Simon has seen countless marriages go to Hell in the army.
And he means countless. If he sat down and thought carefully of the numbers, he seriously believes he would know significantly more divorced people than married or in relationships.
price regrets everything, gaz is trying not to laugh and/or cry (he doesn’t know which), ghost is in his cryptid phase, soap is in his influencer phase, and roach is making sure everyone is covered in pasta sauce by the end of the day
i hate you ai art i hate you “unalive” i hate you youtube premium i hate you twitter 8$ checkmark i hate you nfts i hate you therapy app advertisements i hate you non-chronological timelines i hate you instagram reels i hate you subtle tiktok filters that cant be turned off i hate you family bloggers i hate you ads on true crime episodes i hate you facebook i hate you vr glasses on chickens i hate you dystopian social media
(affirming myself in the mirror) if that fictional man was real he would fuck you. He would fuck you. You’re his exact type. If he saw you he’d get a boner instantly. He would fuck you he would fu
You have to cover your face to hide your reaction.
Simon is loopy, high above somewhere in the clouds thanks to drinking too much of something Alejandro gifted him and you don’t know the name of. He smells like it, citric and some tints of sweet. It’s not exactly pleasant, but it could be worse.
“Why should I let you?”
His face is flushed, a pink band spread over his cheeks and nose that makes him look younger, almost innocent. His neck is red too, you can see it even though you’re trying your best to help him walk. You can’t see his freckles at all.
“Be-because I can be good,” he says, not looking at you when you turn to him. His cheeks go even redder.
“You’re not being very good right now,” you scold him softly, but squeeze his waist in a way that you hope shows you’re only playing.
It doesn’t work. You can see his eyes go sad and he even looks down to the ground like a kicked puppy, almost white eyelashes displaying a shadow on his skin. He pushes his lower lip out slightly, pouting. It sends a pang of guilt to your chest.
You lean up to plant a kiss on his cheek, giggling when he smiles shyly and turns away, bashful. It makes you feel warm, seeing him so pliant and loose.
“Isn’t that better?” You ask him, tensing when you feel him trip, but he quickly recovers. He smiles at you brightly, nodding rapidly like a little boy.
“Can I get another one?”
He’s slurring his words, like his tongue is heavy inside his mouth. His entire attention is focused on you, eyes bright and glassy.
“When we get home, maybe.”
He stops in his tracks, pulling you back into him without meaning to. “Home? Us?”
You frown at him, confused. “Yes, us. Or do you not want to, Si?”
You can always drop him off at John’s, you suppose, but before you can offer him the option, he grabs your shoulders softly and spins you so you’re facing him.
“I get-I-I get to go home with you?”
His voice is filled with wonder, amazed by his situation. He looks like he can’t believe it, like it’s the greatest gift of all. It makes your entire body feel on fire.
“If I manage to make us walk Si, then yes.”
A determinated, childish look comes over his expression. He nods, spinning you around roughly so you’re looking straight ahead. He’s always careful with the way he moves when you’re near, not like you will break but more like he’ll lose the sense of himself if he doesn’t. But you can see he’s not in control now, and it doesn’t scare you. Even with the way he moves you around, the pressure of his hands is never too much.
“Then-then we will.”
He starts walking behind you, pushing you to walk too. It doesn’t feel like he’s struggling, but you feel his grip on your shoulders tighten every few steps and laughter threatens to bubble up and out. There’s just no human way you’ll be able to pick him up if he falls.
“Are-are we happy together?” He asks, anxious. You turn slightly to him and smile gently, nodding and grabbing his hand to kiss it. You’ll never get over how red he is right now. “Am I good to you?”
You pull his arm as kindly as possible, but it still makes him stumble until he wraps his arms around your shoulders and stares at your eyes, gaping. “You’re the best.”
He giggles. He honest to God giggles, pressing his forehead against yours and giving you a stupid smile that you wish you could burn into your soul. He’s so sweet.
“Don’t let-hic- Don’t let me be any other way.”.
You kiss his lips and he practically melts against your body.
(He ends up falling. You stay there until he manages to get up himself.)
Hi! If you're still taking requests I'd love request a drabble about the moment when Konig and Reader first noticed each other and what they thought/felt during that moment based on your "Just Friends" fic.
Btw I love your work and oh my god, it's perfection, absolutely amazing. Super excited to read chapter 3&4 (no rush take your time!!)
Summary: König sees reader for the first time. Soon, the promise to never touch someone as lovely as her turns into a vow to never leave her side.
Tags/warnings: F!Reader, König POV, Just Friends universe. Angst, twisted & fluffy feelings, pining, obsessive behavior, stalking, panty stealing, mentions of past trauma, abuse and patricide, yandere!König falling in love (=being delusional). Mild sexual and violent themes.
A/N: I did take my time with this one… 🩷 And it’s only König POV, but I hope you enjoy! 💋
“Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely – saw, and pined His loss…”
I hate the “Oh ur posting without tags? how is anyone supposed to find ur post🥺” warning shit tumblr does now. the hand of god will deliver me unto others
Surprisingly, Simon can bake. He’s shit at cooking, can barely keep a sandwich from setting on fire and is banned from the kitchen at base. But baking? He excels at.
You do as he says, passing him the little salt shaker that has the form of a ghost. He rolls his eyes when he grabs it, but you can see him try to hide a smile. He fails, of course.
“What do you need salt for?” You ask, tilting your head to look at him better. He’s frowning down at the mass he’s moving around, his fingers pushing and pulling the mix in ways that you can’t fully understand.
“It potentiates the flavor, helps the mix absorb water, makes it less like gum.” He answers fast and steady, almost like he has it memorized. He always makes sure to know everything he can about his mission, in and out of field.
He has never baked for you before. But it’s three in the morning, it’s dark outside and sleep has fled the house a long time ago.
His eyes are a bit red on the edges, it hasn’t been long since he came back. He hasn’t said, you haven’t asked.
“How do you know how much?”
He shrugs, smiling briefly at you. “Usually it’s just a pinch. But you learn to know by heart.”
It surprises you a little. He’s not a fan of going at things “by heart”, used to following rules and orders almost blindly, if he’s not the one giving them.
“What are you making?”
“You’ll see.”
A couple of hours later, Simon has rows of cookies on top of the counter and you wish you had a camera.
“You look cute with those baking gloves, chef.”
Simon scoffs, but you can see the bridge of his nose turn pink. He helps you sit up on the table, standing between your legs as he breaks one of the cookies in two. Then, he blows at it softly, making you smile without meaning to.
“They look amazing,” you tell him, turning slightly to fully appreciate what his insomnia has gifted you. You can hear the birds chirp already, a little bit of sunlight slipping through the curtains. You don’t pay it any mind.
“It’s hard to find good ones,” he answers, “I decided to learn instead of looking.”
You think he’s right, of course. His sweet teeth make him eat some crazy stuff, but he’s very particular about the flavours sometimes. It’s not like he’s a picky eater, he wouldn’t survive in the military, but when he gets the chance? You can be sure he’ll search for the best.
He hands you one half of his creation, but you ignore it and take a bite straight from his hand. His cheeks go red too, but you’re too busy biting back a moan to pay attention.
“Holy fuck,” you say once you’ve swallowed. “Simon, this is delicious.”
He laughs awkwardly, but you can see him absorb the praise. “Yeah?”
“Yes! Oh Lord, you have to bake some for me every time you leave.”
He laughs harder this time, shaking his head and taking his own bite. He smiles at you as he chews, brushing your cheek to get rid of crumbs.
“I’ll bake all you want.”
He gets closer, wrapping an arm around you and leaving flour stains on your clothes. You don’t say anything, looking at his eyes and smiling at what you find.
In a way, you realize this is what he does to reconnect with himself. So used to violence and harshness, he turns to baking. It must help him remember that he’s capable of being gentle, of kneading instead of punching. He’s not a machine, and he’s a real good baker, apparently. And he bakes for you.
You pull him down to kiss him and lick the sugar off his lips.
