tapii

I can imagine you just standing in the middle of the hall while talking with Gris and Enjin comes up behind you.

“Oh, sorry babe.” He says while grabbing your waist and lifting you up enough for your feet to dangle a little before setting you down to the side so he can pass. You just stare at him for a few seconds because what the fuck just happened??? Gris 100% sees your confused and slightly turned on expression and laughs a bit before excusing himself so you can run after Enjin and ask him why tf he did that.

The man, who is already a good few steps ahead of you, just smirks as he hears you getting closer.

“Um, hello?” You ask, finally catching up to him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to face you. “The fuck was that?”

“The fuck was what?” You cant help but blink a few times with your mouth slightly parted and eyebrows furrowed. Enjins smirk grows at the fact that he made you speechless

“Lifting me up.”

“Im not following.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me to move? You didn’t need to do all that.”

“As if it was hard. You weigh nothing” the look you gave showed that you didn’t believe him. “Im serious. In case you forgot, i fight trash beasts the size of buildings on the daily. You’re alike a feather.”

“Ugh, whatever. Just ask me to move next time.”

“No way. When else will i get the chance to have the hottest Cleaner in my hands? Im not giving that up.” If he noticed your face turn bright red, then he didn’t mention it. Thank god. You turned around and slightly stormed off, waving a dismissive hand towards him.

cw: none? but i didn’t proofread so be warned lolz

viking!ghost who is believed to be killed in battle but really washes upon shore to some new coastline with people who speak a language he’s never heard before (he chalks it up to swimming in and out of consciousness)

viking!ghost who awakes violently, realizing he’s nowhere near home, thrashing and cursing anyone who tries (and fails) to console him and usher him back to bed

viking!ghost who finally shuts up when you, tiny thing beneath him, pick up a stick and promptly begin beating him with it, shouting what he can only imagine to be curses with weight behind them only a women could muster

viking!ghost who’s so taken away by your raw beauty, and quite annoyed (and impressed) that your swings are actually stinging his skin, lets himself fall back into bed, only grabbing the stick after he lets you get a few more swings in. you can’t blame him he’s quite enthralled by your passion

viking!ghost who begrudgingly resigns himself to trying his best to acclimate while he gets over nasty pneumonia and frostbite. he hasn’t quite shaken being seen without his covering, but it’s a strange type of freedom, that these people knew not of his past. it was dangerous for bimn to feel like a new man in this new place, with fiery little you sporadically making appearances

viking!ghost won’t admit to himself that he purposefully acts difficult with others in hopes you’d be tasked with his care more often. it works.

viking!ghost who’s picked up some of your language. “your.. name?” he tries in your tongue one night. you pause, he’s deeply satisfied when he sees recognition flicker across your face. you scowl and raise your eyebrow at him. “y/n”. he tells you his name. his real name. and when you stare at him and you frown a little less, he thinks he’s never seen someone more beautiful. he vaguely notes that you must be the kind of women that inspire heroes.

viking!ghost who after that interaction has a sudden urge to be useful. to prove himself to you. the language was just the start. he stops being a pain, taking whatever is offered and resting when told. he slowly gets better, starts helping around your community. he sees you watch him as he picks fruit with the older adults and children. in the coming weeks he’s stronger, chopping wood and hunting with your best.

viking!ghost who tells himself he’s just repaying a debt. your people used valuable resources on saving him, it was only the honorable thing to do. never mind the beautiful woman who nursed him to health and won’t give him the time of day. it has nothing to do with that.

viking!ghost who finally catches you at a celebration to usher in spring, the entire village buzzing with excitement at warming weather. the women you are with, aunts he’s come to learn, shove you towards him, giggling while they scamper off.

viking!ghost who can’t help but smile, scars stretching when you say his name curtly. “y/n. spring,” he dumbly points around, trying his best with what words he’s been able to learn. you smile. it outshines the sun. “spring.” you nod.

viking!ghost who trails you around the rest of the night. you let him. he sees a new side of you, carefree, engaging in traditions, joyous. towards the end of the night he’s drank something that’s made him feel light in a way he never has, and he tries his luck one more time.

viking!ghost who’s surprised when you beat him to the punch. well, kind of. you sit next to him suddenly, head titled. “you. why… stay?” he’s shocked hearing his language for the first time in months. he wonders where you’ve learned it from he sits for a moment. he’s not sure how to answer. when he fails to respond, you hum and offer him a piece of fruit. you don’t ask again, you just sit with him in silence. he relishes in it.

viking!ghost who keeps putting off figuring out a way back home. it’s summer now, he can carry simple conversation, he’s found a routine. you’ve warmed to him greatly, how could you not when he works so hard and gets you fruit from high up in the trees? you don’t want to talk about how you feel when he’s kind to the children who swarm him as if he’s an oddity.

viking!ghost who knows he faces a choice sooner than later. he had loyalties back home, no matter how it heart sunk at the thought of leaving you. he won’t allow himself to confront the startling truth of how much this place feels of a home he’s never truly known. how you feel like home.

After all, you're a low-presenting hybrid. Lacking really any hybrid characteristics besides your instincts. Something that used to bother you, being the odd one out in a high-presentation family.

Nowadays, it only makes you cock your head at gaz in an imitation of your brother's with their ears "what do you mean you've got a proper wolf on the team?"

"Ghost, our wold hybrid," gaz shrugs all casual, even a bit braggy "not sure he'd like you going around claiming to be one, though."

You doubt that, Given you still smell like a wolf. All hybrids have a certain smell to them that's hard to cover all the time. "Where is he?"

"Probably in the gym– what– hey!" Gaz makes to grab your wrist, then seems to think better of it. Some newbie getting chewed up by ghost is none of his concern...he'll make an effort to keep your blood inside after a few weeks. "...don't be an idiot!"

The gym is empty this late into the night, most lights off except for the section by the punching bag. There, you spot him.

As it turns out, ghost is the highest presentation wolf you've seen yet. He's also in horrible condition.

Matted fur, ears pinned back. You're sure his tail aches to move with all the knots pulling at skin, and by the way he holds himself you wonder what else hurts. You don't get to inspect further, because the second you step closer a deep growl bursts from his chest, eyes catching on you.

It's so sudden you instinctively back off, head tilted back, whining the best you can. Not for the first time, you wish you had proper ears and tail to convey what you mean. Instead, you resort to your voice and whisper "sorry, sir. Just wanted to introduce myself. I'm....I'm the new wolf on the team."

The growling continues for an excruciatingly long moment, warning or show of power you don't know. But between one breath and the next you're being shoulder checked by a body much bigger than yours, stumbling embarrassingly far.

"Stay away from my pack, runt." Ghost glances back at you over his shoulder.

The intimidation is ruined by a better view of those mats, of the claw marks barely peaking out from his shirt. He just looks...bad. unwell.

You wonder why no one's helping him, if he claims them as a pack. You wonder how much you'll have to sacrifice to help him. Christ, that poor lonely wolf in you can't tell danger from opportunity and just wants to bond with something like it.

and simon riley, the usually very composed man, a man who really doesn't care that much about soccer, throwing a big tantrum when argentina starts scoring against england

you widen your eyes as he nearly flips the coffee table with the way he cheers at england’s goal, screaming in a way you never seen before

only for him to yell at the players when argentina scored their first goal by the end of the second half

“bloody muppets.” he shouted, his heavy english accent sipping through his irritated voice.

“honey…” you tried cooing at him, but he was tense, and gently pushed you aside so he wouldn't hurt you if he jumped or got even madder.

“not now, lovie.” he said in a surprisingly sweet tone, still holding your knee to anchor himself as he watched the added time.

he sank even deeper in the couch after the second goal, holding the bridge of his nose as his nostrils flared with annoyance.

“honey…” you said again, reaching for his hand. he wrapped a hand over yours and took a deep breath, then stood up.

“not. now. lovie.” he said, forcing himself to sound gentle as he went towards your shared bedroom.

Vs

You, who’s known the entire time. You, who’s done more than know. You, who’s been bribing, blackmailing, and occasionally outright paying women to sleep with him since the first girl. Not to boost his ego. God, no. You’re simply keeping the old bastard happy and unsuspecting until retirement.

"Dungeon Meshi (Delicious in Dungeon)" upcoming TV Anime Season 2 Is scheduled for October 2027 in Netflix

he loves winter time with you. winter time when you're wrapped up so warm, in matching hat, gloves and scarf. your thick sweaters, your fluffy boots, those socks you were in bed that are fluffy with the little bears on them.

the fact you like sitting outside of the cafe with him while it's cold like this is a godsend. but you're not drinking the hot chocolate while simon smokes his cigarette, just holding it.

your lips touch the top of the cup, but you're still not drinking it.

"what're you doing, you daft cow?"

it sounds mean, but it's not. he's never mean, even is his words are a little harsh. he's got his arm around your shoulders, blowing the smoke away from you.

"'s too hot to drink," you explain.

he chuckles, a rumble from deep within his chest. "tha's the point of it, hon," he replies (you graduated from love to hon once he put that ring on your finger).

"yeah, but i don't wanna burn myself."

he kisses your head. you do eventually drink the hot chocolate, but only when it's on the cusp of being too cold to drink. if you don't get to finish it, he'll by you another, let you wait for it to cool down and drink as much of it as you can before it goes cold

It happened only one time and now here you are. Having gotten tired of your sweet, yet very nosy and persistent neighbor that kept trying to pair you up with one of her sons, trying to stage "accidental" meetings and always inviting you for dinner, one day you just had enough. So when she stops you again outside, gushing about her lawyer son and how cute the two of you would look together, you politely tell her you have a boyfriend. At first she doesn't believe it and asks to see a picture of him so you pull out the photo you secretly took of a slightly drunk Ghost, head slumped over your shoulder and his mask halfway off.

The picture has the desired effect, the image of that behemoth of a man whose biceps don't even fit into frame and mean look on his face are enough to make anyone back off. The problem is that news travel fast in small towns and now somehow everybody and their mother knows about your military boyfriend and can't wait to see him around.

Because fate has a twisted kind of humour, your lieutenant ends up temporarily living in your home after his apartment gets flooded. You only made the offer because he saved your ass during the last mission, not expecting him to actually accept it. And it's just your luck that the same neighbor happens to see him was spying through the blinds and decides to say hello and how good is to finally meet him.

It's just your luck that Ghost's taciturn demeanour cuts the conversation short, but the look he gives you is not encouraging. You try explaining the situation to him, apologizing every three seconds until he finally stops you and tells you that he's willing to pretend to be your boyfriend until his apartment gets fixed. You're so happy and thankful that don't even notice when he steps out on the balcony to make a call and break the lease for his old apartment, already planning to move the rest of his meager possessions here.

Ghost that gets very comfortable into his role as your fake boyfriend and maybe leans a bit too much into it under the pretense of "having to sell the picture". Suddenly he calls you "luvie", getting a special kind of satisfaction from seeing your embarassed expression when he does it that around other people. He pulls you into his lap while on a picnic, a hand on the small of your back when walking down the stree, even stealing a kiss or two after asking for permission of course.

You're not safe even inside your own home, finding Ghost only in a pair of boxers with a beer in his hand while watching a game on TV. The little patting motion he does on the spot next to him having your body moving on its own. It's him getting out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around him, watching that one drop of water falling down his neck, over his Adam's apple and then down his chest. He watches you back with a smirk curling on his lips. He sits too close behind you while looking for something in the upper cupboard, his body pressing flatly against yours, staying there for a moment too long to be accidental. It's only when the contact is over that you finally remember how to breath properly.

Dungeon Master Marcille... [ref]

It’s just a quick flight out of London, less than an hour in the air to go spend the long weekend together somewhere different for a change

And yet your mountain of a man hasn’t said a peep since the moment you took your seats, eyes staring straight ahead with his hands gripping the armrests for dear life

You’re just a tad bit bewildered on how a lieutenant in the SAS has been harbouring an aversion to flying without you ever hearing of it

You've been kinda-maybe-dating for nearly a month now. It's about time you take him to your apartment, you can tell after the third time he asks "where are we going tonight, love?" That he's dissapointed when you say his.

"Do you not trust me?" He finally huffs one day, half-curled into your side while some match neither of you care about plays on screen.

It's not because you don't like him. You care more about ghost than you have any reason to. You're terrified of rejection, but your own fear is hurting both of you anyways. "It's....i trust you, simon."

"Then what, love?" Simon rolls to prop up on his elbows and really look at you.

"It's...i..." you bite the inside of you mouth, twist around your anxiety and spit it out "I still have stuffed animals on my bed!"

Silence. You brace for the mocking laughter that you always hear.

Feeling ghost slip off the bed hurts more than you want to admit. You blink up at the ceiling and try not to cry. It's fine. He can think you're stupid and childish, you don't care, you still love him and—

"Here. Open your eyes." You do. Plastic, black beaded eyes stare back. Cupped in scarred hands is a small cat plushie, body sagging from beans, fur a little dulled. Well-loved. You look past it to stare at ghost, stunned.

"This is Mr. Kitty." He tells you. Gently, ghost scoots right back to your side and sits the plushie in your hands "I've had him for...years. he means a lot to me."

Oh. You try to imagine ghost, this giant of a man curled in bed with the tiny kitty plush next to his face.

"...I have a cat plushie." You tell him, belatedly fishing your phone out and trying to ignore the tightness in your throat at such easy acceptance.

You spend the rest of the night looking at photos of your plushie collection with ghost. He likes the cats the best, has strong opinions about sanrio characters, and insists on seeing them soon.

portgas d. ace, who has always been handsy.

not that you’re complaining — how could you? especially since something has changed in recent months. something has become sticky, mushy, needy.

feelings. there are new feelings, but you both ignore the aforementioned sticky, mushy, needy feelings because you’re best friends, and best friends don’t have sticky, mushy, needy feelings for one another.

portgas d. ace is always hanging off you. his arm, freckled and strong, is always slung around your shoulders. he leans and slouches, pressing the full length of his body against your side whenever he can. he’s always there, in your orbit, tangling himself up in your space.

the crew knows that you, a vice-lieutenant shipwright, and the division commander are two peas in a pod; inseparable, indivisible, and integral. where his voice carries, your laughter is soon to follow. ace burns bright, like a star streaking across the sky, and you’re the moon he dances for. you call his name from high up on the mast, and he always calls yours back.

no one pities the fool portgas d. ace makes himself for the sake of your smile. no one pretends there isn’t something else there, either. marco thinks it’s gonna kill him — ace, with his longing looks, and you with your lingering smiles. always when the other isn’t looking, but for fuck’s sake, marco is looking. marco sees it. marco can’t unsee it.

feelings! sticky, mushy, needy feelings!

portgas d. ace, whose threshold for appropriate touching is quickly diminishing despite the whole best friend title. his newest, baddest habit is a sturdy kiss to your temple in passing — always paired with a murmured hey you. he’s recently started to tangle his fingers in yours during quiet moments up on deck. always during the setting sun, always when you’re off shift, and he’s avoiding whatever new responsibility pops throws him.

portgas d. ace, who starts sleeping in your bed — he blames the barracks. they’re too crowded. marco, his bunkmate, snores. you’re lucky, he says, you’ve got a tiny little cabin, with a tiny little bed, and a tiny little water room. a perk of being one of the few female crewmembers. the perk is stolen by ace, who starfishes out and runs hot. you start sleeping with less and less clothing, and ace chases the feeling of your skin against his in his sleep.

there’s a line. always. you’re best friends. best friends who touch and roughhouse and laugh. best friends who fall asleep in one another’s arms, best friends who knock foreheads together when they hug, best friends who daydream about kissing one another—

portgas d. ace is your best friend. best friends don’t kiss.

until they do.

Oh yeah, ghost resource guards even when he's just a straight up human, but it's always over the strangest things....

He doesn't actually mind if people take his food, given that its only you or the team taking it and he knows he can get more later. Hungry moments are no stranger to him, so he hardly even blinks when he's only eaten two crisps yet his plate is nearly empty.

But if you take the seat that he has arbitrarily decided is his? He will genuinely pull a knife. Has done so mutliple times and is the reason price has a long scar across his calf.

Taking the items he's customized, rifle, tac-vest, whatever, will get you shot. Yes, he's done it before. No, they did not survive.