pressure of her lips against mine.

And then, slowly, it deepens. Not in a rush, not in a frantic, overwhelming way, but in a quiet, deliberate progression. It's as if we both suddenly realize that this is the culmination of everything we've been waiting for, everything we've both held back from saying or doing. The awkwardness fades, and there's a warmth that blooms between us — the kind of warmth that isn't just physical, but something deep and honest. The rain becomes louder, its drops falling harder, but it doesn't matter. We're sheltered in this small moment, wrapped in the quiet rhythm of the world around us, yet we're entirely focused on each other.

I'm not sure how long the kiss lasts, but when we finally pull away, it's not with the rush of breathlessness that you'd expect after something so intimate. Instead, there's a quiet kind of peace that settles over us. My heart is still pounding, but now it's steady, a calm echo of the chaos that came before. I open my eyes slowly, the world around us still a hazy blur, like everything else has faded away. And when I meet her gaze, I see the same softness in her eyes, that same stillness, like she's trying to take in the gravity of what just happened — of what we just shared.

She doesn't say anything right away, and neither do I. There's no need. The silence between us isn't awkward; it's comforting. It's filled with the quiet understanding that we've both crossed some invisible line — that we've arrived at a place where words no longer need to be spoken. Our lips are still warm from the kiss, our bodies still close, but it feels like there's so much more unsaid between us. The rain continues to fall, steady and persistent, but in this moment, it feels like it's part of us, like it's part of the truth we're both realizing.

She reaches up, almost instinctively, her fingers brushing through the damp strands of my hair at my temple. It's a light touch, soft and careful, like she's trying to ground herself, as if to remind herself that this is real, that we're really here. Her hand lingers there, just for a moment, but it's enough. It's enough to make my heart do something strange, something that feels like both relief and anticipation.

And then, she smiles. It's not a big, bright smile — it's softer, a little shy, and yet it feels like everything. In that smile, I see it all. The uncertainty, the hesitation, the quiet hope that's been there all along. Her eyes soften, and I know then that she's here with me. She's with me, in this moment, fully, completely, and without hesitation.

The rain still falls around us, but it's no longer just rain. It's part of this. Part of the quiet acceptance between us. The world beyond the streetlamp's glow is a blur, distant and irrelevant. There's only this space, this small bubble where nothing else matters. Not the passing time, not the world, not the things left unsaid. Only the way her hand rests on mine now, the way her fingers fit so naturally against my own.

I step back a little, just enough to catch my breath, but I don't let go of her. I reach for her hand, and this time, she doesn't pull away. Her fingers slip into mine, and it feels so simple, so natural, like we've always been doing this, always been here. We don't need to speak. We don't need to rush. We just stand there, together, letting the rain fall around us, letting the world continue as it will, while we remain still, in this perfect, quiet space.

It's not flashy. It's not dramatic. But in this rain, in this moment, it feels perfect. It's familiar. It's home.

.

As we stand there, rain gently falling around us, the quiet of the moment wrapping itself around us like a soft blanket, I realize something. It didn't look like a movie scene. There were no grand gestures, no sweeping music or dramatic confessions. It wasn't flashy or perfect in the way love is often portrayed on screen. But as I look at her — really look at her — I know that's what makes it so much more meaningful. It looked like us. Two people who have always been there, in the quiet, the subtle, the real. And maybe that's even better.

I hope you liked the story if you have any thoughts i'd love to see them!

[smileposting]

what are your feelings on inspekta being both a sympathetic character and a (now former) fascist?

WELL. first of all, i think it's Probably worth noting that even while GGG's representation of the conditions that can give rise to fascism are Uncannily accurate at times (as outlined in this very excellent post by elkian) it is Also a story in which the central message is "maybe talk to your friends instead of conspiracy-posting when you start to feel bad about yourself, dipshit," and therefore its representation of fascism/fascist thought As A Whole is very... how do i say this without sounding disparaging. "saturday morning cartoon"-esque. i think this is pretty apparent in how the worst that the bizzyboys' reign of terror ever gets is banning The Concept Of Art and not, like. genocide. the only Actual fatal threat (the rift) is saved for the very end, and inspekta/hector is talked down before it can actually cause any fatalities -- otherwise, inspekta and the bizzyboys would be very different antagonists that would require the narrative to treat them much more harshly, and this would result in a very different game overall (although not one i would be opposed to playing.)

second of all, i wanna talk more about the idea of GGG being less of a game about taking down a single power-hungry fascist and more an examination of the conditions that can eventually lead to fascism if left unchecked. for just one example, we can see that even before inspekta came into power (or at least, before he started his corruption arc) and even in a world where every god is genuinely kind and just and deserving of their position, it was generally The Norm to not really call them out To Their Face - any displeasure a character voices with a god's (apparent) decision is directed to each other and the godpoke, not to the god themselves, even when that god is perfectly open to visitors and/or feedback. and this is bad because despite the gods no longer being Physically human, they are still just as fallible - they have a tendency to jump to conclusions, they let their devotion to their interests or one another cloud their judgement, they struggle with showing vulnerability (which, ironically, makes them more vulnerable than they would be otherwise.) not only does the grove benefit from regular contact with the gods to make sure that their needs are being met -- it benefits the gods, too, by way of keeping them from getting lost in their own heads and losing touch with their own humanity.

i think it's also worth noting that the bizzyboys are not the only characters we see buying into fascist rhetoric, or at least stuff that benefits fascism in the long run. you could argue that anyone who bought into inspekta's framing of king in the first place also counts, given that to do so would probably Also require one to believe that the gods are infallible. it's also worth noting that a Lot of the more notable supporting characters who fall into this are also doing so out of a profound sense of alienation; saul can't remember the last time he talked to any of his friends and he thinks nobody takes him seriously, pollina's students don't sound like they're being taught much of anything about milldread's history and therefore they have very little to actually connect them to milldread, nobody likes rick brick and he has no interiority to speak of By Design, etc etc. all of these characters, however, are also treated with a fair amount of empathy - ol' bloom turns out to be Correct in believing that saul doesn't have what it takes to kill him and once the issue of the harvest is solved, he's welcomed back with open arms, pollina's students are like 8, and even rick brick's story ends with him beginning to realize that maybe it's okay if a story only appeals to its author and nobody else.

tl;dr: if ggg was even Slightly less cartoony than it actually is, this aspect of inspekta would come across as pretty jarring, but given the aspects of fascism that GGG chooses to focus on and how it treats smaller antagonists, i can't really imagine inspekta's story ending any other way. if i Did have any actual concerns, i'd say maybe it's that the bizzyboys being from the drain + the drain having such a negative connotation can get kinda dicey? something about the idea of fascism being an Evil Foreign Entity and not something that can just as easily start at home doesn’t sit quite right with me. but ofc a lot of emphasis is placed on the bizzyboys' humanity and potential to do good if not for inspekta's own Complexes getting the better of him (and even inspekta's own genuine capacity for leadership before that happened) so that's probably more of a potential bone to pick with fanwork, given how little exploration drain actually Gets in canon.

also i hope this doesn't Need to be said but just to be clear: i'm not trying to like, call out limbolane or Inspekta Himself, just examining what this aspect of his character was trying to Accomplish + how it relates to the game's themes and such. with that said i am very much still a novice when it comes to political analysis of media so if anybody more well-read than me wants to chime in, Please feel free to do so lol.

[nackrosor]

~Midnight Healing~

𝓢𝓲𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓖𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓡𝓲𝓵𝓮𝔂 𝔁 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

[I highly recommend to put this song on repeat as background music. It will help set the mood.]

warnings/tags: 18+ smut, p*rn with feelings & plot, unexperienced reader, first kiss, first time, oral s*x (fem receiving), p in v, soft Ghost, slow dance, mutual pining, slight angst/comfort, Soap being the best mate, the team being supporting in their own way lmao, cap. price approved 👌🏻 summary: You're at the pub, enjoying a night out with your team. The soothing lulling music, the booze, Johnny's taunts and your own repressed feelings embolden you to invite Simon to join you in a slow dance. The dance leads to long overdue confessions which in turn lead to your first time together. word count: 12.5k. (longest one yet)

A special and huge thank you to my dear @magnoliabutters who has helped me SO MUCH. You've given me so many suggestions that inspired me to write the best possible version of this story. I probably would have given up halfway through if it wasn't for your support. I love you and appreciate you a lot. ♥️

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, elbows resting on the smooth surface of the counter with a thumb circling the cold rim of your half-full glass of bourbon. The soothing blues music playing in the background adds to your sense of calm, with notes vibrating through your limbs, echoing in your ribcage, and clearing your thoughts. You let yourself be lulled by the soft melancholy tune, quietly humming along and rocking your head in rhythm. 

Given your job as a task force officer, you rarely get a breather and a chance to enjoy a night out. It is a luxury for you and that is what makes it so special, a time to truly look forward to. Especially when you can share it with your brothers in arms, your family, not bonded by blood but by a profound feeling born through shared hardships and nurtured by trust, respect and understanding. One would imagine you'd prefer to spend your free nights alone or with different people, perhaps even a one-night lover, rather than with your coworkers, the very same guys you spend your entire days with, through sweat and tears, anger and frustration, and occasionally a moment of respite. This is exactly the reason why you wouldn’t dare unwind with anyone else; they are everything for you, the sole people you trust and you would gladly give your life for without hesitation. Why would you need anybody else? 

Seeing them loosen up for one night, just enough to treat themselves to a pint or a glass of whiskey is such the delight. You wouldn’t even need to chug a drink of your own to feel the tension leave your body, finally allowing yourself to relax. 

This time is no exception. Same place, same company, same feeling of being exactly where you need to be, of needing literally nothing else in the world.

"Enjoying yourself?" 

Soap's voice sounds clear in your ear and interrupts your blues-induced trance. A lazy smile greets you as you turn to look up at him. He settles down on the barstool next to you.

"Yeah… I love this music. It feels like a lullaby but instead of making me want to sleep, it makes me want to move, you know? "

"Sounds like you want to hit the dance floor! Care to give us a show?" 

"Wouldn't you like that!" 

You smirk at him, bumping your shoulder against his.

"Who wouldn’t?” he returns the nudge, playfully winking at you, “But I know someone who would particularly enjoy it, more than anybody else."

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. Every time you come to the pub, you can't avoid one or two, occasionally three, drunken brash males hitting on you or simply gluing their eyes on you from afar, never stopping for the entire time you're here. You'd think that being literally surrounded by four menacing - some more than others - muscular men would prevent anyone from ever looking your way twice, especially weak-minded misogynists who don't believe a woman could take care of herself… That clearly isn't the case. Go figure! These people have no sense of shame or… self-preservation. 

"What ugly old man’s ball sack-looking dude is staring at me this time?" 

A chuckle escapes him. He shakes his head as he swirls the liquid in his glass before taking a sip. 

“No ugly old man’s ball sack-looking dude , just a possibly ugly dude.”

"Oh?" a wry smile takes form on your lips, "well, I could get behind that."

"He's been throwing some not-so-sneaky glances your way ever since we arrived."

"Yeah?”, you ask, taking a quick glance around the room. “Coordinates, Sergeant. Don’t leave me in the dark."

Soap's eyes glint mischievously as he subtly nods to your left, then raises his glass to his lips to take another sip and mask his grin. You follow the trajectory of his nod, gaze skimming the whole length of the counter, overlooking the serene faces of Gaz, Laswell, the captain, until it locks on a familiar pair of big dark eyes. The smirk on your lips immediately falters and your stomach flips. 

Simon is holding your gaze, seemingly unfazed, arms folded across his chest and muscles flexing under his black windbreaker. No matter how accustomed you are to seeing him in his casual attire, your heart always loses a beat whenever your eyes land on him. The way his skull balaclava hugs his face and the way the hood of his dark grey sweatshirt is all the way up, hiding his head, make his mesmerising eyes circled with black make-up even more striking and thus much more lethal to your poor weak heart. You’re so attracted to him, so infatuated… you’ve never felt this inexorable pull toward anyone before. It’s like a new form of gravity, so strong that you can’t even avert your gaze; it takes too much effort, like going against the laws of nature. 

Soap’s giggle draws you back from the trance. Your eyes dart around aimlessly for a moment before you whip around to glare at your friend.

“You’re a bastard.”

He shrugs innocently, that stupid grin of his still tugging at his lips.

"You saw it for yourself, he was staring."

"Yeah, 'cause he probably heard you or read your lips or… something."

"Right,” he says with a scoff, elongating the word. “Didn’t know superman was part of the 141…"

His mocking tone makes you roll your eyes. Grabbing your glass, you bring it to your lips and savour the sensation of the cool, sweet but strong liquid flowing down your throat. As you knock the empty glass back onto the counter, you catch a glimpse of Ghost. Fortunately, this time he appears to be engaged in discussion with Price, providing you with the green light that allows your wistful gaze to linger on him, unnoticed. 

"Well, you must admit that…”, you mutter almost to yourself, eyes reverently roaming his figure, “...if anyone had superpowers in our team, it would definitely be him." 

"Heh. You certainly look at him as if he already has them."

Johnny interrupts your reveries again and you shake your head, tearing your eyes away from Simon and trying to clear your mind in the process. "Stop it. He's just, he's-" 

"He's single, for all I know." 

The sergeant shrugs again with an innocent smile as you give him the stink-eye.

"You’re a menace ."

You poke him hard in the ribs, causing him to wince and almost spill his drink. You both can’t help but laugh.

“I swear if you told him or anyone anything… I'll strangle you in your sleep.”

“Mmm, so passionate, y/n. He’s gonna love that.”

You roll your eyes again, yet can't help but smile.

Soap is your best mate; you're closer to him than the rest of the squad, which is saying a lot given how close the team is. You may or may not have let your feelings for Simon slip during a private conversation one night at the HQ while you were a little tipsy, and he's been a little shit about it since then, unwilling to let you live it down. You know it's all in good fun, there's no malice in his words, but his taunts do nothing to help you keep your feelings under control. 

“You should tell him, by the way.”

“We’ve already talked about this, Johnny…”

“I just don’t understand why you’re keeping it to yourself. You scared of getting rejected?”

You shrug, your gaze fixed on the empty glass in front of you as you fidget with it absentmindedly. He struck a nerve. Taking the first step without being absolutely certain that your feelings are reciprocated and thus making a colossal blunder scares the shit out of you. Actually, the mere thought of taking a shot in the dark makes your stomach churn with dread. 

“Y/n, he would never turn you down. Never .”

“You don’t know that.”

Soap scoffs incredulously. “C’mon! You’ve seen the way he looks at you! There’s nothing PG-13 about it.”

He pauses for a moment waiting for your retort but when you don't give him any, he draws conspiratorially close to your ear. “Although, I guess you don’t get to hear what he says about you when it’s just us boys…”

You perk up, turning toward him with a curious and clearly hopeful look on your face. Does he know something you don’t? Or is he messing with you? You can never tell with Soap.

“W-what does he say?”

Soap grins victoriously, undoubtedly pleased with himself for catching you failing, yet again, to hide your stupid little crush. 

"Gave my word that I would keep my mouth shut..."

“Ugh!", you push him away with a hard smack on his arm, "you’re insufferable.”

“Go talk to him and find out on your own. In the unlikely case that what you fear the most happens, any of us smart boys would gladly take his place in your heart, love ."

You shake your head with a scoff, eyes drifting aimlessly to the other side of the room. Turns out, Johnny was trying to get under your skin, as per usual, however you can’t help but mull his words over.

Perhaps he's got a point, perhaps it is time to let it all out in the open and face the consequences , whatever they might be. Johnny said that Simon has talked about you with the guys. It might be nothing, but what if he really has let his own feelings slip during a conversation, just like when it happened to you with Soap? Or perhaps, he had a real heart to heart talk with his mates… 

You have your doubts, but then again why would Johnny mention that he spoke of you? Why would he try so hard to reassure you that Simon would never reject you? Why would he stress out the fact that he often gets caught staring at you? Could your friend be doing this solely for a laugh? No, Johnny is not that kind of person. He cares about you and he clearly understands how much you care about Simon. He would not give you a friendly push merely to watch you fall face first to the ground. There must be some truth behind his jokes and teasing… but are you ready to risk it all to find out? Being rejected isn't the only fear that prevents you from acting on your feelings... 

"Whatever.” You sigh at last, propping yourself up by pushing your palms against the edge of the counter. “I'm here to unwind, not get caught up in my head as usual. So… now, I’m going to dance. And, just to be clear, I'm not doing it for you or Simon or anybody other than myself."

The pointed look you give him makes Soap raise his hands in defeat, however it doesn't wipe that little smirk off his face. The glass grazes his curled up lips as he looks at you with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah… You'll thank me later.”

His words get lost in the rising bustle of the pub; the cacophony of voices and the clatter of glasses gets louder just as the music fills your ears the more you get away from the bar. The soothing tune comes out of two huge amps set at either side of an empty stage, and floods over you, the sole person standing in front of it. You feel a bit self-conscious at first, sensing everyone's eyes on you but you try your best to ignore them. Letting your eyes flutter shut, you focus solely on the music, allowing yourself to be transported by the slow lulling rhythm. 

Soon, you're swaying your hips in time, your feet picking up their own pattern. You don't care about how you're moving, how it may look; all you care about is letting go, setting yourself free, feeling the music pass through you, and being completely in the moment. You dance worry-free, entirely surrendering control of your body to the enthralling and sinuous voice of the electric guitar. Few things are more freeing than dancing like nobody’s watching…

The song comes to an end almost too quickly and so does the enchantment that has seized you. When you open your eyes, chancing a look around you, you immediately meet Simon’s stare. He's still sitting at the bar but now he's turned toward you, back to the polished wood of the counter, one elbow resting on its edge. Clearly he has been watching you the whole time, enjoying the show , as Soap said. You feel a thrill run through you. Perhaps it's the alcohol kicking in, perhaps those feelings pushed deep inside you are finally emerging to the surface. Or is it just the adrenaline of the dancing still holding control over your body? 

Regardless of the answer, you find yourself walking toward him; the initial notes of a new song matching your sultry and unhurried steps. He firmly holds your gaze, but you notice the shifting in his seat as you approach him with renewed confidence.

You stop when you’re right in front of him, a coy smile plays on your lips while you hold out your hand.

"Care to join me?" 

His eyes flicker to your extended palm then wander over your face, as if he's looking for a cue that would tell him whether you're joking or being serious.

"You're outta your mind, princess ."

You raise your eyebrow at the word 'princess'. He knows you don’t like to be called like that but he doesn't seem to care. He keeps using that stupid term, especially when he wants to reprimand you, putting you in your place or just to tease you and get under your skin. But there is something in the way he said it just now, an endearing nuance in his tone that combined with his thick accent makes you melt like chocolate.

"Why? You seemed really interested only a minute ago."

You tease him with a challenging look on your face while you nonchalantly tug down the zip of your biker jacket. After the dance you're feeling a bit flushed, you need to let your skin breathe. No other reason for uncovering your cleavage, right? Definitely not to draw his attention to the deep neckline of your dress. Of course not, why would you do that? 

"I was only-" 

You interrupt him, arms folding across your chest, drawing his eyes even more to the curves of your body. " Enjoying the show , right."

"No.” He counters quickly, his voice loud and clear even over the music. Doesn’t he sound a little nervous? Or are you simply imagining it? 

“I was just… glad to see this carefree side of you. It's a good look on you."

You stare into each other’s eyes, your heart thumping hard in your chest. You didn’t expect to hear him say that.

"Well…”, you bite your lip as you try to ease your racing heart, arms falling back to your sides, “...dancing is very freeing. You should try it."

"I don't think it would work for me."

"Why don't we find out?" 

Shivering just a little, you take another step forward. His head slightly cranes up so that he can keep his piercing gaze on yours. You move your hand on his wrist, fingers wrapping gently around it before giving a little pull in your direction.

"C'mon…", you give him a teasing smile as you step back, head nodding back to the space behind you, “...let’s go.”

Despite your pulling, Simon doesn’t budge a single inch, but you see him hesitate. You keep tugging at his wrist, stepping backwards, even attempting to pout, until he silently relents and stands up, letting you drag him toward the stage at last. You didn't expect him to give up. You thought you'd have to put much more effort into it, or that you'd have to be the one giving up in the end. You're genuinely surprised by the turn of events but you won't let that dent your spirit now. You've just started playing with fire and you can't help but feel the thrill of it, the excitement lighting up inside of you. 

You stop when you reach the spot you previously made your own during your solo dance and turn around to face him. He stands there, tall and motionless, the hood of his sweatshirt still on; he looks so out of place on the dance floor, the sight makes you chuckle.

"Don't worry Si, nobody would dare judge you."

"I don't care about that."

"No?"

With a smile on your face, a gaze fixed on him, you start to sway your hips in sync again. His eyes immediately flicker down to take in your movements. He doesn’t seem to care about the fact that he looks like a freaking pole, standing so still in front of you, not moving even one muscle. His whole focus is on you and he seems to particularly enjoy being able to watch you from the best seat in the house.

“You could move your shoulders a little bit, you know? Or even just nod your head in time with the music.”

It’s so evident that he doesn’t know what to do with his body, where to even begin. You almost feel guilty of having dragged him there, of putting him on the spot.

“Here, follow my steps.”

You pick up a simple left-to-right footwork, following the slow but steady rhythm of the drums and encourage Ghost to mirror your motions with a nod and a gentle smile. He studies you, eyes observing your body attentively, picking up every little movement you make. 

He appears quite stiff as he attempts to follow along; his bulky body doesn't seem keen to make him look as graceful on the dancefloor as it does on the battlefield. But he's trying at least, and quickly getting the hang of it.

“That’s it! You’re not half bad, Si!” 

A soft chuckle escapes you as you bite your bottom lip. Seeing him dance - or try to - makes you oddly giddy, euphoric even. It's just such a rare and bizarre thing to see that you can't help but smile wide and enjoy the moment to the fullest.

Raising your arms in the air, you swing your hips and bend your knees as you lower your body to the ground, only to raise up again, twisting your curves like a snake. The thrill of his probing stare piercing you causes you to shudder; his eyes are unwavering, admiring your every move with utmost devotion. Having his undivided attention makes you feel alive, it makes you feel special and bold. 

You take a step closer and reach out to grab both of his hands in yours, your movements mellowing to fit his laid-back rocking. His calloused hands are surprisingly soft and warm as they wrap perfectly around yours, like matching pieces of a puzzle; his touch feels comforting, stable, safe. As you look up at him, eyes locking once again, you feel your heart pound rapidly in your chest. A small smile takes form on your lips to mask the turmoil rising within you.

“This feels… nice, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

Your heart soars upon hearing his answer, smile widening.

“I didn't know you could dance."

"I can't dance”, you correct him with a light chuckle, “I simply enjoy moving my body to the music."

"Never seen you do that before."

"Well, most of you guys don't even like listening to music, so I only get to do it when I'm on my own… which is a rare occurrence since apparently you babies can’t leave me alone for more than one minute."

You squeeze his hands playfully, a cheeky grin playing on your face. You notice his eyes crinkle lightly in response.

"You can use my office, if you want. There's enough room to… move around."

You let out a hearty laugh, head shaking softly. Your eyes lower to the floor for a moment, monitoring the way both your feet move perfectly in sync and at the same time picturing the silly image in your mind.

"You gonna sit at your desk, grumbling over your paperwork while, with music blasting in my ears, I dance like nobody’s watching right in front of you?" 

"Why not,” he says with a shrug.

His voice doesn’t betray his collected demeanour, but you know he’s smiling underneath that mask.

"Well, for one…”, you raise one eyebrow, giving him a knowing look, “I think it would get pretty distracting, rather quickly." You bring your joined hands to the level of your eyes and his chest, slowly interlacing your fingers with his. The muscles of his arms seem to tense for a moment.

"...Fair enough."

"Secondly…”, you trail off, eyes flickering up to meet his serious stare, voice losing a bit of its jovial nuance, “...people might start talking."

"Who cares."

His remark is curt and blunt, and it takes you a bit by surprise. He actually sounds as though he wouldn't care less if your coworkers were to start spreading rumours about you two possibly being... intimate. Or perhaps you're merely grasping at straws. After all, you're talking about dancing. Nothing more, right? 

"You’re telling me that you wouldn’t care what the others may think or say?" your tone is clearly hesitant this time, vulnerable even, eyes frantically searching his, "...watching us dance like this? Being this close?"

He keeps silent for a long moment, gaze boring into yours. His hands then pull on your wrists, tugging you closer to him. He swiftly wraps his arms around your waist, while your hands fly onto his chest for support as a surprised gasp escapes your mouth.

“How could I give a crap about them or what they think… when I have you here in my arms?”

His straightforward statement catches you off-guard, causing you to stumble upon your feet. It feels like the tables have turned. Your flirtatiousness made him take the bait and now you’re the one who doesn’t know how to act. Your boldness instantly vanishes, it’s as if you never had it in you in the first place. A tardy nervous chuckle slips out of you as you struggle to regain your synced rocking.

“You must’ve had a drink too many, huh Si?”

“Never been more lucid in my life.”

You stare deeply into his eyes, a wild-eyed look on your face, as he firmly holds your gaze. Tension soaks the air around you, you can sense it getting thicker and thicker. Suddenly, there's not a single soul in the pub but you two. Your eyes locked, bodies swaying gently together, lightly brushing against one another. Your heart thumps forcefully against your chest. 

[ 2:26 min .]

… 

I just want to get your head back, baby

Give you all the love I got, for sure

So, baby, if you've got that feeling

You know I wanna give you that midnight healing

Oh, I just want to make love to you all night long

… 

Perhaps it's merely your perception, but the music appears to get louder. The song’s lyrics are now distinctly clear; they echo in your head, tickling your mind like a subtle hint intended specifically for you.

Returning your attention to Simon, you detect a strange glint in his eyes. Did he receive the hint as well? The way his grasp on your waist tightens, palms roving over your sides and drawing you even closer to him, seems to confirm your supposition.

You both seem to lean forward, attracted like magnets, until your faces are merely inches away. The music deafens, slowly making its way into the background, providing the perfect mood for this special moment. Neither of you says a word, instead you let your eyes speak for themselves. Everything around you seems to blur into a negligible mist. Simon has you hypnotised, just as the music did, with the intensity of his gaze and the warmth of his touch. As one of his hands slides up to your neck, fingers grazing the soft hollow area just above your pulse point, a sharp shiver travels up your spine. 

The room spins around you. All of a sudden, your heart pounds hard against your chest and in your ears. You sway on your feet with fingers tugging on his jacket to keep your balance. His hands move quickly to your back, to support your body as you shift your weight on him for a moment before catching yourself. You feel hot, dizzy, and out of breath. 

"Y/n?" 

"J-just give me a moment, will you?" You say rather harshly, unable to keep the rising panic and tension out of your voice.

His concerned gaze is the last thing you see before you abruptly pull away and dash back towards the counter, mind buzzing, chest tightening. You notice Soap’s smile drop into a puzzling look as he watches you rush over but before he can ask you anything, you hear Gaz's hesitant voice coming from behind you. 

"What's going on?" 

You throw a quick glance over your shoulder, instantly meeting his perplexed look. Your actions seem to have drawn the attention of Price and Laswell, too; you find both of their gazes set on you. 

You struggle to take deep breaths, your eyes darting aimlessly from one friendly face to another while your hands clutch around the table edges, fingertips turning white. It takes all your efforts to not raise your gaze toward the dance floor and rest it on the man still standing exactly where you have just left him. 

"Nothing! It's all going great!" 

Your voice comes out higher pitched than normal but you try to mask it with the most convincing smile you can muster. 

You turn toward Johnny before you can witness the other's reactions or give them time to question your words. Your friend pierces you with a questioning look that doesn't leave room for lies. 

"I-I think I'm gonna pass out."

He immediately reaches out to place a comforting hand on your arm as he slides his freshly refilled glass towards you.

"You ok? What happened?" 

Your hand shakes as you grab the drink. You rub it to your forehead, cheeks, and neck before moving it to your lips. The cool sensation of the glass against your feverish skin seems to ease your panic, even if only a little. You focus completely on the cold liquid scorching down your throat as you take a long sip. 

You gasp, pulling from the rim of the glass. "Nothing. It's just-" you take another deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut,"...it felt all-too real, all-too quickly, I guess. I'm not entirely sure. I panicked."

"Y/n," he coos softly, gently squeezing your arm, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to-" 

"But that's the point! I want it! We were so close, I mean… you saw it! If it wasn't for the mask, I’m pretty sure he would’ve leaned in for a kiss. I-I felt my heart was about to burst!” The words fall out of your mouth in a nervous rambling. “I wanted to close the distance so bad… that I fucking ran away." A deprecating chuckle escapes you, eyes rolling in disbelief. "I'm so fucking stupid!" 

Johnny squeezes your shoulder again, offering you a genuine smile.

"You are not stupid, y/n... Well, maybe just a little bit." He grins in response to your not-so-convincing glare. "Could a little more privacy help you feel better? You know there are rooms upstairs, you could always go there if you want to..."

You watch as his hand disappears inside his jacket and reappears a moment later, holding a small silver key between his fingers. He holds it out to you and you take it from him mindlessly.

Soap laughs as he detects the mute query in your stunned expression.

"I took it earlier thinking I might get lucky and use it for myself, but it looks like I’m not the lucky one tonight…"

Your gaze darts from your friend's face to the key, then back to him. Your heart starts racing again as the true meaning that small metallic object holds hits you like an unforeseen gunshot to the chest. You let out a loud groan, your hands flying to your face to hide your grimace.

"What is it now?"

"Johnny...", his name falls out of your lips in a sing-songy cry, barely audible above the music and chatter. Lips quivering both in embarrassment and fear for the confession you’re about to make. With a whisper, you share, "I've never been with anyone before... I've never even kissed anyone." You chance a look at your friend through your fingers. "What if I make a fool out of myself in front of Simon? Hell, who am I kidding? I-I already have!"

The astonished expression on Soap's face only aggravates your growing anxiety.

"Creeping Jesus! Y/n… I thought you… uhm, it’s okay-," he awkwardly shifts in his seat, his mouth opening and shutting without emitting a single sound, at least not one that you can hear. His gaze abruptly darts to the side, focusing on something far over your shoulder before moving back to rest on you with a barely concealed alarm. "Ok, take a deep breath, he's coming over."

You only have time to curse under your breath and pull your hands away from your face before you feel a presence behind you that makes every hair on your body stand on end.

When you hear your name being called, you turn warily to face the man standing by your side, stomach twisting as you meet his inquisitive stare. You believe you can also see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, too. 

"Simon, I'm… I'm-"

"She needed some fuel, L.T.!" Soap rushes to your aid, grinning up at Ghost and smacking him on the arm - a little too hard. "She's all good now… right, y/n?" 

He gives you a quizzical look, as if he's asking whether you're ready to handle the situation on your own or if you need more time; at least, that's what you believe he’s trying to convey.

You respond with a feeble nod before your gaze shifts to Simon. You offer him your glass. "A sip?"

He stares at you intently, seemingly studying your face, his expression now unreadable. 

"No."

"A-alright, more for me..." you fake a smile and then guzzle the drink all in one go. You slam the empty glass on the counter as you suck air through your teeth, grimacing at the piercing sensation of the scorching liquor spreading inside your system. Your gaze is drawn to Soap's, and you give him a somewhat confident smile, which he returns with a little wink.

Your hand then moves on its own accord, finding Ghost's large palm and interlacing your fingers with his; the contact sends a chill up your spine. When you look up at him, a ghost of a smile appears on your lips. You're not sure what you're doing or what's going to happen, but you try not to second-guess yourself too much and risk screwing up for the second time in a row.

Taking a step back, away from the counter, you beckon him to follow you.

"Come with me…"

He does not resist your pull. He does not hesitate for even one second. He trails behind you as you lead him up the stairs and to the second floor. 

Neither of you dare utter a single word as you walk through the corridor and come to a door that matches the number on the key Soap gave you. You don't dare glance at him as you walk in, taking in the dim tavern-like atmosphere of the tiny bedroom. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the king size bed in the centre, which takes up most of the space. Your mouth goes dry. You wonder what Simon might be thinking, if the same thoughts that course through your mind are pestering him as well. 

The sound of the door being closed startles you and makes you whirl around. Your gaze immediately captures his, and you gulp under his piercing stare.

With slow heavy steps that mismatch your thundering heartbeat, he walks over to you, stopping only when he’s towering right over you, standing tall in all his imposing height. You keep your gaze levelled in front of you, unable to meet his eyes, however his fingers curl under your chin and nudge your head up, forcing you to face him. 

" Princess… " he murmurs in a low breathy tone, his voice tinged with something akin to irritation, “why are you playing little games with me?”

Your stomach flips again. Of course he’d assume you’ve been messing with him, leading him on; it’s only fair considering the odd behaviour you’ve had all night. And probably not just tonight. 

“I’m not, trust me…”

He pauses for a brief moment, his keen eyes studying your face, possibly looking for proof of your sincerity.

"You brought me here. Why ?" 

"I-I don't know…"

"You don't know?" 

You mentally reprimand yourself for your dumb answer and shake your head in an attempt to dissipate the haze that has settled over your mind.

"I mean, I know why, but-" you try to swallow but your throat is dry. The intensity of his dark eyes boring into yours causes you to stutter, "f-fuck Si, you make me so nervous I can't even think straight!"

Your voice comes out louder than intended and soaked with frustration. Your hand moves on his wrist, tugging at it to pry yourself free from his grasp, but his hold on you does not relent.

"You were dancing for all the pub to see until a minute ago, and I make you nervous?" 

"Yes! Of course! I don't give a damn about those strangers! Why should I? Besides that's not the point! You make me nervous because you are... you are-" 

You shake your head again as you let out a shuddering breath, your gaze averted from his. You know you can't really back down now. You have to tell him the truth but it's damn hard to find the right words to express exactly how you feel. And more than that, to finally find the courage to say them.

You feel like your heart is on the verge of bursting out of your chest.

"You’re someone I really care about, Simon."

His fingers squeeze your chin, urging you to look up, and when you do you notice that his eyes have softened. 

“That made you panic?”

You give him a lopsided smile, but a short-lived one, for your anxieties come tumbling back, slithering into your mind and compelling you to address them, once and for all.

"T-There's something else..."

You want to tell him that you've never been with a man before, that you've never even had your first kiss yet, and that the thought of him, the only man you’ve ever loved, desired , possibly being your first, makes you incredibly nervous and self-conscious. You really want to tell him everything and free yourself of this burden but your voice gets stuck in your throat and you gape up at him, feeling your stomach churn.

Simon waits patiently for you to speak up, his fingers still holding your chin. The soft look he offers you seems to ease your tension a little. 

"I have…”, you draw a sharp breath, "...no experience in this field , if you catch my drift...”. You mutter those few words in a small voice as your face twists into a grimace. 

Your confession hangs in the air for what feels like eternity, your heart seems to have stopped beating altogether. 

"I know."

“Wha-?!”

You are completely thrown off by his matter-of-fact tone.

"H-how? Why-" you stutter, mouth gaping, your eyes wide. How could he know? You've never told anybody, not until a few minutes ago. But he couldn't have heard you, could he? That would be impossible. 

"Is it really so fucking obvious?" 

"No.” 

In stark contrast to yours, his voice sounds cool and collected. His fingers graze your skin as they move up from your chin to your cheek. "I figured you had no idea how this worked when suddenly you’re lacking your usual confidence and turning into a bloody school-girl. It threw me off at first. I thought you didn’t want this…”

" Hell…”, your head slowly shakes in disbelief, eyes darting to the side. 

Suddenly you don’t know if you should feel relieved, ashamed or sorry for it all. Your own body chooses for you, opting for an odd mix of the three; shoulders slumping, mind buzzing, you stare into space while his words sink in. 

So he's been into you the whole time but your mixed signals, caused by your stupid anxieties, have made it look like you were not into him? Or that you were just playing with him? Seriously? What kind of shitty B-rated rom com is this? 

" So , you've never been held by a man.” Simon’s calm voice draws you back to the moment, his fingers taking hold of your chin once again. “ Blimey . Is that what makes you so nervous?" 

"Is it really not a problem for you?" you ask out of genuine curiosity, brows furrowing as your eyes meet his.

Simon’s scoff almost turns into a hearty laugh as he holds your gaze, eyes crinkling.

"No man has ever put their filthy hands on you and I should be - what? Sad? Disappointed? For God's sake, princess..."

He shakes his head, fingertips taking better hold of your jaw as he leans down.

“You and your worries…” His tone is almost scolding but playfully so, eyes studying every feature of your face. “Stop thinking so much, you numpty . It’s not good for you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know…”, you let out a long shuddering breath, in an attempt to let go of the lingering worry still tightening your throat, "I just… don't want to fuck this up, Si. You mean too much to me..."

He hums softly. 

Silence engulfs you. A silence tinged with renewed tension. Not the type of tension that fuels your anxieties but the kind that makes you warm inside. Soft distant notes coming from downstairs fill the room, washing over you in a soothing yet electric wave, reminding you of the dance you shared, of how close you were and the desire that was rising, burning hot, inside of you. 

Just like a magnet the attraction between you and Simon grows. 

His free hand moves on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him and just like before, out of instinct, your hands land on his chest. He holds your chin high, his gaze piercing straight to your heart.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" 

You bite your lip, surprised by his forwardness, a nervous giggle shaking through you. "What kind of question is that-"

"Do you want me to kiss you, princess?" 

He asks a second time with a more serious tone that makes your nervous giddiness fade. Looking deep into his eyes, you take a long breath to ease your racing heart, or at least attempt to.

"Y-yeah, I want you to kiss me."

His hand moves over yours resting on his chest, and guides it up to his neck. 

"Pull up my mask, uncover my mouth. Only my mouth."

You stop breathing altogether, heart jumping in your throat. 

"Y-You want me to do it?" 

"Aye."

Touching his mask, pulling it up to uncover his face feels like such an intimate gesture… Your eyes roam reverently over his newly uncovered skin as your fingers gently peel up the fabric of his balaclava, until his mouth is completely exposed to your sight and you can let your adoring gaze truly linger for the first time. You’ve caught glimpses of his face before, his chin looking vaguely familiar for the few times you’ve seen Simon drink or eat in front of you and the team. But that’s all it has ever been: glimpses. You’ve never been allowed to study his clean-shaved chin and alluring mouth like you are now, from so up close.

"You have pretty lips…"

Your comment slips out of your mouth before your mind could register it and you grimace out of embarrassment. "Uh, sorry, that was-" 

Words die on your tongue as soon as you feel his hand firmly squeeze your jaw. Your eyes immediately dart to his, which bore into yours. Slowly - breathtakingly slow, he draws closer until his lips hover inches away from yours and you can feel his hot breath on your skin. You swallow dry. In a heartbeat he closes the distance, kissing you gently, softly but with a clear, barely-withheld passion. 

You respond to the kiss after a moment of stun. The contact of his lips on yours feels like a soft dream at first, one that seizes your mind in a haze and makes you walk on cloud nine, and then grows in force, as if Simon can't contain his desire any longer.

Your lips part and his tongue slips into your hot mouth, eager to explore this new territory. You moan in the kiss and meet him in a twisting dance of control. 

Every move comes surprisingly natural to you, as if you’ve done this a million times before.

His hand travels down from your back to your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh with a possessive squeeze, then slips even lower to lift your short black dress at its edges and tug it upward just enough to expose the back of your thighs. He doesn't waste time when moving his hand onto that newly uncovered area, kneading the tight flesh there as he bends forward, causing you to arch your back and latch your hands around his neck. Bodies tucking closer. 

You take a deep breath as you slightly pull away, lips still grazing his, your hot breaths merging together. 

All the words you thought would play out in your head in such an important moment are now nowhere to be found. Instead, it’s all just a feeling of rightness between you and him. None of your fantasies could have ever prepared you for a feeling so… intoxicated. 

"Simon…", you usher in a barely audible whisper, slipping your hand under his jacket and feeling his muscles tense under your wandering touch. His lust clouded eyes search yours, his chest heaving hard, hands pressing against you and relenting a second later, as if he’s trying to restrain himself. 

"...I want you to be my first."

A guttural sound comes out of his mouth at your words, his fingers spread again on your ass cheek, squeezing it hard and causing you to whimper. His gaze seems to get darker and he draws closer once more, teeth grazing your bottom lip, nibbling at it. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Positive."

And just like that, as if a barrier has been finally lifted, his lips crush onto yours once more but harder, hungrier than the first time. In one swift motion he yanks the biker jacket off your shoulders and tosses it on the floor. You instantly match his eagerness, returning the favour; his own windbreaker dropping at your feet. 

Before your mind can register what’s happening, you find yourself back against the wall, your shoulder blades hitting the hard surface in an audible thud. You feel your guts twist as heat starts to pool in your belly. 

Your lips are still connected, unwilling to separate. His hands dive on your hips, the thin fabric of your flared dress creases under his ravenous groping. One hand slides down, curling up the hem and slipping underneath, meeting the side of your bare upper thigh. His palm closes around it, firmly, possessively as he lifts your leg up to his hip; you wouldn’t be surprised if you were to find a red mark on your skin later, nor would you be displeased. You moan in his mouth in response and let your own hands wander on his body, blindly scanning the muscles of his torso from above his sweatshirt, only to slide lower and lower, until you find its edges and curl them up. Your fingers sneak under the fabric, meeting the smooth skin of his abdomen; his muscles tense up at the teasing contact. Your palms climb up his abs, his pecks, committing the tactile sensation of every inch of his taut torso to memory. 

As you both pull away, gasping for air, you let your eyes fall to where your hands disappear under his clothes; you want to look at him, feast your hungry eyes on his naked body but before you can do it yourself, Simon grabs the hem of his sweatshirt and pulls it off his head, adding it to the rest of your discarded clothes. However, he doesn’t give you time to take his bare chest in, for he grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you up like you weigh nothing at all, walks you over to the bed and drops you on the mattress. 

Only at this moment are you allowed to let your eyes wander over the muscles of his torso, probably the only part of his body you've already had the pleasure of seeing in the past, although mostly in not so pleasant times, when he needed to be patched up. This time it's totally different. Your hungry gaze devours every inch of him, glinting in twisted pleasure when it meets the scars that you remember having tended to yourself. 

You're too eager to touch him again to keep laying there waiting. Quickly throwing your boots off the side of the bed, you crawl on your knees toward him, hands latching on the inseam of his trousers to unzip them. In the meantime he yanks his own boots off his feet and out of the way, with eyes glued to yours. 

When you're done with his zip, before you can tug his jeans down, he pushes you back on the mattress and joins you on the bed, settling himself on top of your body, knees resting at either side of your legs. 

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time.”

The way his raspy voice breaks a little as he ushers his confession makes your stomach twist.

“Do w-what, exactly?”

His hands move on your collarbone, peeling the thin straps of your dress and your bra off your shoulders. You allow him to tug them down your chest as you look up at him with nothing but unyielding passion. His eyes wander over your freshly uncovered breasts and you can see his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, jaw setting hard. 

He takes a moment to answer, staring down at you, perhaps struggling to give voice to something that has been swirling against the recesses of his mind for quite some time. 

“Push you on a bed, pin your body under mine and… taste you.”

A sharp shiver runs up your spine at his words, heart skipping a beat. 

One of his palms closes around your breast, firmly squeezing the soft flesh, while the other lifts the skirt of your dress up to your stomach. Without missing a beat he bends down beneath your thighs and presses his mouth against your panties, just above your lower belly. 

“Oh!”

Your hips buck up on their own at the sudden stomach-churning contact. His free hand moves to rest on your upper thigh, pressing your body back against the mattress. 

"This is uncharted territory, innit?"

"I-It is, Lieutenant…", you match his playful tone even though your voice is but a mere whisper, struggling to get out in between your ragged breaths, "...nobody has yet claimed that path..."

You hear him hum in appreciation and you feel his voice too, vibrating against your core.

"Don't mind if I do."

You take a sharp breath as you feel his lips press against you again, only lower this time, teasing your most sensitive part. The thin fabric of your underwear does nothing to muffle the intense touch and yet the obstacle irritates you, you want it out of the way and Simon seems to share your feelings. Both his hands move on your hips, grabbing the hem of your panties and sliding them down and off your legs. A thrill curses through your whole body at the sight of your undies being tucked inside the back pocket of his jeans. Simon’s eyes crinkle lightly as they watch your reaction, lips curving into a smirk.

You don’t really care about them now, whether he’s planning on returning them or making you walk out of here butt naked. All your attention is drawn to the cool breath blowing against your delicate skin, turning hot only a second later as Simon leans closer, until you feel his lips meet your heat and cause you to whimper. The cloth of his mask grazing against your folds only adds to the stimulating touch.

His hot tongue swipes up your core once, twice, with hands spreading you wider for him to reach every inch of you. Another slow stripe from your entrance up to your clitoris and your body shakes in ecstasy. He latches his lips to you and starts to suck hard, swirling his tongue around your nub and dragging it up and down along your wetness. 

He said it. He wanted to taste you. And that is exactly what he’s doing, with no hesitation whatsoever, nor waste of time. You’re already a quivering mess beneath him, pathetic whines falling from your parted lips, hands closing in fists as fingers dig into the sheets. 

“F-Fuck, Simon…”

You feel his soft chuckle against you; it drives you mad. 

He shifts from his position, lips pulling away as he grabs the back of your thighs to tug you closer and pin your spread legs to your stomach. You chance a look at him through your heavy lidded eyes. His lips and chin are wet with your juices, the sight ignites a fire inside you that you’ve never felt before. The way you’re spread for him, your privateness so thoroughly exposed for the first time in your life… you thought that you’d be embarrassed, that you’d be awfully shy to show yourself like this, especially to him. You do sense a faint tightness in your stomach and a warmth spreading in your face, yet there’s another feeling prevailing over the rest. A feeling that surges from Simon himself; the way he leans back down, hands travelling up your body to grab your breasts, the way he’s devouring you like a starved man, the way he’s taking care of you, making sure to pleasure you, to make you feel good… It allows no room for awkwardness or discomfort, only a warm pervasive and soothing feeling of pure care and devotion to wash over you and envelope you whole. 

The lewd sound of his mouth working against you has long prevailed over the music and it only seems to grow in tone the more the tightening of the heat in your belly grows in intensity. You feel it coming, the high is close. Your hands fly toward him, landing on his head. You grab his mask, tug at it, feeling it slip from its place, then you freeze abruptly, as soon as you realise what you’re doing. You look down again, instantly meeting Simon’s hard stare. A strange glint passes over his eyes; he seems to ponder something for a moment then come to a final decision. In a few dismissive moves, he pulls away from you, grabs the dark fabric curled under his nose and yanks it off his head, throwing it carelessly on the floor. 

Your heart is sent into a frenzy. It no longer knows what to do; whether it should keep thundering in your heart for the intense and building pleasure or stopping altogether for the shock of what you have just witnessed. Your wide eyes wander toward him, curious and hesitant at the same time but they only catch a glimpse of his bare face before he disappears between your legs once again, latching his mouth on you even more greedily than before, possibly feeling more free in his movements without the mask impediment. You want to watch him, stare at him as he drives you to heaven but your head falls back on the mattress, eyes squeezing shut and back arching sharply as a wave of skin-crawling chills sets your entire body aflame. It is nothing like the orgasms you’ve had before, when you touch yourself. This is a new feeling; it’s intense, it goes to your head, it makes you dizzy and wordless. It makes you feel loved. 

Simon keeps moving against you, tongue curling at your entrance, gathering up the fruits of his hard work. His hands still pinning your thighs close to your stomach, fingers digging in your soft flesh as he eases your shakes. 

Your mind is still struggling to come out of the haze when your hand blindly travels down in search of him. Fingers tug at his short locks of hair, urging him to come up to meet you. He lingers a moment longer to press a soft kiss on your swollen bundle of nerves, then on your lower belly and between your breasts as he makes his ascent. Finally he faces you, eyes meeting again. 

If your body wasn't already heavily overwhelmed, the sight of his beautiful sharp features would send all your senses into overdrive. 

He looks at you so openly, dark eyes twinkling with adoration and what you can only read as vulnerability, that you find yourself unsure of how to act. 

Would this special moment turn awkward if you were to make a comment on his looks? You wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Removing his mask must take such an effort… you don’t want to risk making this more stressful for him. You opt for keeping your comments to yourself, at least for now. 

Instead, you let your hand rest on his face, caressing his skin, softly, slowly, as if it’s the most fragile thing in the world and you have to handle it with utmost care. You hope that by doing this you can show him and reassure him that everything is ok, nothing has changed, surely not for the worse. That you deeply appreciate the fact that he decided to let his guards down, to be vulnerable with you. That’s what you try to convey with your adoring gaze and your tender touch, and you sincerely hope it reaches him.

When you feel him lean into your touch, a content smile spreads on your face and you instinctively tilt your head up, capturing his damp lips in a passionate kiss that instantly rekindles the desire inside of you. Simon matches your eagerness, hands travelling down your body to caress, grab, squeeze, grope and tease anything he finds on his path. You do the same, mapping his muscular torso, skimming your fingers down to his navel. 

For a moment, only a moment, you hesitate to go lower as you get caught up in your head, worries threatening to hold you back again, but the way he interrupts the contact of your lips to place a trail of sloppy kisses down the sensitive skin of your neck makes your worries fade again and you slip your hand inside his unzipped jeans. You relish in hearing the guttural sound that rewards your action; it compels you to rub your hand over his boxers with more confidence, feeling his bulge with a light squeeze.

Simon hastily brings his hand to his waistband and tugs it down, his boxers receive the same treatment. Your hand now closes around his erection, giving it a few tentative strokes. He draws a sharp breath.

“ Bloody hell , princess…”

He mutters in the crook of your neck and you shiver. His reaction encourages you to increase the vigour of your movements.

“Is this ok?”

He hums softly, hips starting to buck in sync with your hand. He lets you fondle him, drag your fingers on the tip wet with precum, make him moan in pleasure as your hold around his girth tightens… then he pulls away, grabs your hand and brings it to his lips for a soft peck on its back.

You follow his movements, eyes drawn to his lips then flickering down to his cock. By the touch you assumed it was pretty big and the sight only confirms your thoughts but it shocks you anyway.

You hear him huff a laugh through his nose.

“Do you think you can take me, mh?”

Your eyes dart back to his face, meeting his amused look.

“I don’t know…”, you bite your lips, the angles of your mouth curling up in a playful smirk, “but I sure as hell ain’t gonna back down from a challenge.”

Your heart soars with joy seeing his face crack into a pleasantly surprised expression, a chuckle coming out of his mouth.

“Good girl.”

He pins you with his mesmerising gaze, bending down on you again. He leans on the side, toward the bedside table. You crane your neck to watch. His hand slips into a black smoking-bowl and comes back with a small metallic sachet. Protection. Of course. This place is well-equipped. Your curious eyes keep following his movements as he takes the condom and secures it onto his throbbing erection. You swallow as his gaze moves back on your face, your stomach starts churning again. He seems to sense your nervousness and leans down, hand grabbing your jaw, eyes piercing right into yours.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll be gentle.”

You nod with a smile, then take a deep breath.

“It’s okay. I trust you, Si.”

He leans in for a quick soft kiss, hand guiding his erection between your legs, tip rubbing against your slit to coat it in your wetness. Your whole body tingles in anticipation. 

“Stop me anytime if you need to.”

He waits for your confirmation before he slides in, bit by bit, easing you to the intrusion. An instant groan comes out of his mouth.

“Oh, you’re so fucking tight!”

Your brows furrow, your jaw sets, soft cries come out of you as he settles inside your walls but you don’t stop him. He kisses your neck, right on the spot he learned that makes you quiver the most, your hands clutched at his sides. It doesn’t take long for the nagging feeling to fade and for you to get accustomed to the sensation as your core stretches to welcome him fully.

Simon feels your body relax and starts to push into you, slowly, carefully, letting out pleased grunts of his own. His hands wrap around the back of your thighs and lift them up to his waist. You latch your legs around his body, a maneuver that allows him to bury his cock deeper inside you and that causes a loud moan to erupt from you.

“G-God… That’s…”

His lips trail back from your neck to your jaw, teasingly brushing your skin, until they hover on your open mouth; his eyes take in your contorting features with a pleased smile. 

He rocks at a steady pace against you while his hands roam your body, travel up your hips, caress your breasts, skim along the shape of your arms, stopping only to let his fingers interlace with yours, and pin your hands down to the mattress, at either side of your head.

You feel your lucidity slip from you completely. No coherent words come out of you, only a nonsensical mumbling. The way he’s thrusting inside of you, so deep and precise, hitting that perfect spot at each push, it takes every fiber in your being not to scream out loud and make the whole pub know how Simon’s fucking you sensless. 

You can only focus on how you’re connected to him, how he is filling you up so beautifully, how your bodies move wonderfully together; it’s almost like a dance, a primal animalistic dance that belongs to you two only. You even have the music to accompany your dance moves, a soft sensual melody that perfectly complements your passion-imbued union of trembling bodies.

So this is how it feels to have sex? This is how it feels to be wholly consumed by lust and desire? Or could this overwhelming sensation simply be Simon’s doing? To have him make love to you?

“Y/n…”

It takes a lot of effort for you to hum back in response.

Simon’s lips crush clumsily against yours as his movements become frantic and sloppier. He must be close to reaching the high. And so are you. Your eyelids are heavy, your sight slightly blurred and unfocused.

“Si, I think I’m about to-”

He pulls away from your lips, spine straightening, piercing eyes landing on your face as one of his hands slips from yours and travels along your body, down toward your core. He deliberately rubs your slit with his palm before he picks up a hectic waving motion to stroke your swollen nub, immediately triggering a shock wave of shivers to spiral up your back. Your head spins at the additional stimuli. Your eyes squeeze shut, cries fall out of your mouth as you contort in pleasure.

You feel his other hand grab your jaw and shake it lightly, demanding your attention.

“Eyes on me, beautiful.”

You look up at him with glazed eyes, dizzy and yearning for your release. With every stroke and every thrust you lose yourself more and more into the bliss.

His hand settles on your neck, closing around your throat, not hard enough to delay your breathing but providing you with such a thrilling and wicked pressure that makes you salivate and that instantly sends heat flaring in your belly, causing your need to build faster and even more intense.

Panting hard, your hands now free, you grip onto Simon’s strong arms while you progressively lose focus on every way he’s indulging your desire, instead centring your heightened senses on the feelings he’s awakening. The last thread of restraint then finally snaps and you reach the peak, core lightening with an answering flame that you’ve never felt before. You lose yourself in the waves of pleasure overtaking you, barely taking notice of Simon’s rutting inside you once, twice, three more times before his body goes still against you and a deep groan erupts from him. Both of you anchor the other’s body, pressing together, relishing in the other’s shudders and panting breaths. You’re so flush against him that you can feel his heart, challenging your own in a speed race and then gradually slowing down.

Chest heaving, you cradle the back of his head, letting your fingers thread between the roots of his hair, while he blows his hot breath on the crook of your neck as you both ease down from your highs. The warmth of his body is comforting against yours, you never want him to let go. The rousing feeling of his cock still buried inside you, resting between your fluttering walls is one you could easily get used to. It almost takes your breath away when Simon slides out of you, leaving you bare.

His damp lips press against your boiling skin, trailing up your jaw. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, committing this idyllic moment to memory. 

His thumb gently strokes your chin, fingers resting upon your cheek. When you open your eyes, he's already looking at you with the loveliest smile you've ever seen graze his face. You return it with one of your own.

"Si..." you pause, staring deep into his eyes. There's so much you want to say, a multitude of emotions running wild and untamed inside of you that needs to be addressed and yet you struggle to find the right words to tell him how you feel.

The realisation of what has just happened downs on you. You've spent years fantasising about this moment, fearing the real thing wouldn't even come close to your idealised perfect first time. Wondering when, where, with whom you would live through this experience. You're euphoric to admit to yourself that the real thing has surpassed the fantasy by a landslide. 

"I'm... glad it was you."

It sounds silly when you say it. You could have chosen from a billion other thoughts you had swirling in your head, yet this one drowned out the rest. But as silly as it may sound, it’s the truth: you’re beyond thrilled he was your first. There’s no other man in your life that you trust, respect, and love as much as him with whom you could share such intimacy. 

You see the angle of his lips curl up to one side, the pad of his thumb softly brushing the outline of your bottom lip. 

" I'm glad it was me ."

Your face cracks as you erupt in a giggle. With your palm against his cheek, you gently push him away. "Simon..."

He smiles down at you, his eyes crinkling as he leans down again to kiss the crown of your head before drawing all the way back and getting off the bed. 

Your gaze follows him as he tosses the used condom into the trash can and pulls up his underwear and jeans. As he picks up the rest of his clothes from the floor and gets dressed again, your devoted gaze glides up and down his body, a permanent smile engraved to your lips. You feel so lucky to be able to witness such a sight… You still have a hard time believing your eyes.

“Now, who’s enjoying the show ?”

His amused glance meets yours, and you give him a sheepish smile, followed by a shrug.

"I'm just taking it all in..."

"Oh, you've already taken it all in , princess."

You let out a shocked scoff, your mouth wide open. You dismissively wave your hand in front of your face and shake your head, as you feel a crawl of heat flooding to your cheeks. 

"Oh, shut up..."

You love his sense of humour. It’s one of the qualities you like the most about him. And now that you’re… well, even closer to him, the sarcasm is only bound to get more pungent. Not that you’d complain about it.

His low chuckle fills your ears as you distract yourself by adjusting your bra and dress, then taking a seat on the side of the bed to slip your boots back on. You notice a heap of black and white fabric on the floor at your feet and bend down to pick it up. It's his balaclava.

The thought doesn’t even have time to fully form in your mind that you’re already pulling the mask over your head. Unfortunately there’s no mirror in the room to check your reflection, to see how the skull fits you but the cloth feels surprisingly nice against your skin and… you can smell his scent.

The sudden lack of rustling from behind you causes you to spin around and you find Simon staring at you, holding your jacket. He walks toward you, handing you the garment, reaching then for your face to adjust the fabric on your nose and on your chin. He stops to give you an appraising look.

"It looks better on me."

You chuckle, smacking him playfully on the chest. “Oh, c’mon… what if I want to wear one, too?”

"And hide your beautiful face? Negative.”

“Well, then…”, you pin him with a challenging look, palms pressing hard against your cheeks, securing the mask on your head. “I won’t let you hide your beautiful face, either.”

You see him softly shake his head as he huffs a chuckle through his nose. After a moment, he reaches for his back pocket and retrieves your undies, waving them high above your head. 

“What? You’ll put those on your head instead?”

You try to suppress the laugh by biting on your lips but it erupts out of you anyway, like a river in flood. The pointed look he gives you only makes it worse.

“Alright, alright…”

Still snickering, you pull on the fabric and peel it off your head, holding it out to him. 

He takes the mask from you but doesn’t let go of your undies. He puts them back in his pocket as casually as he took them out.

You scoff, tilting your head to the side. "Really?" 

“I’m keeping them, as a memento.”

You stare at him, appraising his solemn expression. If he wants them then you’ll let him have them - the fabric is ruined anyway. They're not even your favourite pair, thankfully.

“First and last time you steal something from me, Si!”

“Can’t make promises, princess.” 

Your chest swells as you try to read between the lines. It's inevitable. You can't help but wonder if he means to tell you something else. Will there be a next time, or multiple next times? Does he plan on stealing something else? Like, your heart? To be honest, he's already halfway there, but he doesn't need to know that. At least not yet. 

You keep on looking into each other's eyes for a bit longer. You think you can detect the profound fondness behind his look. Your lips curl up in a shy smile.

“Ehm… I believe we kept the guys waiting long enough." you say, breaking the silence. "We should get back downstairs."

He gives you a curt nod but instead of moving away, he draws closer to you. Taking your chin between his fingers, he leans down and angles your head to brush one more kiss against your lips. The contact is strikingly gentle and it takes your breath away. It’s a kiss infused with unspoken words of devotion, promises, feelings which are too strong to be shared so early on but that are already there, growing, blossoming. Both your hearts are gardens in bloom. 

He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours for a lingering moment before taking a step back and disguising his face once again. 

The action saddens you but at the same time it fills your chest with pride; you're the only one who has been blessed to bask in the beauty of his seldom-seen bare face and no one else will receive such special treatment. Not today. Hopefully never. Is it selfish of you to wish that? Perhaps, but you don't care. Not when images of your lovemaking are still so fresh in your mind. Not when you can still feel the worshipping touch of his hands and tongue on your body. Certainly not when the cool, humid air of the room hits the wetness of your exposed core beneath the dress. 

You exchange a knowing look before moving towards the door and walking down the stairs together. That soothing tune, now linked with poignant core memories, floods in your ears once again, growing louder as you return to the main area and towards the bar. Your team is still at the counter, exactly where you left them... how long ago? You have no idea how much time has passed. You were too engrossed in your passion to pay attention to the outside world and its trivialities.

Johnny glances behind his shoulder just as you and Simon make a beeline toward the group. You can see his lips moving; he must be saying something to the others because they all crane their heads to look at you before returning to their drinks. Soap is the only one who whirls around, bivouacing on his seat and all over the counter like a fucking braggart as he meets your eyes and winks at you. 

Oh, he'll take yours and Simon's hookup as a personal victory, and he'll brag about it; you already know it. But you're far too happy right now to be bothered by it. Let him gloat. You're the one who got the reward, anyway. 

When you eventually make it to the bar, no one acknowledges your arrival. Nobody says anything about your absence or the dance prior to that. Their silence only serves to emphasise that they are all aware of what happened. The furtive glances they cast your way, some more mischievous than others, serve as plain confirmation. 

"Now that we're all here, I suppose we can head out." 

The captain's voice calls out to everyone as he stands up from the barstool. "Unless the two lovebirds fancy one last drink?" 

You try to ignore the appellation he used and the way your stomach flipped in response. You raise one hand and shake your head, avoiding his eyes as well as the urge to glance up at Simon. "I'm good."

A beat.

"Alright then. Off we go."

On cue, everyone gets off their seats, some knocking back their glasses, others stretching their legs. You take advantage of the shuffle to walk over to Johnny and hold out the key to him. He takes it back without a word but the sly smile playing on his face is hard to miss. You hope at least he has the decency to hold off of grilling you for deets until you’re back at the HQ.

You seem to catch a movement in your peripheral vision: Price giving Simon a firm pat on the shoulder? You’re tempted to turn your head to take a better look when a loud scoff interrupts you and draws your attention back to your best mate.

"Bloody hell, y/n! You and L.T. are not joking around!" 

Your brows furrow upon hearing his remark and when you follow the trajectory of his stunned look, your eyes widen as they meet the cloth of your undies poking out of his back pocket. You spring into action right away, grasping the exposed edge to yank it farther inside his jeans. Simon’s own hand reaches behind him to wrap around yours, fingers interlacing, as he maintains his focus on Price in front of him. Your chest swells at the gesture, heat rising in your cheeks,  but you manage to turn around and zap Johnny with a fierce glare anyway.

He makes a show of zipping his lips and throwing away the key. However, the grin he flashes you is so contagious that you find yourself returning one of your own.

It appears like you're in for a ride full of taunts, jokes, knowing looks and funny name-calling. Your mates will give you two no rest… but who gives a shit about it? Simon said it first. Why should you care? You'll take this and much worse if it means getting the chance to explore your feelings with the man of your dreams and spending many more nights out - or inside his spacious office - dancing together.

MORE STORIES 🥀

[Also consider leaving a tip here on Tumblr or buying me a ☕ if you particularly like what you read. Thank you! 🥀]

[druvjelly]

What if I told you that the online aspie supremacy movement is in one part a direct counter movement towards the 2000s and early 2010s ”autism mom” vision of autism. Which focused on the objectification of kids with high support needs and/or profound autism. Treating them more as burdens and nothing else. While treating people with LSN/would have had Asperger’s as ”just a bit socially awkward”.

I can pin point several things that prove my theory

The hatred for autism parents/caretackers. Not just the ”my child is such a burden” type. I mean even somewhat cheesy autism parents.

This mentality that autism is just a different way of thinking/a neurotype which negative impact is nothing more than the consequences of capitalism. Refusing to realize that some, even low support needs autistic people. Will still be disabled even in a non capitalistic society.

A lot of focus on people who are low support needs/level 1/have been diagnosed with Asperger’s before it was removed from the DSM.

The idea that all autistic people can advocate for themselves. Forgetting that some really can’t, they lack the necessary skills for basic communication and need caretakers and parents to communicate for them. Since they act like a translator. (But see point one)

Trying to apply issues that mainly impact high support needs/profoundly autistic people. Like immigration policies in certain countries.

Thinking all stereotypes against autistic people are against all of us. While sometimes, they aren’t.

Thinking the ability to mask is a bad thing and getting mad when people who can’t mask say it is a privilege to have.

And I’m saying this as a low support needs person. Like I’m legit diagnosed with Asperger’s and everything (I live in Sweden for context). What we don’t need to do as autistic people, is make it into a stereotype based on which side were listening to. What we do need to do is acknowledge that yea, it is a disability. No matter the support needs. I have things I struggle with, not just making friends but doing basic stuff like washing my hair. but at the same time, also acknowledging that high support needs/people with profound autism exists, and aren’t just something parents use as sob material on Facebook. That their experience are just as real. The idea that ”autistic people are superior” feeds into an ableist narrative that will hurt us all in the long run. We need to acknowledge people, no matter if they’re low, medium, or high support needs. Are just as autistic, we have similar experiences, but at the same time, also have unique experiences and social and systemic challenges.

I personally recommend checking out places Iike r/spicyautism for a good view on what HSN and MSN autism is like!

EDIT [14-6-2025] r/spicyautism isn’t that good (tldr non of autism Reddit is). One account I recommended checking out is Toren.Wolf on instagram, the account is about a high support needs autistic. person with adhd and ARFID whose mom is also on the autism and adhd spectrum. I also recommended the YouTube account Special Books by Special kids, which interviews people who are not only autistic but also have a cluster B personality disorder, rare genetic disorders, physical disabilities, and invisible disabilities.

[bambi-kinos]

people’s arguments about why john has to be a bottom and not paul tend to regurgitate the same critique these people have about paul (“you say he’s a bottom just because he’s feminine!”) by bringing up john’s appearance and more femme attitude after ‘68 and then saying how paul is more masc because of his body / facial hair. i also feel like a lot of people still conflate dom/sub with top/bottom when it comes to mclennon. though i haven’t thought about the societal perception of receiving / giving, i had an ohhh moment when i read that in your post. i personally will always be a fan of service top john paired with a power bottom paul, but john being servicy to me doesn’t mean he’s “submissive” in the typical way. i think he can be dominant and aggressive with paul but that’s because paul allows him to be. like what you said about paul enjoying being john’s second and being put in his place by more domineering and strong men. there’s a lot of power play that goes on in their sexual relationship and it deeply fascinates me!

people’s arguments about why john has to be a bottom and not paul tend to regurgitate the same critique these people have about paul (“you say he’s a bottom just because he’s feminine!”) by bringing up john’s appearance and more femme attitude after ‘68 and then saying how paul is more masc because of his body / facial hair.

Yes, it gets very transparent for exactly those reasons. What makes me roll my eyes about the “you say he’s a bottom just because he’s feminine!” thing is that anyone who bitches about this can only imagine switching the roles and having Paul by a hypermasculine stoic (which breaks characterization) and having John be a hyperfeminine bottom (which is also OOC). I don't think that the original complaints are necessarily a bad thing, there is an iteration problem in McLennon fandom where Paul can sometimes be reduced to a weepy princess, though I haven't heard of any fics coming out in the past 5 years that actually made this mistake. But it does annoy me that fandom can only imagine flipping the script and having John be the weepy bottom princess. It never leads to something more creative or interesting being produced where John and Paul's roles, both self assigned and imposed on them, are discussed especially for the effect it had their relationship.

It would be interesting to explore John's femme qualities but I think that fans are hesitant about going there because they would have to admit that John's passivity in 1968 was induced by his heroin addiction which destroyed his life and his relationships. There's never any appreciating John's femininity when he wasn't on heroin even though 1965 is arguably when John was at the most soft spoken and open minded. I find it a little sad that John's feminine qualities are only appreciated when he was at the peak of his hatefulness and addiction.

i also feel like a lot of people still conflate dom/sub with top/bottom when it comes to mclennon.

A lot of that is wish fulfillment IMO. Especially since Paul fans are usually the ones driving it and it's pretty universal that we want to see him get railed, not really the other way around. We like him because he's so poundable. So it's nice that he has a built in boyfriend who's willing to fuck him until he cries, you know. And it's easy to classify that as top/bottom::dom/sub.

McLennon is very subtle in some ways because of the give and take between John and Paul was so weird and it's just really difficult for us as outsiders to grasp. John and Paul themselves are baffled and confused by it. It makes me wonder if part of their dissolution was the fact that they didn't understand how much power they held over the other one which meant that they couldn't understand why their decisions were having such profound effects on the other person. They seem profoundly frustrated and bewildered by the undercurrents of their relationship where they perfectly fulfill each other in all ways except one, and how deeply unsatisfying their other relationships have been in comparison.

I think @amoralto damaged the fandom for this in some ways because she ended up having a popular blog which meant that her interpretations of John in particular were xeroxed over and over. The problem with this being that I don't think amoralto fully appreciated the power dynamic between John and Paul and her bias against John crept into her opinions which means that they screwed up the fandom discourse. If you go purely by her public posts then amoralto appears to be under the impression that John was a hysteric that was perpetually shitting himself about Paul one upping him. There is some truth to that but it's also not the whole story because Paul's ability to pull the rug out from under John was always a source of pride, fascination, love, and eroticism for John. Yesterday rocked John's world but he was also proud of Paul for being such an incredible artist and he was always pleased about being the one who discovered Paul. He was always aware that Paul had a lot of power over him and John both reveled and despaired in that.

This relates to the top/bottom::dom/sub thing because this dynamic would naturally play out in an erotic relationship between John and Paul. There's the surface layer where John is railing Paul but then there's the additional layer where Paul is the one enticing John to do it by showing his ass off (like really, who do you think those tight cut trousers are for?) and inviting John to put his cock inside Paul. And then there's the part where John's butch attitude and even some of his violence was egged on and encouraged by Paul who was most likely turned on by John punching people out. Paul was not the slightest bit put off by John being a violent person or else he would have bailed within a year of knowing him. When Julia died, Paul is the only one who had patience with John who was getting drunk and getting into fights…meanwhile there's a femmeboi in the background making soothing noises and cleaning him up so that he's fit for company. Really makes the your mind run wild with possibilities huh? Who is to say Paul didn't say "c'mon Johnny, just put it in me mouth and I'll fix you up." Or something!

The point is Paul is ultimately in control of the situation. This is supposed to be what dom/sub set ups are supposed to be anyway, subs are the ones who dictate the conditions in the bedroom. But considering how John built Paul up in his mind, it seems clear that Paul had a lot of overt power over John too. They don't fit neatly into the dom/sub set up either.

They switched power positions constantly and they got a lot of pleasure out of dominating but also being dominated. Paul liked being on top and being on bottom and John liked it when he got to be on top of Paul and when Paul crushed him. The pleasure was in the struggle itself, not necessarily the positions in of themselves.

though i haven’t thought about the societal perception of receiving / giving, i had an ohhh moment when i read that in your post.

It's not nearly as prevelent now though it still lingers. But heteronormativity really dictated the nature of a lot of relationships in the past.

i personally will always be a fan of service top john paired with a power bottom paul, but john being servicy to me doesn’t mean he’s “submissive” in the typical way. i think he can be dominant and aggressive with paul but that’s because paul allows him to be.

IMO there's a lot of truth to this! @zilabee has a really nice post about how John and Paul could afford to be gentle with one another and wrote love songs together. I think that a service top john/power bottom paul really fits this dynamic because it allowed John and Paul to express themselves to each other which solidified their mutual trust and their bond.

In a lot of ways Paul was an ideal partner for John in that he was someone John could have sex with that didn't have consequences (such as pregnancy) while Paul also had the feminine beauty that John really loved. (There's a quote from Yoko I think that John claimed if he fell in love with another man then that man would have to be extremely beautiful. Handsome is not enough.) John could probably be a lot rougher with Paul who could stand up to being tossed around a bit if needed but was beautiful enough for John to fuck tenderly too. Paul wasn't afraid of John's rough side and even encouraged it and decided to love it. In some ways John being a service top lets him express that roughness sexually with someone who won't break in half from being treated like a sack of potatoes. And there wouldn't be judgment from Paul either because he is still a man and experienced the same puberty and testosterone that John did including the same struggles with temper, the bodily changes, etc. He knows where John is coming from whereas a 1960s woman would not. (The transwomen, crossdressers, and homosexuals in Hamburg may have been John's first explicit taste of this. People who were familiar with what growing up as a male would be like so they didn't judge John for his proclivities and interests.)

In other words, John could express himself sexually with Paul in a way that he probably couldn't with women. Paul was fine with it judging from that photo of John's nutsack against his back and it fulfilled his needs as well!

like what you said about paul enjoying being john’s second and being put in his place by more domineering and strong men. there’s a lot of power play that goes on in their sexual relationship and it deeply fascinates me!

Yes! John overwhelms and dominates Paul but it's because Paul wants it to happen. He relied on John's intuition and discernment and ultimately his trust in John to carry it through. John has a partner who can't get pregnant when he climaxes inside him and then can take it on the chin when John is rough and/or degrading. All while he's sharply aware of how much Paul likes it which itself feeds into John's eros, and so on and on…

[veliseraptor]

got tagged in this one by @paradife-loft a while ago and decided to finally get around to it!

tagging @brawlite, @silvysartfulness, @anghraine, @ameliarating and uhhh anyone else who feels like it

5 Things You'll Find in My Writing

Grief/mourning, or loss more generally. I'm not totally sure why this has been such a recurring thing in my fic (and has been for years) but it is certainly something I keep circling back to. I think there is something to me very compelling about both the emotion itself and the...presence of absence, if that makes sense. The way someone can still be there even when they aren't there anymore. It doesn't come up in everything but I think even when it's not direct it's often there obliquely in ways that don't have to do with death itself.

Recovery arcs. At one point I might've said "redemption arcs" but I actually think that's less accurate to the kind of stories I'm more interested in, which are less about atonement or making good than they are about people going through it and finding some way to "get better", whatever that might mean - and it can mean a lot of things. It's much more about the character's internal experience and outlook on the world than it is about any external validation or judgment by the narrative. I'm much more interested in how characters reconcile with themselves than how the world reconciles with them, is maybe a pithy way of putting it.

Poorly adjusted trauma reactions. I mean this goes hand in hand with the kind of characters I tend to write, who generally have some kind of trauma baggage and are handling it in the worst way possible, usually externalized and often both self- and other people-destructive, but at least other people-destructive for sure. I find this particular kind of ugliness and messiness very compelling to explore, both in terms of what it says about how trauma can shape people for the worse and also, on some level, as a way of exploring the idea that people who do bad things can still be worthy of compassion.

Very different people coming to an understanding. Usually when I'm doing this the people hate each other, but it's not necessarily a requirement - I do like to start from a place of distrust at the very least, though. It's a character dynamic that I can trace going all the way back to some of my earliest (original) writing. I think in a lot of ways one of the things I'm fascinated by in writing terms comes down to communication - how people communicate with each other, how they don't, where it breaks down. What it means to communicate with someone when it's the last thing you want to do. I think that's what this is really digging into at the base of it, but the form it specifically takes most often is this one: people with profound differences, often outright hostility, finding some way to cooperate. It's curious to me that on the face of it this seems like a very utopian trope but I never intend to execute it that way.

The Aftermath. In some ways this goes back to the grief/mourning thing and probably that has a lot to do with this, but one of the things I am always most interested in digging into is the what comes after of a situation. This is most obviously what's behind the ex-villain project, which is specifically asking the question "what happens when your redemption equals death gambit fails", but it crops up other places too. It's probably why on AO3 "Post-Canon" is one of my most frequently used tags. This doesn't even have to be about a post-canon scenario, though - it's about looking at something that is typically an ending and tugging at it to go but what here remains unresolved? What is still complicated? What now?

Another thing I thought of that does come up a lot is questions of agency/choice, but I thought of it later so I stuck with the ones I came up with first.

[ndrv3expert1]

The impact of Tenko’s ability on Maki and Kokichi's character arc: a continuation of me rewriting Tenko’s flipping ability.

This is a more indepth analysis of Tenko and Maki and Tenko and Kokichi's relationships. It might not make sense without the first part, but you don't have to read it to enjoy this.

Introduction

Tenko is the sun, bright, loud, beloved, and emotional, Maki and Kokichi are the moons, the liars, the ones who build up walls to hide their true selves, the loners.

Realistically, that analogy was supposed to be with Kaito, but we’re not talking about him, and I think Tenko could in some ways be a better mentor figure for Maki (Kokichi and Shuichi.)

Tenko is like Kaito but soft in the ways he is rough, less abrasive. Tenko relates to Maki and Kokichi in a different way than Kaito, of course. Kaito Maki and Kokichi are like three peas in a pod, but Tenko would be able to listen to help to heal in a different way than Kaito can.

Tenko’s flipping ability doesn’t take away from Kaito’s role; it adds to it and gives more time for Kokichi and Maki to flesh out before or during their development with Kaito.

Kokichi’s mask doesn’t have to break like it did in chapter five, but we can see him become more defensive and isolated.

Maki doesn’t have to shed her stone-cold assassin behavior and break down like in chapters five and six, but she can start to become more vulnerable.

Maki's growth with Tenko

Maki and Tenko could spar together and have chats about Maki’s past that even though Tenko didn’t agree with murder, she knows that Maki was forced into it and is still a good person deserving of love and affection and would be like a second Kaito there for her, especially since Kaito is deteriorating because of his illness.

I believe that Maki could also help Tenko, especially since their backstories are so similar, talking about her crime and opening up about her distrust for the men she saw on the streets and the ones her master told her about, and Maki would help keep Tenko grounded and help her open up more.

I always thought it was a missed opportunity only giving Maki and Tenko one interaction in the game.

I love the parallels between her and Maki's backstories and their characters as a whole.

From the get-go, both didn’t really have a say in their lives; their childhoods started out similar with both getting abandoned but then had two separate paths: a savior and a killer, one embracing their role and the other rejecting it.

I want Maki and Tenko to have long, profound talks about strength and being vulnerable. I want Tenko to flip Maki and give her a whole new outlook on her life.

I want them to talk about Tenko’s vigilantism, Maki's childhood friend, the burden that they both place on themselves to protect those they care about even if it means harming others.

I want Tenko to grab Maki's hands, which have been coated with blood countless times, even with her strong morals against murder, and tell Maki she trusts her and cares about her.

Kokichi’s arc with Tenko

With Kokichi after flipping him, making him vulnerable and out in the open, Kokichi runs away at first but soon realizes the strength of Tenko’s ability and has her help him with his plans, he being the one that suggests she flip Tsumugi.

They would hang out, even though the others give them weird looks, especially since Tenko knows Kokichi’s true intentions. But like everyone else, Kokichi pushes Tenko away, putting back up his facade as a villain, betraying Tenko before her death, leaving him to run right back to Himiko.

Who she still cared about helping but took her mind off the jealousy of Himiko gravitating to Angie more than her by hanging out with Kokichi.

Kokichi would also tell Tenko that she’s lying to herself and too concerned about the others to care about herself and that mentality is going to get her killed.

(While he holds his script to his chest, knowing what’s coming two chapters from now.)

After Tenko died, Kokichi felt regretful but chose to keep it away from the others, still knowing that Tenko was one of his only true friends in the game, the only person who truly understood him (until chapter five), but that having friends in a killing game was a mistake and would only make him more weak and vulnerable.

Kokichi and Tenko’s friendship

Outside the narrative I have created, I want more Tenko-Kokichi shenanigans.

I like the fact that both sacrificed themselves to help/save someone else, and both died in a dark, claustrophobic environment alone.

I also like how they're more like each other than they both realize.

I think Kokichi could point out Tenko's altruism as a flaw and also call her out as a hypocrite, and he would definitely bash her for her relationship with Himiko, and I think Tenko could start to crack the mask, the facade that is Kokichi Oma.

I love their dynamic so much I just don't know how to explain it:

Two people who actively hate each other but have good chemistry and are constantly hanging out with each other to the confusion and expense of the others.

They insult each other all the time, but if anyone else insults either one of them, they would beat that person up.

They're normally making jokes at each other's expense but sometimes get serious with each other and actually give good advice and comfort.

Probably my second, maybe third favorite Tenko-male friendship (my first is Tenko and Shuichi).

They would be so chaotic together; I wish they would have gotten more time to hang out.

Tenko's missed opportunities

Tenko should have hung out with more people who weren't Himiko (and Shuichi) in the game. Her flipping ability and emotional depth could have allowed pivotal shifts in the narrative as well as doing work for her and many others' character arcs and developments.

(And just be really cool; give my girl more screen time, damn it.)

[nonbinarypirat]

Hello! I really like your character analysis from m!ik. I wanted to ask you what do you think of Amerie? And her influence on Iruma? And their relationship?

Great question! Okay, I’ll go in order of your questions since you have a few for me :)

Okay, so I have issues with how Ameri is written on the character, some of the few issues I have with Nishi’s writing thus far. But before I talk about the negatives I want to focus on the positives of Ameri and her character because I do think she has a lot of potential that I hope we get to see! Ameri is a classic capable but soft character type that we see in both her romance fantasies but also her deep care for her fellow students. She isn’t just a student president because of the prestige or power it could give her, it’s because her ideal is for every demon to be proud of themselves and their authentic selves. And this is a quality in her that I find deeply profound and beautiful. She’s proud of herself and she wants others to be proud of themselves as well. And what I like about Iruma and Ameri is that she encourages him to strive for more, more than he ever could have dreamed of in the beginning. And he makes her enjoy herself more rather than overworking herself. He makes her be still more, stop to appreciate the little things. She also has the power to inspire others, a nature born leader, and one that is willing to do anything for her fellow students. Not to mention she has given her fellow student council members a place to belong and by doing so, they have deep respect and loyalty to her. And for demons who are inherently selfish and idealistic, this says a lot. They aren’t with her because of her strength, they care for her and I think that speaks volumes in itself.

What I have a problem with is how much her growth is tied to iruma. I think in this Nishi failed at making her an independent character. For instance, we don’t get to see her work towards rank 7, which would help her in her main ambition. We know she wants to take over for her dad, but we don’t know why that’s so important to her yet. And we don’t get to see the steps she takes towards that goal. Her growth is her progress in her relationship with Iruma and I think that’s a let down. Like I said, I love how she inspires and pushes iruma to be a better version of herself. I enjoy that a lot about their relationship. But I don’t find myself interested at all in the romance aspect of the two, mostly because of how they met each other. The trope is that in so many animes and mangas (and the romance genre in general) have two characters run into each other and instantly fall for the other. They went for the trope, we had some laughs about it, but then it kind of just… stuck around? It’s making fun of the clique while also adhering to it and to me it just didn’t land. I think for the joke to work and to make the relationship flow better, the immediate attraction should have quelled and from there a more slow burn of feelings for Ameri. I think if she didn’t become so Iruma crazy so soon into the story, it could have made a more compelling relationship compared to the current one we have. Right now, besides motivating each other I don’t see much in the way of their relationship? I think it’s also hard because we see so little of her in the actual plot and story so the relationship feels like it’s going at a snail’s pace while also going too fast when we do get to see them interact again to make up for the lack of Ameri. It’s weird, they’ve gone on three or four dates (or at least, we can categorize them as dates even if both characters haven’t called it that) but at the same time it’s like nothing has happened for them. I guess besides Ameri realizing her feelings, Iruma blushing when hugging Ameri, and the talk with Henri. I wish the relationship was more friendship focused or the feelings took longer to develop. Because she’s a busy woman and she’s a year above Iruma, we don’t see her actively take part of the plot often and it just makes it hard to get to know more personal stuff about Ameri.

This isn’t to say I’m a Ameri x Iruma hater, I just don’t find their relationship a fun part of the story. I do also admit to having a bias for the love trio when it comes to Iruma ships. But I do hope that the relationship develops more in an in-depth way because I could see her and their relationship becoming more interesting if Nishi takes the time to write her (in my opinion) better.