Aughhhhgghh Literally W So Good Like This Friendship Between These Two Are My Roman Empire

I just recently fell into the welcome home fandom and oh wow your work was SO SO GOOD the way you characterized Wally was IMMACULATE

The Nightmare Picnic - Wally Darling x Reader

You’re a brand new resident in the wonderful Welcome Home Neighbourhood, and it’s the perfect day for the picnic! But your dear friend Wally Darling doesn’t seem to be enjoying the fun. What will happen when you decide to try and cheer him up?

content warnings for: eye imagery, scopophobia, hypnosis, impossible physics, Eldritch, and unreality. go in assuming that Wally is a weird little guy, and you’re both terrified of and kind of enjoy that fact! 😉 you can also find this fic on my AO3. i hope you enjoy!! 

Keep reading

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(Absolutely don’t do this if you aren’t comfortable) ENA (Dream bbq) getting drunk with reader?

•☽────✧˖°˖ FIZZY VALLEY ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Drunk Salesperson Ena X Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (Ena: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): Mentions And Descriptions Of Alcohol

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You should’ve known something was off when Ena invited you to what she called “a high-stakes engagement strategy brainstorm over beverages.” You were picturing coffee. Not tequila. Not her slamming two shot glasses on the bar and declaring, “Let’s reframe the concept of reality, darling.” She drinks like it’s a performance review—firm eye contact, exaggerated praise, and PowerPoint levels of misplaced confidence.

☆ Once Ena’s a few drinks in, her Salesperson side becomes so aggressively charming it’s like being smothered in coupon codes. “If you subscribe to this partnership now, I’ll offer you unlimited emotional support and complimentary hand-holding,” she hums, voice like cherry soda and half-suppressed giggles. You try to hide your flustered expression. She sees it. She logs it as “high conversion potential.”

☆ Her Meanie side doesn’t come out often at first—until she tries to order fries, but the kitchen’s closed. Suddenly she’s slamming her forehead on the bar, sobbing, “I AM THE TRAGIC EMBODIMENT OF CORPORATE WASTE—WHERE’S MY SALTED PRODUCTIVITY?!” You offer her a peanut. She throws the bowl at a breathing taxidermy moose.

☆ “Here’s your performance feedback,” she slurs, twirling a swizzle stick like a laser pointer, “You’re hot. You show initiative. You opened a door for me once. I will die for you.” You tell her that’s not how feedback works. She pulls out a clipboard from her suspenders and tries to make you sign a form titled “Love Contract (Beta).”

☆ She draws gimmicks on napkins. Terrible ones. Drunk ideas like “emotionally sentient office chairs” and “a pyramid scheme where everyone sells little hats.” You try to say “maybe we shouldn’t do this.” She claps a hand on your back like a frat bro and shouts, “WRONG ATTITUDE, PARTNER. THINK BIGGER.” Then she draws a diagram that’s just the word “VIBES” in a circle.

☆ She stares at you for a full minute, eyes glassy, voice flat: “Are you in the mood for shared assets and mutual annihilation, or should I put on my mask again and pretend not to like you?” You blink. She blinks. Her red side winks. You are either about to get kissed or yelled at. Or both. Probably both.

☆ The bar has one of those ancient karaoke machines. She picks a glitchy jazz remix of the Windows 95 startup sound. Halfway through she forgets the words (there are no words) and starts yelling improvised business jargon in rhythm. “Synergize my dividends, baby! Let’s OUTSOURCE THE PAIN!” Someone in the back cheers. You cry.

☆ Her Salesperson side leans over the counter, cheeks flushed, voice soft and too sincere: “Do you think people like me more when I smile? I’ve been smiling all night. It hurts now. But I—I want to be liked. I want you to like me. For me. Even if I mess up the pitch.” And her Meanie side chimes in: “GØD, I hate being real.”

☆ You’re not sure what triggered it—maybe someone said “quarterly”—but suddenly she’s sobbing into your shoulder like a malfunctioning LinkedIn ad. “I DIDN’T ASK TO BE A PRODUCT OF CAPITALISM! I just wanted to sell fruit. Or stickers! Or happiness! But now I’m selling ME!” You rub her back. She hiccups and asks if you’d still like her if she was “just a weird triangle girl with debt.”

☆ The bar’s quiet now. Her hat’s fallen off. You’re holding her upright and she’s murmuring nonsense like, “Let’s invest in each other’s feelings… diversify the pain into smaller dividends… I’ll build a company out of your laugh…” Then, barely audible: “You’re my best client. Don’t ever unsubscribe.” You smile. You don’t say anything. You just let her rest.

Move over Marco it’s whitebeard pirates christmas one shot time

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Mushishi Artbook (Part 2/3)

Part 1/3

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(Ginko, the brooding but compassionate protagonist from the manga/anime Mushishi, is probably one of my favorite fictional characters. If you have a chance to read or watch it, do eeet. )

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Oh this is goooooooood

'cause now I'm scared to love the thought of you the way you did with me

word count: 10.6k

summary: love, you know. you, simon knows.

The first time Simon ever met you, he had the aching feeling that he knew you already.

No, not the sense of deja vu you get in snippets throughout your life. He felt the strange sense that he had known you all his life and had done something to wrong you somehow. He's four. Four-year-olds should not know that feeling. Especially not the sense that somehow, he had broken your heart or betrayed you. He's never met you before — that much, he's certain. He'd know. You're his age, so it's not like this feeling can be from knowing you as an infant. He doesn't remember that far back.

You wave at him, grinning as you pull him off with his brother to hang out as your parents talk to his mom, and you show him what it means to play.

When he leaves later, you ask him if you're friends.

He gives you a blank stare.

You end up in his class later that year, his next-door neighbour and companion, walking home with him from primary school, asking him if he understood anything in class. You're not as bright as he is, Simon thinks. You struggle a little more with certain concepts, and you argue with the teachers over ways to do certain things. A contradiction of everything, he thinks. He mulls over what you are and what you are not. How do you feel simultaneously like a fifty-year-old and a five-year-old at the same time?

He tugs on you sometimes to calm you down.

"Stop it."

"But it's—"

He gives you a look and you huff.

Simon likes sticking by your place, but he also doesn't enjoy it.

When he goes home, dad beats him because he was with you again.

Can' have them findin' out abou' what I do. y' hear me?

The purple is hard to hide around you. You pry too much. You ask too many questions. You tug Tommy around too much and Tommy talks too much. You don't need to know what it's like at home for him. You ask too many questions about why he's wearing a turtleneck when it's already twenty-two degrees outside. You tug at it, offering one of your shirts, but he can't. You don't need to know. You can't know. You shouldn't know. For some reason.

He wants to hide it from you for some reason.

You seem to know anyway, blinking at Simon curiously as you push back his sleeve, staring at the purple.

"You should report him, you know?"

"Ma wouldn't like that."

"So you'd rather be beat? Is it not just a fear factor?"

You don't speak like you're from around there either. You have a mixed accent. Like you've been in an amalgamation of countries and grew up everywhere at once. You don't feel like you're from Manchester. You had moved, sure, but you're young. You seem to be a constant dichotomy between everything and nothing. What does it mean to exist to you? You stare off into nothing the same way his ma does. But time travel doesn't exist or whatever. It's impossible to be sent back in time. All of that is just science fiction.

Pondering. Is that the word?

"What are y' looking at?"

"I'm thinking." You hum, blinking back to life. "That cloud looks like a rabbit."

"No. Looks like a duck."

"Well, now that it's moved." You huff. "That one's a heart."

"That one looks like a dog."

"I don't see it."

"The four legs?"

"Hm."

"'kay, well, that one's a worm."

"See that."

"mhm."

Dad is taken away at one point. Simon returns home to police at his door, hauling his drunken dad out as another officer comforts his mom, and he leads Tommy inside.

"You Simon?"

"Yes ma'am."

"This Tommy?"

"Mhm."

"You won't need to worry about that man anymore."

"Dad." Simon says. "Dad."

"You won't need to worry about him hitting you anymore."

"He makes all the money. Where are we t' go?"

He spots your parents with his ma, and he wonders where you are.

"They said they'll take you all in." The woman tells him.

Your place isn't big enough for all of them.

Yet, when he's brought home to your family, the guest room is set up, yet he finds himself in your room when he can't sleep, staring at you quietly in the dark, watching as you rub your eyes tiredly and scooch over to make space for him.

He still fits in your bed at this point in time.

"Does that make us siblings?" You whisper, getting yourself comfortable as you tangle limbs with him.

Simon wants to say yes. He does. But there's something else he wants, he supposes. He pauses.

"Maybe."

Room for maybe not. Maybe yes.

Maybe it's a cruel joke that he failed to fall asleep with his mother yet knocked right out with you. He's not so lucky as to be able to do it, and he understands that he's a guest so he shouldn't get too comfortable with the host, but you seem to abandon all care and treat him as though you really were siblings. You share everything with him, and he doesn't get why it hurts when you do.

The maybe was a maybe yes to you, maybe.

The maybe was a no to him. It was maybe not.

There's something in his chest that twists uncomfortably when you treat him like a sibling, abandoning all care for it, and he understands that maybe it's what his mother felt when she had been with his father. He doesn't know how long he'll be able to squeeze here with you. Maybe he'll eventually grow to be too big. He knows he will. He's not supposed to be sleeping with you. He sees it in the way your parents shake the both of you awake in the morning with all the concern for you.

It's almost as if he shouldn't be friends with you at all.

Yet, you don't give him the ability to choose, telling your parents that it didn't matter because Simon was like a brother to you.

The concept of siblings should not hurt Simon as much as it does.

He nods along, and you lace your fingers with him and Tommy, telling your parents you're thrilled that you can finally have the brothers you've always wanted.

Your parents let it go and his mom apologizes for the case, but your parents assure her that it's all you and none him.

Simon keeps his fingers laced with you all the way until the two of you get to the classroom.

You don't mind the teasing from the kids, and in turn, Simon doesn't seem to either.

That's how you spend the rest of primary school, tangled limbs with Simon, tugging and dragging him around with you to different things, and he learns to grow comfortable in your presence. The strange sense that he's done something wrong eventually fizzes into nothing that he worries about. The certainty you have in your friendship keeps Simon afloat even when his family eventually moves into a flat nearby.

You hang out at his place after classes, doing homework with him, munching on snacks you bring from the local supermarket on your way back from classes, humming and chewing on the chips as you do homework.

You struggle less than Simon now.

It's like you know.

The strange feeling that you know everything yet nothing lingers despite the guilt leaving. You blink at him quietly and sleep over occasionally, humming quietly as you lay on the mattress on the ground, staring up at nothing.

You do not go through puberty the same way Simon does.

Simon hits a growth spurt in the early years of secondary school — bed suddenly too small, skin stretching out at the alarming pace he was gaining height, and you hold back laughter when he hits his head in the morning and you laugh from the air mattress. He grumbles as he heads off to wash up, and when he returns, you only smile at him like you know something and he doesn't.

He finds you stare at him with a lot more pride than you used to. It's almost like you're his mother staring at him grow up, and it makes him uncomfortable.

You still sleep in the same room as him because you don't seem to think of him as a threat of any kind.

The girls at school start noticing him as well — whispering happening around him of how he's grown so much and how he's "oh suck a looker" because of his height. You've always told him he looked real pretty. "Blond lashes are rare" you'd told him. "makes you look real pretty, Si". He had flushed red at your compliment, but only because it had been you. He had found that it would only be you. Everything you did, intentional or not, had caused more than enough flustered stumbling from him.

He supposes it is just the curse of a teen in love.

You squeeze his bicep when you pass him in between periods, waving bye to him as you're off to the classes you chose and he didn't.

It's in the periods where you're not by him that the girls like to step up to him and giggle, asking if he's free or if he's all alone.

He wonders if he should lie sometimes.

A no warranted a "well would you want to? what about me?" and a yes warranted a "oh surely you jest" so truly, Simon did not have much a choice. He'd prefer it if you just branded him at that point.

Branded.

You brand him?

He understands that whatever he had felt for you in his earlier years was a sense of yearning, and whatever he felt for you in the current years was most likely closer to love than it is a schoolboy crush. He finds it unfair to do that to you, though. You had only ever seemed to see him as a sibling or something adjacent, cheeks warm and lips curled upwards as you head over to his place with him after classes, helping his mom out with cooking if she needed it, heading home only after dark and making sure that Simon walks you there.

He's utterly and completely a fool for you, he finds.

You could tell him to steal the stars in the sky and he'd somehow find a way.

He finds that it's just a curse, maybe. He's stuck with you and he enjoys it because you had met him at four and suddenly everything you ever did became a benefit to him. You knew what he would do good in, and you knew where he could find a job. Everything from start to finish was as if you had preordained it all. Like you had known before the moment the two of you first met. It was as though you knew everything and were intervening. Some kind of angel for him.

"How was class?"

"Was fine."

He's the one who drags you into the store this time, fishing out cash as he hands you a pack of cough drops, raising a brow when you raise a brow at him.

"You're gonna start coughing soon."

"I still have leftovers from last year."

"y'know tha's not the flavor you like."

You hold a hand over your chest, pretending to be moved as he passes by with a ruffle of your hair.

"Si, you do care!"

"Think I didn't?"

"Maybe."

He follows you home to your place tonight. His ma isn't home and Tommy wanted some alone time with his girlfriend, so he settles at your place. It isn't as though he has no other friends. He's hard to approach because of the deadpan look on his face at all times, but he knows others. You worry that he doesn't so to ease the worry, he has other friends. He thinks about it a little. He only seems to care for what you say. It's been a while since his ma's words have worked on him. Though, he still avoids getting in trouble. She doesn't deserve that, and you'd probably give him a hard time if he really did trouble her in any sort of way.

"How was class?"

"Was fine." He sighs, spreading out his books on the table as you scribble away with yours.

How your hand does not fall off from the writing drives Simon up the wall. Writing has never truly been his strong suit — he's much more fit for his part-time job at the butcher's or fixing your parents' old car when they ask him if he knows what to do with it. He's much better with his hands than he is with his mind at times, but it's never stopped you from just breaking everything down into simpler concepts for him.

"Why d'you do it?" He had asked you once.

"Why wouldn't I?" You left the second part of the sentence hanging in the air.

Simon wonders if he could dare to imagine that the second half of the sentence was an "i love you" the same way that he seemed to love you with.

Though, he'd never know.

You beg your parents to let you spend the night with Simon at the turn of the century, the agreement being that he'd spend the night with you, settling on the floor or your room on an air mattress that he most definitely does not fit in, offering him your bed that's too big for you alone when you're sure your parents are knocked out. He finds himself tangling limbs with you once more, staring down at you as you blink up at him under the sheets, blanket covering the two of you as you open a flashlight. He blinks as you stare at him.

"What?"

"Yer really pretty, Si." You hum. "Can I touch you?"

"Ya nasty—"

"Your face." You mumble. "You can say no."

"'s fine." He mumbles, letting your hands map his face gently as he hums, observing as you seem to memorize something. Patterns of his skin. Your eyes gentle from the flashlight as you press your forehead to his. "You look scared."

"I'll live." You whisper, voice shaking.

You fall asleep in his arms that night, and he wakes up to you tucked under his chin snoring.

He doesn't recover from it.

You suggest him to join a military boot camp over summer after secondary since he wasn't planning on university, tilting your head and shrugging when he asks why. Would suit him. Maybe he'd like it. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. He doesn't need to pursue it. Besides, he doesn't have anything to do either.

"Thirteen weeks is a long time, angel."

"Angel? Well, then, maybe you should embrace what this angel's telling you to do."

He goes per your suggestion, and you send him off with his family and yours, grinning as he frowns at you at the doors with his duffle bag, blowing him a kiss as he fights the blush that snakes up his neck. When he emerges for one final look without his hair, you laugh and play with the new cut, humming quietly as you whisper that you'll be waiting for you after his three months.

He lets himself relax into your touch as your families stand to the side, and he whispers quietly asking you for a goodbye kiss as if he were off to war. He expects you to decline, but you press your lips to his forehead, humming as you lean back and admire the print that's been left behind from your chapstick, laugh on your lips as you reach to wipe it off with your thumb, too occupied with cleaning it off to notice the starstruck look on his face as he stares at you.

"Wait f'r me, won't you?"

"How could I not? As long as you send me off when you're back."

"'f course."

"Come back safe to me, Si. I'll miss you."

His body has muscle memory of everything. The boot camp is significantly easier than he thought it'd be. His muscles remember something he does not, maybe. He treks up and does stellar, ending up personally selected by his managing captain, asked if he ever thought about actually joining the military. He'd suit the SAS. He'd be a great addition to the team, even. He'd get all the military benefits and it doesn't seem like it'd be something that would warrant too much stress for him.

He doesn't know.

Despite his body's ability to survive in such harsh conditions, he finds that he doesn't really want to stay in that state of stress.

When he finishes, his captain hands him a number to call if he ever changes his mind, and he finds you in the crowd. He abandons all the military learning he's received in the last three months just to find himself in your arms once more. He barely cares that the friends he's made are whistling at him as he practically swallows you in his frame. You don't mind. He doesn't mind. It's not a problem.

"'m back."

"Welcome home." You laugh, running your hand through his hair as he buries his face into your shoulder.

"'m missed you."

"I missed you too, Si." You hum, peeking past his shoulder as you wave at his friend. "How was camp?"

"Y'wanna tell me why my body seemed to have no struggle with adaptin?"

You look to the side, whistling as he finally lets go of you, reaching over for his mom, humming as she welcomes him back home with Tommy.

"You have explainin' to do." He points at you, and your parents leave the two of you alone to start on dinner for Simon's return, leaving you in his room as you whistle and avoid his gaze, falling back into his bed with a huff and closing your eyes.

"How was bootcamp?"

"You knew. How did you know."

"I know everything, Si." You close your eyes. "Told you I was a fairy when we were kids."

"Yer less of a fairy and more of father time."

"Who knows. Maybe I'm just cursed with knowledge."

"A curse?"

"Or somethin'." You stare up at his ceiling. "How was bootcamp. Really."

"Offered a spot on the SAS."

"You wanna go?"

Simon turns to stare at you, taking a seat by the floor of the bed as he stares at you, and you turn to face him.

"Y' want me to?"

You stare at him, letting the water in your eyes speak for you.

"Oh, angel. don' cry." He whispers, hand reaching to brush the tears as he frowns. "I wasn' planning to."

"You can go." You mumble. "It's fine. I'm just scared."

"You? Scared?" He pinches your nose, humming quietly as you open your mouth to breathe.

"Yes. Me."

"'m not gonna go. I'll just meet you at uni."

"Simon Riley going to uni?"

"Got a problem with that, angel?" He lets go of your nose when the smile cracks at your face, and you roll over to laugh. "Think I'm too stupid for ya?"

"You wish." You hum. "You think I'd let you fall behind?"

"Never have." He hums, nudging you over as you roll to make space for him on the bed.

"So next cycle? Or are you gonna try somewhere else?"

"Might follow you halfway across the world. You'll fund me, won't ya?"

"Nah. Gonna make you pay rent at least." You swat at his arm playfully as he leans over you, humming as he stares down at you. "Glad your pretty face wasn't ruined."

"Think I'm pretty?"

"Just the lashes."

"Takes too much t' please you." He rolls his eyes, eyes landing on your stomach as your shirt rides up, humming.

"So, did they fuck a lot in the camp? Is it true? Did you guys have a barrack bunny?"

Simon flicks your forehead. "No bunny. yes fucking."

You hold your hands over your mouth, gasping. "tell me more."

"I didn't do anythin'."

"No way."

"Not losing my v-card to a bunch of men in the military."

"Don't know, Si. That sounds like a porno title. Virgin man gets gangbaned by five buff military men... or whatever it is the titles are formatted like."

"'m not even gon' ask how you know that."

You laugh, eyes crinkling as Simon stares.

"'s good to see you again."

"I missed you too." You hum. "I don't mind you going. Really."

"'s my decision to not." He pinches your cheek, glancing at the door as his mother calls for you both to go eat. "I promise."

"Send me to the airport tomorrow?"

"Of course."

You let Simon drive you around before driving you to the airport. You say your goodbyes to your parents at your place, thanking Simon with a grin and a squeeze of his bicep as he lifts all of your luggage into the back of the car. You gasp quietly at the fact that his muscles are harder than before, giving them a second squeeze as he rolls his eyes at you.

"You take that back!"

"Don't know what yer talkin' about."

You don't talk to him too much in the car, too preoccupied with staring out the window. Simon doesn't pry, used to the comfort of your silence when you need it. Besides, you're being sent off to somewhere where you'll be far from him. He wonders if that'll hurt him more or you. You're great, though. You promised you'd write to him, and he's more worried that somehow he will forget to write back to you and you will forget about his existence. You're too far away for comfort.

What if someone else lays eyes on you?

He helps you load the luggage, pulling it with him as you check for your passport, letting Simon put everything down for you, giving his forearm a gentle squeeze in thanks when you arrive with him at the gate. You let him wander around with you before you're supposed to board. He'll wring the final moments you have with him dry, he supposes.

You open your arms for him, squeezing him gently when his arms find themselves around your waist, squeezing you back.

"It's your turn to give me a goodbye kiss." You tap your cheek, tilting your head as you hum, and Simon mumbles under his breath, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he stares down at you for permission.

"You gonna kiss me properly? Real bold of you, Si."

"If you'd let me."

You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head as he brushes your bottom lip, staring, staring, staring before letting his lips brush yours gently, softly, and pulling away just as quick. Like a ghost of a kiss — lingering feelings that he can't quite pour out onto you yet because it wouldn't be fair.

"That alright?" He continues to stare at your lips, only snapping out of it when you notice boarding has started.

"More than alright." You reach up to give him a kiss on his cheek, humming as you take two steps back with your luggage. "I'll see you!"

"See you, then."

"Yer gonna let me study abroad without a boyfriend? How cruel of you, Si. Write to me!" You laugh, tugging your carry-on with you as you wave at him from the gate.

Simon stays to stare at you until you've disappeared down the corridor to the plane.

Then, his fingers find his lips where he had kissed you, and then the cheek that you had given him a kiss to.

Ah. He misses you already.

You write to him as promised. You send letters to him and he sends them back, sending you updates on how everyone has been, writing growing more and more illegible with the letters. He wonders if you're able to read everything he sends sometimes, but he eventually sends you a letter with the number slotted into his phone, and when you write to him that you'd be visiting on a certain date, you tell him to pick you up.

The first thing that Simon notices is that you've changed.

Not that you've ever been someone that he's found predictable, but you have changed beyond what Simon can remember from you.

"It's the air." You laugh.

He stares at you, uncertain if he really knows who you are anymore. Was he the one who was being left behind?

You mentioned that you'd never leave him behind.

"Y'sure changed."

"Cultural differences." You open your arms for him, tilting your head when he shakes his head at you.

"'m all smelly from work."

You frown at him.

"Maybe we both changed."

You spend the afternoon lodged at Simon's flat because you didn't want to go home. It's just a week or two, you tell him.

He hands you booze to drink, and you ask him how work has been.

"You still gonna join me?"

"I think I'm alright here."

He fears though, that by doing so, he's going to drift away from you.

"That's good." You grin at him. "If life ever gets too boring, come find me. I'm sure my friends would flip it if some guy who's like a hundred ninety two centimeters tall dropped by and called himself my best friend."

"You talk about me?"

"How could I not?" You tilt your head at him from the passenger seat, blinking slowly. "Si, did you forget about me when I'm gone? It's a little rude of you, you know?"

"I couldn't even if I was killed." He hums. "Your luggage's lighter."

"Mhm. Most of my stuff is with a friend who lives nearby." You grin. "Didn't want you to blow out your back for me."

"Couldn't do that if y' tried."

Simon wonders if there's something in the air when you come back to visit.

"You plan on stayin' there?"

"Maybe." You hum. "I quite like it."

"Leavin' me to fend on my own, huh?"

"It'd be unfair for either of us to do something all for the sake of the other. Your comfort comes before mine." You grin. "Get me a little something to eat?"

"Got dinner at 'ome." He hums. "Your favorite."

"What if it's changed?"

"You can't be sayin' that when you told me less than a month ago."

You laugh in the front seat, grinning.

"Dated yet, Si?"

"No." He hums. "This girl stops by the shop but I don' really like her like that."

"Mm." You tap your chin. "Broken no one in yet?"

Simon coughs at your choice of words, coughing as he catches his breath, your hand patting his back as you laugh.

"Bloody hell."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face when he catches a glance.

"Why? Y'been broken in yet?"

"Nope. Waiting for a certain someone to do the honors."

You laugh at the way he's red for the whole ride back.

Yet, he makes no real move on you back at his place. He hands you a glass of water and settles himself next to you on the couch, letting you show him the variety of items you've brought back to give him, grinning at him when he stares at the strange combination of things.

"Why'd you come back during such a shite time?"

"I wanted to spend the new year with you." You hum, blinking at the snow that's come with the weather.

"You didn't come back during summer."

"No." You close your eyes, throwing your head back. "I wanted to, but I decided not."

"Why."

You kick your legs over his, huffing as you grumble. "It was hard. Flying out the country's hard."

"Cuz of the thing, huh?"

"Yeah." You rest your head on his shoulder, staring out the window. "You got work these days?"

"Nah. Old guy's home with his family. Y' gonna go home?"

"No." You close your eyes. "Didn't tell mom n dad I'd be back."

"Yeah? Just me?"

"Just wanted to see you." You whisper, taking his hand and fiddling with his fingers.

"Y've gotten real handsy since ya left."

"Maybe I just missed you." You mumble. "It's lonely without you."

"Don't love y'er other friends?"

"Love you more." You whisper, finger smooth against his ring finger as you feel him tense up under you.

"Y'love me?"

"Si, I've known you since forever. Of course I do." You rest your hand on top of his, opening your eyes as you whisper.

"Oh, like that."

You don't breach the subject of love further than that, playing with Simon's fingers as he turns on the TV for a match, letting you get comfy with him under a blanket and eventually fall asleep. He stares down at you, voice tight in his throat as he rests his hand on your forearm, heart painful in his chest. Distance has given him no time to think if all he thinks of is you. But, it would be cruel to tell you of something that's long been his problem.

It is not your burden to bear.

It is not your portion to carry.

He rests his eyes as well, the two of you staying that way until late night, Simon first to rouse as he looks out the window.

It is dark outside.

You stir as he does, leaning back onto the couch to stretch out, and kick your legs out, and Simon holds your ankle to push it to the side. The snow creates the illusion of an empty street, and the black and white hurt each other in the lack of light, but you keep staring. It reminds Simon of when you were kids. The staring has since gotten better, but every now and then he catches you staring into nothing.

"Dinner?"

"Sounds good." You kick the blanket off of you, yawning as you follow him to the kitchen. "'m tired."

"Long flight."

"Mhm." You sit at the island, watching as Simon heats the food for you, staring at him as you lean on your palm. "Si, why did you never date?"

"Why should I?"

"Donno."

Simon takes out dinner from the microwave, placing it in front of you as he stares.

"Will y' ever tell me about the staring problem?"

"Probably not." You wiggle your hands comically as you grin.

"Don't do that again."

"So you hate me." You start at dinner anyway, thanking Simon as you chew on the food, scraping the plate in the end when you finish, grinning.

"How's Tommy?"

"Great. Getting engaged soon."

"Ooh! Did you help him pick a ring?"

"No. He went ring shoppin' with his girl." Simon hums.

"Wish you could show me."

"Get dinner with him sometime. I can arrange it. He comes over Friday nights."

"Can't I just grab dinner with him friday night then?"

"Next week?"

"Sure."

"I'll tell him."

"It's Christmas week." You hum. "Did you grab me anything?"

"No." He rolls his eyes. "Dinner wasn' enough?"

You pretend to think, grinning at him when he raises a brow.

"I'm kidding."

"Sure hope you are."

You wake up to a surprise on Christmas anyway, eyes glimmering when Simon serves you breakfast with a gift, kicking your legs as you gush to him about how he didn't need to. You give him a squeeze on his bicep as you ask him if you can unwrap it, pulling at the little ribbon and paper, grinning when you spot the headphones you've written to him about, bottom lip quivering as tears threaten to spill, and Simon rushes to brush them from your cheek, calling you a crybaby while he's at it.

"I should give something back to you."

"Yer back, hm? That's m' gift."

"But I like being with you too." You mumble, hand finding his as your thumb brushes his. "D'you want anything? Anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Simon stares down at your lips, humming as he raises a brow.

"Truly?"

"Use my body or whatever. I trust you." Your voice quiets the more you speak. "I'm all yours."

"Tell me to stop whenever." Simon's thumb finds your bottom lip, brushing it as he presses his lips to yours — hungry, decades of holding back overflowing and spilling into you, hands gripping the counter til his knuckles turn white, tongue shoved down your throat and a hum in his as you pant once he pulls off of you, staring as your eyes haze over and your chest rises and falls, lips parted as you blink to come back to him, bottom lip glossy from his saliva as he brushes it once more. "y'still with me, angel?"

"Mhm." You hum. "You sure you didn't go around kissing others while I was gone?"

"On my life."

"Surprising." You reach up to cup his face, thumb brushing his bottom lip as you hum. "Only ever kissed me, hm? Only wanna kiss me?"

"Bloody hell, what did going to uni teach ya?"

You laugh, humming as you squeeze his face. "How to flirt, apparently. 's it working?"

"No."

The red of his ears betray him.

You're everything except the title, Simon finds. You barely bother hiding the fact that he's allowed to do whatever with you, lounging on his couch and sticking by him at every moment, barely bothering to hide your boredom with the TV and working your knuckles into his back instead. He doesn't need to look to know you've got a shit-eating grin on your face when he groans as you work out a knot in his back.

"Yer real tight, Si."

"Yer pickin' up my accent."

"Maybe it's cuz I love you." You dig your elbow into the muscle, earning a groan from his lips.

"At this point yer just messin' with me."

"Maybe." You hum, exhaling when the knot's released itself, and you collapse on his back, grumbling.

"Get off 'me."

"Don't call me heavy, big guy." You sigh, peeling yourself off of him anyway, falling back to the other arm of the couch.

"You got knots?"

"Don't think so. Sure you're not gonna get hard all pressed up on my ass, Si?"

"Said you were free use f'r the week."

"Didn't think you'd jump to fuck me like that." You settle on your stomach anyway, letting Simon run his hands along your back, oil warm on his hands as you settle with watching whatever's on the telly (it's a football game. you're not the biggest fan, but better than thinking about the fact that you're practically moaning and squirming under Simon. You can't run from the consequences of your actions forever).

Simon fights every bone in his body to not spill over and take things too far, jaw clenched as he brushes the knot from your shoulder, pushing his thumb into it as you whimper. He hears you bite your tongue, and fight back a moan, and it almost comforts him to know that you're not too far off either. Though, he doesn't mention anything when you swat at him to stop, rolling over to lay on your back, staring up at him through your lashes, humming as he stares down at you.

"Minx."

"Freak." You laugh, chest shaking as you grin, eyes crinkling as he presses his hands on your waist, thumb pressing down to your ribs, humming quietly.

"If I were a cut of meat—"

"What fuckin' nonsense are you askin' now?"

"Entertain me, won't you?"

"I wouldn't cut you up."

"You'd eat me raw?!"

"'m no cannibal, angel."

"Just say you won't fuck me."

You're pushing buttons, Simon finds. You're testing to see how much it'll take for him to crumble and snap in your hands. Your hand rubs at his bicep in the mornings when you pass him, cheek squished with his as you point while windowshopping, fingers laced with his as though you were really on a date, and Simon finds that it's hard to fight the red that ruins the pale of his skin, crackling between the cracks of his skin from the winter cold, forced to play it off as the fact that it is cold out. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze back when you ask him to enter a store, and he tugs you back when you're wandering off course.

"Did yer cough start this year?"

"Not yet." You hum. "Worried I'm gonna get you sick?"

"No. Worried you don't like the flavors where you are."

"You remember." You mumble, staring as he hands you the stick from the grocery bag.

"Hard to forget."

"Not when it's only mentioned in passing."

You take the stick anyway, unwrapping one and pressing it to your lips, sucking on it as you squeeze at his arm, puffer coat zipped all the way up as you head back to his place.

Simon doesn't snap the entire time that you're back for the week.

He knows you're trying to get him too, but he's probably held back more than you have over the years, so not much really moves him to do anything anymore. You can try all you want, but truly, you can't do all that much.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Simon raises a brow from the island, blinking at you as you stare back at him.

"Not in the sex way. Just. Like when we were kids."

"You finally gonna tell me what all that staring you did as a kid meant?"

"Maybe." You place the dishes into the dishwasher, blinking slowly as you turn around to stare at Simon. "But I don't think you'd believe me."

"I'd argue against that. Can't tell me something insane."

"Oh, I'm sure." You mumble. "I'm sure you'd believe some made up war story from a world in the past."

"Is that what it was?"

"I don't know." You blink slowly, taking off the gloves and letting them dry as Simon stares. stares. stares.

Past your eyes and through your soul, like you're just a piece on display. Like he knows something you don't. He doesn't. Simon knows better than anyone that despite every single cell of his body crying for him to pour himself to devote to you, you would never accept it. You wouldn't. You wouldn't let him "throw his future away" all for the sake of you. Something stops you from letting him devote himself to him, and something stops you from just accepting that maybe Simon wants it and it isn't a side effect of being friends for so long.

There's a constant need to take care of him better than he takes care of you.

Simon finds it in the way you hand him a mug of water before bed, throwing the blanket over the two of you, flashlight resting between the two of you as you blink at him.

"You gon' tell me?"

"No." You hum. "But I'll tell you another secret if you tell me one. You first, though."

Simon doesn't keep secrets from you other than the fact that he loves you.

"I don' have any."

"None at all?"

"I tell you everything."

You blink at him from under the covers, tilting your head.

"Everything?"

Almost.

"Thinkin' 'bout signing up SAS." He whispers, voice cracking as he watches the grief crack past your eyes and your face drop. You don't mention anything, telling him it's fine as you collect yourself, swallowing everything back and smiling again.

"Yeah?"

"Thinkin' bout it."

"You gonna go? Really?" You whisper — scared. Simon knows you enough to be able to sense when you're scared. It's rare you even display such an honest emotion to him.

"Why don't you want me to?"

"No, it's just." You shake your head. "'m being paranoid. I'm just upset that I might not get to see you again."

"I'll see you between missions."

"I'm out of the country, Si." You mumble. "I can't visit all the time."

"I know." He mumbles. "but I've got to do sumthin 'n if not this, then I don' know what."

You rest your head against his chest, voice quiet as he runs his hand through your hair, pressing down to get you to relax for him.

"'m thinking about settling down permanently there."

Ah.

Simon seems to understand why you'd be so panicked at his enlistment. Truly, he wouldn't get to see you again, maybe. He'd be busy and if you start work, then you wouldn't get to see him at all. You can't write back to him if he's moving around, and his phone would most likely be off-limits in the service. Too little to do. Too little to hold on to. Maybe that is what you have feared.

"I'll tell you one more secret, then, Si." You mumble, hands finding his chest as you close your eyes.

"'s it, angel?"

"Tommy's gonna get married to her and then they're gonna have a boy." You close your eyes, and Simon feels you furrow your brows against his chest. "He's gonna be named Joseph. Joseph Riley. Sweet boy. Lovely, even."

"Why are you telling me this."

"Just." You whisper. "Just remember that."

You don't respond, going quiet for the rest of the trip, only giving him a hug at the airport and waving goodbye. You leave him your new address, smiling at him.

Simon doesn't know if he likes the silence he's left with when you're gone from his flat.

Yet, he's gone anyway, sending you letters that you can never quite send back, always too close or too far. He mails small things that remind him of you — tucks a photo of you into his helmet, stares up at the stars when it's night with a smoke between his fingers (that you'd scold him for) while the rest of the team joins him. He climbs up ranks — never stops writing to you. During the few times he has off, he returns to the empty flat and wonders how you're doing. You don't write back to him.

He wonders if you get his letters at all.

Yet, he can't stop to think. He can't stop. He just.

He becomes a Lieutenant.

When he's asked if he'd like someone to be at the ceremony, he briefly wonders if you'd fly over for him.

He doesn't ask you.

His feelings aren't yours to deal with.

Tommy and his mother help him pin it, but he'd wish that the hands promoting him to a higher position was you. It's to prove to you. It's to prove to you that he's fine and alive. Maybe it holds the same sentiment as when he writes to you. He's still alive, angel. He's still in one piece, even if you can't write back to him. He wonders if you still live there. Are his letters meeting a stone wall? Is it a brick wall that stands between the two of you? He'd break it down, but he doesn't want to risk the chances of you getting hurt in the crumble.

He returns home for Christmas one year, wondering if you'd be home. Tommy mentions sending you a wedding invite through Simon, and he stares. Really. Just stares at the wedding invitation. He doubts you'd answer. You feel like a ghost of his past. It's almost as if you had known that he'd never see you again when you had spent a winter with him. Like you knew. Like you wish he knew. Like when you pulled him under the blankets with a flashlight, you had known, maybe, that he'd be gone and you'd be gone.

When he sends the letter to the address you gave him, he almost worries that Tommy won't get a response back. (He slips an additional letter asking you if you'd like to be his plus one, but he doesn't have much faith that you'll respond to that one.)

Then, he's off and back to the military.

You meet him at Tommy's wedding.

You find him in the crowd, eyes lighting up as you sit next to him in the crowd, chattering excitedly about how you finally get to see him again. He listens to you talk. You've changed — as one does, and he has as well. Yet, he doesn't mind the change this time. You seem the same as before, sparkling eyes, only a little more mature. You look less like a kid and more like an adult now. You look pretty as you ever are.

"Missed you so much." You mumble. "So so much. Love reading your letters. Please never stop writing to me."

"You read em but won't send responses to my flat?"

"You didn't sell it?"

Simon shakes his head.

"Then I will. I'll write back to your flat." You mumble. "I just worry that your mailbox will overflow."

"Tommy takes care of it."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Alright." You grin. "You got a phone when you're off duty?"

He shakes his head.

"We'll stick to letters, then."

You sit with Simon at dinner. The wedding is nice. You're nice. Simon missed you, and he almost wants to ask if you've got a booking for somewhere because apparently you had tugged along with you a luggage when you first arrived and left it at the front for safekeeping. Maybe you'll ask him. It wouldn't be strange if you did. He has a day off, but you're more than welcome to stay as long as you want in his flat. He'll get you a copy of his key, even.

Maybe you'll give him a copy of yours next. He'd like to visit sometime.

"Si." You whisper, nudging him gently with the tip of your heel.

"Hm?"

"You got space in your flat?"

"I'll give y' a copy of the key. I gotta get back in the mornin'"

"You only took a day off?"

"'s just a weddin', no?"

"It's Tommy's wedding."

"Still a weddin', angel."

"Oh, should I be worried that you'll only take a day off for our wedding?" You squeeze his arm as you wave at Tommy and his bride.

Simon blinks at you.

"Y' did not just say that."

"Hm?" You tilt your head at him. "D'ya stop lovin' me over our break?"

"Who said I ever loved y'a?"

"The voices." You let go of his arm, going back to the food.

Simon takes you home after you get plastered at Tommy's wedding. He's never seen you drink so much, but to be fair, you didn't drink all that much last time you were at his flat. You seem like nothing to him as he carries you, letting you hang off of his shoulder as he brings you up the stairs, raising a brow at you when you beeline for his bathroom and throw up over the toilet.

"Regret drinkin' yet?"

"No." You rasp. "Fuck, no. Can't get alcohol this good where I'm stuck."

"Thought you loved it there."

"I only love being next to you." You start again, Simon sitting by your side as he holds your hair up. "Fuckin' hell."

"Yer slurrin' your speech, angel."

"Speakin' like you." You huff, crying. "I missed you, Si. Really did."

"Missed y' too."

You rest your palm against your forehead, eyes closed as you whimper. "'s lonely without you."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." You mumble. "Thought I could take it again."

"Again?"

"Again." You whisper. "And again. Si, I'm not made for casual I'm made for soul crushing devotion. God, I need to move on already. Why's it so hard to move on?"

"F'rm who?"

You turn to him, eyes glossy and red as you let out a laugh— pathetic. Almost as though you were laughing at yourself.

"'m not gonna come clean about that, Si."

"Never?"

"Maybe when you get married." You bend over the toilet again, closing your eyes.

"Though' it was we?"

You laugh. "If you survive."

"You always know somethin', angel."

"Hard not to." You throw your head back, furrowing your brows as you focus on breathing. "I'd like for it to stop, though."

"And how would that happen?"

"Can't. Cursed with the knowledge. Wish you could just fuck it out of me, honest."

You wake up to the worst hangover of your life — head cracking open down the middle as you sit up and rub at your neck, groaning as you stretch your back. Getting plastered at Tommy's wedding was probably not worth it.

"Hey." Simon hands you a bowl of soup, and you whimper as you press it to your lips, drinking.

"Thought you had to go."

"You looked like shite when y' went to bed."

You huff. "So you stayed back?"

"If not me then who?"

"I could've handled it."

"Wouldn' have wanted y'to." He hums. "Wiped your face down last night."

"Thank you, Si." You mumble. "You angel."

"All you."

"No. Not this time." You close your eyes. "Did I tell you anything?"

"Said you thought y'could take being alone again."

He leaves out the part where you had cried about him fucking you.

"Oh." You mumble. "'m just lonely."

Without him.

"Would you let me visit?"

"Shall I give you a spare as well?" You tilt your head. "Or do you want to do it classic style and break into my place?"

"A spare would be nice."

"Okie dokes." You hum. "You can go back in the afternoon. I feel much better."

"Won't let me stay longer?"

"I'd assume you can only stay for so long."

"Can ask for longer. The captain'll get it."

"You don't need to, Si."

"Thought y'missed me?"

"I do."

"Then let me stay. Allow yourself tha' much."

"Yeah?"

He nods.

You let him.

He sticks behind and wanders around with you, following after you with your bags as you point and shop, squeezing Simon gently, stopping halfway to feed him, your fingers nimble on your new device as you click.

"A cell phone?"

"Mhm." You rummage through your bag, frowning when there's a lack of something. "Forgot it."

"Forgot what?"

"I'll give it to you later."

You end up leaving it on Simon's bedside — something he returns to after deployment, brow raised as he reads through the album and the songs you've burned down for him. The letter you tuck behind the tracklist doesn't go unnoticed, Simon's first letter greeting him in the house from you as he looks through the rest of his mail. You've started writing back. Blue and black envelopes stick out from the whites of formal mail, and he flips through them, your writing familiar to his eyes as he sits back with a cup of water, reading through your responses to what he writes to you.

He feels childish writing to you sometimes. The pen feels a little too light for a hand that only knows the sword and not pen. Well, sword is wrong. Gun. His hands are much more used to the weight of a weapon than a quill.

It helps ground him sometimes.

His letters are most certainly darker than yours. You report about what you've been working on in school, sending him tickets to your graduation later in the year. You tell him that it doesn't really matter if he doesn't attend, but you wanted to give it to him anyway. The extra ticket is in case he actually found someone in the military to bring as a plus one.

It wounds Simon that you'd think he wouldn't stick with you.

He writes back to you, marking down your graduation and taking the day off in advance with his captain, nodding when asked if it's the same person he took the week off for last time.

"Must really love 'er, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Got a ring on it?"

"No, sir."

"Better move quick, Simon. Yer at the age where dating's all the storm."

Simon wonders if you'd agree to do long distance if he can't call you all that much.

You deserve someone who'll at least be there for you when you need it.

Yet, he lingers a little too long in front of the jewelry store, battered and bruised face in the reflection of the glass, staring himself in the eye as he wonders just why you had called him pretty back then. He's hardly pretty now. Mangled upper lip and scratches on his cheek — there is no trace of the "pretty" you had once called him. Though, his lashes stay the same, so he wonders if you'll still recognize if the only thing visible are his eyes.

He stares for a second too long at the jewelry store, stepping in and looking for something you'd like.

A ring.

"A nice dramatic gem for the engagement ring" you had told him once. Yet, despite it all, the sketches you had drawn for him had been a moderate gem. A ring that would remind you of how much he loves you — it had been a simple request. Even without the title of it all. You did not need to know what you were and what you weren't. If you had the certainty that one day the two of you would end up together anyway, then why waste the effort and consider or think over other people?

Simon understands you a little more now.

"Custom. If y'do 'em."

He pulls out the sketches you made as a child. Messy and childish ones — ones where it's a moonstone or pearly, never a diamond, and ones where Simon's handwriting as a child are visible to leave ideas for his own. You did not know. He did not either. But there's something quite assuring in just knowing. Simon knows you love him. It's quite a simple thing, really. You love him in the letters you write back, painful detail down to the point and making sure not to miss a thing. You love him in the trips where you're back, refusing to book a hotel and squeezing into his flat with him, limbs tangled in an intimacy that you've both grown comfortable in.

Simon loves you too. He loves you in the simplicity of having grown up with you — in the hair held up as you throw up, and in staying back when you won't let him but you need him. He loves you quietly the same way you love him. It's quite simple, really. It doesn't matter if you won't marry him or that you deserve someone better than Simon. All that really matters is that you want him, and he wants you too. There isn't too much other thinking he should do. You've always been more simple like that.

He writes you a letter back, asking if you want any particular flowers (not that he'll get the chance to read what you want).

He'll know what to get you when the time comes.

There's a sense of stability that Simon's learned to realize now that he's older or whatever. Settling down with you and retiring from the military won't kill him. He'll just open a nice little shop by where you live if he has to. You won't let him, but you trust him enough to let him make his own decisions now. It doesn't matter what you refuse to tell him. Time will tell him, and then eventually, you'll be honest. He just has to have faith or whatnot.

He brings the ring to your graduation, sitting in the back with your family, catching up with them. He wears a mask to hide the scars on his face and whatnot, but nothing outside of it. There's a sense of age that's crept up with him, and something weighs on his shoulders, but you'll work it out of him like you always have. Seeing you in your robes and throwing your hat is more than enough to let him forget for a moment.

There's a long life of him ahead on the battlefield if he decides upon it. He'd like something to go home to or meet up with halfway.

Preferably you.

He tucks the bouquet under his arm with the box in his pocket, meeting you halfway as you spot him in the crowd of people immediately, his name yelled and your friends abandoned for him, launching yourself into his arms as he catches you with an arm, humming as you squeeze his biceps, eyes lit up as you ramble to him. He watches you, eyes gentle and warm as his mind reminds him that yes, this is what bliss is to him. Simple, easy, bliss.

"Got you flowers."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, grinning as he presents them to you. "Can we get dinner at mine later? I'd go to the grad party but I missed you a whole lot and you probably have a hotel so—"

"You'll host me?"

"I live alone."

"Tha's unsafe, angel."

"So?"

"You wan' me to pick?"

"Nah. Takeout at my place, but I'll get to say I have dinner plans."

"And your parents?"

"They'll understand." You glance at the flowers. "You tryna tell me something with the single rose amongst all those yellows? Ooh, white carnations..."

"Maybe I am."

"You've gotten bold, Si." You laugh, squeezing his forearm as your parents spot you. "I'll send you my address. Love you lots, kay? See you in a bit."

Simon bends down to press his lips to your forehead, humming as he sends you off with a pat.

You seem to know too.

He enters with the spare key you keep buried in the depths of the crevice of a window, setting his luggage down as he reads your texts about where to stay and put his stuff. You live comfortably. He understands why you wouldn't want to move. His flat is significantly less impressive than this, yet you stayed with him every time. Considering it all, you probably could've just bought out a flat next to him if you really wanted to.

Maybe there is love in the way you simply choose to exist the way you do.

You return home a little later, makeup smudged and messy as you tell him you ended up in the backseat with some friends, but you managed to get home in one piece. You abandon the robe and hat, shaking out the bobby pins as you recite the local pizza place to Simon, pulling out a drawer with your makeup remover as you do.

It feels oddly domestic.

"Wh'd'ya want?"

"Just tell em my name. They know my order. Oh, tell 'em to make it a combo this time. You can ask them what options they have. I like the wings, but their salad isn't bad."

"This what you've been livin' off of in uni?"

"Maybe." You pause to yawn, shaking the bottle and pulling out cotton pads to get everything off. "They're good though, I promise."

"Trust you." He dials.

You're not wrong.

Simon sits with you on your couch as you tangle limbs with him, pulling the pizza out and letting the cheese stretch as you do, your TV turned on as you let him watch the game.

"Si, what do you think about me moving back?"

"Why? Y'live comfortable here."

"It's lonely without you."

"Yeah?" He reaches down to rub circles on your knee with his free hand. "Y'er so much better off here, though."

"We can just get a new place in Manchester." You lick your fingers, reaching for another slice. "I'll buy it. It can be a dowry or whatever."

"I couldn't let y' do that, angel."

"Why not?" You raise a brow. "I'm willing to."

"Then let me take care of utilities."

"If y'want."

Simon slides his hand up your leg, squeezing your thigh gently as you turn to look at him, pizza crumbs on the corner of your lips as he fishes something out from his pocket.

"If yer willin'—"

"Oh, hell, yes. Please." You grin.

"At least le' me finish."

"Sorry, Si." You hum. "Shall we reroll and rerecord?"

"'s fine." He hums, opening the box as he squeezes your thigh, humming quietly as he presents the ring to you.

"I can't promise bein' in bed with you every night, but I can promise an eternity of the time I have that is my own with you." He hums. "I'll come back to you in one form or another. I'll leave if y'want it. Anything you ask for, I will give. Marry me, angel?"

"Will I be upgraded to luvie if I do?"

"Anythin' y' want. Missus Riley, even."

"It's a yes, Si. Always a yes. Thought it was obvious when I said our wedding at Tommy's." You hum. "Let me wash my hands, though. Got crumbs and oil all over 'em."

"I'll wipe the ring down later. Gimme y'er hand."

You lick your ring finger, giving Simon your hand as he presses a kiss to the finger, delicate, gentle, soft before sliding the ring on.

"Looks real familiar." You observe the design, pausing when it hits you. "Did you keep the drawing I made back in Year 7??"

"Surprised y'noticed."

Your bottom lip quivers, tears welling in your eyes as Simon reaches to hold your head to his chest, humming as you wipe at the tears, chest shaking from laughter.

"Yer so stupid." You laugh, folding the last of your pizza and finishing it in a bite. "y'er such a bloke."

Simon pokes at your cheek, your hand flying up to swat at his as he hums.

"Yer bloke."

"Guh."

Two months later, Simon returns to help you move.

You sell the majority of your furniture and tell him you've got your eye on a nice little place a little more outskirt, but he tells you to pick where you'll be comfortable. He truly only needs to come home to you and it'll be enough. You kick at him and tell him at least to tell you whether it should be a flat or a townhouse or whatever. He settles with you as the two of you look into an agent, and eventually you find a place you both like to some extent.

You move back home to Simon, and you blink as you settle into the new place, keys in your hand as you squeeze Simon. You're back on the couch, legs kicked over his as your thumbs brush at his cheeks, staring.

“Heard Tommy’s baby is coming soon”

“Mhm.”

“Did they pick a name?”

Simon raises a brow at you when you tilt your head and blink.

“Joseph, luvie. Joseph.”

You laugh, cheeks warm as Simon hums.

"Yer still pretty as ever, Si."

"Even with the mangled lip?"

"Adds flavor." You grin. "Funny that we haven't gone on a proper date yet."

"Y'wanna go on a date? Bring your documents. We're off to get the civil ceremony."

"Wow, really can't wait f'r me to become Missus Riley, huh?"

"Waited long enough. 'm sure you've waited longer." He mumbles. "A whole life, even."

"Whole two." You hold up your fingers. "I'll tell you all about it after you finally break me in."

"Bloody hell."

You laugh, cheeks warm and eyes closed as Simon stares.

This, he understood.

You, he understands.

In this life, and whatever other he had.

You, he knows.

"Thinking?" You quirk your head to the side

"Thinkin' bout you, luvie."

"Yeah? You'll be doing that a lot more now, Si."

"Always have been."

---

Omg this is SO SO SO GOOD LIKE???

I absolute ABSOLUTE favorite trope is the trio best friends who can’t live without another it’s SUCH a good dynamic

Peas In a Pod

Mikage Reo x Reader x Nagi Seishiro

Synopsis — in which you confront your own feelings of hatred, jealousy, and love towards Nagi and Reo. Whether it be feeling left out or being absolutely smothered with affection—you three are inseparable, just like three peas in a pod.

Can be read as a platonic friendship or romantic relationship

Word Count: 6.1 k

"—and it summoned another hydra......" You reached for another piece of paper and wrote hydra #16. "Now it's hydra #4's turn." You turned the spin wheel for the hydra's turn for it to only land on, ".....huh, what would you know? It's another hydra—"

"That's it!" Reo slammed his hands on the table, "I swear you're doing this on purpose! There's no way that it landed on 'summon another hydra' eight times in a row!"

Nagi woke up from his short nap and glanced towards Reo. Yawning, Nagi asked, "Is it my turn or what?"

"Nagi! It's another hydra!" Reo pulled him up by the collar and shouted, "what does it mean by another hydra!" Reo turned and pointed a finger at you. "You! You're cheating! There's no way it's another darn hydra!"

"What do you mean? The wheel never lies. If it says to summon another hydra, then so be it." Nagi said as Reo let him go and collapsed in his seat. Exasperated, Reo had no more sanity to continue thinking about the game. Grabbing your notebook, you wrote down "one dead from emotional torment from a hord of seventeen hydras: two still remaining."

Putting the notebook aside, you clapped your hands together and looked at Nagi, "it's up to you and me to save the princess!"

Nagi nodded in agreement and watched as you finished completing the other thirteen hydras' turn.

You two, in fact, could not save the princess.

"Sixty-eight hydras.....How is that possible?" Nagi lied underneath the table, exhausted from staying awake for three hours straight.

"I don't knooooowwwwww." You laid underneath your chair, physically drained from sitting still for so long. You turned to face Reo, who was staring blankly up towards the ceiling. "Reo, we're sorry for laughing at you. Those hydras were serious." You covered your face with your hands and screamed, "ahhhHHHHHHHH! NAgI! Let me stay over! I don't think I'll be getting up anytime soon."

"Hmmmmm....I don't feel like setting up—"

"Let's just sleep together again! There's no way in hell that I'm sleeping on the couch after getting a taste of your bed!" You whined as you inched underneath the table and closer to Nagi. You reached for Reo's arm and pulled between you two. "—besides, rich kid Mikage is staying over this time, and I want to sleep with both of you! It's a bonding thing~" You poked Reo's cheek. You reached over to Reo and tapped Nagi's nose. "I'm sure we all fit in your bed if we all can fit under the table."

Nagi didn't say anything. Reo was still in a daze to even interject.

"So yes?"

".....Yes......."

"Oh ye—aAHhwjdha!" You coughed aggressively. You had read all the turns for sixty-eight hydras and two players for three hours: you hadn't drunk water in all that time. This would be the first sleepover in which you three actually sleep over rather than stay up late.

"Weak."

"Oh shut up Nagi—!%#%@^qhgehhakakkk!"

After changing and using the bathroom, you stood by the door as you watched Reo and Nagi get comfortable on the bed. Hugging one of Nagi's pillows, you softly spoke, "I think I'll sleep on the couch."

Reo raised his head and looked at you quizzically. "You whined that you wanted to sleep with us—we already made space for you!" Reo rolled to the side of the bed, forming a gap between him and Nagi. "You're short enough to fit in."

You looked towards Nagi, who already dozed off and said, "But he snores hours in, and you—did you call me short?"

Reo stuck out his tongue in response; you clenched the pillow hard and threw it at him. "I'm not short, rich boy! You're just super tall! You jumped onto the empty spot on the bed and attempted to smother Reo with the pillow. "I'm average!"

"Below average, you mean—hey!" You hit him with the pillow.

Though, of course, with the height and strength difference, Reo easily fended you off. He lightly chuckled before pushing you onto the bed and restrained your hands. "I guess you're sleeping here now~"

"You're so doing this because of the hydras, aren't ya?"

"Perhaps....."

"Are you guys going to sleep or what?" Nagi turned to face you both. He angrily pulled the only blanket away from you both.

"Nagi! But he called me short!"

"They tried to kill me!"

"I don't care—now be quiet."

"So mean." "I know, right?"

Nagi eventually allowed you and Reo to be under the blanket. Like three peas in a pod: Reo, you, and Nagi sunk into the bed with how soft and comforting it was. Nagi has the best place for sleepovers......not like Reo's parents would allow you or Nagi to stay over; plus, your parents would disown you before letting you invite two teenage boys over.

"Nagi is my family name just so you know........"

...........

"Wait, really?"

You're in love with Mikage Reo; You knew that the very moment you laid your eyes upon him during your first year at Hakuho High School. You love how his violet hair framed his face. You love how smooth his face was. You love how kind he was when talking to your classmates. You love how the light reflected in his eyes. You love the sound of his voice and laughter. You love his intelligence and wit. You love his smile and the way his hair moves in the wind. You love how confidently he presents himself.

However, your love was superficial.

You never spoken to Mikage for longer than five minutes. You never knew about his interests or hobbies. You never participated in the same school activities, nor did you know what activities he participated in. You weren't friends or even acquaintances. You were just another face he saw in the crowd. You didn't even know if he was actually friends with anyone in your class. You didn't know a single thing about Mikage Reo, and yet you claim to love him. There was once a time when all you knew about him was that he was the heir to the Mikage Corporation and really good-looking.

You were just another one of the countless others hopelessly in love with him.

You knew in your heart that this love of yours was only surface level. This was merely a crush blinding you with a pink tinted view. You only liked him for his looks: that was the truth. It's because of this that you drowned this feeling in your heart. You never bothered to pursue this infatuation or attempt to befriend Mikage; You knew that if you ever did, it would only be for selfish reasons. Just because you resigned the nonexistent future didn't mean you free of jealousy.

No matter how much you reminded yourself that Mikage would never love you—that your love for him was built upon a fantasy—you still got jealous with each and every confession he got. You didn't understand why girls kept persisting on confessing their romantic feelings to Mikage; though many of the girls in Hakuho High School came from affluent families, none of them could dream of standing next to Mikage. Besides just that, Mikage wasn't known to accept love confessions from random girls—so why bother when they know he won't even consider it? Why can't they just know their place?

Your love may have been superficial, but your jealousy was real. Where you were once able to keep that ugly feeling at bay, the moment you heard a certain name, you felt yourself go insane: Nagi Seishiro.

Some time during your second year, you noticed a change in Mikage's behavior. He began to skip on study sessions with your peers and leave as soon as the bell rung. His smile when talking to your classmates held much more emotion and glow that previously before. He seemed much more genuine than before. So much so that you began to wonder if he began dating someone. You remember feeling so irritable for the entire day after you had that thought.

You remember skipping one of your elective classes to follow and watch Mikage in his. There you saw how close he'd act with that detestable, unlovable, sorry excuse of a human being. Just what did he see in Nagi Seishiro of all people?!

"(L/n)!!! What are you doing outside my classroom?!"

Crap.

Okay, but Nagi Seishiro? What was so good about him that Mikage spent time out of his day to hang out with him? What was so special about him that you—no one else had?! That good for nothing loser isn't worth the time of day! Why can't he just die and leave Mikage out of it! WHY CAN'T IT BE YOU—It's because you don't even try to insert yourself in his life.

You hated being jealous; you hated hating others just because they had the courage to confess and talk to Mikage. You hated that you were too afraid of being rejected. You hated that you cared about others' thoughts of you. You hated that you even hated Nagi just because of a silly crush.

You shared at least two elective classes with Nagi that Mikage wasn't in; one of which you two were paired together in order to discuss an assignment.

"Are you okay?" Nagi asked; You had your head on your desk, covering your face, and he remembered that this wasn't normal behavior for others.

"No."

"....Oh." He didn't expect you to say that.

Nagi wasn't a bad person, and you knew that. However, that didn't stop your jealousy and hatred from growing.

"What does Mikage want with you?" You asked him as soon as the bell rang. You pulled on his sleeve and asked, "Why does he even bother with someone like you?"

You looked towards your shoes as you held tightly onto his sleeve. You didn't dare to look at his face after being so rude and forceful: You didn't dare look at your own jealous reflection in his eyes.

Nagi didn't flinch when you pulled him by his sleeve, nor did he try to pull away. All he did was say, "He wants me to join the football team."

"Then," you looked up at him and stared into his eyes, "don't join! Whatever he does or gives you, don't accept it! I'll do whatever you want! Just stay away from Mikage..."

You hated that he didn't see you as a grotesque, green monster. You hated how soft and gentle he looked in contrast to your jealous self. You hated that he didn't hate you.

"Whatever, just don't bother me." He already had to deal with Reo; he doesn't want to deal with you; but when did his wish ever come true?

"Nagi!" "NAGI WHAT DID I SAY?!" "Why is he all over you like a dog?" "Nagi, I made lunch for you, now hide away!" Nagi, you didn't respond to my messages!" "What did Mikage say to you? Let me see!" "How was he?" "Did he say anything about anything else?" "What did he give you?" "Nagi! NAGI!!! LOOK AT ME!"

No matter what he told you, you always kept coming onto him with so much energy. He didn't want to deal with Reo and his whole obsession with him—and he especially didn't want you to dictate his every move. Not to say he didn't like your cooking.

Nagi was sitting with you during one of your elective classes. He was playing on his phone while you were writing in your planner.

"I said I'd join him. We're having a practice match sometime this week."

"Why—"

"If you're so obsessed with Reo, why don't you talk to him?"

"I can't—"

He got tired of hearing your excuses and continued to interrupt you. "You already talk about how much you don't like me: why can't you tell him how much you like him?"

You couldn't say a thing as you looked away in shame. Nagi wasn't a forceful person; though he never appreciated your rude behavior, he never did lash out. Even so, his eyes and stare scared you so much. You didn't want him to hate you.

Nagi sighed and placed his phone down. You were so annoying and so irrational to the point that he asked himself why he bothered to entertain your delusions. "Why don't you come with me during practice and watch? I'll tell Reo that you're my friend or something."

you did just as Nagi told you and followed him to the football field thing (you didn't even know the school had one to begin with). You brushed your hair and wore your spare uniform; there was no way you would face Mikage looking the mess you usually are!

"Nagi, does my hair look okay? My outfit, there's no dirt or stains?" You pulled on your shirt and inspected every inch of yourself as you two walked.

Nagi let out another heavy sigh, "Your hair looks the same but less frizzy, and you're literally wearing the school uniform." He honestly thinks you have no chance of ever getting married; much less getting Reo to like you.

When you two met up with the rest of the football team, you hid behind Nagi. You felt intimidated by how tall everyone was, and besides, Mikage was there, and you were too nervous to speak to him. You pulled on Nagi's arm from behind and whispered, "Let's go see Mikage!"

Nagi sighed and did as he was told. You were such a pain; he hopes that you'll leave him alone once Reo (hopefully) tells you to leave so as not to disturb the other members.

"I didn't know Nagi had friends!" Reo smiled brightly and held your hands. "Please stay and help me motivate him to actually try!"

You were as red as a tomato and nodded; you felt as if you would melt by how hot you felt when Mikage held your hands. Nagi thought you would actually implode by the heat radiating from you. Either way, Reo didn't seem to notice or care—he was happy to hear that Nagi had friends to encourage him.

You never thought that you would actually talk to Mikage ever—much less have him hold your hands. You never thought you would actually speak to someone about things outside of academics. You never thought you could actually have friends. You never thought you would ever hang out with anyone after school, even if it was to watch them practice playing football.

You held Nagi's hand as you two walked to the playing field.

Mikage was exactly like what you had envisioned in your head. He was indeed the charming prince from fairytales—from your ideation and worship—he was beyond perfect and ever so kind. His smile, intelligence, and natural talent really shined through when you watched the practice match against Aomori Dadada High School's team.

You've done your own research on the team the moment you heard Mikage talking about it. The excitement in his voice was that of something you had never heard before. It was right before the match that you heard how egotistical he could be. When you came back from the restroom, you heard Mikage ranting to Nagi about his dream: how they'll make it to nationals than play internationally and win the World Cup. This was why he wanted Nagi; that is why he began to smile far brighter than you have ever seen him.

You hated how Mikage would look at Nagi when playing. You hated the jealousy you felt in your heart when you saw how he jumped onto Nagi's back when they won. You hated how you never saw him smile as genuinely as then. So, this is what Mikage is passionate about; this is his dream, his religion, his love.

Mikage was nothing like what you had envisioned in your head. Blinded by false love, you failed to see how bland his expressions were during class. Blinded by false love, those pink-tinted windows shattered when you saw how happy he became whenever he looked at Nagi. You became to laugh at yourself by how disillusioned you were.

Did you really think that you had to right to take Nagi away from him? Why did you think it was okay to harass Nagi just because of an infatuation? Did Mikage even mean anything when he smiled at you when he greeted you in the morning? Did he think of you as a foreigner?

You looked away from the cheering Hakuho's football club and collapsed onto the ground. You felt sick: he was right in front of you, and yet, he was so far away. He was heir to the Mikage Corporation and the top student at Hakuho. Charismatic and intelligent, how could anyone not like him? You were just a foreigner who moved to Japan because your parents thought it would be good for them; you only go to Hakuho because their coworkers encouraged them to enroll you there. How does a foreigner have the audacity to think that they could control the people he interacts with?

"—n)...(y/n), you good?"

You snapped out of trance when you heard Nagi call your name. He stood in front of you before sitting next to you. You shifted slightly, fixing yourself in a more comfortable position.

"You and Mikage won your first match, and you're asking me if I'm alright?" You leaned in towards him and grinned. "How could I not be okay! Mikage won, and he's so—!"

You retracted and held your hands close to your chest and squealed. "I'm so going to throw hands first chance I get. The andrenalin rush I got from watching you two absolutely destroy Aomori Dadada is absolutely insane!"

Nagi stared at you as he gave a knowing look. You gave him enough death threats and dirty looks to know when you're not alright. Nevertheless, it was not his place to concern himself with your personal problems.

Reo would soon join you two; he talked about Nagi and how much of "precious treasure" he was (Nagi swore he saw you glaring). Much to Nagi's surprise, you managed to keep a friendly yet civil expression when talking to Reo. Knowing how much of a loser you were whenever the topic of Reo came up, he was rather shocked.

"(L/n)! You should come practice with us! It would really help to encourage Nagi!"

"You sure about that? He's literally dying from just that game."

"I'm dying, Reo..."

This distant friendship of three was quite awkward in the beginning. Reo wanted to be close Nagi for his personal dream; Nagi wanted you and Reo to be his actual friends; You wanted to use Nagi in order to get closer to Mikage. This entire friendship was built upon personal benefit and selfishness. You are genuinely jealous of Nagi for Reo's affection towards him; Reo only conversed with you because he believed you were friends with Nagi; Nagi just wanted the three of you to get along with eachother.

"—is it you 'practice playing football' or 'you you're footballing?' "

Reo gave you the most disappointed look he could muster. Nagi placed down his phone and just stared at you with the deadpan expression he always wore.

"What? I'm asking the important questions here! It's like golf and golfing!"

"I literally just asked 'how was the school lunch,' and this is how you respond." Reo uttered, "you ever say 'footballing' ever again, I'll cut you out of my will."

"I'm in your will?"

Like a creek, you sometimes felt yourself waver. Whenever you're asked by your parents whether you have a special someone, you always say no. However, when they ask of you love anyone, you can't help but find yourself thinking of Reo and Nagi; how can it be anything other than love?

As you woke in the middle of the night, you sat up and stared at the two boys next to you. Nagi had his arm and leg over you (this heavy piece of sh—), and Reo pulled the blanket away from you two (Reo, you spoiled bitc—). Through hardships and struggle, you managed to escape Nagi's clutches and fell off the bed with a thud. Not surprisingly, those two didn't wake up—you could be dying for all they know, and they still wouldn't wake up.

Standing up, you turned to face the duo. You tilt your head and sighed. You stretched your arms and left Nagi's room. You made it to the kitchen and poured yourself a cup of water. Staring out of the apartment window, you thought about what your parents asked: "Are you happy with your friends?" Are you happy hanging out with Reo and Nagi? Is it okay for you to want to still be their friends after verbally abusing Nagi and stalking Reo? When did the dynamic between the three of you change? When did the dynamic between you and them change?

"Nagi," you held onto his shoulders and stared him dead in the eye, "You're coming home with me."

"What?"

It was a surprise even to you. The first time you went to visit Nagi at his apartment, you noticed how barren it was; you asked about his parents—you never noticed how lonely he was. You don't what compelled you to do so, but you ended up inviting (forcing) him to eat dinner with your family. You were teased by your parents for inviting a boy, and you angrily told them to stay quiet. The only reason you put up with the teasing after Nagi left was because of how content and relaxed he was whenever he talked to your parents.

"Your parents were nice—"

"—Nagi, drop dead."

"Yeah, I figured."

The day you noticed your feelings for Reo change, you two went shopping with Nagi to pick new clothes. Seeing him wear the same outfits over and over again when the three of you went out together was horrendous. So you and Reo took Nagi out on a date; you'll be choosing his clothes, and Reo will pay for them.

"Reo, this is clearly superior—"

"Yeah, sure—I should've known that someone of your status would have this kind of taste."

"The hell you say?!" "You know what I said!"

".....ah, I lost the 50/50....."

You and Reo were both vocal. You learned how selfish and egotistical he was: he learned how obsessive and controlling you were. Nagi, he was stuck in the middle of the battlefield. He was more surprised at the fact that you could, in fact, get mad at Reo. Nonetheless, you and Reo only fought in good fun—never with malicious intent. Plus, you got to hold his hand afterward (and Nagi's, but the important thing is holding Reo's hand).

After this quarrel, you two apologized to each other; you three stood there in silence and then laughed suddenly. You couldn't believe that you even had the humility to apologize and that Reo could apologize. At least you three (by you three, it means Reo) bought eleven outfit worth of clothes.

Just thinking about that moment made you chuckle. Reo must have felt comfortable enough around you to show that side of him. He was far from the charming prince you had fantasized of him. You remember inviting them over for dinner after shopping and your parents gushing over Reo. The way he'd give you a sly side-eye whenever your parents complimented him.

You looked at your cup of water and saw your reflection: you look tired. You drank the water and tossed the cup in the empty sink. Yawning, you went back to Nagi's room and slipped between Nagi and Reo. You pulled the blanket away from Reo and covered yourself and Nagi. Pushing them towards the edge, you gave yourself room to sleep comfortably. You listened to them breathe softly as you stared at the dark ceiling.

You once hated Nagi so much so that you wished he would just disappear; you once loved Reo so much it became an obsession rather than a simple crush. You don't even remember why you loved and hated those two. You don't obsess over Reo, nor do you hate Nagi—you care so much about them that this friendship can't be anything else other than love. All you know now is that your parents nag you about when you'll bring them over again: "They come over like everyday—they're basically our sons at this point. (Y/n), when are they coming over again?!"

As you three slept together in Nagi's bed, you thought about how you want to be with them for as long you can.

You noticed it for a while now: the way Reo looks at Nagi isn't a look someone would give a friend. The assortment of affectionate nicknames he had for Nagi, plus the amount of attention he gives Nagi is astronomical. Like, who carries someone everywhere and of their own free will: Reo. Who cooks and cleans their friend's apartment without being paid: you and Reo. Who calls their friends nicknames typical of couples unironically: you and Reo. Who snuggles their face in their friends neck when tired: Nagi. Who kisses their friends goodnight during sleepovers because they demand to have a kiss?...............definitely not you—

" 'Oh, (y/n), you're so obsessed with Reo. Why don't you confess?' "

Like, shut up Nagi—you're totally obsessed with Reo, too!

You see how Nagi's eyes sparkle whenever he looks at Reo. You see how he actively searches for Reo after school. You see how happy he looks whenever Reo praises him. Nagi is so obsessed with Reo that he really got defensive when Reo joked about getting another "Precious Treasure" if Nagi all of sudden sucked at football (you kicked his shins as soon as you heard that). Not to mention, the intense jealousy Nagi has whenever Reo gives attention to others. You can't believe that he had the audacity to call you jealous and obsessive.

You aren't jealous.

It's just that sometimes it gets lonely. The way they talk about football on a level, you'll never understand. They way they somehow just understand what the other is thinking without much effort. You'll never understand Reo's ambition and obsession with the World Cup, just as you'll never understand why Nagi bothers playing football when chewing food is such a pain. Besides, whenever you see them talk and celebrate together, you can't help but watch from afar. Why do they even bother hanging out with you if you can't even understand something as simple as that? You aren't even part of their friendship.

"You don't think they care about you the same you care for them?" Ba-ya stood next to you as you both watched the football club play against another team. You didn't want to look at her as asked the question; this is something you'd rather die than admit to Reo and Nagi.

"I just don't understand why I keep coming here to watch them play. They probably don't even care if I go anyway."

"Hm...aren't they the ones who invite you?"

"They're only doing that to be nice—"

Ba-ya interrupted you, "I believe that you should watch how they behave around you. I'm sure you'll find it's no different with how they treat each other."

Before you could respond, you saw something purple running towards you. Reo threw himself on you, and you both fell onto the grass. Ba-ya just stepped to the side as she watched you both.

"(L/n)! (L/n)! We won!" Reo propped himself over you and smiled. He rolled next to you and sat up.

You groaned as you felt the pain in your back. Still in the ground, you looked up at Reo, "Don't you always win?"

"We're just that good." Reo stuck out his tongue at you. You were seriously considering whether you should tackle him but decided against it when you heard Nagi coming towards you guys.

"Seishiro, come pick me up. Reo was being mean to me again." You reached out towards Nagi, waiting for him to pull you up. He chooses to ignore you and lie right next to you. "Prick."

"Let me rest—I didn't think the match would last that long." Nagi inched closer and used your stomach as a pillow.

"It was literally seven seconds longer than usual—"

"You time our matches?" Reo countered and gave you one of his sly grins.

"Oh, shut up." You sat up and pushed Nagi off you. "And don't touch me after you play— you guys are so sweaty it's actually disturbing."

You turned around and looked Ba-ya; what was that look she was giving you for? You turned back to face Nagi and Reo but were surprised when you were suddenly picked up.

"Re–REO!!! Let me down!" It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that these two were absolute giants (you're just short).

"Reo, carry me too."

Ba-ya watched as the three of you bickered back and forth. The fact you couldn't see how much those two care for you is shocking even to her. Just as you love them dearly, they love you the very same.

"Ba-ya! We'll be staying at (l/n)'s place tonight! Mrs and Mr (l/n) aren't going to be there for like two days—"

"How do you know that?"

"They gave us their phone numbers. I have them as 'mom2' and 'dad2.' Did Reo and I not tell you?"

You three had a sleepover at your place for the first time. The whole time, you couldn't help but wonder when your parents exchanged contact information. Actually, how did Reo know your parents were on a business trip before you did? But hey, it was entertaining!

"Guys, I don't think this was meant to hold three people."

"Why am I here? I didn’t even play or sweat!"

"I'm tired....can't you guys wash me?"

When it came time to sleep, Nagi took the bed, Reo the floor, and you on the floor underneath said bed. When morning came, you got up and stared at the two boys cuddling each other in your own bed. Sure enough, they woke up when they felt something crush them.

The three stretched and took turns using the restroom. You kicked them out of your room when you changed—only to have Nagi mumble, "didn't we bathe together yesterday?" Yeah, and? You had Reo help you cook breakfast as Nagi sat at the dinner table playing games. Though, of course, it can't be an average post-sleepover without you Reo messing with the food and making a big mess; this is why you two never cook together.

Then, as per Reo's request, you three head out to the football field and struggle to play (mostly you, you don't do football). Then Reo treats you two to a high-end restaurant; you and Nagi basically throw yourselves at him. Rich boy Reo loves to spoil his two pets.

With it being the weekend and having the place to yourselves, there was no way you three wouldn't have another gaming session.

"Today we'll playing hit American game 'Helldivers' " You did the salute and followed with, "All hail Super Earth!!! For liberty and beyond!"

"For democracy." Nagi did the Helldivers' salute in instinct. He jumped when he realized that he had saluted.

Reo just watched you two with an amused look. "How did you get your hands on an American game?"

"I have my ways."

Perhaps you shouldn't have ended the day by doing the Maevlon Creek mission.

"KILL THEM BOTS"

"FOR DEMOCRACY, SEISHIRO!!! SPREAD THE DEMOCRACY!!!"

"......you two do realize I'm doing this solo?"

It's not your fault that you and Reo suck at the game. That's why you have Nagi: carries you both even when you hold him back. Except with the creek, you two had to leave the game for him to beat the level.

Nagi is possesive: he doesn't want you or Reo to ever leave him. Just as Nagi loves Reo for paying attention to a slacker like him, he loves you for loving him. Life isn't as painful when with the both of you. Reo motivates him to try when playing football, and you motivate him to participate in other activities besides phone games. Your parents are way too caring, in his opinion; when they heard that he lived alone, they often made you bring him leftovers or invited him over for dinner. However, he doesn't hate their constant nagging on his health. Nagi just wants you two to stay by his life for as long as he desires. He wants you two to see him as himself as opposed to as a toy or tool. He doesn't want Reo to look for another talent—he doesn't want you to have any other friends as close as you are to them.

Reo is ambitious: Nagi is his precious treasure that will help him obtain the World Cup—and you are the worm that somehow made its way in his heart. He needs Nagi to validate his own worth; he wants Nagi to only look at him. He wants you to stay by his side; he doesn't want to leave you alone with anyone else. He wants to have many sleepovers and to play as many games as possible before graduation. Reo wants to make as many special memories that you two would never forget. He wants to be in every little moment and the reason for your joy. Life was dull before having you two in his life: he had no dream nor real ambition. Reo wanted a challenge, a change, and then he saw the World Cup. That is his dream; you two are part of his life and goal.

You are in love: you love Reo and Nagi so much it borderlines obsession. You fell in love with Reo once and lost that infatuation once he became your friend. You once hated Nagi because of your jealousy. You fell in love with these two because of how much they loved you. You love Mikage Reo because he's so prideful and selfish; you love Nagi Seishiro because he's so terminally-online and goes along with your oddness. You love these two so much you'd rather die than ever have them love anyone else. There is nothing that can describe this relationship other than love.

With the sun so bright and the sky as blue as it ever could be, the three of you went out to enjoy this lovely day.

"We'll be leaving later today for a special training program." Reo walked next to you with Nagi on his back. "I'm not sure how long we'll be gone, but it will be a considerable amount of time."

"Then you two better text me a whole ton when you get there!" You felt the wind graze your skin and the sun embracing you in its warmth. The day was far too nice to feel sad by the fact that they'll be moving on with their dreams without you. It's because that you love each other, you understand how important this opportunity means to them.

Reo looked at you from his peripheral vision and smiled. He gave a sigh, "I'll be sure to text as much as humanly possible—so, don't go out dying on me! Nagi here wouldn't be able to live without you!"

"What? I'd be fine." Nagi yawned as he placed his chin on Reo's shoulder. "Mrs and Mrs (l/n) would probably adopt me as their new child if that happened. "

Reo stopped walking and chuckled, "That was foul! (L/n), are you really going to take that disrespect?"

"Nagi? Yeah, you—Kys, kys, kys."

"Eh–don't feel like it."

Like three peas in a pod, you three are inseparable. No matter how far away one is, the other two aren't too far behind.

DefinitelyNotAStalker: guys, guys, text me when u get ur phones back

20%sugar80%daddy: what?

N@●|°: ?

DefinitelyNotAStalker: okay, so the funniest thing happend

Guess

N@●|°: you finally found a job

20%sugar80%daddy: you aced your biology exam!

DefinitelyNotAStalker: I got hit by a car

[1 attachment]

Ya girl died but

I LIVED

N@●|°: ?????

20%sugar80%daddy: WHAT? HOW? ARE YOU OKAY?

DefinitelyNotAStalker: I mean—I'm alive???

Just broke one leg but am otherwise

A-Okay!

N@●|°: skill issue

DefinitelyNotAStalker: .......

omg

20%sugar80%daddy is typing......

Buddy Daddies + Text Posts [Part 14/ ??]

simply /the/ most 🍃guy™️🍃

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