#talking about 'he still makes those same faces'

[telafel]

Forever thinking about Spite trying and wanting to help Lucanis (even if its with selfish intentions), but Spite being a spirit/demon wanting things to just change on command. Spite gets the up front view of Lucanis' pain and trauma, exists in that same headapace where Lucanis is still in the Ossuary, burdened by what the people close to him think, projecting his own insecurities onto them.

Any attempt from Spite to help is stamped down by Lucanis immediately. I interpret those sleepwalking moments as Spite trying to get help in his own way. He never threw Lucanis off the edge of the Lighthouse. I think the eluvian scene, Spite might have been trying to go to Treviso since besides Rook those are the ones closest to Lucanis.

But Lucanis resents Spite, fears Spite and everything he embodies. The symbol of his trauma, a part of him forever changed. Of course Lucanis will do anything to avoid Spite and not entertain him. Which in turn frustrates Spite making their situation worse and worse.

But Spite knows that Lucanis, no matter what Rook does, opens up to them and listens. Something that Lucanis does for precious few because his trust is hard-earned. Of course Spite always wants to talk to Rook, catch their attention to help. Inside, Lucanis is pleading for help and answers but he feels he has no one to turn to.

I like to think that in Inner Demons when Spite takes control of Lucanis, that Lucanis is full on spiraling in anxiety. He's facing the reality that essentially his brother sold him out and the person who raised him is actually alive but he is *different* and *wrong* and anything he does could ruin everything. So he completely shuts down and closes off and Spite has free reign to do as he wishes... but Spite helps instead and pulls Rook in. Because Lucanis listens to Rook.

What i love about Spite is that even with the totally selfish read of his actions he still cares and realizes his host is important. He doesn't ever seem to genuinely want full control over Lucanis, he just wants more involvement and to not be shut out.

[ultraericthered]

#i got to screen Wish before it released during a school trip and let me tell you something #even though we noticed the glaring problems with that movie immediately #i also noticed something i dont think many others did at that time #there was so much talent and potential being held back. if you read closely you can pick up on a cry for help from the creatives behind it #i want to elaborate but i think if you know. you know #and if you don't.. this post does a good job of shining a light on a small part of that cry for you #despite its many issues i think i still liked Wish. Not because i think it was a good movie but bc i think it could have been a great one had circumstances been different. #my heart goes out to those who put their souls and everything they had into that movie and others in similar situations #some of the creators had given a small talk before the screening and to me they seemed very emotional about it #i think what many people forget is that nobody can see a project's flaws better than the people who worked on it #but what they also see and you can't is everything more it was meant to be #please remember that the core of many issues in any project is that the people with the talent often do not have power to call the shots

Yes, all of that. And I find it ironic that the gifed scene is the one that got people saying "Hey, King Magnifico's not really much of a villain, he's got a good point! He's just upholding his part of a social contract with his citizenry and doing what he, as king, needs to do to protect their wishes but also protect Rosas by ruling out granting any wishes that might backfire and have dangerous repercussions for the kingdom and the lives of the people! Asha's just an ignorant spoiled brat for demanding anything more of him! Magnifico Did Nothing Wrong!" So when you take that position on what you're being shown by the story and not scratching the surface to look at what Magnifico is doing in-universe by not giving back the wishes he knows he will not grant and knows the people who gave them to him cannot remember and what the out-of-universe subtext of this is, you're siding with the Disney Corporate Executive Overlords. You're siding with Bob Iger's "they're not being realistic with their expectations" argument. You're siding with Chapek and Iger's practices done under excuses like "It doesn't fit the Disney brand", "mass appeal stories over personal ones", "people don't want to go and pay to see movies with girly princess titles", etc. You're siding with their practices of dumping content straight to streaming (or onto Disney+ not too long after they've hit theaters or TV) even when that actually limits profits that the actual creative teams can make from their own work, of tampering with the artists visions and how the finished product turns out and then punishing those artists if it doesn't turn out well, and of ignoring ideas for original creations in favor of contiunally milking their popular (and profitable) existing IPs. You're siding with people who make up an entire entity that say loudly to the faces of all those who put in the work, the skills, the talent, the passion and dedication to create art and content they feel people deserve to enjoy, in the forms they deserve to enjoy them "I decide what everyone deserves!"

Capitalism errodes into a force for human evil when the people at the top prove susceptible to three things in excess beyond mere greed and self-interest: unchecked power, irresponsibility, and indecency. King Magnifico is allegorical for that evil, with a bit of a communist dictator angle to him too since that's the end point of those exact same excesses and extremes for socialism. He's a major problematic fave for all kinds of reasons, but anyone who wants to tell me he's a good guy can kindly GTFO.

Wish (2023) dir. Fawn Veerasunthorn, Chris Buck

hey do you think the overworked creatives about to go on strike are trying to tell us something

article sources under the cut

Mattson, Kelcie. "How Disney Almost Killed 'Nimona.'" Collider, January 2 2024.

Earl, William. "Shelving Batgirl Was the Right Decision, Says New DC Studios Head Peter Safran: 'It Would Have Hurt DC.'" Variety, January 31 2023

Couch, Aaron. "Warner Bros. Reverses Course on 'Coyote vs. Acme' After Filmmakers Rebel." The Hollywood Reporter, November 13 2023.

Ridgely, Charlie. "Scoob! Sequel Director Revealed Film Was 'Very Close' to Completion Before HBO Max Cancellation." comicbook.com, August 2 2022.

Clark, Travis. "Staffers at the animation studio Blue Sky say it's 'heartbreaking' that Disney canceled its final movie, 'Nimona.'" Business Insider, February 18, 2021.

Harrison, Mark. "Why was the Batgirl movie cancelled?" Yahoo! Entertainment, January 31 2024.

Amidi, Amid. "Warner Bros. Shelves Fully-Completed 'Coyote Vs. Acme' For Tax Write-Off." Cartoon Brew, November 9 2023.

Lee, Alex. "Why Netflix keeps cancelling your favourite shows after two seasons." Wired UK, September 28 2020.

Tyrrell, Gary. "We All Knew It Was Coming." fleen.com, February 10 2021.

"Warner Bros. Reverses Course on ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ After Filmmakers Rebel." see: 3.

Bergeson, Samantha. "Warner Bros. Will Let 'Coyote Vs. Acme' Filmmakers Shop Movie to Other Distributors." IndieWire, November 13 2023.

Strapagiel, Lauren. "Disney's First Feature Animated Movie With Queer Leads May Never Be Released." BuzzfeedNews, February 24 2021.

"We All Knew It Was Coming." see: 9

@/scottderrickson. "I think it’s absolute bullshit that a studio can and does shelve the creative work of hundreds of people for a fucking tax break." Twitter, 10 Nov. 2023, 4:52 p.m..

[vicsy]

Max's phone has been on mute for a week now but Daniel's message comes through regardless. He singles it out through the endless blocks of notifications, patting his still damp hair with a fluffy towel.

hey did they show you the vid yet?

Max breaks into a smile, his whole face creasing when he catches his reflection in the mirror by the bathroom door. He taps on the screen with one finger, stringing together a response.

are you going to ask if you looked good in it? or what

Daniel doesn't make him wait. Max is tugging on a t-shirt when a bunch of middle finger emojis flood his screen. He picks up his phone off the bedside table and disconnects the charger cable. Another message from Daniel pops up.

ya little shit I knew 4th title will get to your head

It's Max's turn to take a page out of Daniel's book and abuse those middle finger emojis before he actually replies, dropping the towel on the floor next to the bed.

of course it was maybe 7/10 I'm being nice because you were very nice to me

Daniel reacts to his message with a broken heart emoji, which is pretty advanced for him. Max stands in the middle of his hotel room, phone in hand, watching the typing dots appear and disappear like his life depends on it.

you wound me Maxy I'm never not nice to you anyway wanted to send you something extra

It's a video. Not a long one. Max watches a file pop up and the download starts. The preview looks just like Daniel from the one he saw already — same outfits, same cap, his scruffy beard; same look on his face reserved for Max and Max only. It leaves him confused and rightfully exasperated. He types, watching a progression circle overlayed over the video fill out almost completely:

you just want me to have your part so I can tell you how beautiful you are?

A smile inadvertently tugs up the corner of his lips. Daniel won't see it but Max wishes he would. Not like wishing is ever enough.

Daniel sends him another message as the video finally loads.

just watch it, Maxy promise it's a banger

Max hits play.

It starts off the same. Daniel's curls are peeking from under the cap as he talks and Max's eyes linger. His voice scratches the parts of Max's brain that have been permanently altered over the years Daniel spent by his side. He's managed to learn most of Daniel's heartfelt speech by heart, memorise the minuscule changes of his expression; all the meaning hidden from naked eye but glaring into Max's soul though Daniel's gaze, warm and achingly familiar.

"You're the man," his recording says, his tone identical. Then Daniel licks his lips instead of following a script Max expects. His heart somersaults in his chest in anticipation. Daniel says, then, staring directly at him as if they're not worlds apart but sitting face to face: "And I love you."

Max blanches. On the screen, Daniel shakes his head and laughs, something evasively fond about the crow's feet around his eyes appearing more visible than ever.

"Yeah, no, they can't use this. Can't let them have this one now, can we? Imagine the scandal. I'll do another," Max's mind goes through a rapid meat grinder. The hand holding his phone become cold like he's just been dunked into an ice bath and plucked out just to be thrown on the scorching hot desert sand in Qatar. "This one is just for you, Max. Yeah, um."

He parks his ass on a chair. Barely manages not to miss it, pulled down by the gravity that exists outside of his control and the gravity of Daniel's words. Max's thumb hovers on the rewind button, but phone Daniel speaks up again, looking down. The video twitches from side to side like his hand was shaking as he was recording. Max doesn't miss it. Or maybe it's that his hands aren't steady when they're not clutching the steering wheel.

"Right. I'll be sending this later. So you get double the love," Daniel makes himself sound intentionally goofy, plays it down. Not his best attempt. Max's grip on the phone becomes crushing; Daniel grip on his heart is just as tight. Daniel removes his cap, puts it aside and passes fingers through the mess of his curls. To Max, it's like a kick to the ribs. When on-screen Daniel carries on, his voice grows thick. "Kinda wish I was there but. Sticks and stones, Max. I'm so fucking proud of you. And I, uh. I really mean it. Everything. So, yeah. I'll stop blabbering now," Daniel looks away from the camera for a moment. Blinks, so hard, like something's gotten into his eyes. There's static filtering through the speaker of Max's phone. Then Daniel looks back and Max can't fathom the glint in his eyes. He says, with a smile so impossibly tender, saluting Max with his cap: "Fourth in a row, huh? Go enjoy yourself for me, champ."

The video cuts off.

Max stares at the screen. He doesn't hit replay or lock his phone. But he wants to. Max taps on Daniel's name at the top instead, misses the button he needs and ends up opening his contact photo. It's an older one — Daniel is holding up three fingers, pulling a funny face. He's somewhere sunny and bright. Max keeps on staring, stunned and flayed open, until it all hits him with renewed force.

His frantic call to Daniel goes through without a hitch. He picks up on a second ring and Max jumps the start, just this once.

"Daniel–"

He stumbles. It's unnerving, as if he's stalled his car which hasn't happened in years. Max can't manage to get a word past the lump in his throat. And it's all futile because Daniel beats him to the finish line. And, for one, Max is glad it's him.

"No, wait. Wait, Max. Hold your horses. You come to Perth or, like, I can fly out to Monaco when the season's over," Daniel sucks in a hard breath. For as long as he doesn't speak, Max keeps his breathless silence, waiting. Daniel clears his throat, his voice soft and measured in Max's ear. He hangs on to Daniel's every word. "We're gonna do this the right way. I just– yeah, I just had to let you know. In case someone else was gonna convince you otherwise. Or whatever, ya know?"

Max makes a noise, something between a snicker and a sob. It punches out of him and it's a little embarrassing but who gives a shit when Daniel's words are stuck on a loop In Max's brain. Couldn't ever be anyone else to make his mind race on a track of its own.

"You should know," he starts. On the other side of the line, Daniel emits a similar noise to the one that clawed its way up Max's throat. Max screws his eyes shut, then opens them quickly, his vision fuzzy. He looks down at his feet, one sock missing. Presses his phone firmer to his ear, trying to bridge the insurmountable distance dividing him and Daniel, hopping over the chokehold of overarching emotions. "After all this years, you know. I don't listen to what other people say. It's a bit of shit timing, Daniel."

Daniel's chuckle is wobbly. So is Max. From the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

"Yeah, tough luck, I know," he says. He's not home, by the sound of it. Max has lost track of the timezones since they can't even share one, not anymore. Daniel sounds more like himself when he asks: "Still. I reckon you enjoyed the video?"

Max doesn't speak for a length. He thinks it over and over — and I love you and I love you and I love you. Thinks how much shit has burned down the line; how Daniel's dreams became flammable the exact moment Max's aspirations wrapped themselves in layers and layers of fireproof armour.

With a hand laid over his sternum where Daniel can't see, Max says, precariously balancing his tone:

"Yes, Daniel. You indeed looked very lovely on my screen."

It's worth tiptoeing around the subject. For all of Max's reticence, his joke lands where he wants it to. Daniel's laugh is akin to a sound of a dozen champagne bottles popping, fizzling, all of it pouring over Max's body and soaking him through.

"Thanks a bunch," in the aftermath, Daniel gets eerily quiet. Then he repeats, with airtight conviction: "I mean it."

And I love you, Max recalls. The words stick to his tongue, his breath hitching, twisting knots inside his chest. It doesn't feel fair. He rubs his knuckles into his eyes, phone smushed between his shoulder and cheek, until all Max sees is a patches of black interspersed with made up visions of the sun setting over a house with Daniel's name on it.

"I know," Max says, wispy. "But you shouldn't fly to Monaco."

"Uh, Max?" Daniel calls out to him, cautious. Max can imagine the exact look on his face. "Not following you."

"I'm going to come to Australia," Max barely avoids his voice breaking. A handful more days and Daniel will cease to be just a recording on his phone; a voice in his ear. A presence under his skin. "To you."

"Alright," Daniel echoes after a pause. "Whatever you want, Max. I'll stay put."

"Daniel, and," Max's heart pounds against his ribs, threatening to break his bones, but the enormity of raw feeling negates all the pain that comes with it. He swallows, blinks once and the clear cut picture of what future holds bleeds into his vision. Max keeps it a secret, stashes it into his pocket, and says to Daniel, with just a smidge of hesitancy: "When I get there. To you?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll mean it, too."

[cutielando]

qatar, qatar | l.n.

synopsis: in which you pick up the pieces after the shit show that was the Qatar Grand Prix

a/n: i think everyone needs a pick-me-up after that shit show that they called a race. also, this is very rushed, so i do apologize if it sucks ass

my masterlist

A clown show.

Those were the best words that you could use to describe what the Qatar Grand Prix had proved to be.

The FIA had all but shit on Lando and his efforts during the entire race, the harsh penalty he had been given being completely ridiculous and blown out of proportion.

You had watched everything unfold from the garage, debating what had happened with Keegan and Jon at the end of the race.

And yet, even though neither of you could come up with an explanation for what happened, all 3 of you came to the same conclusion.

"He's going to be absolutely devastated" you had all agreed.

Hearing his voice on the radio at the end, broken and absolutely exhausted, made your heart clench even more in your chest. He had been so excited, so happy and positive going into the race, and everything went out the window in a matter of seconds.

Watching him sit in the car after he parked added more salt to the wound. You knew he would be beating himself up for his 'mistake', and you knew it would take a lot to try and make him feel better.

You were chewing your bottom lip as you waited for Lando to come back from his media duties. You were racking your brain about what you should say to him, whether you should even mention the race at all or just avoid the subject altogether.

The sound of the small door opening snapped you out of your thoughts, you eyes landing on Lando.

"Hey, baby" you greeted him, your eyes instantly going to his face.

He looked so tired, so devastated and sad. Your heart clenched at the sight of him, so broken and just plain exhausted.

He didn't say anything in return, only came and sat down next to you, his gaze fixated on the floor.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke, letting a tense silence swallow you whole.

You didn’t even know what you could possibly say to make him feel better. Words just didn’t seem to be enough.

“It’s not your fault, baby” you whispered, putting your hand on his back and rubbing soothing circles.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

"I should have seen the flag, I should have slowed down. I may have just cost us the championship because I was too stupid not to see those flags" he said, his voice dripping with defeat and sarcasm.

"Hey, don't say that. Even the team hadn't realized what happened, you should have seen the way those flags were being waved. Yellow, then green, then blue, then green again, then yellow once again. It's not your fault, Lando" you said, doing your best to sound as convincing as possible.

But you knew it was in vain. He shook his head, hanging his head lower than before.

You continued rubbing circles on his back, your other hand taking a hold of his.

"I should've known" he whispered, his voice small.

It broke your heart to see him like this, so down and vulnerable. This wasn't your Lando, the happy and cheerful boy you had fallen in love with.

You didn't say anything for a little while, letting a more comfortable silence envelop you two. You didn't even know what you could possibly say.

"How about we pack up and go to the hotel? We can talk there, I don't want you hanging around here right now" you suggested, patiently waiting for a response from him.

He hesitated a little before finally nodding, needing to get away from the paddock as soon as possible.

You made quick work in packing up everything for him, letting him rest while you took care of everything.

The ride to the hotel was quiet, soft music playing in the background. Lando spent the entire ride looking out the window, seemingly deep in thought, his hand tightly clasped in yours. You kept rubbing little soothing motions on his soft skin, hoping it provided at least the knowledge that you were there for him, no matter what.

He still didn't say anything until you made it to the room, silently moving through the kitchen.

"Do you want me to run you a warm bath?" you asked, your voice soft.

He nodded, giving you a small hint of a smile as he finally looked at you. You could see the silent torment going on behind his eyes, which broke your heart even more as you looked at him.

You went over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, nuzzling your face into his before making your way towards the bathroom.

Once you got him in the warm water, you could slowly see his muscles relaxing, the creases on his forehead smoothing out.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked, your voice small.

He sighed, not saying anything for a moment before he opened his eyes and turned to look at you, sitting on the floor next to the tub.

"I feel like I've let everybody down. I should have seen those yellows, I should have slowed down and then maybe I could've caught Max and won. We would have won the championship if it weren't for my mistake" he said, his voice a little shaky.

You shook your head, your hand coming to rest on his cheek.

"Don't say that. This was not your fault, do you hear me? I was watching that broadcast and the yellows were not shown on time for you to see them, they didn't even know if they should show them or not. This is not your fault, this is solely on the FIA, okay?" you spoke, looking into his eyes.

He bit his lip, wanting to argue with you, but upon seeing the fire in your eyes, decided against it.

"I just feel like I've let everyone down" he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.

He cared so much about everyone around him, from the team all the way to the fans, and he hated feeling like he's disappointed them. Even if it was something that he didn't have control over.

"No, Lando, nobody is disappointed or mad at you. Everyone is saying that you didn't deserve that penalty and you should have won, everyone. Don't ever, for even a second, think that this is your fault. I need you to believe that" you were determined to make him see the light at the end of the tunnel, to make him understand that there was still hope.

He bit his lip, tears now freely falling down his face.

He didn't think he could put into words how grateful he was that he had you. You were his solace when everything seemed to go against him, you were his peace when everything around him was chaos, you were his everything.

He couldn't imagine being able to cope with everything if it wasn't for you.

"I just want this to end" he whispered, pursing his lips as even more tears fell down his cheeks.

You sat up and cradled his head to your chest, running a hand through his wild curls.

You held him as he silently cried, holding your own tears at bay. You needed to stay strong for him, you needed to show him that despite what he might have been feeling, everything was going to be okay.

His sobs quieted down after a while, only his silent sniffles disturbing the silence. The water was already cold, which sent a shiver through Lando's body.

"Come on, I don't want you to get sick" you said as you let go of him with a kiss on the forehead and held up his towel.

Once you got him dressed up in something comfy, you both settled into the comfortable and soft bed.

You were trying to get a read on him, detect anything that could indicate how he was feeling.

In the end, you decided to just ask.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged, but he didn't seem as sad as he had been before.

"I'm still sad, and still disappointed, but I feel a little better thanks to you" he said and gave you the first genuine smile of the evening, warming your heart in the process.

You smiled and leaned in, pressing your lips against his soft ones. You poured every ounce of love and adoration you carried for him in the kiss, hoping that it could speak for you.

When you pulled away, his smile was even wider now. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his phone dinged with a message just as he had opened his mouth.

He took it and unlocked, chuckling a little once he saw the message.

max f: wanna hop on stream and forget about tonight?

You smiled, knowing that streaming with Max would always guarantee to put a smile on his face.

"Do you mind?" he asked, looking at you hopefully.

You shook your head, running a hand through his damp curls.

"Go ahead. I'll take out my Kindle and read a little" you said, your heart warming at the happy look on his face.

And that's how you spent the rest of your evening, bundled up in bed, him with Max and you engrossed in your book.

Just enjoying each other's presence.

Because in the end, that's all he needed to forget.

Just you.

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[crescenthistory]

You Too, Silly

Pairing: Bartylus x Reader (Starkiller x Reader)

Summary: When your two best friends fall in love and make it official, you try to be happy for them despite your heartbreak. When they keep flirting with you, though, things grow complicated.

Words: 8.8k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, poly relationship obvi, miscommunication trope, pining & yearning, hurt/comfort, (some) angst with a (very) happy ending, your pov and you think your love is unrequited, it is not!, all three of you are stupid but you're in love so it's fine, kissing while crying, some slight suggestiveness but overall safe for minors, light drinking at a slytherin party

Note: this is my hard launch of romanian!barty mwah – if you don't like it sorry not sorry, this is my barty now!

Being in love with your two best friends hurts.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other hurts perhaps even more.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other, yet for some reason seem hellbent on jokingly flirting with you at any given moment could be considered a form of torture.

And for the past few weeks, Barty Crouch Junior and Regulus Black have been putting you through nothing short of torture.

As any relationship either boy has sustained throughout their lives, your friendship with them was complicated. When you and your dorm mate Dorcas first began integrating yourselves in the friend group that consisted of Barty, Regulus and the elusive Rosier twins, you had both said you might come to regret it. You remember clearly sitting up one night and talking about it – you both thought it would end in flames, yet somehow you couldn’t help but poke the bear. You would prefer to fly under the radar, avoid any more pain than you had already had to grapple with, but you also craved a sense of belonging and figured it was worth the risk.

And oh, were you rewarded. 

No friend had treasured you the way Barty does. The second he decided he “liked your vibe” as he put it when he cut you off mid-sentence during your first proper hang-out, you had a loyal guard dog who would kill for you and then demand cuddles as payment. Almost overnight, wherever you went, Barty wouldn’t be far behind, no questions asked. He was fierce in his love, uninhibited and wild. It made you feel important in a way that sizzled over your skin.

In Regulus, you found a quiet understanding no one else had been able to give you before. He was both a mirror held up to your face and a cushioned bench to share during your turmoils. It seemed like he could read your every thought, every experience, like the books you would bond over. Silences shared with Regulus often gave you more than long conversations with others ever could. While he didn’t declare your friendship in the same way Barty did, he still had this simple way of making you feel seen and known.

They quickly cemented themselves at the root of your heart. They were your best friends, and you theirs. Your boys; with their respective green and white strands in their curly hair, who were misunderstood in each their way yet were never a mystery to you.

Perhaps naively, you had always thought there was a certain tension there, that something ran deeper below the surface. Barty was physically affectionate with all his friends, but the way he reached out for you felt differently charged. The only other person he held as long as he did you, was Regulus. It felt right. Likewise, you had yet to be in a room with Regulus without feeling his eyes on you, and you often absentmindedly compared the feeling to when Barty hugs you – they were equivalents, those gazes were the former boy’s version of affection. When you played spin the bottle during an after-party in the boys’ dorm one night, Barty’s grin had widened brilliantly when it landed on you and Regulus. You had sworn you had seen a hunger in his eyes when he watched you share the brief kiss, and you could still hear the soft sigh Regulus breathed against your lips. Again, it all felt so right. 

It went unspoken, but you thought that was because it did not need to – not because it was not there.

You knew, of course, that you had been stupidly delusional when Barty hauled Regulus with him into the Great Hall a month ago, hands intertwined, and announced with his signature Cheshire cat smile that he “finally got the boy”. You saw them making out – rather publicly – at the quidditch victory party the night before, but at the time it had only made you smile. It was odd, how you hadn’t realised that kiss was proof that all this tension really was just the two of them. Not before the words left Barty’s mouth did it hit you that this was a part of them you were not involved in. That felt decidedly wrong, but you shoved it down and joined in on the wolf whistling and congratulations, pushing your plate away in the chaos, unable to take another bite.

Since then, you have just tried to be happy for them. Or at least seem it.

Tried to smile through it all as Barty made sure their honeymoon phase was as public as humanly possible, much to Regulus’ ongoing chagrin. Tried to laugh at the quips your friends made, the “get a room you two”s and the “lovebirds”s, though you were never able to dish them out yourself, instead just humming along in agreement whenever Dorcas or Evan did. Tried to stiffen your mask to the point where it could not crack underneath the pressure of emotion, perfectly polished as you originally intended for it to be. All those years ago, before they had ensured you would not need it – you gave yourself a silent thank you for your previous doomsday caution. 

You even tried not to avoid Barty and Regulus, to be normal. Why should they be punished by losing one of their best friends because they had the audacity not to fall in love with her too? While you thought yourself generally successful in not showing disdain for their new relationship, this was the one aspect you struggled the most with. Your instinct was to run away and it physically pained you not to. In the few weeks they had been together, you had not been able to stomach being alone with just the two of them and confront their relationship in such close proximity – but you knew you could not avoid them altogether. Instead, you tried to always attach yourself at Dorcas’ hip and always invite the rest of your friends if Barty and Regulus wanted to do something with you. They ask you to study out by the Black Lake? Fantastic, you, Dorcas and Pandora have an Astronomy project you need to work on anyway. They want to visit that one store in Hogsmeade with you? How convenient that Evan was discussing how he needed something from there earlier, and if he goes, then Pandora goes and if she goes Dorcas can’t be the only one left behind, can she?

To offset any accusation that you were not spending time with them alone, you still spent time with them one on one when you knew the other would be busy – just seeing Regulus or Barty was not too bad, it was seeing them as a couple, knowing it did not include you, that you could not withstand. If you were alone with one, you could just pretend nothing changed. 

You made sure you focused on these ‘rules’ in your mind, the carefully constructed plan on how to make it through the year. Somehow you did not have it in you to wish they would break up and put you out of your misery – you wanted them, not just one – so instead you set your sights on graduation day. What you would do afterwards, you did not yet know. Disappear off the face of the earth? Become an Unspeakable as an excuse not to ever see them again? Endless possibilities. You zeroed your focus on your coursework and these measures you must take to protect your heart and sanity – if you filled your mind like this, maybe you could distract yourself from the pain that leaked through your body.

Barty remaining his flirtatious self whenever he was around you and Regulus’ simmering dedication to you seemingly only building, was decidedly not helping your case.

Which is how you ended up in this admittedly awkward cat and goose chase.

“There you are!” Not only did you hear Barty’s screech the moment he laid his eyes on you – everyone else in the library did as well, going by the shushes and ugly glares you both received that Barty paid zero mind to. “Dragă, I have been going crazy without you, where have you been?”

He plopped down on the bench beside you instead of any of the readily available chairs around the table, thigh flush against yours. “Good morning, B,” you whispered, hoping to lower his volume with yours.

The ever-growing grin on his face told you he likely understood your attempt. His hair was still damp from his morning shower and hanging slightly in front of his eyes, but you could see the sparkle there you thought was reserved for you. “Good morning,” he stage-whispered dramatically, to show his abiding of library law. Then, he pressed a smacking kiss to your cheek before pulling up his books. “Tell me, why are we studying on a weekend morning?”

This was the kind of activity that caused your delusion. It was early on a Sunday, arguably too early, and you had snuck out of your dorm to the library before anyone else woke so you would not be roped into any heartbreaking hangout. Yet, upon your absence, Barty went looking for you before doing his hair or anything – and when he found you studying, as he likely assumed you would be, he just joined you. There was no reason for him to.

You had been staring at him a tad bit too incredulously for a tad bit too long, so he gave you a cheeky sideway glance while he readied his books. “Too early for you too, baby?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t stop the laugh escaping you. “Maybe I’m just shocked at seeing you voluntarily in the library. I usually have to drag you here.”

“Yeah, because usually I have you with me somewhere more fun when you try to go to the library,” he explained to you matter-of-factly. “Now that you are here from the get-go, I accept my fate that this is where we’ll be. For now.”

“Lucky me.” You poked him lightly in the side to emphasise your sarcasm before you tried to return to your books, though your attention was thoroughly divided.

“I reckon I am the lucky one who gets to spend time with the fittest babe in the castle.”

You snorted at the same time as your heart shattered further – an odd reaction none other than Barty could draw from you. Those comments are not only how you got in this whole emotional mess to begin with, but felt like genuine ice shards spearing through your flesh. You were guilt-ridden as you revelled in them, and begged the gods he would stop.

“And I reckon,” you teasingly copied, hoping to sound level-headed and not agonised, “that Regulus would not appreciate having that title taken away from him.”

“Regulus is a fit babe,” Barty said dreamily, unaffected by your correction. “But he would agree that the title belongs to you, Dragă.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Barty was incredibly particular in how he showed affection, and flirting with you explicitly was not at all out of character for him. You just, perhaps bitterly, hoped that maybe he would stop, if he was to be in a monogamous relationship with one of his two best friends.

“What’ll you be working on?” you asked, hoping to redirect the conversation. 

Likely entirely unaware of your attempt, Barty allowed you, delving into a longer rant about what extra assignment Professor Flitwick had assigned him because he “saw potential in you, young man”, which he of course found to be utter “trollpiss”. It was familiar, working side by side while also not studying at all, gossiping like the two best friends you are. It should be lovely, and you kicked yourself for being hung up on it just being friendly, when friendliness in itself is a gift you should be grateful for.

While you tried to allow yourself to enjoy Barty’s company and not be guilty for how hard you noticed where his body touched yours, you kept your eye on the clock. Regulus had prefect rounds on Sunday mornings, but as soon as he finished them, he would seek the two of you out. 

You had to get away from Barty before then.

“While this was lovely,” you said with a forced airy tone, “I have to get going now, B.”

“Cool, where’re we goin’?”

Your pageant winner smile wavered slightly as he immediately began to pack up his belongings, considering it a given that he would join you in your endeavours. “I don’t think so. I’m heading to meet with the Hufflepuff third years I tutor, and I believe it would be considered a crime to introduce them to you when they’ve just stopped being scared of me.”

Not technically a lie. You picked up a massive amount of extracurriculars after Regulus and Barty became official, and tutoring Hufflepuffs was part of it. Though you had no scheduled study session with them today, you knew at least two of them were still too much of a pushover to say no to you if you headed over there. Innocent casualties in your escapades. 

Barty immediately pouted. “No fun,” he whined, sitting back down before you. He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush to him so he could rest his forehead on your stomach in defeat. “Why do you have to be such a swot? I miss you.”

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart flutter at the sentiment. You brought a shaky, selfish hand up to card lightly through his hair, separating the green from the black. “Sorry, B. Duty calls and you know how much I love to be a hero.”

“No hero would leave such a perfect victim like me destitute and alone.” He moved his chin to rest against your flesh so he could look up at you in faux misery.

“Good thing you have Regulus, then.” You feared your voice was more pointed than you wanted it to be. It did not go with the pleasant mask you tried to wear, but the mask never fit quite right around Barty.

Something odd flashed across his eyes at your words and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Whether he wanted to say something that would explain it, you would not find out, because you gave his hair one last ruffle before patting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

“I’ll see you for dinner, alright B? Don’t worry about me.” You turned around and walked away without waiting for a response.

It still came behind you, sounding too much like the ache in your own chest. “Counting down the minutes!”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You survived the rest of the Sunday with little to no incident; as in, you avoided being alone with Regulus and Barty, ensuring the friend group ate together and sat together in the common room afterwards. When Pandora retreated to head to bed, you immediately used the excuse to slither away too, lest you end up trapped with just the two of them by the fire.

Dorcas opened the door to your dorm just a few minutes after you had settled down on your bed to reread your comfort novel. You looked up with a warm, small smile to greet her, but it slipped away as you saw her eyeing you carefully. Neither of you said anything before she was sat on her own bed opposite you, studying you. There was this crackling ferocity to Dorcas’ silences that would make even the strongest man cave – and you were not feeling particularly strong lately.

“Spit it out.” It was all she said.

You sighed and put your book aside, straightening up in your previously comfortable position. “What is it, Cas?”

She gave you a stern but not unkind look. “You’re different. Why?”

“Different how?” You stalled.

She indulged you. “You’re not yourself, babe. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you act like you’re programmed and not like you’re living. I want to know what’s wrong. I want to help.”

The staggering, almost fragmented way she spoke was in part to spoon-feed you her concern so that you might actually answer her truthfully and in part how Dorcas was with emotions. She had not been raised to speak of them, but she was loyal and smart, so she knew when it was needed, even if you wished she wouldn’t.

You looked at her with heavy eyes for a moment before sighing once more and bringing your hands up to roughly rub at your face. “There is no way for you to help right now, I’m sorry. Except maybe be my shield.” The last part was added as a joke, but it fell flat.

“Shield you from what?” Protectiveness flared in her tone and you knew you had to soothe it with the truth.

“Not what,” you said softly. “Who.” You pleaded with your eyes for her to understand.

It took but a few seconds before her face scrunched up in pity – and something that would almost looked like amusement, had you thought her cruel enough to laugh at you. “Barty and Regulus.” 

It was a statement, not a question, yet you nodded in affirmation, shutting your eyes in humiliation. “It’s bad, Dorcas. It’s so bad.” A tired heave for breath. “But I will get through it. I just need a little bit of distance without any drama around it and to get my shit together.”

Dorcas looked like she was weighing up her next words carefully. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I would have told you to talk with them. Alas, I know you won’t. But I hope you somehow end up having to.”

Cryptic and confusing; just how you knew her to be. 

When she realised you would not answer her first sentiments, it was her turn to sigh and give you a rueful smile. “I assume this is why I suddenly have been roped into so much lately? Marlene misses me.”

You laugh at her teasing tone, happy for her to not dig too much into your feelings. “Sorry about that, babe. Just for a little while longer, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she repeated with a tilted head. “If it’s any help, I get it.”

“Considering you got the girl, I don’t think you do.” There was no malice in your words, just a bit of longing. It was bittersweet to indirectly admit your loss.

“That’s not what I meant.” She waited to continue before you met her eyes once more. “I can’t say I understand your heartbreak exactly, but I share your confusion. I also thought you would be part of it.”

The look you gave her must have been nothing short of gobsmacked, yet she had the kindness to not laugh at you. It was unclear whether you were most surprised by her knowing you were in love with both of them, or her having shared the same assumptions as you once. Both floored you.

“I–” you tried, but your voice failed you. All you were able to do was whisper a small, “Thank you.”

This time, there was nothing but pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry babe. I’ll shield you to the best of my ability.”

You shared small, knowing smiles and you decided to end the conversation there, lest it get teary. Reaching over, you carefully switched off your light and placed your book on your nightstand, abandoning any attempt at being comforted for the night. When you laid your head on your pillow, there were phantom indents on either side.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The one place you had no opportunity to shield yourself from or avoid either of them was during classes.

With your timetables for the year, you and Regulus ended up sharing more than half of your classes, while Barty was in at least a third of them. When you first saw the allocations, it felt like painfully little, and the thought of scraping by so many classes without them felt like a punishment you did not deserve. Now, you almost wished it was less.

Almost was the key word though – because Regulus’ presence by your side at your shared Herbology station was somehow melting the tension that had settled in your bones and making your chest heave all at the same time.

His elbow bumped lightly into yours. “You alright?”

You looked up from the notes you were pretending to study for the depotting you two were currently attempting, giving him a brief smile. “‘Course. Ready for the next step?”

His gaze lingered on you for a second too long, flickering over your face carefully before nodding almost imperceivable. You shifted your focus towards the Venomous Tentacula on the bench before you, reaching out to carefully manoeuvre the prickly leaves away so Regulus could attend to the roots when his hand stopped yours.

“These aren’t tight enough.” His voice was but a whisper as he took off his gloves to tighten yours where the velcro was hazardously slapped on top of each other. With long, cold fingers he elegantly realigned the straps and made sure there was no gap between your skin and glove. “Don’t want my best girl getting hurt, right?” 

Regulus looked up to meet your eyes, a small smile playing over his lips. With his striking grey eyes locked on yours, you feared your emotions were too clearly pasted across your face. His loose grip remained on your bare skin, thumbs brushing carefully above your gloves.

“Right,” was all you offered him curtly, pulling your hands back to yourself. 

Together you navigated the plant meticulously from one pot to the other you had pre-prepared. Propagating, maintaining and harvesting from the plant was one of your major projects in Herbology for the term and you and Regulus had been dedicated to your so-called coparenting to begin with. Now, to have his body half pressed to yours as you covered the plant’s teeth and angled its venomous leaves away while he extracted and cleaned its roots, it was almost too much. You breathed in and instead of being overwhelmed by the smell of dirt, your nose was filled with Regulus’ shampoo and cologne. You were suddenly thankful your part of the job was rather stationary, as you feared your hands trembling.

Regulus took a laboured breath as he settled the plant properly within its new home, packing the potting mix carefully around the roots. “Right there, perfect,” he murmured, presumably to himself, yet you fought the shiver down your spine. You noticed him glancing at you in the corner of his eye with what can only be classified as a smirk growing on his lips. “Amazing work, amour.” That was unmistakably to you.

You lightly shook your head to clear your thoughts. “Are we done?”

“Unfortunately,” Regulus replied, dusting the remaining dirt off his gloves as he took a small step back from the plant – and closer to you. “Gregory has been successfully assimilated to his new environment.”

You scoffed a laugh, to which his smile grew genuine. “You’ve got a flare for the dramatics, Black.”

“Only comes with being close to one Bartiemus Junior, doesn’t it?”

His eyes were crinkling from his smile and adoration, but you took the comment for what it was – a reminder. A warning. Albeit a confusing one, giving his amorous words just a few moments ago, but one you most certainly needed. “That it does.” Your tone was drier than you intended, but you did good; the smile didn’t slip.

Regulus’ did, and he tilted his head while regarding you. “I almost slipped up a few times there, though. Was a tad distracted.” There was an undeniable cheekiness dripping from his words.

“Yeah?” was all you managed to say.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, leaning against the desk. You had time to small talk, giving as you were finished long before anyone else. “Pretty girls like you really shouldn’t be allowed in here; it’s a safety hazard.”

“You would know all about safety hazards,” you mumbled, fighting yourself from going red from the sentiment or seeing red from the audacity. 

Regulus’ laugh seemed more guarded than usual.

“Speaking of,” you said, trying to get the conversation to safer grounds, “who do you think will definitely kill their plants at last today?”

If there was one thing you and Regulus did well, it was gossip, and you managed to derail him into chattering quietly with you instead of doing some weird dance of pushing the limits and then drawing them clearly. As you spoke, you took small, careful steps away from Regulus to put some physical distance between you, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

If you had looked him in the eye even once more before your separation to go to your next periods, you would have seen that he did.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You would have thought the Quidditch game on Friday to have been a blessing.

The tension had been growing more and more between you and your best friends, and it seemed that the more you volleyed around their pretend flirting, the more fired up they got, in each their own way. It didn’t seem sustainable anymore. 

Even Dorcas had grown weary of you, though she tried to remain supportive while urging you strongly to speak with them about it.

“And say what exactly? What could I possibly say that would not make the situation ten times worse?”

Dorcas levelled you with a look that spoke volumes, but she seemed unwilling to verbalise any of it in response. Instead she just offered you a vague, “It might go better than you could imagine.”

You must admit you had grown weary of her cryptic remarks as well.

A quidditch game gave you the perfect opportunity to have a small break from them guilt-free, seeing as they were all playing for Slytherin. In turn, you believed you gave Dorcas a break from working overtime to shield you and keep any awkward situation at bay. 

With you in the stands, cheering for your little makeshift family who were all involved in the game somehow – Regulus as Captain and seeker, Barty and Evan as beaters, Dorcas as a chaser and Pandora as commentator – you thought you could finally breathe for a moment. 

Any such hopes were shattered when Barty came chasing up beside you before you could ascend the wooden stairs to find your seat.

“Dragă! Hold up!”

The pet name sent warmth up your spine, but the sigh that escaped you was not a happy one. You turned regretfully on your heel to take in Barty’s form as he jogged up to you. His quidditch gear was tight, much more than it had any business being, seeing as he could easily make them larger with a quick spell if he wanted to. 

You didn’t ask what he wanted, but he didn’t seem to mind, grin permanently plastered on his face in your presence.

“Do I not get a kiss for good luck?” He threw you a cheeky wink with his comment as he came to stand in front of you, breath slightly laboured.

“Sure you can. Regulus is right over there.” You hoped your voice sounded a bit lighthearted even in your sternness of correcting his flirting. Even more, you hoped the heat in your cheeks had not turned into any noticeable redness. 

A look at Barty’s wicked smile told you it might have. “I’ve already gotten plenty from Reggie. Now I just need my girl and I’m golden.”

You knew he didn’t mean it, at least not like that. You knew he meant a kiss on the cheek, and you knew he asked to make fun – not of you, but of the concept of good luck kisses and of your closeness as friends being read as anything else. He likely didn’t even know that you had been among those reading it as something else, this was a joke the two of you were in on, as all best friends should be.

Still, you couldn’t help but wince at the sting in your heart.

“I think you’ll do just fine without it, B.” You pressed your lips together in the same way you would if you were fighting a smile and not a frown.

He tilted his head at you, a mix of black and green strands falling into his eyes. “Have I done something that would make you want me to fall to my death? Because that is what will happen without you as my good luck charm.”

You shook your head, taking miniscule steps towards the stairs; away from him. “I’ll be a shining bright good luck charm in the stands. You’ll see me after, at the party.”

“I sure will,” he replied salaciously, but you caught the flicker in his eyes. “Wear a pretty little thing for me?”

“You know I’ll wear jeans.”

“And aren’t they a pretty little thing?” His smile grew more affectionate. “And you look good in anything, Dragă.”

“Sure.” You cleared your throat, stepping more confidently away from him. “See you later, B. Play well.”

“Just for you, baby!”

It was as if he was laying it on even thicker the more you turned his compliments away. While you never got quite used to his outspoken praise, it had been years since you embraced it and stopped fighting him on it – he didn’t seem quite pleased that you suddenly had started. Then again, Barty never liked not getting his way, so it shouldn’t surprise you.

You turned and walked back up the stairs, not turning to see whether he jogged off too or remained watching you like usual; you didn’t feel like having the pieces of your heart jumped on, and both alternatives would have resulted in nothing less.

In the stands, you settled into your usual place by the railing, seated beside Lily and Marlene, who were there to cheer on Dorcas. The two girls were the only Gryffindors you tolerated, not due to any of your own sentiments, but simply as a form of hatred by-proxy from Regulus and Barty – they were also a great opportunity to slowly edge Regulus closer towards reconciling with his brother. Though you knew in your heart that was a slow-and-steady-wins-the-race type of situation.

The game flew by and while you were relatively certain you cheered in the right places and sat with baited breath at the tense moments, you felt you were never truly present. Pandora’s voice in your ears was lulling, allowing your soul to drift out of your body and float up into the skies. You wondered if maybe you should take her up on her offer of teaching you how to meditate. Maybe that is how you end your torture rather than trying to change Barty and Regulus’ ways of being, even if it sent terribly mixed signals.

You were somehow exhausted by the time the whistle blew to announce Slytherin’s victory, despite not having done anything. 

Victory was a guarantee for a rowdy party, which, if you didn’t watch yourself, was a guarantee for mistakes. You could not risk slipping up and confessing your feelings to either boy – though some part of you whispered that perhaps some liquid courage is what you needed to tell them to stop flirting with you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

If the game had gone by in a blur for you, the party was nothing less. You lost Dorcas to Marlene’s wicked laugh just a few minutes in, and had since drifted between your many groups of friends. Shots with Evan, braiding with Pandora, armwrestling with Emmeline, gossiping with Amelia and Regulus. Throughout the whole night you had managed to keep things light, floating through the crowd and keeping someone by your side at all times. It made it bearable to be near the both of them when you had others to keep up appearances for. It also was a great distraction from the joint envy that bloomed in your heart whenever Barty paraded Regulus around like he ought to.

He tried to parade you too, but you slipped out of his grasp before he ever could.

The closer the night got to being over, the more intimate the atmosphere in the Slytherin common room grew. People migrated from standing around to sitting huddled together, there were quiet conversations and card games instead of yelling and butterbeer pong. There were less of the other house colours, and more of just the familiar greens and faces.

Meaning, it was your cue to slip out and away for a minute.

You, Regulus and Barty always ran off into some corner towards the end to do a debrief of the night, perhaps a bit tipsily. If there was one thing you couldn’t take right now, it would be that.

It was easy to distract the both of them by starting a conversation with Evan and Pandora – whether torture methods has improved or worsened since the dark ages – that would have them in a chokehold. You used the opportunity to slip out through the common room door and walk down the hallway.

It was rare you were grateful for the gloomy dungeons and their cold stonewalls, but this was one such moment. You walked slowly, alone at last, taking deep breaths. Somehow the air felt fresh despite being several metres below ground; anything was better than the stuffy post-party air that clung to the common room.

You let your right hand graze the wall as you walked, texture rough and freezing beneath your fingertips, and tipped your head back with closed eyes. You knew the way like the back of your hand.

At the end of the hall was a rarely-used classroom that functioned more as a storage room these days – your favourite place of refuge. The desk in there was the perfect size to lay down on to close your eyes and relax, feet just barely hanging off the edge. Along the top of the wall was a narrow window that gave an obscured view of the Black Lake, distorted light spilling through to make the most beautiful shapes along the ceiling.

You could stay here and relax and by the time you went back, everyone would have gone off to bed already and you wouldn’t have to face anyone until the morning.

“... Amour?”

You flinched so violently you almost fell off the desk, sitting up by propping yourself onto one elbow and clutching your chest with your other arm. “Gods, Regulus, you cannot fucking sneak up on people like that!”

“Sorry, love.” He offered you a half-hearted smile from where his head popped in through the crack in the door.

Barty’s head appeared just below his, as if he had crouched down to get the comedic angle. “I’m not, what the fuck are you doing here?”

You could hear the light squaffle behind the door as Barty presumably tried to push Regulus aside so he could walk in, while Regulus tried to hold his own to walk with grace. It resulted in them more or less tumbling in, the latter boy straightening up to close the door carefully behind him.

“Whatcha mean?” you asked dumbly, deciding to remain in your half lounged position on the desk at the top of the room.

The boys exchanged a quick look that you didn’t have the time to decipher.

Barty was the one who spoke. “I mean, how come you’re hiding out here? We have very important matters to discuss, you know.”

Your lips tightened slightly. You looked between them quietly while they came up to settle in front of your desk, Regulus deciding to lean his weight against a smaller one behind him while Barty jumped onto it without hesitation, settling into some odd position.

“Needed some fresh air. Party got too hot for me.”

“So you decided to lay down in this dusty room?” Regulus asked humorously, lifting a brow at you.

At the same time Barty commented, “I cannot imagine anything being too hot for you, Treasure.”

You ignored them both, fighting not to meet their eyes. This was going worse than you imagined.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to run off on you.” You aimed for a light-hearted tone, if a bit tired. “Want to do the debrief in here?”

Regulus hummed questioningly, as if he wanted to probe more, but Barty clapped his hands together. “Yes. You’re simply not getting out of this love, lest my bleeding heart become public knowledge as I wail at your absence.”

“Stop it, Barty,” you whispered. He didn’t hear you, in one way or another.

“Okay, so we all agree Dorcas and Marlene are shagging?”

You sit more up at this, realising you truly would be doing the whole debrief here, and that you would thus likely be here for a while. Also well aware that you know more than both of the boys on that matter, as Dorcas' dorm mate. “Well, duh,” you offer. “But did you see anything tonight?”

You look at Barty as he speaks, but can feel Regulus’ gaze burning through the side of your head, and you wish he would stop trying to scrutinise you. You look over to meet his gaze, hoping to give him an I’m fine smile that would divert his attention. However, when his eyes meet yours you see they are sparkling with that mischief that only Regulus can pull off, the kind that is equal parts elegant and dirty. He winks at you, and you really, really wish he wouldn’t. 

You shift your gaze back to Barty, further assuring his claim. “Don’t push it with Cas, though,” you warn. “She will tell you when she feels like."

“But it is so much fun to push it though,” Barty pouted, making his eyes comically big.

“It’s even more fun to not be skinned alive by Dorcas in our sleep.”

“Fine,” he groans, throwing his head back theatrically before settling you with a gaze. “But only because you asked, beautiful.”

You hum noncommitedly, fighting any prickling tears. Don’t be such a fucking twat. Let your friends speak to you. 

“Oh,” Regulus said, as if he just remembered a piece of drama to share. “Amelia flirted with me earlier.”

“She what!?” Barty’s voice was not much unlike a banshee’s. “Have I not made it clear that your arse is off the market?”

Your heart plummeted and you had to fight not to let your shoulders grow into your ears.

“Right?” Regulus said through a laugh. “I think she was just too pissed, though. Would have flirted with anything that walked.”

“What did she say?” you asked somewhat meekly.

“Oh, something about gorgeous curls and tight shirts and whatnot.” Regulus made a waving motion with his hand, as if physically brushing it off. “You know, the usual. Called me baby.”

“Only we get to call you baby,” Barty said through a pout.

We?

“I know, amour, I told her as much.”

Barty nodded emphatically. “Good. I don’t like picking fights with birds, but I would if she can’t keep her hands off the goods.”

Regulus gave his leg a light kick with his own. “Down, boy.”

Your stomach was turning over and you desperately wanted to leave. A comment about being tired and wanting to discuss the rest over breakfast tomorrow died on your tongue when Barty turned his attention to you, pout giving way for a scrutinising look.

“What about you, Dragă? Anyone else flirt with you?”

Any turning in your stomach was replaced by an irritation seeping into your bloodstream, one that had been fighting with heartbreak and anxiety for your attention for almost a month now.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, B.” You’re not sure quite what possessed you to say it, but there was no denying your dry tone.

Barty looked equally puzzled, head actually reeling backwards ever so slightly. Still, he pushed his luck. “Am I not allowed to be concerned for my girl?”

You looked at him incredulously. “I am not your girl.” 

That was the whole point. That was the whole heartbreak. That was all you could think about. They were each other’s and you weren’t theirs and you most certainly was not their girl. 

Regulus’ stance shifted quickly, tensing in weariness. “Amour, what he meant–”

“I know what he meant.” You sighed, making no effort to hide your pain anymore. You could not take this. “I know what you both mean.”

“Baby–” Barty began, sliding off of his desk and moving towards you, but you cut him off.

“No! Stop it, Barty, please.” He looked as if you had punched him. “I can’t take it anymore, I’m sorry. I am so, so happy for you and I’m glad you’ve found each other like that. But now that you have, I just can’t take you flirting with me or, or doing the play pretend. It’s not fun anymore.”

The room was laid in silence. 

You had been defiantly staring at the wall behind them both, but after practically being able to hear the crashing out in their minds, you slid off your own desk and made your way towards the door without sparing them a glance. “I need a moment.”

“No, no, hey, hey, hey,” Barty chanted as he ran up behind you, hand circling loosely around your wrist. Enough to ground you, but not enough to trap you should you want to wrestle free. He slowly came up around your stopped form. “Shit, Y/N, I–” This time he cut himself off, running his free hand through his hair and looking over at Regulus, whose footsteps you could hear stop right behind you. 

You stared at the door over Barty’s shoulder. This was your worst nightmare.

“Amour, we’re sorry,” Regulus whispered behind you. His hand came up to ever so slightly trace the side of your arm.

You felt ganged up on where you stood between them and you cursed your body for loving it, even as they were rejecting you more explicitly than ever. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault that you don’t– you know.”

“No, no, no,” Barty chanted yet again, hands coming up to grasp both of your cheeks and bruising away a few tears you only now realised had fallen. You would never stop revelling at how Barty’s touch could be so painfully gentle even when his voice was frantic and passionate. “That’s exactly it, Dragă, we do. We do. I do.”

You met his eyes and furrowed your brows at him. “Barty, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

He had the audacity to laugh quietly at you. “I don’t think you understand what you’re saying. In what world could I, Barty Crouch Junior, not be obsessed with you?”

“Lovely girl,” Regulus whispered as he inched forward into your field of vision, hand growing more confident in its touch on your arm. “I’m sorry, we’ve gone about this all wrong. We realised it quickly, but didn’t know how to fix it. The whole... getting together part happened naturally between Barty and I, and we figured it would with you too immediately after, but it proved, uh, more complicated.”

At last, your brain caught up with you, and your instinctive reaction was to jerk backwards out of both of their grasps, not even feeling the impact of your back hitting the desk behind you. Both boys hissed at the thump that sounded.

You finally looked at both of their eyes and found layers of insecurity and guilt there, along with… 

“Are you saying…” you started, but trailed off, unsure how to formulate the words.

“I’m obsessed with you, consumed by you, enthralled by you, whatever word you please, it’s yours. I’m yours.” Barty’s face was almost impassive despite the volumes behind his confession. More tears welled in your eyes, by confusion still more than any relief – you didn’t dare feel that yet.

“What he’s saying is that – well, that we love you.” Regulus smiled and you saw the quiver of his lips at the unfamiliar words.

You let out a half-choked sound. “I don’t understand? But then why– how come–” 

Regulus took a careful few steps towards you once more, hand held out between you in a show of safety. “Even as it happened, I remember thinking you would laugh at us for it. Really what happened a month ago was just that we didn’t really think at all.”

“Which you rightfully accuse us of a lot,” Barty added.

“Right. Barty and I were together and drunk and that tension we’ve all had, I guess it finally spilled over for us. By the time we had admitted our feelings physically, we didn’t really need words for it, which is what we both struggle with the most. And you weren’t close by to be dragged into it. When we told everyone we hoped to just… smoothly join you in. Wouldn’t be difficult right, it’s always been the three of us anyway?”

“Turns out it’s not so bloody simple,” Barty grumbled.

By this point, tears were streaming clearly down your face. Regulus reached out a hesitant thumb to wipe them away. “We were stupid, amour. And by the time we got our wits about us, we didn’t know how to reign you in, other than by… continuing being us. Us three.”

“How could I feel like it was us three when it was so clearly you two?” you all but sobbed.

Barty had grown too impatient by Regulus’ easing you in and closed the gap in two long strides, grabbing at your hand fiercely. “You couldn’t, we were just stupid wankers and absolute boys. You’re perfect, it’s not your fault you fell in love with us sods.”

You laughed a bit wetly, bringing grins out on both of their faces. “Bold claim you have there,” you said, some teasing making its way into your voice.

“But an accurate one?” Regulus’ tone was void of humour, just quiet and nervous and hopeful.

“Of course,” you breathed and Barty’s hands tightened around yours. “I always thought it was us three… when it seemed like it was just you two, I– I didn’t really know what to do with myself.”

“So you ran and you hid,” Barty concluded with a nod. Upon your almost offended expression he hastily added, “as is understandable, and as asserted, we are wankers and you are perfect.”

“Stop saying that,” you whispered.

“But it’s true,” Regulus added in the same cadence. Then, a sparkle settled in his eyes as he regarded you. “Can I prove it to you?”

Your breath hitched at the implication but you nodded, ever so hopeful smile growing on your face. You dared tighten your own hold on Barty’s hands – they were delightfully warm.

Regulus’ smile matched yours and he took a final step towards you to bring the two of you together. His lips covered yours in the sweetest of kisses, slow and smooth and exactly how you had guiltily pictured. He breathed in as he kissed you and you felt the air move across your skin, tickling and tingling. When he pulled back he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek too.

“This whole thing should have never played out this way,” he started. “But this is exactly where I always wanted to end up.”

Barty bumped lightly into both of you, giving you a conspiring smile. “It’s true – he tried to brag to me that he had been picturing us three together since fifth year, which is embarrassingly late for him. I’ve pictured this since the fifth week of knowing you both.”

You huffed a laugh, feeling your entire face still burning from the confessions, neck aching from the whiplash and lips tingling from the kiss. “Then you’ve both got eons on me. I only really realised, like, last term.”

“See, that’s because you are sane,” Barty provided, circling his arms around your hips to pull both you and Regulus closer to him. “A sane beautiful girl who balances us out perfectly and who completes my heart.”

“One we will spend eons making up lost time with,” Regulus added somewhat cheekily. 

You brought your hands up to properly wipe at your face, hoping to remove redness and giddiness with the wet. “It’s barely been a month.”

“A month you spent confused and hurt, Dragă. That cannot slide. I would have hexed anyone else who did that to you.”

“No one else could have broken my heart,” you said then, intending it to be romantic.

The horrified looks on their faces said otherwise. “You were heartbroken?” Barty exclaimed in intense frustration, pulling his wand up and handing it to Regulus. “Reggie, baby, I need you to Avada me right now. Use my wand so they can’t trace you and send you to Azkaban, because you need to be her personal servant to repent for us.”

“Barty!” you laughed, quickly plucking the wand out of his hands before any shenanigans could occur. “It’s fine, really–”

“Nope, absolutely not,” he cut you off. “I must fix this. Kiss it better?”

Before you could even really respond he brought his hand up to the back of your neck, pulling your face gently albeit quickly towards his. Millimetres before his lips could crash with yours, though, he paused. Giving you the opportunity to back down. His thumb was ghosting carefully across the baby hairs at the nape of your neck.

With a delighted sigh, you leaned your chest against his and brought him the final way in for the kiss.

His lips were softer than they looked, fitting exactly within the narrative that usually followed your relationship with Barty. He quickly opened them for you, bringing your bottom lip in between yours and kissing you passionately, tongue sliding over delicate skin. One of your hands curled into his shirt by his collar, wand long since discarded on a desk, while the other found Regulus’ neck, massaging it not much unlike Barty did with yours.

Barty’s skillful lips trailed happy kisses along your jaw, turning into a smile at the breathy laugh that escaped you at his ministrations. 

Your eyes met Regulus while Barty practically attempted to bury himself beneath your skin, smiling and sighing against you – kissing it better. The former boy’s smile was at its widest and most sentimental, encircling the both of you within his arms.

“Y/N,” he said, almost seriously. “We will do right by you, as we always should have. I’ll start by asking, will you please legitimise our feelings by becoming our girlfriend?”

Before you could reply, Barty added against your neck, “And will you please take back your demand we stop flirting with you, because I don’t think I can.”

You were afraid your smile was almost dreamy – everything you believed out of reach just a few minutes ago was not quite literally cradled in your arms. “You are both so unbelievable. Yes, I’ll happily be your girlfriend and yes you may flirt with me.”

Barty popped his head back up from your neck, lips somewhat swollen despite being stretched wide. “Fucking finally.”

“You say that as if I was the one holding back,” you teased, poking him in the chest.

“And while I will lay down and take a sword to the chest for ever believing I was not mad about you,” Barty began. “I think there is also something to be said about little miss run away and completely shut away any and all feelings and compliments.”

You hummed as if in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

Regulus snorted in that way he only ever did around you two. Then, he reached out and gave you two, three kisses in a row, grinning all the while. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Too cute.”

Barty, tactile as ever, was cradling your cheek in his hand, tracing the side of your nose with his index finger. “I want the court to know that I am absolutely mad about Regulus,” he started, smiling all the while. “But it was always you too, silly.”

Emboldened, you leaned forward and gave him a sweet kiss. “Glad to know it.”

“Now let’s make sure everyone else does too, yeah?”

[bohnerrific69]

WASTING TIME? ﾉ EKKO

pairing: alternative!ekko x fem!reader

blurb — theme/content: fluff. "angst" if you squint? idk. reader has fomo (fear of missing out) implied. it's ekko from s2 ep7. ꒰ word count: 960 ꒱

"babe?..." you said as appeared on ekko's room door, seeing him sat in front of his desk with a million papers above, his inventor plan of attack as he liked to call. he was resting his face in one of his hands while his elbows were resting on the table and its papers.

"hm? yes miss? whatcha need?" he rubbed his eyes and mumbled without looking at you, from far away you could notice a little smile appearing on his face, making yourself smile too knowing that his one it was because of your presence. it was like this since your relationship started, being on the same tune, contagious.

"you done? i mean... doesn't look very done to me, but..." you replied while getting steps closer to his desk, contouring his body just to being up behind him, leaning down to put support your hands on his shoulders. "just checkin' you up.”

"ah, i think i am really on the final steps to conclude this... am only securing it all goes fine," ekko muttered concentrated doing some more scribbles, at the same time using his left hand to catch one of yours from his shoulders, bringing it closer to his face so he could kiss the inner palm of your hand, making you smile. "besides... why the shawty is awakened this hour?”

"aah i- i missed you on the bed, the usual..." you yawned lazily and leaned all your body on his, being with your chin above his head and arms wrapped around his neck. his body heat was radiating and smelling so good as he took a bath some minutes before, making you sniff his hair just to feel the loveable coconut shampoo smell that you buyed for him.

“i am managing my time very well lately and the project is in the dead end, this time it's the only last time i'll be overworking, ‘kay?” he giggled at your sniffing on his hair, at this point it turned out to become common you doing this, it was cute; lifting his head to look at you, endened giving you free access to kiss his forehead, as you should and did.

“i know… i just can't sleep because of that thing,” you pointed out with your chin the blackboard on the wall with various drawings about this new invention. “i don't want to not be here when you finish this…,” you sighed, catching a chair nearby and sitting really close at ekko's side.

your sudden change from a tired expression to a worried and sadden one was not missed by him, who quickly dropped his pencil at the desk and turned his torso to look at you directly with those frowned big eyes so sweet of him. “babe? what is wrong? you- you don't need to worry about that.”

“nah… just some bullshits passing through my mind… i'm tired, only that.” you looked away from his gaze and scratched your forehead, squirming on the chair a little to see if it could make you comfortable to talk about the subject. it wasn't helping, you're not the kind of person who likes to talk about serious things like this. always praying and hoping for better days, trying to ignore the rocks life throws at you, till you reach the limit and suddenly explodes as a tiny thing goes wrong. like this you wouldn’t worry anyone but only yourself.

“hey, i know when something is wrong with you…” but of course he knew, ekko being your best friend who turn out to be your boyfriend, always being a great observant to notice every detail of you, and care about each one of them. that's why it was so easy for you to fall for him. 

“it's that thing we talked about before?” he asked while softly catched your chin with one of his hands to make you lock eyes with him, he looked so worried and still so caringly about you, it made your butterflies on the stomach do flips. “y-yeah… it's making me anxious…”

“hey, you’re not- you don't lose anything not being here when i finish this…,” he fixed his posture on the chair, quickly catching your hand and intertwining your fingers. “i promised you that everything that i create, you will be the first eyes besides mine that will appreciate it when finished. just because it's not your thang to understand inventions, or not being here when i end those things… doesn't mean you're less of a girlfriend or bad person.”

ekko was so damn comprehensible with everyone, and mainly you, that it made you heart aches everytime you had every time you had a moment of low self-esteem and your anxiety spoke louder. but he was always so careful and always knew what to say to calm and reassure you, how can you not love him?

“and not to forget too, you're never gonna not be enough for me, never. you heard me?” you felt that warm and asphyxiating feeling gathering on your throat wanting to cry but holded enough and only sighed tired, giving him an agreeing smile. “i know… i'm sorry for-” 

“don't need to apologize babe, i understand you…” he pulled you to make you sit on his lap, hugging your waist, making you feel safe. “life is stressing me out these days ekko, but… you make it better,” you mumbled on his neck, hugging him back and closing your eyes.

“i love you” he replied, by the proximity you could know and feel that he was smiling. “i love you more” and now you too.

(...)

after spending some minutes staying like this you happened to start sleeping, there, on ekko’s arms and lap while he continued finishing his invention, feeling safe, loved and enough.

a/n: this was writed only for satisfy myself! i love him so much, i'm so enchanted. ngl, write the universe from s2 ep7 it's easy for me😭 he's still the same but i love how there's no conflicts around. this is the actually the third writing piece i post here, i hope you enjoyed and it's not ooc, writed this while almost sleeping. (i edited this ekko image here.

tagging some mutuals to boost the post! sorry for the bothering. 🤍 @strawb3rrystar @marchsfreakshow @wcnderlnds @decaf-mother @jazzy-reads @mistysconcilium | join my taglist here.

[strangelysamantha]

practice ✧

bestfriend!eddie munson x reader.

warnings: nsfw, blowjob, dirty talk

summary: asking best friend eddie if you could practice sucking his dick for your date

a/n: masterlist is pinned! like if you enjoy! requests are open

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

"i'm embarrassed." you firmly press your lips into a line. "why are you nervous to tell me?" eddie asks. you shy away, unable to admit what's going through your mind. "i just," you hesitate. "cmon, you can talk to me." you nod, "well i'm going on a date, and i'm not that good at head." he hides his smirk and allows you to continue. "what if we get to that point, and i don't even know what to do with it?" you scratch your neck, "well i'm sure it will come naturally." eddie states. you smile brightly, a genius idea forming your cloudy thoughts. "what if i practice on you?" he is shocked that those foul words came out of your pretty mouth.

"are you sure?" he questions, uneasy. he wanted to do it, but he didn't want you to possibly regret it or worse, make things weird. you contemplate. "practice makes perfect, doesn't it?" you smile. he laughs, "okay." you move to the ground, sitting on your knees. "what do i do?" you ask. "well first you have to get me worked up, turn me on." you nod. you lean forward, pressing your lips on his. he's caught off guard, unaware that you'd make that move. he kisses back hungrily, as if a part of him had been waiting for this moment.

you lower your hand to his thigh, slowly making your way up to undo his pants buckle. his breath hitches, as he watches you take control. you undo his belt, unbutton his pants, and pull his zipper down. he's looking down on you, you pull out his length, placing a kiss at his tip. "now that it is ready, you're gonna open your mouth real wide." he grips your chin, forcing your mouth open. "good girl. wrap your lips around me." you lower your mouth around his cock. using your saliva to lessen the friction, you start to lick around him. he throws his head back, his hands desperately grabbing you. "it feels so good. see, you didn't even need practice." you giggle, taking him out of your mouth. "i still wanted to practice on you." your words cling to his heart; his mouth is hung open slightly. "is that so?" you nod, "yes, isn't this fun?" you stroke his length, looking deep into his eyes. before he can think of a response, you work his length again. you take as much as you can of him in the back of your throat. he grips the back of your neck, his hips carelessly rutting against your face. "fuck, baby." you use your hands to jerk what couldn't fit in your mouth.

he's crumbling beneath you from the pleasure, his eyes are on your every move, determined to remember everything about this instance. you take him out of your mouth to breathe again, you jerk him. "you're really good at this." he compliments, and you gleam, "thank you." you go down on him again, working hard to get him to his climax. "can you cum for me, eds?" he groans at your words. you spit on his cock, looking up at him. "i want to cum baby, keep going." you do as he asked, working him with urgency. he moans. you keep the same pace, sticking your tongue out. he lets out a low groan, strings of his cum drench your face. his chest is heaving, his face red. you head to his bathroom to clean your face off.

you join him again, "thank you for teaching me how to give head." he chuckles, "i barely helped you." you shrug. "damn that guy is going to be lucky." you grin, looking away. he looks at you for a moment, "what?" he quirks. "what if i told you, there wasn't a date?" he leans back, shock settling over him. "why did you ask for advice then?" you bluntly admit, "i just wanted an excuse to suck your dick." he smiles brightly, "y'know you could have just asked."

"i didn't know how to bring it up." he shakes his head. "you are just full of surprises." you decide to be bold, so you lean forward and initiate a kiss. he kisses back, his hands wrapping around your waist. he lifts you up, pulling you on his lap. you run your hands through his hair, he softly bites your lip before pulling away. "i really like you." he states. "i really like you, eddie." he smirks, "can i take you on a date?" you bite your lip, trying to hide your smile. "i would love that." you spent the rest of the night cuddling and talking with eddie.

<3

[sevs-corner]

Tf 141: Ghost and his marriage problems w/ you

part 1: Price | Masterlist here! | Inspo playlist here! Angst to comfort

Ghost is a man of few words, the comment of it being 'few and far between' used too often to describe him and his stand-off demeanor with you in public.

Though, he cares not for those things, only ever lending an ear for you only.

Yet you wished he did when manhandles a man that was only trying to talk to you about baked goods you were selling.

You slammed your front door closed after Simon went ahead inside and paced around the living room, before settling on a chair once he hears you stomp in.

"What the fuck was that Simon?"

You seethed, pissed off at how Simon was so quick to assume things, turning things to an eleven when it didn't to be-- making an issue at a situation you were very well handling yourself already.

"He got too close," he grunts with a shrug, "too suspicious for someone just 'asking' a question."

You rubbed your face roughly.

You think maybe he was emotionally and socially stunted but no, he was able to conduct himself just fine at his jobs and during missions-- what the fuck is he on right now?

"What kinda bullshit is that?" You scoffed at him and he huffs, leaning his elbows on his knees yet still making eye contact with you.

"You..." He starts but then breaks off, sighing and ruffling his hair.

Simon wanted to choose his words carefully. He couldn't say it was gut feeling that he gets when someone gets too close to hurt you.

As a soldier, he was trained to always be on his toes, and that type of behavior becomes hard to rub off when all he thinks of is protecting you whenever you guys go out.

He knows that no one knows how his face looks like out in public, but he is still scared-- haunted by the notion, or even the thought of you getting hurt as a means of revenge to get back at him.

He knows his records aren't clean and he isn't proud of some of the things he did either, but he knew it was worth it when the world could have its bits and pieces of peace from it-- especially if you were, and you still had that same gleaming smile whenever you greet him home.

So he tries to keep that all away, to keep the peace, and most importantly-- to keep you happy.

Even if that required him to be on guard 24/7, always wary of the things going on in your life and working double to make sure you were alright.

Even if it gets him the short end of the stick, getting the brunt of your anger.

"He..." he licks his dried out lips, "...he looked like he had ulterior motives, hun."

You stomp to him, hands grabbing his face as you stared down at him, eyes so pointed and open that there were unshed tears at the end of it.

"And who are you to be the judge of that?"

He bites his lip, sucking in a breath, and he just wants to speak--

"Because I've been onto him."

"...What-?"

You were breathless for a moment, letting go of Simon as he whispered words that made it cloudier-- made him more vague and so stubbornly confusing.

But when he doesn't reply for moments after that, you ask him what he meant by that. What he wants to mean by that-- because all these conjured up thoughts swirling in your head were doing no good for the position you were putting Simon in inside your head.

"Simon please..." you breathed out in resign, "...just tell me."

Yet he doesn't.

He sits there, ever so still.

And you think he's stuck like that if it wasn't for the constant soft crunching of his gloves as he grips and releases it.

If it weren't for his chest heaving up and down-- you would have thought you lost him.

"If you're not gonna talk, I'm leaving." You decided, having enough of working today and just... all of this with Simon.

You love him, you truly do, but him shutting himself like this is just so exhausting-- and you couldn't take another moment of it.

"Wait."

His voice rings loud enough from the doorway, where you already putting on your shoes, and you pause, letting him have a couple seconds to follow-up.

"...Its cold out, grab your coat."

You huff, slamming your shoes down again for the second time tonight. Luckily, there weren't your favorite pair, but they'd understand if its them dealing with as stubborn of a partner like Ghost right? You could only amusedly think so for a moment before going close to Ghost, glaring down at him while his face was turned downwards to the floor, no longer making eye-contact with you.

"'s that all you're gonna say to me?"

You ask again, giving him another chance, another out for him just to get it off his chest-- to just,

"FUCKING TALK SIMON!"

Your breaths are heavy and from the way Simon didn't even flinch nor move, you decided to forego that chance. To just leave and--

"He was stalking you."

You turn to him again, facing him with less intensity that you thought when you finally see him.

He's disgruntled, hair a mess, mask and gloves off, disheveled clothing-- face so scrunched with lines, you'd think he was carving the wrinkles on his face permanently.

You wait, nodding at him to continue-- not trusting your own voice at the moment to convince him to keep talking.

Simon breaths in deep.

He had no choice.

It was either he lets you leave him (and fuck him and everything he lives for if he just lets you do so without him even trying) or he talks, and shows... everything and risk you leaving either way.

If both ends at the same conclusion, fuck him for throwing caution to the wind and giving one last damn shot to keep you by his side.

"Remember when you got that weird text?" He starts off and once he sees you nod in confirmation, he continues. "Thought I should look into it."

"I told you it was just spam." You mutter and you see him shake his head, muttering a small- "not to me."

And you kept your mouth shut at that.

"Once I did," he gulps, "started seeing all the nasty shit he had on his computer and what he planned to do..." he paused, breath coming out steady.

"...once he got to you today."

You feel like a bucket of ice cold water just got splashed onto your face, your stomach dropping, your throat constricting.

"..what...?"

Was all you could manage before you see Simon stand, and you could finally see why people were scared of him, the elusive and ruthless man on the field-- the man they call Ghost.

Now you knew why he sat, why he also took the low ground with you, why he showed himself to be smaller than you because seeing him right now-- standing at his full height with a gaze you can no longer call familiar.

It was downright chilling to the bone.

"He was going to take you for himself." He growled, his emotions resurfacing once he saw the guy's search history and the not-so-elaborate plans he shared with a couple of mates on his messaging app. He had the receipts and he was going to fucking expose the guy if it weren't for your interference--.

No. He shouldn't think about it like that. You were worried for him. Yeah. You weren't disrupting anything, you were just looking out for him. That's it.

'Keep it down, Ghost.'

"If I didn't intervene," he grabs your jaw and forces you into his gaze, "I would've broken my promise to always protecting you."

This breaks the dam.

Simon, as much as he was an emotionally stunted man, meant every word he made to you in his vows.

And at the end of it all, he swore, he promised--

'Promise to protect you always.'

Was how he ended that, and how he slipped that band on your finger right now.

You felt so stupid.

Maybe it was you who were quick to assume such things of a man who would no thing to hurt you.

"Shh..." He holds you close, finally closing the distance he wanted to make ever since you guys got home. "I'm sorry."

He whispers onto your hair as one of his hands stroke it while the other was wrapped around your side.

His chin was on your head, and he just lets you sob onto him-- lets you say your apologies, but he doesn't take them.

It wasn't your fault. It was his.

And he wants to make amends.

Even if that ended up with you leaving, he'll still fulfill those vows he promised.

Because he swore it to the only person who accepted him for all that he is.

So, he'll try his best to make it work. For the both of you, or even just for your sake.

"Lovie," he mutters once your sobs turned to sniffles, "your smiles look better on you."

You huff, unable to stop the breath of a laugh from the sudden left hook of a compliment.

"I'm sorry Simon." You finally peel away from his chest to look at him and place your hands- more gently this time- on his heated cheeks.

He shakes his head-- "no, 's not you." He kisses your palms, trailing it higher until he reaches that golden metal on your finger, and his lips linger on there for moments before talking again.

"I should've told you," he admits, "just didn't want you to worry."

You immediately smacked him which made him slightly flinch at the sudden hit on his cheek.

"Dummy," you sniffle, "I still would-- whether you didn't or did."

You pout at him, "you know me Simon, I'll always worry."

He nods somberly.

"Just don't wanna add onto it." He pokes your forehead and you giggle.

"See, its already so big--"

"Shush!" You slapped away his hand this time and you could see a smile starting to grow on his lips.

"I'll remember that for next time." He promises, this time replacing his finger with forehead, tiredly connecting it to yours.

"Promise to tell me next time?"

"I promise."

"I'll worry with you instead."

He chuckles at this, relenting to your whims once more.

"You're gonna make my head bigger like yours then."

[therealmylesmorales]

Loser!Vi Headcannons pt 2

Y’all gave so much love, I feel like I had to reward you guys ☺️

Warnings: uhhh same as last time, I guess. I’m too lazy to check what it was, masc4masc relationship

WC: 700

⭒ Vi is a chronic biter. You learned that pretty early in your relationship. And yet, you never know when it’s coming until it’s too late. She would act like she would be leaning in for a kiss…until she bit the closest part of your body; your cheeks, your arm, your ass

“OW— fuck Vi!”

”That didn’t hurt, you're being dramatic.”

⭒ Another cute but annoying thing Vi does is that she fake boxes you. Her fists will never come in contact with your face or body but she still finds it funny. She’ll even make sound effects while doing so. But the second you lightly punch her stomach to get her to stop, it’s the end of the world.

⭒ She cried like a baby when she got her nose pierced. You were with her and by how hard she clutched your hand, you would’ve thought she got shot. You made fun of her the entire time.

”Not only do you have a big ass back tattoo, you also have one on your face.”

“That’s DIFFERENT!”

⭒ Vi’s major changes every few months. She just loves doing new things and will get obsessed with it and unfortunately be bored with it in not too long after. However, she would probably get a degree in business so she could take over Vander’s bar once he decided to retire.

⭒ Sticking with the college theme for a second; you’re known around campus for being chill and somewhat friendly to others. Vi, on the other hand…people think she’s brash and her temper definitely doesn’t help. But people have noticed that when she’s around you, she’ll siphon off your energy and is a lot more pleasant to be around.

⭒ Vi likes kissing you more than actual sex. She’ll still never turn down the offer, but kissing you feels calming to her. After a day of classes or dealing with whatever, it is her favorite way to unwind.

⭒ Vi loves horror movies, and loves when you watch them with her (even if you hate them/are scared easily). Her favorite franchise is probably Friday the 13th but Ghostface is her favorite slasher. The only problem with her watching horror movies is her inability to easily fall asleep afterwards. Normally, it takes her five minutes to be knocked out.

”Cupcake, are you awake?”

”Vi, PLEASE go to sleep.”

⭒ Surprise to no one, she cuts her hair on her own. Every few weeks you’ll find her in the bathroom with scissors and a shaver in hand, trying her best to get her hair looking good. You help her with the back of her head and she appreciates you for that.

⭒ Vi is literally obsessed with you. Her entire camera roll is filled with pictures of you both or just you; pictures she took on dates or just candid ones. Her wallpaper is even one of you, a rare selfie you took and she cherished it as soon as you sent it. Vi even gave you a special ringtone and whenever you text or call her, she can’t help but kick her feet.

⭒ Like everyone, Vi has red flags. But her most noticeable one is that she’s hardheaded. She doesn’t like to listen, especially when she knows thinks she’s right. She will stand on business until she can’t…and when that happens, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs, hoping you’re not too mad at her.

“Hey…are you mad at me?”

”Did you learn your lesson?”

”I did. I’m sorry.”

A little something extra for my black!readers 🫶🏾

⭒ No matter how hard both you and Mel tried to teach her, she nor Jayce still understand Spades. Viktor got it down within thirty minutes, but those two were still clueless. So, you all decided on a more easier game, Uno!

Uno was banned that same night after you two almost broke up and she and Jayce almost got into a fist fight.

⭒ And someone said that Vi would take the fuchsia bonnet with the black headband, and that was totally the one I was talking about (cause I have the same one). She refused to give it back at that point so the only logical solution was to buy another.

[mrpenguinpants]

I'm gonna wife you up!

— You propose (sort-of?) to your boyfriend (wife?)

— Kaji Ren, Suo Hayato, Togame Jo + Yamato Endo

[Masterlist]

This was meant to be more serious, but then I tripped and fell into a vat of sugar syrup. I'd hate to be in the same room. The dichotomy of my fics is wild.

Kaji Ren

Realistically, if you dissected the situation under a microscope, it wasn’t your fault. When you and Kaji first started dating, his habit of keeping his headphones on had driven you insane. The heavy metal blaring past the ear cushions was louder than your voice, no matter how important the thing you were trying to say. It almost ended things between you until you learned why those headphones mattered to him. They weren’t just for music; they were his shield, a barrier between him and a world that often overwhelmed him. In return, plus a thorough scolding from Hiragi, he's stopped playing his music at full volume. Only loud enough to block the outside noise but not your voice. It was a compromise, one that spoke more about his effort to meet you halfway than words ever could. But sometimes... sometimes, he gets lost in his distractions. His thumb drifts to his phone, inching the volume dial higher and higher until it drowns everything out. The world, your voice, you. You know he doesn’t do it on purpose. He’s not ignoring you, not intentionally. But still, you feel the tiniest bit petty about it. After all, you’re right there, talking to him. What’s so captivating about music or scrolling through nonsense that it takes precedence over you?

"Did you know that people used whale carcasses to fuel lanterns? So there wasn't a lack of light in the dark alleyways of London. The light was made from whale grease. They literally made lights to light up the world from whale corpses. Isn't that disgusting?"

So, in your petty spite, you've decided to spitball the weirdest and most disgusting things until he pays attention to you. Unsurprisingly, Kaji doesn’t even flinch. His head remains tilted, chin propped on his hand as his gaze drifts lazily out the window. His other hand scrolls aimlessly, the music in his headphones a distant hum. You narrow your eyes at him, leaning against the desk with exaggerated boredom. For a moment, you consider escalating to some gruesome medieval torture facts. That ought to do the trick. But instead, you settle for staring at him, waiting for him to slip up, to show even the tiniest hint that he’s paying attention.

“I’m talking to you, asswipe,” you grit out through clenched teeth. “Pay attention to me before I grab your phone and toss it out the window.”

Still nothing.

His head nods faintly to the beat of whatever is playing in his headphones. The absence of a reaction feels deliberate like he's testing your patience on purpose. You narrow your eyes, leaning forward to sneak a closer look at his phone. But your short stature betrays you, leaving you with only the dark reflection of your face staring back from the glossy screen. The thought of not knowing what’s capturing his attention drives you mad, your curiosity clawing at you like an itch you can’t scratch. Huffing in defeat, you slump back into your chair with a dramatic flourish, arms crossing tightly over your chest. Your gaze fixes on the ceiling tiles above, your lips forming a pout as your mind races. If he won’t listen to you, maybe you should start plotting how to make him.

"You know when I first met you, I thought your bowl haircut was su-per lame," you hum blandly into the air, your tone light but teasing. It's not like he'll hear you anyway. Kaji, ever the picture of detachment, is still immersed in his music, occasionally nodding his head to the beat as though agreeing with it more than he ever does with you, "Oh, and your fashion sense? Shitty. Hoodies every day? Really? Don’t you get hot in summer? Geez, you’re like a walking furnace. What are you hiding under there, a whole other climate zone?"

He doesn’t react, of course. Not to the jabs, not to the edge of fondness creeping into your voice. You let out another heavy, exaggerated sigh and lean forward, crossing your arms on Kaji's desk. Your head comes to rest on them, and you tilt slightly to peer up at him through your lashes, "But...they are pretty cozy. Fall is coming soon, you'll let me borrow one, yeah? Hehe, say nothing if it's okay."

Nothing. Bingo.

"Do you know that your voice is really deep? It's actually very distracting. You like my voice too, right? So much that you can only stand to listen to it a few times a day, or you'll combust into a thousand hearts. I get it—I would too. Say nothing if you agree," You nod into your arms, a small but smug smile tugging at your lips, even though you know you’re talking to a brick wall, or rather a wall-wearing headphone. Turning over onto your other side, your cheek still smushed against your forearm, you find yourself facing the blackboard. It’s covered in the messy chicken scratches the teacher calls math notes.

"The only thing I like about you," you say, voice quieter now. Your gaze drifts to his reflection in the window, "is that you're a good listener. Well, not really—since, you know, you're wearing those stupid headphones—but you do remember the important things. The things that matter, even if I’ve only said them once. So, do me a favor and be a good listener right now, okay?"

Your eyes drift across the chalkboard, lingering on today’s date written in light blue chalk. You bite back a smile, your voice turning into a whisper, more to yourself than to Kaji. "In two... no, maybe three years, I’m going to propose to you."

You pause for a moment, letting the weight of the words settle in, your eyes still fixed on the chalkboard as if it might offer some answer. Then, with a slight smirk, you continue, “And if you ignore me, I’ll make you wear the dress at our wedding. I’ll even call you my wife.”

Your gaze flicks back to Kaji, but he’s still lost in his music, oblivious to your declaration. “That’s fine, right? Say nothing if you promise.”

The silence that follows feels strangely comfortable as if your words have filled the space between you in ways his headphones never could. Your gaze lingers on him for a beat longer before drifting back to the blackboard. You remain still, staring at the chalk marks and messy equations, lost in thought.

Minutes tick by, and the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Students begin filing into classrooms, the hallway filling with the bustling noise of chatter and hurried footsteps. You let out a quiet sigh, already saddened that your brief time with Kaji has come to an end. With a faint wave, you step out of his classroom, glancing back one last time. Kaji remains as he is, headphones firmly in place, his world closed off.

In the sudden stillness of the room, Kaji's fingers drift up to slide his headphones down. His eyes lift to the blackboard, locking onto the date scrawled in light blue chalk. His expression morphs into something distant, a thousand-yard stare settling over him. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he rises from his desk and approaches the blackboard, the faint sound of his chair scraping against the floor breaking the quiet. His hands tremble as they hover over the numbers, hesitating, before finally tracing them with the tip of a finger. His heart pounds in his chest, his thoughts swirling in chaotic spirals. A faint smile begins to tug at the corners of his lips, fragile and uncertain, but genuine. Yet before it can fully take shape, the sharp ringing of the late lunch bell jolts him. Kaji flinches, the sound snapping him out of his reverie. His budding smile falters, slipping away like a fleeting dream. He takes one last glance at the blackboard, his hand curling into a fist at his side, before turning away. His steps are slow and heavy as he trudges back to his desk. Lowering himself into the chair, he buries his head in his arms, shoulders tense. Moments later, he flicks his headphones back on, pulling them snugly over his ears as if to block out the world—and perhaps himself. His ears burn red beneath the headphones, betraying the thoughts still racing through his mind.

Suo Hayato

"How are you so pretty? Did you make a contract with that ancient spirit that lives in your eye? It's not fair," you whine, shaking Suo's head from side to side with exaggerated dramatics. The tassels attached to his earrings sway in rhythm with your movements as your fingers lightly pinch his cheeks. Suo can only chuckle, his soft laughter filling the space as he lets you do as you please, your fingers molding his face like soft clay. Your words are familiar but unusually persistent today. This isn’t the first time you’ve complimented him, far from it, but there’s a different energy in your voice now, an almost childlike fascination that has Suo amused. Usually, you’ll beam at him, toss out a casual "You're so pretty," and then return to your usual antics. But this time? This time, you’re relentless, rattling off your admiration like you’ve secretly prepared a monologue. Suo wonders briefly if you’ve been spending too much time with Nieri, perhaps picking up some of their overly theatrical tendencies. As you continue your tirade about his "unworldly" beauty, Suo raises his hands to your wrists, gently holding them to stop your playful assault on his cheeks. His touch is warm, his grip soft yet firm, and his gaze meets yours with quiet affection.

"Alright, alright," he says with a small smile, the corners of his lips quirking upward. "If you keep this up, my cheeks are going to be permanently pink."

But even as he tries to deflect, Suo finds it hard to hide the warmth that spreads in his chest. Your unfiltered admiration catches him off guard every time, no matter how often you shower him with it. He thinks, perhaps, this is why he lets you tease him so freely. Your sincerity is disarming in the best way. He shakes his head, still holding your wrists, "You're too fixated on my appearance today. What's going on with you...?"

You pout at his response, his grip on your wrists preventing any further assault on his cheeks. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, you lean into his hand, your head tilting slightly as you gaze up at him with wide, innocent eyes. It’s your best attempt at looking pitiful, the kind of look that usually gets him to cave.

"Suo’s just so pretty," you whine again, dragging out the words as if the weight of his beauty is a personal burden. Your lips curve into a slight pout as you attempt to weaponize your puppy-dog stare. "It’s not fair. And you even dare to act like you don’t know how beautiful you are! It’s a crime against humanity."

His laughter spills out, soft and melodic, as he shakes his head at your antics. "A crime against humanity? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?"

"No!" you insist, sitting up straighter and pulling slightly against his hold, though his grip remains firm but kind. "It’s absolutely criminal, Suo. If you’re not careful, someone might file a lawsuit against you for being too pretty."

Suo chuckles again, your attempt at acting pitiful not lost on him as he shakes his head. He's well aware of how much you enjoy complimenting him and being extra about things. But you're really laying it on extra thick today, he thinks. It's amusing, though, and he's not about to tell you to stop. He loves how shameless you are, how you'll gush to him about anything and everything with no hesitation. It’s one of the things that makes you so unique in his eyes. Your words, unfiltered and sincere, always manage to get under his skin in the best way. He can't help but feel a little flutter of endearment at your words, his heartwarming every time you show him affection so freely. He keeps holding your wrists as he looks down at you, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"You really think I'm that pretty, huh?" Suo asks again, just to see how you're going to respond. He knows the answer, but he wants to see just how far you'll go to show your affection. There’s a teasing lilt in his voice, a playful challenge he knows you'll meet head-on. He gently lets go of one of your wrists, bringing his hand up to stroke your chin. He gazes at you expectantly, enjoying the way you're looking at him, completely at ease in his presence. There's a silly squiggle of a smile on your lips, a happy hum leaving them as you lean into his touch, and tiny crow's feet under your eyes from the smile that never seems to leave when you're near him. You nod vigorously, bouncing on your toes as you start to sway from side to side, your energy infectious.

"Yup! The prettiest wife in all of Makochi."

Ah. Suo's smile freezes for a second at the term that you use, his expression faltering for the first time. He stares at you, his mind processing the word that just slipped out of your mouth. It's obvious you didn't mean to say that. He can tell from how you immediately fall back loudly on your heels. At how you go absolutely rigid in his hand and how hot your face is growing. That squiggle of happiness morphs into one of embarrassment as your eyes are wide with abject horror.

You look like you're about to cry.

For a few moments, the both of you remain still, Suo's hand gently holding your jaw. Suo's surprise at your words mirrored in the widening of his eyes. Then a smile, so large it almost splits his face in two, spreads across his face, stretching from ear to ear. He can't believe you just called him a wife. He can't help but let out an abrupt laugh, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something softer as he looks down at you, a grin still spread over his face. A mischievous gleam enters his eyes, his gaze focused solely on every subtle change in your expression.

"Did you just call me your wife?" Suo says, his voice a little strangled as he tries to hold back a guffaw. He can't believe you actually said that. He can't help but find it unbelievably cute that you just slipped up and blurted out something so endearing at such a random time. His hand is still holding your jaw, keeping you trapped in this moment with him. A mortified squeak gets stuck in your throat, and you try, desperately to form a defense. But at the same time, his reaction only makes the flush on your cheeks grow hotter. Your face is burning up from his question, and you can hardly look him straight on as your mouth opens and closes, unable to find the words to answer him. Suo can only chuckle lowly at your flustered attempt at a response. He can tell you're embarrassed and flustered by your own words, and it's completely adorable. You can feel your stomach twisting itself into knots, your heart beating loudly against your chest. You can only nod slowly, unable to find any will to verbally speak.

"Don't be mean Hayato..." you whine, and he thinks if he pushes any further, you will actually cry. He can see the water welling up in your eyes. As much as he wanted to embarrass you further, he drew the line at making you cry. Suo quickly relents and releases your face, bringing his hands up in surrender.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was just teasing, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he pacifies, he can still see your bottom lip stuck out in a childish pout, your face flushed with scarlet pink. He stands up from his seat so he's finally at a comfortable level with you, he reaches out to pull you by the lapels of your sweater closer to him. Soft kisses are pressed until those tiny crow feet that only appear when you smile come back to life. What kind of wife would he be if he made his spouse upset?

Togame Jo

Look. You get it. Togame is hot. Super hot. He's tall, big, and has the prettiest emerald eyes you've ever seen in your life. Did you spend the majority of your time on Earth just staring into those eyes? Maybe. But that's beside the point. The point is, that you know how attractive your boyfriend is, and that’s always going to attract unwanted attention. He can't exactly change how he looks, and you would never want that for something this petty, but you can be mad about it, right?! It's frustrating, honestly. You try to focus on your own things, but the way people always seem to gravitate toward him, especially when you're around, is hard to ignore. It's not like they're trying to hide it. You catch the lingering glances, the whispers that stop the moment you step into the room. And while you know Togame would never do anything to entertain their attention, it still doesn't make the jealousy feel any less real. You hate how much it bothers you, especially when you know he’s yours. But still, the way other people look at him, the way they smile at him... it’s like they want him for themselves, and it makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let anyone else near him. Maybe it’s irrational, but when he’s so damn perfect, what else can you do but get a little possessive?

"Hey..." Togame attempts to soothe your huffing and puffing as you glare at your villain origin story. You have no idea who she is, how she even got here, but you're ready to murder her when this night is over. She's been making eyes at Togame the entire night, despite his arm being around your waist. Togame, being the lovable socially awkward dork that he is, doesn’t even notice it. He just thinks she might need something from him but is too scared to ask. He gets it—he's rather intimidating from a stranger's perspective. But you can see the difference. You can see the slightly higher pitch in her voice, the way it sounds softer and almost flirtatious. You can see how she doesn't even bother to look in your direction as if you didn’t exist. It’s like she’s convinced you’re some sort of invisible background character in her game of trying to capture Togame’s attention. Your grip tightens on his arm, the possessiveness bubbling up in you, but you try to keep your cool.

You feel your chest tighten with an odd mixture of anger and embarrassment. You know you should let it go, that you're being irrational, but you can't seem to control the simmering jealousy. The worst part is, you feel so bad for feeling like this. You know it's not Togame's fault, and you really, really don’t want to push your frustration onto him. You feel so childish letting this random girl make you so mad when you could be spending time with your boyfriend and his friends in ignorant bliss. You know Togame would never cheat on you; you even have permission to beat him bloody from Choji if he ever does. You need to keep reminding yourself that he won’t. You’re not mad at Togame—no, he’s perfect, and you’re lucky to have him—but there's something about this girl, the way she’s so casually blatant about her attention, that makes your blood boil. You take another deep breath, mentally reminding yourself that you’re better than this, that you trust him completely. You really do. Yet, as her laugh rings in your ears, it feels like all the self-control you’ve been clinging to is starting to slip away. She’s just so annoying, and you don’t know how Togame doesn't notice.

"Baby…"

Your face is slowly turned around to meet those vibrant emerald eyes you constantly fawn over. Togame is giving you a lopsided grin, the tiniest notch in his brow to show he's concerned about your silent demeanor, his index and thumb squishing your cheeks lightly. "You okay?"

His voice is gentle, soft, like he's trying to coax you out of whatever has been bothering you. God. You love this man. You can feel your heart stamping on the ground in frustration from cuteness aggression. He's just so sweet! It’s hard to explain why you feel this way, even harder to admit it to him. Still, his comforting presence is enough to ease your racing thoughts, even if just for a moment. Togame watches you carefully, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, a silent question in his gaze. He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve your irrational jealousy and frustrations. Yet here you are, looking up at him with a mixture of affection and a sinking feeling in your stomach.

"No, absolutely not," you grumble, lips pursed as you frown at him. "I've never been worse."

He lightly chuckles. You take your earlier compliment back; this man is not sweet. If he were, he wouldn't be laughing at your internal struggle of contemplating if life in prison is worth first-degree manslaughter. It isn’t, because then you'd never see Togame again. Unless you don’t get caught. The thought lingers for a moment before you shake your head. Ridiculous. You can’t seriously be considering something so insane. Still, it doesn’t stop you from glaring at him for making light of your torment. He’s completely oblivious to the war raging inside your mind. Meanwhile, his laughter continues, making your heart thump erratically in your chest despite your frustration. You can’t even be mad at him for long. How could you, when his smile is enough to melt every ounce of irritation away?

"Why is that? You tired? We can go home if ya want," Togame squishes your cheeks again before letting go and settling his arm over your shoulder. Because you're spiteful to the core, you look over your shoulder to see if that girl is watching. She is. You hold back the urge to smirk at her with all your teeth. You’re maturing, you’ll tell yourself. You return your attention back to Togame, who, in your moment of glaring at the girl, has already ordered you a water. He pushes the cup toward you, nodding towards it.

"Drink what you can and we can go," he says easily. As if it’s no big deal. You have to bite your lip, yet a muffled whine escapes between the seams. You stare at the cup in your hands, the condensation gathering on the outside, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the warmth in your chest. He’s so willing to prioritize you, even when you know he was looking forward to this night. It’s small, but it means everything. You take a sip, the cool water refreshing you, and feel a wave of gratitude wash over you. There’s something about his thoughtfulness, the way he effortlessly puts you first, that makes you feel like the luckiest person alive. You glance up at him, your heart fluttering just a little. You’re going to marry this man. Right now, actually.

"What's your ring size? I need to know immediately," you grumble, kicking his foot lightly. Togame only laughs heartily at your heartfelt proposal. He leans over, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as you fume into your cup of water. His arm around your shoulder curls, pushing you against his side, as his hand caresses your cheek, gently pulling it up so your lips quirk into a lopsided smile. He leans in, almost until his nose touches yours, and those emerald eyes are all you can see. His gaze softens, that familiar warmth filling his eyes. The teasing glint is gone now, replaced with a sincerity that makes your heart skip. You’re still a bit frustrated, but when he looks at you like that, all your irritation melts away. Togame’s presence feels grounding, his affection so steady and constant. You exhale through your nose, trying to suppress the smile that threatens to break free, but it’s impossible. With a soft chuckle, you let the tension fall from your shoulders.

"Yeah? You sure you wanna do that?" he says smoothly, but you can see the slight pink on his cheeks and ears. His eyes bounce around the room, and you're sure if you held his hand, it would be clammy. You set your glass of water down to free your hands, cupping his cheeks gently. Leaning in, you press a quick peck to his lips, which makes him let out a quiet hum, a soft smile tugging at his features.

"Yeah, gonna wife you up. That way when people see a big shiny rock on your finger, they leave you alone," you hiss, your foot kicking your chair leg in your frustration. Togame laughs again, loud and so, so pretty. His laughter fills the space between you like a soft melody, and despite the chaos around you, you feel a little lighter. In hindsight, maybe you could have made this a bit more romantic. Sitting in one of Shishitoren's bars, surrounded by people wasted or halfway into developing liver cancer, fueled by your petty and spiteful feelings toward a girl whose name you don't even know—you essentially proposed to your boyfriend. You wonder if that qualifies as the most unconventional proposal ever, but it doesn’t really matter.

"Come on, let's go," Togame stands up abruptly, escaping your hold as he pushes his chair back. His arm is still around your shoulder, so you're forced to follow him, stumbling unsteadily as you cling to his orange and white jacket.

"Wha- Wait. Where are we going? Your friends are still—" You're cut off by a kiss, this time long and deep. The world around you blurs, and just like that, you've completely forgotten what you were supposed to do. Friends? Who? You both probably came alone. The taste of him lingers on your lips as you break away, your mind momentarily scrambled. His hands rest gently on your waist, guiding you toward the door. It feels as if the entire bar has melted away, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble of silence. You can't help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

"They'll be fine, I'll just see them tomorrow anyway. Come on, we have more important things to do," he laughs lightly, but you can clearly see those pink cheeks turning darker. Screw the five necessities of human life, you’re going to spend everything on this ring.

You slide next to him, pressing your sides together. "Okay. Let's go before the store closes."

Togame chuckles again, shy and so cute, like he can't quite believe you're about to go to a store to pick out rings like you're in Vegas. You take his hand and pull him through the crowd, towards the door. On the way, you pass by the same girl. She's frowning at you, scoffing and looking away. You can't wait to wave your man’s hand, shiny ring glinting in the light.

As you walk out into the cool night air, there's a rush of excitement in your chest, and Togame’s hand feels just a little bit warmer in yours. He glances over at you, his lips pulling into a soft smile, the pink still creeping up his neck.

"You really sure about this?" he asks quietly, though his eyes sparkle with something else—anticipation, maybe.

You nod firmly, squeezing his hand. "Absolutely."

Tonight, it's just the two of you, and it feels like the world outside doesn't even exist.

Endo Yamato

Today is quiet. Almost peaceful, like those mornings when you wake up before your alarm can ring. You can just lay there and bask in the warmth of your blankets. Listen to the sounds coming through the window. The distant hum of life outside, the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Everything feels in perfect balance. The world isn’t rushing. It’s as if time itself is slowing down to let you fully exist in this moment. For once, there's no pressure to be anywhere, do anything, or think about what comes next. It’s just you, the quiet, and the world unfolding gently around you. Even take a moment to remember how to breathe. One deep breath in, feeling your lungs expand, then exhale. Serenity.

"I should divorce you and take half your assets."

The HB pencil that's been gnawed on pauses under Endo's teeth. The wood creaks as he eases his jaw on the poor object, the sunken imprints of his molars bending it out of shape, as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You're sprawled on your stomach across his couch, fingers idly tapping away at something bright on your phone screen, looking as if nothing is amiss. For a second, Endo thinks he might have been hallucinating, but he hasn’t reached that level of crazy yet. No, he knows perfectly well that he didn’t imagine that. Especially not that specific sentence. Slowly, he lowers his pencil, letting it clatter against the desk along with his other supplies. The chair creaks as he swivels around to face you. You don’t even glance up from your phone as he watches, an eyebrow twitching in confusion. It’s almost like you said it casually like you were commenting on the weather or talking about dinner plans. But he knows you well enough to recognize the underlying challenge in your words.

"We're not married," he says instead, his voice level. It almost sounds as if he’s been expecting this, because realistically, what is he supposed to say to that? You take your attention off your phone, looking at him with a frown. There's irritation clouding your eyes, and your lips are downturned into an annoyed grimace like he's the bad guy. It's all kind of cute to him. He watches as your gaze narrows at him, waiting for a response, and a sigh escapes your lips, more dramatic than necessary. You cross your arms, looking like you've just been told that the sky is green and not blue. Your frustration is palpable, and it makes him smile—just a little. He tries to hide it, but it's clear you've seen it.

"So," you gesture with your hand in the air as if you're talking to a child, "Marry me so I can divorce you and take half your assets."

For a moment, he's frozen, processing the words you just said. His brain stumbles over the absurdity of it all, the sudden shift in your tone from casual to strict. Then, when his mind eventually catches up, he can't help the laughter that bubbles up his chest. It's not just a small chuckle or snort—no, the sound that comes out is loud enough to echo in the silence of the room. It starts as a hearty laugh, the kind that shakes his shoulders, and you can't help but watch him with a mix of confusion. The sound of his laughter fills the space between you, his eyes bright as he shakes his head, clearly delighted by the turn of events. He leans back, his hand pressing against his forehead as he lets out another round of laughter, wiping away a tear.

You're shitting me," Endo replies, the amusement in his voice clear as day. He stands up from his chair and walks over to the couch you're lying on. He stands beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, still laughing quietly to himself. You only crane your neck up higher, still wearing that miffed yet pouty expression on your face. Endo can’t help but admire the mix of frustration and cuteness. He wants to reach out and pinch your cheeks, but he knows you'll actually try to bite his fingers, which only makes him more entertained. Feisty little stray he's got on his hands. Endo takes a moment to savor the sight of you. Your scrunched-up face, the way your arms are crossed as you try to stay mad at him. Something is endearing about how easily he can make you annoyed, and it never fails to amuse him. After a few seconds of standing there and enjoying your reaction, he decides to act on the urge to mess with you. With a grin still tugging at the corners of his lips, he walks around to the other side of the couch and plops down behind you. Before you can fully process what he's doing, he grabs your hips and pulls you backward into his lap, settling you against him.

"Endo!" you complain, trying to wiggle away, but he laughs again, deep and full of amusement. He buries his face into your shoulder, still shaking from the laughter that won’t stop, his chest vibrating against your back. The warmth of him spreads against your skin, and even as you remain frustrated, there’s a quiet smile that starts tugging at your own lips.

"You're so damn cute," he mumbles, his nose brushing against the side of your shoulder as he nuzzles into your shirt. Judging by the size, it’s probably one of his shirts you've stolen from his closet. You don’t need a ring to start taking all his stuff anyway. His arms wrap around your stomach, holding you in place. Then, in that teasing tone of his, he adds, "You know prenups exist, right? For gold-digging scums like you. A clingy, annoying little gold digger."

You bring your elbow back, nailing him in the stomach with a swift jab, but it hardly phases him. After all, he's seen you put enough force into a punch to break someone's nose. He winces slightly, but the grin never leaves his face. You try to stay annoyed, but the comfort of being in his arms, his warmth against your back, begins to soothe you. Even as you relax in his hold, slumping back until your head rests against his sternum, there's a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He tightens his arms around you, pulling you even further back into him, as his face drifts down toward the crook of your neck. The movement is so natural, so comforting, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. For all his teasing, there’s something soft in the way he holds you that makes everything else fade away.

"Don't call me that," you huff, attention returning to your phone screen. You were playing a game this entire time, and his teasing was just enough to distract you from your focus. He’s unsure of which, or both, words you're referring to, but at this point, you've already exited the conversation entirely. Instead, he chuckles quietly again into your shoulder as he pulls you back so you're fully sitting on his lap. His warmth envelops you, and his arms settle around your waist, keeping you close. He buries his face back into your neck, but his hands remain on your hips, gently drawing lazy circles on the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up.

"What? Cute? Gold-digger?" he teases, his voice light and playful, "You'd make a better trophy wife than a model, pretty."

He lets his mind wander to those possibilities, as uncomfortable as they are. He knows he's got a pretty screwed-up relationship with love and admiration. From the few romantic relationships he's had in life, he's only ever been met with betrayal and disappointment. Not even to the discredit of his partners; he's always been a bad judge of character. But now, with you, something feels different. He can at least admit to his own feelings, even if they're complicated. And he's slowly beginning to grow addicted to the way you make him feel. The way your eyes twitch in irritation when he teases you, the soft, light fluttering sound you make when you giggle as he stomps on someone's face, and even the way you try to hide that lovely smile behind your hands when he returns bruised and battered. All of it, everything about you, has him practically swooning over you. Endo can't help but think that this relationship is toxic in the most addictive way, but oddly, that doesn’t scare him. He likes it. It feels real, it feels raw, and maybe for the first time, he's willing to embrace it—dark sides and all. The question lingers in his mind, though: Do you feel the same way? Will you tolerate him long enough, until death do his part?

"Idiot, stop acting like you're not my wife already," you scoff, and that, that makes Endo pause. His brain has completely skidded to a halt because what the hell? That’s just unfair. That’s just super unfair.

You continue scrolling on your phone, but the way you lean your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck, doesn’t go unnoticed. That small gesture sends a shudder down his spine. He can feel the pulse in his throat as his heart rate picks up, and before he knows it, he’s nuzzling his nose beneath your ear, taking in the warmth of your skin. His lips find the sensitive spot just under your jaw, nipping lightly, knowing full well that it’ll make you squirm. His hands, without permission, sneak under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing over the soft surface of your waist and stomach. But your hand stamps down his advances, swatting at his fingers like a cat. He grins, relenting with a laugh, but he doesn't mind. There’s a kind of contentment in being near you like this, the two of you wrapped up in the present moment, the intimacy in your shared space enough to drown out any noise. The warmth of your body radiates against him, and he can feel it seeping into his skin. The soft rhythm of your fingerpads tapping away at your phone screen, absorbed in your game, is almost hypnotic. For a moment, everything else fades away, the noise of the world outside, the stress of the day, leaving just you and him, together in a small bubble of calm. One deep breath in, feeling the air fill his lungs, then exhale. Serenity.

[porkcutletbowl44]

The Man You Need

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

Tags!: 🔞NSFW. MDNI. unprotected p in v sex(wrap it in foil before you check her oil), dirty talk, creampie, PWP, Insomnia!reader, brief mention of misogyny, semi-public sex, shower sex, reader is also kinda bratty

(Ik y'all are only here for the porn that's why the plot dies quick lmao)

A big thank you to the 200 followers and counting 🫶🏻🩷

• · ────── ·🔞🖤🔞· ────── · •

"Y'look knackered, 'aven't been sleepin' enough?"

Simon's voice forces you to stop staring at the stale scones under the heat lamp, yanking you out of that day dream of falling face first into the breakfast line to get real sleep.

"Just the usual insomnia," you reminded. "What plans do you have today?" You asked, gatherthering the last of your breakfast.

His long strides effortlessly keeping up with your shorter ones. He towers over you as you both approach the table where you both sat normally.

"Just the usual, trainin' new recruits." He answers in the same manner as you, he sits down opposite you. He stretches his long legs out under the table, his calves brushing yours.

His eyes fixed on you like little bugs on your skin, taking in every detail of your face.

"'ow long has it been since y'last slept through a night?" He asks gruffly.

"Saturday." You answered.

His jaw clenches momentarily behind the thin fabric of his balaclava, and his shoulders stiffen.

"Y'mean to tell me its been three days an' you're still functioning?" He retorts, skepticism written on his face. He knows you, and he knows how bad your insomnia gets.

"Yeah. Doesn't help when we have to wake up early."

Ghost lets out a frustrated sigh, running a gloved hand over his face.

"You can't survive on 2 or 3 hours o' sleep a day. Y'know you're pushin' it too far. You're going to collapse soon if y'don't get your sleep under control."

He's always stern when he speaks, but with you it's like he's scolding you like a child who doesn't know any better.

You do know better; you've busted your ass to get where you are. You've had to deal with everything in the book to fight to where you are now in the military, and he knows that, he's been there the majority of the time and yet he nags you everyday about something.

"Well I'm trying, Si. Melatonin doesn't work and it gives me bad headaches." You mumbled irritably.

"Doesn't work, eh? An' I can see those bags under your eyes. Headaches too..." He rubs his chin as he looks at you, his eyes calculating. "What 'ave you tried so far, love? I've told you to keep me updated."

"The sleepy tea worked for a little bit, and then it didn't. I tried running before bed, no screen time, benadryl..."

Simon grunts and leans back in his chair, listening to you list all the things you've already tried and don't work, his frustration only seems to grow with this situation— or you?

"Bloody hell. You've tried everythin', 'aven't you? Nothin' seems to work, it's as if your body just won't shut down."

Sometimes this leads to the same thing over and over again, the 'you have to sleep' or, 'why do you do this to yourself?'. You just smile and nod, because yes, you can 100% control this.

"Well, sometimes another thing works, but it's just too much of a hassle." You shrugged, sipping some vitamin water.

Simon's brows furrow as he hears your muttered words. He leans forward, his gaze intense.

"What 'other things?'"

You sometimes keep things from him, and he won't let you get away with it this time. Or, there's the other times you are blunt, disgustingly blunt. You live with a bunch of men, who do not have a filter, that alone has killed yours out of existence.

You blink, fidgeting in place. "Ahem. Me time?"

He's not dense, he knows exactly what you mean and he's not one to back down from anything that usually makes normal people squeamish or "grossed out".

"An" 'ow is it 'too much o' a hassle exactly?" He asks, a slight raise in an eyebrow.

"My hand cramps." You rolled your eyes, it was obvious, who doesn't have that problem sometimes?

He crosses his arms over his broad chest with a humored look, your honesty can be either amusing or completely looked over.

"Your hand cramps, you say? Thas a hell o' a reason."

He chuckles softly, his eyes raking over you, taking in the sight before him. His gaze is heated. Your face can feel it, it's warm, it's like he's putting your face close to a bonfire with that look. For months you two do this... This thing that borders flirty and suggestive but at the same time it doesn't quite feel like either.

"Yeah. Thinking about going down to the store."

His eyes snap up, crossed arms going lose from his chest. He's not stupid; he knows what "going down to the store" means.

"You're talkin' about goin' to get one o' those things." His voice is low, but not quite harsh. He's almost hesitant to say it out loud, but he says it with so much disdain.

You deadpan. "A vibrator, Simon. A vibrator."

The tops of his cheeks flush red beneath his balaclava at your blunt response. You giggle a little, not expecting such a reaction from Lieutenant Ghost. What's the big deal? Did guys not talk about fleshlights? Brand recommendations?

He clears his throat before speaking, a little husky and quiet. No way, are you embarrassing him with girl stuff?

"Y-yeah. One o' those." He stutters, his usual confidence wavering. "Yes, thank you, love. I realize that. I just..." He trailed off, blinking a few times.

"Y'can't be serious. You're goin' to use a toy instead o' asking for help?"

It's like he can't believe you just said that out loud, in a busy mess hall no less. This is what it took? Talking about sex toys to make him awkward?

"Uhm...yeah? I less you have a boyfriend in your pocket waiting for me." you retort.

And yikes, he didn't seem to like that. His eyes squint, probably crinkle in his nose. He paused, leaning forward in his seat, his eyes studying your face closely.

"You don't seriously think y'need a toy instead o' just asking me, do you?"

Why does he sound hurt??

Your stomach does a backflip off your intestines and into a hot tub of oil. He did not just say that. You must be asleep, yes, you must be dreaming.

You giggled, "Good one."

Simon gives a low grumble, his jaw flexing and grinding. This apparently wasn't a laughing matter to him. Is he serious? Your tongue works over your teeth, trying your absolute hardest to be so cool, nonchalant, you don't care you don't care—

"'M not jokin', love. You don't honestly think that a toy would be better than the real thing, do you?"

Of course it's not fucking better. But what choices did you have? Sleep with one of your teammates and then get a dishonorable discharge? Make things awkward in your team?

"Oh... Considering it's illegal to have relationships, yes. A vibrator won't leave me, cheat on me, break my heart... It's perfect." You shrugged— it was for the best anyways.

He knew the rules just as much as you did. And he followed them religiously. What the hell is going on? Why would he just suggest that out of the blue?

"Y'think you'd be better off with a piece o' silicone than takin' the chance on me?"

You pinch your thigh under the table. Nope. You're still here in mess hall, in front of your now cold breakfast, and Simon is still trying to convince you to fuck him.

"Y'wouldn't be satisfied with that thing. You'd get bored, love..." He sounds so sure, and jealous when he speaks of the horrible, terrible, vibrator.

"How would you know?" You quired quickly.

Just to double check. Maybe the sleep deprivation was catching up.

"I know 'cause I know you. You'd get tired o' that thing eventually, you'd want somethin' real."

He paused for a moment, his eyes lidding, darkening, consuming.

"You'd want someone to touch you, love. Not some piece o' plastic an' silicone."

"Yeah, like I'd ever get that," you barked out a laugh out of sheer nerves.

He didn't like that anymore than your last dismissive reply, you may just be convinced about now. So, cue to you squeezing your thighs together in your seat. Acting completely normal. Because everything about this is so normal; your coworker just telling you to come to him for a good fuck to be able to sleep.

"What do y'mean by that? 'ow can you say that with a straight face? Y'don't think anyone would want to touch you? Let y'know 'ow loved you are?" He grumbled, his hands clenching on top of the table.

"Y'think you're so undesirable that nobody would want you? Bloody hell..." He shakes his head.

"Simon, take a look at me." You licked your lips to prevent a shout of frustration, yikes, you do need sleep.

Simon's eyes fly over your form, from head to toe. He took his time studying you, his eyes lingering over the curves of your body, the way your hair fell over your face. There isn't a damn thing wrong with the way you look.

"'M lookin' at ya, love. An' what I see is perfection. So tell me again... what's your damn point?"

Oh, good God. It's real. But this is better than you imagined; you want to make him work for it. All because it's hotter to get a man to work for something, get all riled up.

"What do you see? A cutesy little girly girl? A nice little housewife for a big strong man?" You asked sarcastically.

"I see a woman who's strong, capable, an' bloody beautiful." He glares, offended you'd even think about saying that, "You're not some dainty damsel in distress, you're a force to be reckoned with..."

"My point exactly. Men don't want a chick that's more man than them." You rolled your eyes at just mentioning the delicacy of fragile masculinity these days.

Simon grunted and rolled his eyes, his irritation building into something you might not want to poke at.

"Thas where you're wrong, love." He points his spoon at you. "Not all men are as narrow-minded as y'think. I know damn well I want a woman like you. Strong, feisty, sexy."

"My point, Simon! I don't want some fucking pussy, I want someone whose more man than me." You huff.

You're not entirely implying this trait about him... You just wanna see him work for it.

"You're not goin' to find that in a bloody toy, love. You're lookin' in the wrong place if y'think some plastic will make y'feel better. Y'want a man? You already 'ave a man."

He was right there, willing to give you what you needed. But how far will he go?

"Yeah but... I want something real, too." You tried to explain.

This flirting back and forth was something you enjoyed; but what would it mean in the long run?

"Exactly." He huffed a bit exasperated. "Y'want somethin' real. Somethin' I can give you."

He shifted in his seat, leaning closer to you, his eyes deep and intense.

"Y'don't need a toy, love. You 'ave me. 'M real, an' I want you. Don't settle for some piece o' plastic when y'know damn well what you really want."

Okay then, schizophrenic, game on.

"I want someone stronger than me, someone to give me a reason to act like a woman," You snorted.

You were infuriating at times.

"An' y'think I can't give ya that? Y'think I can't make y'feel like a woman? Like a fuckin' queen?" That retort comes out low, accusing. "I can definitely make y'feel like a woman. Y'don't need someone stronger than you, love. Y'just need me."

Nail on the head with that one; yet how far can you take it? You lean between your elbows, squeezing your tits together to make you look as enticing as possible.

"Do I?" You purr.

Simon freezes in time, his plastic spoon almost falling away from his thick fingers. His hand does scramble for it to his credit but he almost dumps his bowl in the process. You hear him clear his throat roughly, Adams apple bobbing at the hem of his mask before it disappears. You bite your lip with a challenging gaze, would he take it?

"Yes," He replied firmly to cover up his hesitation, "Y'need me, love. Y'just don't know it yet. I can make y'feel things no toy ever could. Think y'need a man t'make you feel like a woman? I can do that, an' I will happily."

You smirk, "You're gonna have to try harder than that,"

"Oh, I will, love. You're just askin' for a challenge, aren't you?"

"You afraid to take it?" You shot back slyly.

He was anything but afraid with that look. He was up for the challenge, and you know he's gonna prove it.

"Baby, 'm not afraid o' anythin' when it comes to you," he replied, his voice low and husky. "As long as you can take what I can give you."

He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes searing into yours. There was danger in his gaze, it only made it all the more delicious.

"Y'think you can 'andle me, love? Y'think you're ready for what I can do t'you?"

"Only if you can prove it." You grin.

Ghost let out a low growl, his eyes darkening at your challenging tone. He thrived on it, it only fueling his drive to prove himself to you.

"Oh, I'll prove it, love. I'll prove it again an' again until y'can't even think straight."

"No, no, prove you're more man than me." You corrected easily.

"Y'want to know why 'm more o' a man than you? I can make y'feel things you 'aven't even imagined before. I'll 'ave you beggin' f'me, addicted t'me."

"I'll be waiting, then." You set the challenge in stone. This was it.

The bear has been poked enough. He was on a mission now.

"You'll be beggin' f'me before the night's over." He boasts smoothly, a promise and a warning all in one.

"If I get a good night's sleep I'll consider keeping you,"

You were maddening, and he both loved and hated the way you pushed his buttons. It was all in good heart; for the most part.

"You're already keepin' me, love. Y'just don't know it yet."

You bite your lip, taking a quick survey of the area before replying. This was getting too good to be true.

"Don't disappoint then, we have..." You glance at your watch, humming, "six hours until lights out."

"Thas more than enough time." He grunts, all smug and cocky behind his mask.

Step one, getting recruit work out of the way. It's boring as fuck, mostly watching the Lieutenant scare the absolute piss out of the fresh meat.

Simon was barking orders left and right, ruthless to the soldiers in training. Almost as ruthless as the sun beating down on them.

You abandoned your spot in the shade, clip board in hand. You balance two water bottles on the wooden board as you approach to offer a beverage.

"Thanks," he grumbles, his eyes darting around to ensure no one witnessed the small gesture just like you.

He took the offered water, downing half the bottle in one go and adjusting his mask back in place. You drag your pin down the clip board to check off what's already done.

"Forty laps?"

"Forty laps."

Simon confirmed with a gruff nod, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment before turning back to the recruits. Despite the challenging heat, he refused to end the training drills early no matter how much you teased him about buying him a little extra on your toy run— Viagra.

You thought it was hilarious, him? Not so much.

"An' they better pick up the pace!" He barked, the deep baritone easily reaching the pirvates' ears.

You circle that box, "And the sixty pull ups?" You breathed a bored sigh.

Simon grunted in annoyance.

"Done."

He informed in a low grumble, his jaw working under the balaclava. It was an excessive amount, but many of the recruits wouldn't even make it halfway through. But he didn't care, he was in a mood. A horny one. When was the last time this guy got laid?

"Wasn't accepting any half-assed attempts, either."

"The rope climbing?" You tap your pen at the box.

Simon glances down at the list, eyeing the scribbles and doodles next to the ticked boxes.

"Done." He replies simply.

You could faintly hear the sound of the recruits groaning and grumbling in pain and exhaustion, you almost felt bad. It was minor flashbacks to your recruitment days, yet Simon didn't seem to have that same sympathy judging by the satisfaction in his eyes.

"Aaannnd... Combat." You hum, one last task left for training.

This was where things get interesting.

"Its last. Need to let 'em rest a bit first. Suppose they earned it."

"Generous," you comment blandly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just keep checkin' off the list. I wanna get these fuckin' recruits dismissed soon. 'M sick o' the heat."

The day dragged on painfully slowly. The heat was relentless until the rain would show up any minute, and he was more irritable than usual. Even the recruits seemed to notice his foul mood, giving him a wide berth whenever he was in their vicinity. You were starting to grow bored of his usual job of scaring the hell out of the recruits, (not so bored when sweat rolls down the thickness of his biceps and the bounce of his tits when he jogs up to the trainees to yell at them) and overall wondering when and how the fuck you're supposed to get laid at this point.

Finally, the training was over. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the compound. The recruits limped and hobbled their way to their assigned lodgings, exhausted and sore.

Simon, on the other hand, seemed like he had even more energy than usual. Despite the long, grueling day, he was somehow wired and restless. You should ask what energy drink he uses after you wrap this up. (Hint: it's the male drive to get some pussy).

As the recruits dispersed, one in particular caught your eye. He was the most arrogant and obnoxious of the bunch, strutting around like he owned the place. You and Simon had seen it countless times before, it got old fast.

"Arrogant little prick," Simon muttered irritably.

You tongue your cheek, "What? Threatened by him?"

It's a pointless taunt— Simon? Threatened? Gosh, it's so fun to get men worked up. Simon's eyes narrow at your comment, a grunt bursting out from him.

"Threatened? Me? Fuckin' hell, no." He grumbles offendedly. "I could take 'im apart within a minute. Can't stand the ones caught up in their own 'ead,"

You hum in agreement. You know for a fact you'd pay to see that one day, and Soap would be right behind you.

"You're lucky you're the most tolerable person 'ere," he adds goodnaturedly.

You backhand his shoulder lightly, "Oh, look, your best friend is coming over!"

And speak of the devil, the recruit struts over with that piece of shit arrogant smirk. Simon rolls his eyes in annoyance as he turns to face the strutting recruit.

"Great. Just what I need," The sarcasm is laid on thicker than the suspicious gravy served this morning at breakfast.

The recruit saunters over, his obnoxious confidence on full display. Simon clenches his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Sir... Do we have more extensive training available?" He asks slowly, his own ego taking a hold of his tongue.

Simon's eye twitches at the recruit's pompous tone. Extensive training, more like a request for special treatment to feed that ego.

"Extensive training?" He echos roughly, "F'you? Why?"

The recruit shrugs boredly, "I think your ways are a bit old fashioned, too easy,"

Easy, old fashioned? This cocky little bastard doesn't know the first thing about hard work. And he's about to serve himself his very own buffet of living hell from Simon. You distract yourself with the grass below your feet, taking everything you have to not laugh.

"Y'think we make things easy on you?" He sneers, taking a step closer to the recruit. "Y'think you're hot stuff, eh? Well, you're in for a rude awakening, rookie."

Your lips purse, frowning deeply to stop the smile.

"What makes y'think you deserve anythin' beyond the standard training regime, hmm? You 'aven't earned a fuckin' thing yet." He glares at the recruit, his eyes dark and intense behind his mask. "Y'get your fuckin' arse to the barracks. Your extensive training for the next month? You'll be cleanin' the bathrooms before lights out."

The recruit's smirk falters at Simon's orders. He's not used to being talked back to, much less being told what to do. But he tries to maintain his cocky attitude, not wanting to back down in front of you, maybe. Ugh, men.

"Bathroom duty? That's... a little degrading, isn't it?"

Simon chuckles darkly, his eyes dancing with amusement. This cocky bastard was really pushing his luck more than you were. You almost feel bad if it weren't so funny.

"Degrading?" he sneers. "Welcome to the military, rookie. It's not a goddamn country club. Y'think you can come 'ere, demand extra training, an' expect special treatment? This ain't a playground. You're 'ere to learn discipline, not stroke your ego."

You stifle a laugh behind your clipboard. This was too good, and all the more hot to see Simon angry.

Simon shoots a sidelong glance at you, even though he's supposed to be acting tough and intimidating, he seems to let himself crack through the lieutenant role around you.

The recruit, on the other hand, doesn't notice your amusement. He just looks sulkily at Simon, clearly not pleased with the prospect of bathroom duty.

Simon grabs the recruit roughly by the collar, the display of power and dominance making you jump in place. Simon's firm grip on the recruit's collar startles the cocky little punk, his eyes wide in surprise.

"See, this is your problem," Simon grits lowly. "Y'think you're untouchable. Y'think you're better than everyone else. But lemme tell you somethin', wanker... you're not."

The recruit stammers, eyes frozen with fear.

"Disobey your superior officer again an' I'll make sure your walls are covered in you."

He gives the recruit a rough shove, releasing his collar. The recruit stumbles back, shocked out of words.

"Consider that your final warning," Simon growls. "Now get your arse to the fuckin' barracks, rookie."

The recruit seems to shrink under Simon's intimidating aura, his cocky demeanor shattered and squashed to dust. He mumbles a half-hearted, "Yes, sir," before hurrying away.

You check your watch, "Well, today has been fun. It's too bad you only have three hours left."

Three hours left, you say? He hadn't even started yet. Because of training, of course.

"Three hours, huh?" He grumbles, eyes setting in determination. "Don't count me out yet, love. I can do a lot in three hours."

"Hurry it up, or in three hours I'll have a brand new shiny vibrator." You grin cheekily.

"You won't be needin' any damn vibrator if I 'ave anythin' to say 'bout it," he hisses. "I don't need any bloody gadgets to 'elp out."

He starts to stalk towards you, his eyes intense and focused. Your thighs squeeze together, pleased with your outcome.

"Three hours is more than enough time f'me to prove myself, love. An' you'll be beggin' before the clock strikes, guarantee ya that."

"Right," you drawl with a roll of your eyes.

He reaches up with a rough hand, grabbing your chin and lifting it so your eyes meet his.

"Y'think I can't prove myself in three hours, huh? That I need some bloody toy to 'elp me out? I promise you, love, you'll be singin' a different tune."

You giggle teasingly, biting your tongue through your smile.

"Tick tock, Simon." You singsong.

You were mocking him, challenging him, all for this purpose.

"You're playin' a dangerous game, love," he growls down at you, "Y'think you can tease an' walk away with that pretty lil smile on your face. But you're gonna find out real quick that I won't back down, even when you're being a cheeky lil minx."

You smirk dreamily, staring up at him with raw want. You kinda want him to do something extravagant, proving himself just because. When was the last time you had fun like this?

"You're pushing your luck, love," he grunts, his voice gruff with barely concealed desire. "If you keep lookin' at me like that, there ain't gonna be enough time to do everythin' I wanna do to you."

You pull from his hand, turning on your heel as you call over your shoulder,

"I'll be waiting, Si,"

You were taunting him, teasing him, with that sultry little comment and casual tone. You feel his eyes on your ass with each sway of your hips, that naked feeling let's you know he's undressing you with his eyes.

You whip out your phone to look at the time, alas, there's just no way what you want can happen. The rules, regulations, and the severe lack in privacy.

Shooting Captain a quick text for permission to leave base for an hour you head into the higher up showers for some much needed washing of the sweat collected on your body.

As you toss your towel on the bend, your phone buzzes.

'Permission granted. I'll let the team know you'll be out.'

Your heart drops to your ass as you frantically text back—

'Wait no that's not necessary!!!!!'

And then, to your horror, you get a ping in the group text.

Shit.

The team knows youre just going out, but Simon knows. Simon knows you're chickening out from the challenge.

"Fuck!" You hiss, frantically looking around the showers as if there were anything that could help you.

There's nothing. Not the gathered pubes in the moldy shower drain nobody uses, not the faded rusting lockers, not the dirty windows that nobody will ever be able to see out of no matter how much scrubbing

You're fucked.

But how fucked, do we wager? Does this mean Simon will get in his feelings and never talk to you again? Will he out you? (No, it wouldn't ever—) What if he gets revenge?... What kind of revenge?

As you stand there, panic setting in, a voice rings out from the entrance of the shower area.

"What 'appened to three hours?"

You squeak as the door slams, the deadbolt echoing through the room.

You are locked in the showers with Simon.

"What's with the sudden cold feet?" Simon grunts as he rounds the corner, closing the distance between you in slow, measured strides.

"I-I can explain—" you stammer, phone dropping on the bench next to your towel.

He stalks towards you, his steps slow and deliberate. There's a dangerous edge to his gaze that makes your heart beat even faster in your chest.

You're trapped, unable to back away, and he looms over you like a caged beast.

"Explain why you're runnin' away from the challenge you issued, love?" he drawls, stopping just a few feet away from you. "This I 'ave to 'ear."

He crosses his arms as he stands there, his eyes never leaving your face. You're in for it now, his expression seems to say.

You chuckle nervously, gesturing between the two of you, "I mean, realistically it can't ever happen—"

"Who says it can't?" He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl. "I don't care 'bout the damn regulations, love. That's not gonna stop me from 'aving you."

"Y-You are all about the rules, Si. You follow them to a T— You wouldnt—" you swallow thickly. What have you done to yourself this time.

"I usually follow the rules, yes," he concedes tauntingly, "An' right now, those rules are fuck all to me anymore."

Your tongue suddenly feels heavy in your mouth, "W-What about—"

Simon leans a forearm over your head and slouches down, his eyes darkened by lust and determination.

"What 'bout...?" he mocks, "Y'think I give a damn 'bout those old geezers with their rules right now? All I care 'bout is 'aving you, 'ere an' now."

Simon's free hand reaches up, his fingers lightly tracing your jawline. "I'll show you 'm fuckin' man enough to 'ave you."

While you are speechless, he adds for you to better understand. "It's just you an' me in 'ere."

"But—" you squeak.

Simon's hand moves quick to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"No," he growls, "We don't need to follow the rules in 'ere. We don't need anyone's permission. We could be loud, we could be rough. No one would ever know."

No one... Would know.

He leans in, his lips hovering just centimeters from your ear. "Just us in 'ere. You tellin' me you'd rather 'ave some stupid fuckin' toy over a man that can fill you up all night long?" His hand slides down to your throat, holding you tenderly but firmly, "Just say yes, love."

You whimper in delight, his eyes flickering down to your shifting thighs.

"Yeah," he purrs, his hand angling your head up against the wall. "Y'know you want it. Y'want me."

You want him more than sleep. You want him more than some real fucking food.

"Y'know you don't need anythin' else but me t' fuck you stupid."

"Yes," you moan.

Simon's eyes gleam with approval, his grip on your chin tightens slightly.

"That's good fuckin' girl," he growls.

He licks your neck through the mask, chest expanding with a deep inhale that crushes you to the wall.

"Say y'want me," he demands in a gravelly whisper.

What is thinking? Why would you have to think?

"Want you s'bad," you whine.

"Fuckin' right you do," he mutters.

His other hand drifts down, slowly tracing down your body until it lands on your waist, shoving you into the shower stall. For a moment, you thought you were going to get a little groping, made a knead here and there. But no, you're just standing like a dumbass in the empty shower stall.

"Strip." He growls.

Your skin erupts with gooseflesh in the bare shower shall, his gaze unwavering as he waits for his private show. He steps closer, his own clothes still on, thick arms folding over his chest.

"Slowly," he commands, "Show me what's gonna be mine."

You pinch the hem of your cargos, and then switch to your shirt.

What the hell do you even start with?

"Trousers first," Simon instructs roughly.

He stands there, still dressed, but his eyes devouring every inch of you as you slowly pop the button.

You slowly shimmy the waist band over the swell of each hip, pushing down to your ankles. Simon's breaths grow heavier as you flick the material off your feet his eyes transfixed on the movement.

"Thas it. Bra next," he commands, velvety smooth, "Nice n' slow. I want t'see all o' you."

Bra? Bra next? Why not your shirt?

You kick the cargos away, your shirt barely covering over your panties as you unclasp the bra through your shirt and maneuver it out from one of the sleeves to hold it in the tip of your finger.

Simon's eyes zero in on your pebbled nipples and pretty panties, the thin fabric doing little to hide your curves.

"Good girl," he purrs, "Now come 'ere."

You're... You're not even done. He motions with his fingers for you to approach him, his eyes dark with need.

"Do the thing," you manage out.

"The thing?" he grunts in an enticing voice, taking a step forward as you gesture to your mouth and nose.

He reaches up and pulls the mask to his nose, revealing his lips.

"Is this what y'want, love?" he asks, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

"Yeah," you breathe as you wet your lips.

Those would taste so good. You just know it.

"Y'want to see m' mouth, huh?" he asks, a smirk playing at the corners of those now revealed lips that show his canines, a chipped tooth, his lower face in general in its scarred glory, "Y'want to see what I can do, love?"

He closes the remaining space between you in a single stride, grabbing you by the back of the neck and yanking you forward.

His free hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his eyes filled with dark hunger that makes your pussy pulse.

His mouth descends on yours, his lips claiming yours in a fiercely possessive kiss. You moan lowly, one of your arms circling his thick waist. He's burning up, hot and sweaty under his clothes that reek of his natural musk.

One of your curious hands ventures down, squeezing at his ass. He breaks the kiss with a surprised grunt, a coy smirk.

"Naughty, that," he huffs, "But I like it. My turn,"

The world before you lunges back, his mouth descending on your neck. He sucks and bites at the sensitive skin, his teeth leaving red marks in their wake.

His hands have a rough exploration, sliding down your skin, pausing just above the waistband of your panties to slide in to the globes of your ass. You stand in your tip toes to lean into him, whimpering at his rough gropes and kneading.

His mouth continues it's path down your neck, his teeth grazing the tops of your covered tits as his hands roughly squeeze and massage your perfect ass.

"Look at you," he growls, "Squirmin' an' I haven't even started."

He pushes your ass up, looking over your shoulder to watch it bounce. His hands slide lower, pulling the elastic of your panties down slightly, "Look at this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You're fuckin' soaked through."

And he's right.

You squeeze your thighs, trying to rid that sticky mess thats unbearably uncomfortable. He tuts, delivering a slap to your ass.

"Tryin' to get yourself off, love?" he purrs, his fingers tracing along the edge of your panties.

You can't tell the difference between the onyx color from his pupils, you can hardly look at his eyes when his mouth is right there and his own tits are in your face. God, you want to nibble on those chapped lips, feel those fat biceps squeeze you as his hips snap on the backs of your thighs—

He backs you up, his hard cock pressing against you through his jeans, "Y'want it?"

"Yes!" You mewl.

"Thas what I like to 'ear, love," he husks, his fingers playing with the crotch of your panties. "Get that shirt off, wanna see those pretty tits finally."

You squirm, pulling your shirt up and off and throwing it somewhere that doesn't matter right now.

"Perfect," he rasps, his hand reaching up to cup your breast, "These are fuckin' nice,"

You arch, eyes rolling at the nice kneading to your sore flesh of being stuck in a bra all day. To your displeasure, freezing water sprays down your body and your uncomfortable groan bounces off the walls until the water warms up.

He's still fully dressed though, his clothes sticking to his muscular frame, accentuating every hard muscle and scar.

"Shower's a bit shitty," he says, his eyes raking your body. "But we don't 'ave to wait for that to get goin'."

Your panties have disappeared into his pocket, you follow the way his fingers shove it in— Your eyes divert to that large bulge behind the zipper.

"I know what y'want," he grunts, his hand moving to the belt and zipper.

Simon pulls down his zipper, the metal teeth parting revealing a black pair of boxers, which does little to hide the already impressive outline of his hard cock nudging up against the waist band.

He pushes his jeans down his thick thighs, his body still clothed in a tight black shirt and underwear drenched in water.

Your saliva glands burn at the sight of his happy trail plunging past the waist band, eyeing that nice size you only got a little feel of on your leg—

"Want a closer look?" he purrs, his hand slowly palming the base of his covered cock, precum bleeding out from the thin fabric on his thigh.

You make a face at him, your face burning with embarrassment

"What's the matter, love? You shy now?" he says with a smirk, his hand continuing to slowly palm and squeeze, "Y'were all full o' attitude today."

His head tilts mockingly, stroking himself for you, enticing you. Pinch yourself again, this might actually be a dream—

"Go on," he rasps, "Feel me."

You follow a trail of water down to his shirt clinging to his body, his drenched happy trail, and then the outline of his cock.

With one hand, you tug the waist band forward, clenching as he sucks in a breath that makes his abs tense.

He leans forward, his mouth hovering over your ear, "Go on," he husks, "Take it out, love."

He leans back, watching you intently, waiting for you to do as told. Maybe you do like to be told what to do in this context. With your other, you pull him free with your eager hand.

He moans, he fucking moans.

"Thas it, love," he husks out, his voice a little strangled. "Feel me up."

His hands rest on the wall behind you, caging you in. He hips rock into your hand, each stroke of your fist pulling the foreskin back.

"You're so big," you whimper.

Simon lets out a deep, gravelly groan as you speak. It just might be the hottest sound you've ever heard. Right next to the time he was lifting heavy dumbbells, letting all those grunts and growls loose.

He looks down at you, his gaze burning with lust and need, "You want it, baby?" he asks, his hips grinding against your hand harder, "Want this big dick?"

"Want it so bad, Si," you mumbled against his lips, your tongue darting out to lick his teeth.

his mouth claiming yours in a rough, passionate kiss. His tongue immediately tangles with yours, his teeth biting and tugging at your lower lip.

"I know you do," he grunts, his tongue slipping past your lips to slide against yours before speaking again, "You've been eye-fucking me all afternoon, love."

His hands start to wander along your body, mapping your curves with rough caresses,

"You're gonna get it," he husks.

One of his hands moves down to your hip as he moves lower, his mouth following the curve of your throat, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses and bites.

"Want m'cock in that pretty pussy? Or your mouth?"

Where do you fucking think, smart guy?

"In me, inside me, please," you mewl.

His massive paws squeeze your hips to spin you around, planting your hands against the wall.

"Bend over," he growls, his eyes roaming over your body, "'M gonna give you what y'want."

His hands on your hips start to maneuver your body, making you arch your back and hips out.

He runs a hand up your spine, "So pretty," he murmurs as he takes in the sight of your body bent and on display for him.

He steps up behind you, his body flush against your back, his clothes still fucking on and wet and sticking to your body.

"Gonna fill ya up nice n' good," he sucks on his teeth with a low growl, "Been thinkin' o' me all day 'aven't you?"

His hips rock against your ass slowly, his bare cock rubbing on your supple skin.

His hands massage your ass, kneading and squeezing the flesh as you lean on your forearms, moaning as the blunt head notches to your dripping slit.

"Want m'hands all over you," Simon growls against your flesh, his rough palms skimming over your curves, "Mm, relax, yeah? Nice n' easy— Yeah, thas a good girl,"

His hips do a slow, deliberate grind, rocking into you to make room for him as he moves his lips along the curve of your shoulder.

There's slow shallow thrusts, working you open until he takes a deep stroke down to the base. Fuck, he's thick all over, heavy even inside your walls. If you had the brain power, you'd reach below and hold his balls.

"You're so damn gorgeous," he husks darkly, his breath hot against your skin, "I wanted this since I first saw you."

He's so intense he's burning a hole through you with his gaze, his hands still exploring your body, worshiping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.

His hands slide down to the front of your thighs, coaxing your legs further apart, opening you up for him.

"I knew I wanted you the moment you walked in," he breathes, "I knew you'd feel amazing under my hands."

Your cheek presses into the shower wall with a strangled moan,

"S'deep,"

Simon growls at your moan and pushes into you with more force, his hands squeezing your ass to yank you back, spearing you over and over on his cock.

"Fuckin' knew you'd feel s'tight an' good,"

His hand presses on your lower tummy, mouth hot and panting against your shoulder blade. He grabs the back of your hand, his fingers threading through yours and pressing it against the wall.

"Take it, take—this—cock,"

You choke out a moan, slumping against the wall, "please, so close, so close—"

"You gonna come f'me, huh?" he asks, his voice raw and breathless.

It's a lovely sound on him.

"Yes, please, wanna come, haven't came this fast before—" you beg.

He lets out a ragged, possessive growl at your words, his hips piston roughly against your ass, full balls swinging on your clit over and over.

"Come on, pet," he snarls, deft fingers twirling tight circles around your clit.

You whimper loudly, hands sliding down the slick shower walls, hips straining for him as you come hard with a broken mewl.

"That's it, fuck—"

He breaks off in a gutteral moan, hips stilling as he spills inside you. Simon catches you as your legs buckle out from under you, scooping you up against his chest to lean you back against the wall.

You don't even know what just happened in the span of 5 minutes. He's panting hard, his heart pounding against your back.

"Fuck," he growls, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "Fuckin' perfect, love,"

You smile lazily back at him, pawing at his shoulders to pull him in a soft languid kiss, his lips claiming yours in soft, sweet caresses. He melts against your touch, the fierce need from earlier receding now that you're sated. He returns your lazy kiss, his hands gently roaming up and down your back.

"Bloody hell," he mutters against your lips, "Fuckin' perfect, woman." He nips at your neck, "'M not done yet."

Looks like he is the cure to your sleeping problem.

[satangcrush]

reimagined first meeting with solomon 

solomon x g!n reader, sfw, not beta-read

a/n▸ i fear i got a little too silly with this

“You’re kidding me.”

The man in front of you hadn’t changed a thing about his look since the last time you saw him, as if time had stood still. His mouth was stretched into a grin too wide, perfect white teeth on full display, a hint of mirth playing at the edge of his lips.

 It pisses you off, makes your blood boil. 

“You’re the exchange student?” He says pleasantly, hands raised to give you a greeting. He smells the same, a hint of musk with that light and clean scent wrapping around him. It horrifies you when the realisation dawns that you still like it.

You scoffed.

Without much thought, you immediately spun on your heel moving to get as far away as you could. The sorcerer manages to skirt his way in front of you, blocking your escape route as he holds onto your arm.

“Hey–”

“Don’t talk to me.” You hissed, snatching back your arm as if you had been electrocuted. Your breath leaks into the air, full of anger. 

A silence rang between both of you for a second.

He stands there, hand still raised up. He looked genuinely confused at your animosity and watched as you dusted off your hands as if he were a speck of dirt.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you acting dumb?” You fight the urge to gag, fury settling into your veins as your nostrils flare up.

“No.” He says but he looks unsure this time. “Did I do something?” He cautiously adds on, grimacing as your expression sours even further at his response.

“Forget it.” You end up saying, tone painfully bland that makes Solomon blanch. “If you don’t know, then I guess it never mattered in the first place.”

He wasn’t feigning his reaction this time. At least, you could tell this much. The air suddenly feels too hot in your lungs, hurt burning even more. 

You contort your face. He recognises it as the expression when you don't want to argue with him any further. He stares for a moment longer, mouth gaping open and close as he processes what you say. The minute trickled by as you continued to stand there. 

You don’t know why you were still here.

“Tell me.” He coughs. He doesn’t know exactly what to say. He never knows what to do with you when you get like this. He digs his nails into his palm, panic coursing through him.

Your eyes flutter shut for a second, a cool relief from the sight in front of you. You hate that you’re visibly affected by his words. Sucking in a breath, you grapple for words to throw out before settling for the first thought in your brain.

“You’re pathetic, you know?” You start, watching as his eyebrows lift up into a furrow. Forcing yourself to bark out a laugh, the sound sharp even to your own ears. “I guess I meant nothing to you.”

Your thumb slid under the rest of your fingers as you pushed down on it. The pain was a bright, flashing sensation that caused you to swallow hard. A reminder for you to inflict as much pain as you could.

It was a truth that still hurts after all these times.

Solomon recoils back as if he had been struck by lightning. It puts a pause in your thoughts when you catch sight of his face.

Good, you hope it hurts. 

(Just like when he had walked out on you then all those years back.)

“Wait–”

Before he could utter a word again, you–

You were already long gone.

[librarygarten]

I would not be able to shut up about Zelda lore. I'd be mentioning the Links the Chain hasn't met yet, or how Ganondorf's hair keeps getting longer with each iteration, and especially the timeline! I'd be turning to Legend and Four and saying that according to Nintendo, they're a bunch of Links conflated together (Four Swords before Time and Adventures after Twilight what???) and then turning to Warriors to say that his game isn't canon to the timeline. SEND HELP

Literally same. I swear I would be the most annoying person ever. I'd be telling them about all the fan theories, giving them all an existential crisis. (Because IMAGINE if Wind found out some people don't think he has the hero's spirit. Or if Sky found out some people think Demise's curse is the reason every other Link had to deal with Ganon.) This was going to be a short little blurb but... yeah you get a whole two pages. This is what you get for feeding my hyper fixation, anon.

“You know about all our adventures and the impact my actions specifically had on the timeline.” Time’s face was unreadable. His usually serious demeanor had a much colder edge to it. And it was directed at you.

You take a breath. He had been a bit stand-offish when you had joined the group. He had been upset when you spoke about how the chain’s adventures were games in your universe. You suspected he began outright avoiding you after that. You had thought there had been an unspoken but mutual understanding that his games were something not to be spoken of. Nothing could prepare you for this conversation, especially with the rest of the chain within earshot. Still, he had spoken to you. Directly to you. Which was progress, even if the subject matter was… this.

“Yeah.” You try to seem nonchalant. Your voice crack ruins the effect somewhat.

“Explain, then. Knowing how we,” Time motions to the rest of the group, “all fit together might help us face the creature we’ve been fighting.”

“Oh, that might get a bit complicated. Some of the games y’all appear in aren’t canon.” You smile nervously. “And some of you guys seem to be multiple games combined? Like, you have two games, and that makes sense because Majora’s Mask was meant to be a sequel to Ocarina of Time. But, for example, in the official timeline The Minish Cap and Four Swords take place before the timeline split, while Four Swords Adventures happens after it, even though all three games seem to be Four’s adventures.”

“Wait, what?” Four perked up at the mention of his name. “How does that make sense? I used the Four Sword about a year or so after my time with the Picori. How can those two games have things between them?”

“Hoooo boy.” You pressed your lips together, trying to summon the restraint necessary to give a tactful answer. You looked at Time, then Four, then at the rest of the chain, whose attention was focused solely on you. Screw it. They asked.

“The company that created the games, Nintendo, published a book with an official timeline in it. The timeline begins with Skyward Sword, after which Sky and his Zelda kind of found what will eventually become Hyrule and *ahem* start the royal family.” You ramble on, choosing not to comment on the way Sky chokes on his own spit. “Then, the Minish Cap happens. And according to Nintendo, the next game, Four Swords, has a completely different Link. After Four Swords, the events of Ocarina of Time happen, where a TON of time travel shenanigans happen.”

Time coughs. You keep talking.

“During Ocarina of Time, Time defeated Ganondorf as a teenager. His Zelda then sent him back in time to prevent Ganondorf from ever getting the Triforce in the first place, but this didn’t erase the other timeline. Thus, there are two timelines: Time’s original that he was removed from and the new one where Ganondorf was never really an issue.”

You get out a stick, drawing lines in the dirt to illustrate your point.

“Now, in the timeline that Time left, Ganondorf eventually came back. That’s what set’s up the events of Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass. Also in this timeline is a game called Spirit Tracks. The Link from that game isn’t here, but Wind’s Zelda’s granddaughter is that Link’s Zelda.”

“WAIT WHAT?” Wind shouted, temporarily snapping you out of your rant. Oh shoot. How long have you been rambling? You turned your attention to Wind.

“What’s up, sailor?” You point at him with the stick in your hand, as if you were a school teacher lecturing on a subject and not a gamer with way too much free time.

“Tetra had KIDS?” Wind scrunches his face up, as if disgusted by the thought of his best friend reproducing.

“Yes, that is how grandchildren work.” You tap your stick against the end of the line you had drawn. “Anyway, that’s about it for that timeline. As far as I know, Wind stabbing Ganondorf in the face actually killed the guy for once.”

“Wait, WIND is the one who actually finished off Ganon?” Legend pipes up.

“Why do you sound so surprised!?” Wind fires back indignantly.

“MOVING ON!” You shout, redirecting the group's attention back to you. “In the timeline Time went back to and fixed, he has another game, Majora’s Mask. He then settles down and has a kid, who has a kid, etc. etc., then we get Twilight and his game, Twilight Princess. Time is kind of a dickwad in that game, but we don’t have time to unpack that.”

“Hold on.” Time puts up a hand, trying to stop you from continuing. He looks… extremely worried. Twilight looks as if he just swallowed a frog.

“Nope, moving on!” You use your stick to quickly lower Time’s arm. “Twilight actually also killed Ganondorf, but the bastard went and got resurrected. Vaati also shows up again randomly, and that’s how Four Swords Adventures happens.”

“What about me and Legend?” Hyrule raises his hand politely.

“Ah, you guys are from a timeline where Time died in his final fight with Ganondorf.”

“I’M SORRY WHAT?” Twilight and Time shout at almost the same time.

“Yep. That’s what started the Sealing War. Time’s Zelda and the sages sealed Ganondorf away. Then we have Legend’s games, which have two different orders, both of which were published by Nintendo. It either goes A Link to the Past, Oracle of Seasons/Ages, then Link's Awakening, or Link’s Awakening, then Oracle of Seasons/Ages.”

“Why the different order? Doesn’t ‘Nintendo’ know?” Legend smirks, as if he had won against this strange other-worldly company that had reduced him to a child’s game.

“Well, they published the first version, but because Link’s Awakening was the last game for you, fans thought you died at sea.” You explain. Legend’s smirk disappears as the color drains from his face.

“Anyway, according to Nintendo, the next game is A Link Between Worlds, which is a different Link. After that, it’s Hyrule’s games: The Legend of Zelda and The Legend of Zelda 2: The Adventure of Link. Then that’s it for the downfall timeline.”

“What about me?” Wild sheepishly points to himself.

“Nobody knows. Nintendo says they’re after Four Swords Adventures OR Spirit Tracks. Personally, I think after FSA makes more sense, but we DEFINITELY shouldn’t get into theory territory right now.”

“I’m guessing my game is the same? No clear timeline placement because of all the different timelines mixing together?” Warriors rolls his eyes as he says it, as if annoyed he doesn’t have an official timeline placement.

“No, actually. Your entire game was more fanservice than anything. Nintendo doesn’t even consider it canon.”

“WHAT?”

^ Y/N explaining the timeline to the chain be like

[f1amour]

Hiya!! Can I pretty please request a blurb that’s both angsty and a lil fluffy?

🍮 Lewis Hamilton - “I’m scared of losing you”

❝ i’m scared of losing you ❞ — lewis hamilton

pairing | lewis hamilton x reader

content warnings | angst, comfort, age gap mentioned (not specified)

★ navigation | main masterlist

─────────────────────────

“lewis is ready for this season to end” “lewis wants a fresh start and it’ll be with ferrari” “seems like hamilton just wants a a fresh start with life in general…does that include his girlfriend?”

the tweets did not stop rolling in and you couldn’t help but get lost in them. you couldn’t help but believe the words many were saying. maybe lewis was over this season, done with mercedes, and maybe he was over you too. he noticed the distance you had put up after the brazil gp. there was a two week break and you had spent it at home trying to relax but that was not possible with your constant checking in on twitter to see what people are saying about you.

you weren’t one to be on your phone so much at least when you had free time with lewis you guys tried your best to be in the moment. so when he came home from taking roscoe on a walk only to find you in the same spot you were in before he left almost two hours ago was concerning. it was concerning enough when you didn’t join them on the walk which you usually do, telling lewis you wanted to stay back and start on dinner. dinner was nowhere to be seen as you say on the barstool in the kitchen phone on in your hands with tears in your eyes.

lewis quickly lets roscoe off his leash and walks to you, “baby, what’s going?” his finger lifts your chin up to look him in the eyes but the tears in your eyes just make him frown. “please talk to me. i’m worried about you.” his soft voice fills your ears as you let him wrap his arms around you giving you a hug you didn’t know you needed until now.

your body shakes shading his as you let all your tears and frustrations out until you finally calm down his hands rub your back as you take deep breaths, “i…i’m scared, lewis. i’m scared of losing you,” you tell him what you’d been feeling for weeks now. lewis was not expecting those words to come out of your mouth. in fact, he felt that he was losing you due to this distance you’d been putting up.

his hands cup your face and gives you a smile that makes you believe your thoughts of losing him were just your imagination, “oh honey, now why would you think that? i can’t imagine my life without you. who told you something?” he asks, knowing damn well you’d never just start having these thoughts for no reason.

you look down at the countertop as you hand him your phone which had your twitter feed full of negativity, “lewis looks over this team and ready for a fresh start either ferrari he probably feels the same in his love life as well, lewis wants to focus on his 8th world championship not shopping for wedding rings for his young girlfriend who brings bad luck—,” lewis stops after the last tweet and looks over at you, your hands covering your face trying to avoid his gaze.

“look at me. plenty of people feel the opposite of these tweets. you got sucked into a thread that is all people who don’t actually support me. my fans, my true fans adore you. maybe even more than me. you’re only a few years younger than me and that isn’t an issue with me, love. i love you. you’ve brought the good luck for me. you bring faith every single race week especially this year where it’s been fucking hell most of the time. i can’t imaging my life without you, ever.” his words soothe your mind despite still feeling a bit anxious from those tweets you realize maybe listening to complete strangers rather than the love of your life wasn’t the best idea. however, lewis always validated your feelings and why you may have gotten lost in the dark side of the media where people aren’t always so accepting of your relationship.

“i’m sorry, lew. shouldn’t have listened to them i just…i don’t know how you deal with everything and still keep your head up. i’m exhausted,” you confess, you were never one to be on social media and read comments unless they were from friends or family. seeing how the last few races have been brutal for lewis you wanted to defend your boyfriend but ended up on the wrong side. “baby, you were with me for 2021. you are probably the only reason i didn’t quit and why i still haven’t. you’ve got faith in me, i hold that very dear to my heart. i’m with you till the end.” his last words make you cry some more but happy tears now as he chuckles at your smile, “there’s my girl. now, let’s take a break from the phone and cook some dinner together.”

he helps you off the stool and you grab his hand turning him back, “i love you too.” you pull him into a kiss and all lewis could think about is the engagement ring hiding under roscoe’s bed ready to make an appearance once the season is over.

[luciferanalyzestar]

The more I waste my braincells thinking about Helluva, the more I lose interest in it. Doing laundry is more entertaining than Helluva. I have the feeling Sinmas will be the final nail in the coffin for me.

I am not going to watching season three because I like feeling something when watching shows. My face was like :| when watching Mastermind, I only felt emotion when laughing at the "heartfelt" moments or when Lucifer was mentioned. I will probably watch reviews of season three to kept up with the lore/worldbuilding for my Hazbin AU not the plot.

Blitz and Stolas' relationship becoming the main focus is my 13th reason. At least with Hazbin, there's multiple storylines that kept my attention. If there a character storyline I do not care for, I can yap about another one. Hazbin's season one is an overpacked rush mess with too many characters, but it gives me more to talk about.

Since Full Moon it has been back-to-back just those two characters, and it is a snooze fest. This is why I rarely make posts about Helluva unless a new episode comes out. They only thing I can talk about is those two, the other characters do nothing and are just cardboard cutouts. It does not help that most of them are linked to Blitz or Stolas. I would have enjoyed the shorts with the last three was not about Blitz. I am tired of Blitz as a character. I was neutral on him at first when I started watching the show but now, I just dislike him. Same with Stolas.

Now those two are living together and Stolas will probably start working for at IMP because he's a moral brokie. They will take up more screen time while everyone else will get breadcrumbs. This show is set in Hell because it is Hell to watch unless you are a non-man that enjoys yaoi that is burnt from being in the bad writing oven for too long. I swear the canon mlm ships are made with yaoi fans in mind and not for a people who are mlm and general queer audience but that is whole different discussion.

Helluva is slowly reminding me of Miraculous Ladybug because that show started going downhill when the writers dragged out the "Will They or Won't They " shtick for four seasons. I am not saying having a show about a core (romantic) relationship is bad but having other relationships (romantic, platonic, etc) and maybe some that is not linked to the core one will stop your show/comic/whatever from becoming a snoozefest.

Helluva was an alright show when season one. When the first half of season two had it hiccups but was still alright since Full Moon, I cannot even call this show a guilty pleasure or a bile fascination of mines. It is just lackluster and at worst, abysmal.

[silkenwinger]

i'm just a station on your way

simon "ghost" riley x reader - a cupid/psyche retelling of sorts

part one

He takes off his mask in his room.

Well, that’s to be expected. Even if he wore it as a security measure, or to hide scars– the comfort of his own private space is enough to make him take it off. It has to be uncomfortable and sweaty, too.

Although, at that point you’d expect to see his face.

“Ghost, I–”

“Don’t even try it, Sergeant. Lights off.”

You didn’t even finish, nor really articulate anything, but you shut up real quick at orders anyway. His mouth is on yours to cover any other protest as he presses you against the door, and your mental freakout ends definitely as his fingers come to brush against your core.

Later, as you catch your breath on the spacious lieutenant issued bed, your curiosity spikes again. You are resting your head on Ghost’s left arm, the one you know is painted with ink well over his elbow. His blond ish hair is surprisingly soft on your cheek. He starts stroking your side with his other arm. Your own hand raises, as if it has a mind of its own, and lands on Ghost’s cheek. He jerks almost imperceptibly, but you still feel it, as close as you are. 

His skin feels normal: a high cheekbone, the hint of a stubble. You don't know why you're surprised.

“Regretting it now?” He speaks, throaty voice and secluded tone, like he actually fears your answer. 

“Nah,” you answer, “checking you are real is all.”

Nothing much changes in your outward relationship after you two start sleeping together. You try not to show your undying loyalty to him to others, and he's just good at not letting anything out. Your trysts are mostly consumed in his room, and sometimes, exceptionally, in yours. You don't really know why he chose you over anyone he could have– and you know he's liked, since you have ears and eyes. At least in those hours spent in the darkness he’s all yours and not the country’s. 

It’s like you know two versions of the same man. The Ghost that looms around base, kills enemies quietly as they strangle out a choked gasp, and always has a way out of a building on fire. The Simon that cuddles you, lets you bury your nose in the juncture between neck and shoulder, and navigates his room in the dark, even though you told him you could close your eyes while he turned the lights on.

You reckon he really, really does not want you to see his face. But as he is in his right to be insecure, or really careful about his privacy, you’re in your right to let it affect you. Not a lot. Just a little bit. 

Who are you, even, to get offended by it? It’s not like you’re his girlfriend. By certain metrics you’re barely friends.

One day while you’re in training you start putting on your gear distractedly. It’s yet another trail course that will have the corporals coughing up a lung, since there’s a high chance of it being orchestrated by Ghost and/or Soap. There’s a couple of guys you’re especially worried about. Not to be the classic bleeding heart of a woman in the army, but… ugh. 

Suddenly you feel a pull behind you. Ghost stands at your back, his hands fiddling with the last clasp you had yet to hook. He latches it quickly and tests its resistance, brown eyes going over the rest of the gear. You look at him from your shoulder and smile at him. He has his ways of caring.

After the predictable hardship, you’re in the mess trying to enjoy some peace when a tray slides in front of your eyes. An abundant serving accompanies a satisfied Soap: a man whose greed (but also generosity) knows no bounds. He’s whistling now, rubbing his hands as if he’s some animal ready to dig in.

“Hi?” you start, unsure. You two are on pretty good terms, you may even reach the status of friends, but you thought you had made it clear enough you didn’t want to talk. Not clear enough, it seems.

“Hello. Mind if I sit here?”

“No.”

“Good. Anyways…” He then starts recounting the whole morning exercise, going over the most problematic parts. You nod at his remarks and add small comments, but it’s mostly a solo endeavor. He has no qualms over it and seems perfectly content with your input. You’re done eating while he’s still halfway through, and you’re thinking of ways to slip off, citing paperwork or the likes, when he stops talking about work and puts a hand on his jaw.

“Oh, lass, I was wondering… how’s Ghost’s mug, by the way? You see we’ve been working together for a while and I’ve never got to see it, got all curious about it.”

You try to muster an expression of pure neutrality as you deny it all.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come off it now… no sense pretending, no?”

“No, Soap, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What, are you ashamed? No need to be ya keen. I see the appeal.”

You’re now pretty sure blood has risen to all of your face. You’re being read so easily and quickly you’re asking yourself why the fuck did you even go through all those torture trainings if Soap can dismantle you this easily.

“Okay. How do you even know?”

He smirks, blue eyes glinting. “I didn’t but now I do. So? How’s it?”

You feel yourself dry up even more and immediately rush to damage control.

“You can’t tell anyone. Really, Soap. You know it’s not allowed.” He scoffs and even has the gall to shrug.

“No one gives a fuck, really. Price can’t talk cause he’s been sleeping with the head nurse anyway.”

“Yes but Ghost is my superior, you know that’s not-”

“Sooo? Is he ugly?”

“Soap!”

“Lass!”

You almost yell, but bite your own tongue. The last thing you need is the whole mess turning to see what two sergeants are arguing about. You bury your face in your hands. Might as well come clean.

“I haven’t… I haven’t actually seen it.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But you’re sleeping together! I even saw you coming out of the barracks once, and today he was all over you.”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you we are doing it in the dark.”

“You’re kidding me…” he says, jaw-slacked and eyes wide. Then he recovers and crosses his arms, expression morphing into a serious one.

“Now, that’s just not proper.”

“Are you my mother telling me it’s bad to sleep with someone who’s not my boyfriend?”

“Not that… I’m talking about not showing your face to the girl you’re with. Pure shite behaviour in fact. I’m kind of disappointed in LT, gonna be honest.”

You feel an urge to defend Ghost at all costs. Yes, it hasn’t been easy. But you’ve been coping. Being with a restricted version of him is better than not being with him at all.

“It’s fine. You know how he is… I can’t force him anyway.”

“Nah, lass. He’s being a monster about it. And I know it bothers you as well, can see it in your eyes.”

“Soap…”

“I’ve said my piece. I can talk with him-”

“What?! Are you crazy? You’ll shut your gob, Soap, or help me God.” You breathe in once, twice.

“I get what you’re saying, okay? But as I said it’s fine. We’re nothing official. Whatever comes… it’s enough.”

He levels you with a look that makes you want to claw out of your skin. But he just sighs and gets up. He takes his tray in one hand and comes to touch your shoulder with the other.

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

You’ll think and think again.