#and he and his teams write with so much intricacy

[maybe-boys-do-love]

The juicy symbolism of Jojo shows!!! I think it also might be valuable to take into consideration Kant’s name in reference to the Protestant philosopher, Immanuel Kant, who argued for an ethical understanding based in rationality as opposed to being a ‘slave to passions’—cuz Bison clearly lets his passions run the show lol. And in line with Protestant beliefs about idolatry, maybe Kant in THK has associations with text (the quote on his back, Babe and his books) along with the tattoos of abstracted designs and nature. The tension between Catholics and Protestants was such a central part of Shakespeare’s works, so it might be relevant. The issues of idols are also tensions between different sects of Buddhism, too.

Idk as much about Style and Fadel’s relationship to religious symbolism. The name Style immediately calls to mind surface appearances and consumer practices, though. And we’ve gotten multiple references to his desire for clothes and cars now. The fact that we get him in a Boston shirt next week adds to that connection because the GMMTV writer/directors know which country to point towards if we’re gonna reference consumer capital lol. Then those connections make me want to see the contrast with Fadel and hear the homophonic possibilities of his name with Fidel (I wouldn’t be a very good Shakespeare fan if I didn’t enjoy a possible homophone). The most famous Fidel I know, a pretty well-known Cuban, stands in stark contrast to consumer capitalism. So then I start to wonder if I should be looking at Fadel through this lens? Are there things about his austerity, his resistance to emotion and passion, or other aspects, that might line up with that old-school communist approach? I’m literally just typing this up as it occurs to me and I haven’t been watching closely, so idk.

Shakespeare valued negative capability, holding multiple view points at once, raising questions without needing an answer, letting tension simply exist without finality. Thai culture also prioritizes the ability to maintain relationships (interpersonal and international) through understanding and compromise rather than domination, and Jojo has said that directly in an interview he did as an out party-planner before he was directing, although he stated his thoughts about that philosophy’s limits. Very interested to see how THK ends with all this in mind! No answers here, just connections I’ll be thinking about with the series.

for a while now, i've been trying to figure out why the religious symbolism in thk feels so one sided, so to speak. like, if you've read any of my (or lauren's) analysis posts about the religious imagery, you'll notice that it all ties back to bison in one way or another. even the use of lilly as lilith, mother of demons and captain christ being the figure for the good side can tie back to bison by way of bison being one of the "demons" and kant specifically getting close to bison in order to help christ - christ is even often plastered on bison's back through his jesus shirts in way of showing how ever-present christ is in their relationship.

at first, i thought that it was because bison is, for the most part, the jesus figure of the story. he wears the shirts, he has crosses in his room, he "dies" and his beloved finds the empty tomb, kant is essentially baptized in order to redeem himself for bison. if bison is jesus, then of course the religious elements center around him for the most part. however, it just never sat right with me that fadel and style seemed to have so little to do with any of it and fadel's instances were only ever in line with bison.

however, i think this post that lauren @sunsetsover made pointing out all the religious figures in bison's parents's house kind of explains it all. the religious aspect of the story revolves around bison not because he's the jesus, but because it's essentially his motif. it ties back to him because he's the one sewing the seeds of it, essentially.

bison views himself as jesus, and makes kant into judas the betrayer AND john the beloved. but he also betrays fadel, making himself judas the betrayer and fadel (the one born on christmas) into jesus. he also makes himself into lucifer by being lilly's "favorite" and going against what she wants, by being the one to bring down their operation by getting involved with kant. even with christ, he's the one wearing the jesus shirts that signify the way christ hangs over him and kant.

basically, the reason the religious symbolism exists in the show in the first place is because of bison's own interest in christianity/judaism - it's a direct reference to bison and the way he views things.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Study

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Doing schoolwork while the team is round is not a good idea

The sun patch you were lying in was delightful.

The noise around you, was not.

You opened your eyes blearily, narrowing them to slits in annoyance.

Lucy stared at you and then pointedly turned the tv up in volume, laughing at your disgruntled look.

"Turn it back down," You said.

"No."

"Lucy," You whined," Please turn it down."

"Sorry, kiddo," Keira said as she appeared," But the rest of the team are coming over soon and you've got an essay to write."

You groaned at the reminder but sat up. The whole reason you had taken a nap in the first place was to procrastinate about writing your essay.

"Keira..."

"No, y/n," She said," Part of the agreement we made with your parents was keeping your grades up. I won't make you sit at the kitchen table to write it while the team is round but you have to get it finished today."

You groaned again but relented, grabbing your laptop from where it was charging nearby and pulling up your plan.

Your teammates flooded in through the next hour.

Asisat tapped you on the head as she passed to get to the kitchen. "School work?"

You rolled your eyes. "What gave it away?"

She laughed. "The fact that you've been staring at the screen for nearly twenty minutes and haven't typed a thing."

You darted your eyes across the room to look at Keira, who clearly hadn't noticed. You sent an awkward smile Asisat's way. "Don't tell Keira?"

"Your secret's safe with me."

The more people that arrived, the less you wanted to write your essay. The whole apartment had filled up with noise and even if you wanted to start typing, you were much more interested in hearing Claudia talk about the date she went on with her girlfriend.

You start typing your introduction before deciding you really can't be bothered right now and switch to writing about how Mark Antony's relationship with Cleopatra was the worst thing he could have done from the perspective of other Romans.

You were mindlessly typing and deleting your work when Frido and Aitana joined you on the sofa.

"How is your studying?" Aitana's English was getting much better now that she came around routinely to learn from Keira while you were forced to sit at the table and do your science work.

You gave her a deadpan look. "Oh, just great."

Frido laughed at your sarcasm. "Anything we can help with?"

"Unless you understand the intricacies of Mark Antony and Octavian's war for power after Caesar's death, then no."

Frido pulled a face. "You're studying that?"

"In theory."

Marta and Caro joined a moment later with cans of lemonade and snacks. You snatched up a KitKat quickly, anything to distract you from your next paragraph about Octavian's slanderous propaganda against his rival.

"How is our little student faring?" Marta asked, peering at your screen where you had repeatedly typed out 'I hate this class so much, I wish I could drop out'.

"Not good by the looks of it," Caro said even though it was obvious," What even is this?"

"Ancient Roman politics," Frido replied," It looks very boring."

"It's interesting," You said," Until you have to start writing essays and decide which of these horrible men was better."

"Who is better?" Aitana asked.

"...Octavian, because he won," You replied," But not because he was a better person. This is Rome - if you're not a bad person then are you really an Ancient Roman politician?"

The little group around you burst into laughter and Marta ruffled your hair. "You'll get it finished," She said," You're a smart girl."

Team bonding happened around you for the evening as you mindlessly typed and typed and typed until you were finally finished with your essay.

You stretched out in delight and headed into the kitchen where a to-do list hung on the fridge.

Irene, Sandra and Mariona were already there, studying it curiously as you grabbed a pen from the top of the fridge (standing on your tiptoes to reach it) before you crossed off your Classical Civilisations essay.

"That's a lot of work," Mariona said," This is for the whole month?"

"This is for the week," You replied, taking in her shocked look at your words," But I'm nearly done." You crossed off the Physics homework you finished last night along with the Maths worksheet you got done before practice this morning.

"It gets this bad?" Irene asked," I worry about when Mateo starts school properly."

You frowned. "I'm pretty sure that Mateo getting homework will be doing a drawing rather than writing essays."

"Well, if it helps," Sandra cut in," At least you've finished your essay now! You're free!"

You shook your head and pointed to the only thing Lucy had contributed to your list.

FINISH YOUR FUCKING PSYCHOLOGY ESSAY

"It's about language development in infants," You said, opening the fridge and grabbing some more lemonade.

When you finally made your way back to the living room, your seat had been taken by some of the girls so you ended up sitting in front of the armchair that Ingrid and Mapi had taken refuge on.

Instantly, Ingrid's hands threaded through your hair, massaging your scalp before pulling strands out of your face and pulling them into an intricate braid.

Apart from ever so slightly making you move your head to different positions, you were left mostly alone as you typed away about more research studies using brain imaging.

Mapi shifted behind you and you could tell she was trying to read over your shoulder.

"Why do you need to learn this?" She asked.

"It's interesting," You replied," I thought about doing psychology at uni before Barca signed me. I just hate writing about it."

"It looks boring."

"It's not," You said. Ingrid tied off your new braid and you turned to look at Mapi with a wolfish smile. "Besides, is it boring for you because it hits too close to home? Since you're such a child?"

Mapi swatted at you jokingly, lightly kicking you in the back until you shifted away from her with your laptop.

You refuge came in the form of the pile on the floor in front of the tv. Bruna and Jana welcomed you into the group instantly and you found yourself sandwiched between Ona and Esmee, who were viciously going against each other in FIFA.

"Is your essay finished?" Esmee asked," Keira told me not to text you after practice because you were writing your essay."

"Nearly," You replied," I've just got one more paragraph and then the conclusion. Ona's about to score, by the way."

With your words, Esmee just managed to block the shot as Ona shoved you in annoyance.

Jana and Bruna broke into laughter and peered over your shoulder.

"You used the wrong word," Jana said, pointing to where you had been writing about Piaget.

"It's kind of embarrassing that you're correcting me on my own native language," You said to her even as you corrected yourself.

"Learn Spanish," Bruna said," She makes a lot of mistakes in that."

"No I don't!"

"Yes you do!"

"You so do," Ona said," And y/n, you've got your tenses wrong."

You hadn't even noticed that the match had ended and that Ona was studying your essay until she spoke. Esmee looked over it as well, pointing at another grammar mistake.

You slapped their hands away and pointed to each of you. "Stop it! It'll get spellchecked at the end! You're ruining my creative process!"

"What creative process?" Jana laughed," You're writing an essay!"

"I hate you!" You declared with a laugh," Each and every one of you!" You pointed at them each in turn.

"Don't lie!" Bruna said," You love us."

You bat your eyelashes at her. "Write my essay and you'll have my undying love!"

"No chance!"

You finished your essay soon after without any of their help (although you would be the first to admit that your conclusion wasn't exactly the best) and hurried to cross it off the list, snatching it off the fridge. You sought out Keira in a group of the older girls. You showed her the list.

"I'm done!"

She took it from you, looking it over sceptically.

"And your psychology essay?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Keira, promise!"

"She promises, Keira!" Patri mocked your tone with a smile as Claudia and Gemma laughed.

You were one second away from stamping your foot but you refrained because you would never live down the 'little kid' allegations from your teammates if you did so.

"Look at this face!" Gemma said, cupping your cheeks," How could you be mean to this one?"

Keira had a contemplative look on her face.

"Come on, Keira," Claudia said," It's the weekend. We have a match in two days. She's been doing her work since we arrived. Let her have this."

"She could have had it finished before you all arrived if she hadn't taken a nap after practice."

"She's a growing girl!" Patri declared," She needs her nap so she can be big and strong like me when she grows up!"

An arm was thrown over your shoulder and you bit back your retort that the world couldn't handle two versions of Patri.

"Oh...fine, then. y/n go let Narla out of your room and then you're free for the rest of the day."

"Yes!" You pumped your fist into the air and hurried off.

Narla had been shut into your room the moment you came home after Keira watched you play with the little dog instead of doing your homework so she seemed very happy to be free, leaping into your arms like a little princess and making you walk her into the living room.

Salma and Cata intercepted you on the way, cooing over Narla like they had never met her before even though they had.

"It's strange to see you without your laptop," Cata said to you as she tickled under Narla's chin," I thought that it was surgically attached to you or something."

You would have shoved her if you had access to your hands but you didn't so settled for an unimpressed eyeroll. "Ha, ha, very funny. Make fun of my massive workload. I don't see you studying while playing football!"

"You know," Salma said and you already knew she was going to say something to tease you," When I was your age, I didn't have to worry about deadlines because I just did my work the day it got set."

You scoffed. "You're only three years older than me!" You stuck your tongue out at her. "If you want to write my essays for me, Salma, you should have just asked."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "That sounds like hell on earth."

You laughed all the way back to the living room, placing Narla on the floor and grabbing some snacks from the table when nobody was looking. You ended up on the floor for the most part, sat by Lucy's chair as the older woman sat above you, occasionally reaching down to feed you chocolate when she was sure Keira wasn't looking. But as it got later in the evening, you ended up migrating onto the sofa with Alexia.

"I heard you finished all your schoolwork for the week," She said as you lazed against her side, watching whatever Spanish soap opera Patri had forced onto the tv.

"Uh-huh." You were only half listening as you dozed off. Her nails scratched lightly at your scalp and the blanket that had been thrown over the pair of you made you feel all cosy and warm.

"Well done, y/n. I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you," You slurred slightly, head dropping to her shoulder as your vision got blurrier and blurrier.

"Are you tired, bebita?"

"No..."

Her chuckle jolted her body slightly but it was a little like the vibrations from being in a car so your eyes just drooped lower. "I think you are."

"Not...Not tired."

"You are. I think all that studying took it out of you."

"No..." You whined slightly and Alexia pulled you in a bit tighter. She manipulated your body in some way you didn't realise because you blinked and suddenly you were lying stretched out with your head in her lap. "I'm...I'm not tired."

You had already missed out on team bonding because of your studying. You didn't want to miss out on any more.

"You are very tired." Alexia's tone was firm but still somehow soothing and her nails drew patterns on your arm comfortingly. "You just need a little nap."

You tried to protest but Alexia's voice just got a bit firmer and a bit more like her captain voice so you knew that you couldn't argue back.

"Come on, bebita. It's nap time for good students like you. I'll wake you up when the food gets here."

[gallaghersgal]

hi hi hi today i’m thinking about carmy (as usual oopsie) and his girl who loves him more than anything. she loves him so much she always supports him with the restaurant, she listens to his ideas, tastes his meals and gives her honest opinion, she makes sure to take care of him because he often forgets about that. she’s just that girl <3

and maybe for his birthday or their anniversary (or the bear’s opening day’s anniversary?) she spends months preparing a book similar to the dozens they have in their living room or in the office at the bear. you know those professional cook books? with the impeccable meal pictures and the chef in deep concentration and explanations about each piece? she spends months snapping pictures of carmy while he’s working at the bear (when the restaurant is closed and he’s trying stuff out), him and the rest of the team, she’ll snap pictures of the meals he makes and take notes when he explains the idea behind it to put it in the book. she asks to take pictures of his notes too and he says yes, she doesn’t tell him what she’ll do with them though (but it’s okay because he trusts her <3) and just compiles everything so she can offer it to him. she adds her own notes and maybe at the end a longer note where she tells him what she thinks of him and his work and how much she loves him.

carmy gets too into his own head and it keeps him from seeing all the good he does, the positive side of things, the fact that he’s loved and he has people who care about him. and this book just has it all <3

-🧸

sobbing bc i started writing this and then accidentally closed it and the draft didn't save so anyways. this is very sweet so here is a mini blurb. sorry for the wait my lovely 🧸

carmen can't believe how lucky he is, to have someone like you as his wife. sweet, thoughtful, smart, and caring. he isn't an emotional man by any means, burying his feelings in nicotine and the rhythm of the kitchen. you've realized that even those closest to him don't know his intricacies, not in the way that you do. it's hard to break the surface of him but you've done it.

a lone tear trails down his cheek while trembling fingers flip the pages of your meticulously crafted anniversary gift. a cookbook, full of the most significant recipes in his repertoire. the pages were adorned with scans from his sketchbook. there were pages upon pages of old draft menus, sketches of unperfected dishes, and his handwritten recipes. each item included a 'professional' photo of the dish—courtesy of sugar and the fancy camera she bought before the baby's arrival—recreated by the bear staff and others you'd tracked down.

but the part that really gets him comes at the end. a faded photograph of mikey, sugar, and himself at the beef, holding up sandwiches and grinning. his childhood order is written in your handwriting, his choices annotated in a way that teases him even through the page.

"bear?" you ask quietly, poking your head into the office. you knew he was opening your gift, you'd been pretending to care about something on the hostess stand. too nervous. your heart is a little too bare on the pages.

carmen looks up with blue eyes sparkling and lays the book down on his desk. "you. c'mere, right now," he mumbles, extending one strong arm to hook around your waist and grapple you into his lap. his soft lips flutter against your neck, jaw, and cheek, and your giggles keep him from kissing your lips effectively.

"happy anniversary carmen," you whisper. his head falls to the crook of your neck, almost like he's hiding. and maybe he is, with what he tells you next.

"you, are the best wife, a man could ever ask for," he mumbles against your skin, each pause is punctuated with a kiss. he sounds choked up, and you pretend not to notice. "an' i thank whatever powers-that-be ev'ry day that i get to call you mine."

[solivagantingrebel]

People You Know Can Hurt You The Most

for: @inkarmatqq happy ghoapmas!! i had a lot of fun while writing the fic (got a wee carried away too), hope you enjoy! :D

ao3 link.

summary: Nothing happened that night. Nothing happened for a long while, nothing happened until he was deployed elsewhere and the no-strings attached conditions got his curiosity evoked. It never led to anywhere, though. No one he met before the task force made him want to be involved in something other than his own life, selfish as it might sound to some, it had taken a long time for him to reach even a semblance of that peace, and he wasn’t ready to part with it yet.

Until Simon Riley walked into his life, and it felt like a series of small, culminating sparks slowly adding to an explosion grander than any he had personally witnessed.

cws: implied/referenced child abuse, childhood trauma, angst with a happy ending.

words: 11.8k

For as long as Soap has been alive, he has faced rejection more than any other obstacle in his life. 

It started off small. His preferences being picked apart when he was younger, his carefree, rowdy nature punished and cautioned against. He was the lad parents looked at and was relieved he wasn’t theirs. He was the one punished the most by the teachers, the class clown, the loud mouth who couldn’t shut up or keep his hands still enough for their liking. He was the one without a survival instinct in his bones, getting into all sorts of trouble to scratch the itch of adrenaline growing stronger each day. 

His parents didn’t entirely approve, though their attempts to shape him to their liking was as successful as teaching a rock to fly. His ma was softer on him, partially because he got a feeling she understood a little. He grew up in the countryside with his grandparents while his parents were settling in the city, an entire childhood full of freedom and the world to explore wasn’t compatible with the muted manners they expected here. But, he tried for his mother. If there was one person’s disappointment he didn’t want to shoulder, it was hers. 

Which meant tethering himself, drawing back the strings of his eagerness, and swallowing the sting of every criticism thrown his way until it numbed down to a duller ache. When they told him to shut up, he did it without question, letting his thoughts run rapid and fill the void left behind by the impact, when he was told to stop, his body fought with him, but he’d prevail over the initial spark of rebellion — see the immediate reward of it in the form of praise or acceptance. He was palatable like this, agreeable, and his family got fewer complaints from his school. 

Growing up wasn’t easy. His situation at home was more or less stable, parents more ‘supportive’ of his recent behaviour, asking him what was wrong when there were days he couldn’t repress himself as much. He understood from a young age who he was as a person did not fit in with his parent’s, or his school’s, or his society’s standards. He was allowed to be himself when no one was looking; the mess in the wake of his destructive tendencies lied away like he was born with a silver tongue, eyes so sincere no one noticed the weight of the cross around his neck — one his grandma gifted him, the only piece of her he had after she passed — growing heavier. 

It was safer like that, though. Easier to lie through his teeth, accept rejection and move on with whatever approval he could garner from his corrected behaviour than linger on the festering wound of every rejection piled on top of each other. He distracted himself whenever the thoughts got too loud, allowed his hands to wonder and loud noise to smother the pull to linger, until it was instinct, coded into him like muscle memory. Once he was a bit older, there were more socially acceptable ways to get steam off. Sports was one. His school’s football team was already packed, so he opted for cricket, found himself liking the intricacies of the field and how much of mind and body involvement it demanded from him. 

It was perfect for him.

Over the years, his focus on the sport more than his studies drew attention. He was winning school-level tournaments and the local club was interested in him. While his parents were proud of him at first, it gradually grew into ‘concern’. Cricket didn’t have a good enough future for them to consider it an option for him, apparently, and they didn’t approve of him moving to England in the future to have a better shot at it. He had such a clever mind, he’d do well furthering his studies and getting into a more scientific field. Something that wouldn’t have him running around for others, taxing his body. But, he couldn’t give up the only source of comfort he had, he refused to.

Pride crumbled into pieces to scratch at the aching gash inside of him. He was good at lying, good at keeping the peace and making sure what he was didn’t disturb those around him, but in his father’s blue eyes, he knew it wasn’t enough. Regardless of how he acted, regardless of what he could achieve if he was allowed a silver of grace. He was convinced it was fate when an older cousin of his found him with bleeding knuckles in the field he practised in, after he ran away from home because of another nagging comment turned into an argument about his future. 

He sat with him, talked to him, and talked about himself when Soap didn’t, his own struggles with finding acceptance from his family and a path in life. He was in the army now, travelling more than he ever thought he would, defending his country and earning an impressive array of medals to show for it. His cousin took him to a restaurant after that, cleaned up his wounds and let him have a feast to make up for the food he’d missed in the family gathering. 

It was the first time someone extended kindness to him after he’d changed so much over the years — convinced he wasn’t enough for his family. Soap wasn’t going to say it was the primary reason he decided to enlist early, but it was a prominent one. He was going to be an SAS soldier, earn his place and force his family to shut up about his future, because surely, they were not going to complain after their country awards his efforts. Basic wasn’t what he expected; it was almost too perfect. He was suited to the military life, and that was the final realisation he needed before he tried for the selection, became the youngest in the Royal Army history to pass with flying colours. 

The name he earned out of it felt like his, too. Military opened up a myriad of opportunity without the additional baggage of what he should be, and the best part was, his aggression was rewarded, allowed an outlet, praised for the way his hands and mind worked in tandem towards the destruction of their enemies and swift execution of missions. He wasn’t told to be more than what he already was, but there was an itch in his brain that craved validation, being the best at what he did was a personal goal. Not an expectation, but there wasn’t anyone to disappoint other than himself — the kind of freedom he wasn’t allowed before this. 

And Christ, if he didn’t relish in the taste of it. He was starting to find out more about himself, no longer forced to be under oppressive eyes; his tendency to improve, impress and obey went beyond the friendly banter between teammates, and lingering looks and touches led him to places he’d never thought he’d grace. He liked men too. The realisation hit him softly when he was cornered and kissed sweetly by a bloke he stayed with in a bar after everyone left to make sure he reached home safely. Maybe it would’ve been more than an ‘ah, that makes sense’ if he was still back home, if the prominence of religion was continued outside his grandmother’s influence. 

Nothing happened that night. Nothing happened for a long while, nothing happened until he was deployed elsewhere and the no-strings attached conditions got his curiosity evoked. It never led to anywhere, though. No one he met before the task force made him want to be involved in something other than his own life, selfish as it might sound to some, it had taken a long time for him to reach even a semblance of that peace, and he wasn’t ready to part with it yet.

Until Simon Riley walked into his life, and it felt like a series of small, culminating sparks slowly adding to an explosion grander than any he had personally witnessed.

He should’ve known something would go wrong. He should’ve known the instinctual urge to be good, show-off and be trusted went beyond surface level assertion of his own ideals when it lasted beyond the first few missions. Ghost made him work for it. Dismissed him at first, but not for who he wasn’t. It was like he didn’t expect anything from Soap apart from following his orders good enough and — That, that was something he could work with, a complete absence of expectation which would’ve been an insult to a proud soldier, was heaven to Soap. 

He should’ve known it was going to get bad when he allowed him to get away with ‘Johnny’ spoken with such casual familiarity. The barest scrapes of leeway Ghost allowed him, and he was already craving more, like a mutt who couldn’t stop wagging his tail after being shown kindness for once in his life. It was humiliating to reflect on, but it made him feel like he mattered. The missions made it worse, so much worse. Las Almas forced both of them on their back legs, and he was allowed a glimpse past the walls Ghost shrouded himself in; the joking, indulgent Lieutenant on the comms far different from the all-business persona he was familiar with at that point. 

They managed to get out of there alive. Quite the team they made, despite the entire city being built like a trap to lure them to their deaths. Ghost waited for him, and that realisation didn’t set in fully until they were driving out of Las Almas, the pain of the open wound on his arm and the ache around his body revitalised as adrenaline wore off his system. There were other things to worry about instead of the growing inch of trust between them, but to hear it out of Ghost’s mouth was completely another, and having him stalk Soap in the safehouse when he tried to slick away with a medkit, to help him clean and stop the bleeding, made it almost difficult to breath. 

In a good way. Great way. Wanting to smother himself in the source of it until his lungs were familiar with the scent, way. The intoxication of allowance and trust enveloping a more instinctual part of him, tugging at him for attention. He was drunk on it, mouth looser than alcohol was capable of making, bolder when he muttered ‘that’s why I love the Ghost’ and worse with his quips in the operation right after. He was told to shut up too — More directly, more than just ‘keep it tactical’ and —

It shouldn’t have made him obey so easily. Shouldn’t have made his body so eager to please, it would’ve been embarrassing if Ghost was there to see it. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, maybe Ghost was used to his subordinates keeping their mouths shut and following orders, and it was as natural as breathing to him. Soap shouldn’t have found it attractive after years of being in the military. 

Las Almas, Chicago, the reveal of his bonnie face, and how Ghost chose to sit next to him in the bar, his thigh pressed against his when the news broke, contributed to it. The desperate way he said his name when he thought he lost him. Christ, he was over his head, heart pounding like it was the first time he’d genuinely developed a crush, and maybe it was. He couldn’t say the past flings in his life amounted to much aside from nightly enjoyment. Things were different with Ghost. For starters, he didn’t look at his COs that way. It was against regulations, against every self persevering bone in his body that told him to not fuck his spot in the task force up.

He tried to repress it. 

Tried his bloody fucking best to keep his lingering stares to just that, stares. Ghost stood out in most crowds they were in, it wasn’t strange to find his eyes flickering over to his Lieutenant every so often, was it? 

He tried his best to keep it minimum, even when they were alone together and the temptation of seeing that pale, scarred skin again tugged at his neck like a leash. Life was kinder to him, allowing him glimpses of different body parts, occasionally indulging him with the sight of Ghost’s wavy blond hair, practically making his fingers itch with the urge to run them through it. If Ghost noticed, he didn’t say anything. Their banter through the comms got worse, too. More playful, almost flirting, edging towards more than the casual back and forth between mates.

And they were. Good mates, as good as you could be when you were directly under the command of another. Soap didn’t want to jeopardise their relationship, but he wasn’t a man who strayed away from danger. He should’ve known it wouldn’t always work in his favour.

The first time he made a bloody fool of himself was in the middle of combat. He blamed it on the adrenaline, the smell of blood, destruction, and no other thoughts aside from working with his instincts to make sure they get out of there alive. It must’ve been an oversight on his part, something he didn’t immediately catch from his position, but thankfully Ghost was with him, and he noticed the mistake before it was too late. 

He was pulled by his vest and shoved against a wall, his body bracketed by his Lieutenant, who followed him for cover. The bullets wheezed past them, hitting the wall opposite of them. Ghost’s entire bulk was pressing on him, keeping him in place as he reached down for the pistol strapped to his thigh and made quick work of the company waiting for them through the doorway. 

Soap heard him swear, but didn’t catch the words properly, too engrossed in how tightly he was held in place, his senses getting overwhelmed by proximity and the fact that his face was inches away from Ghost’s. His blood was rushing and wires were getting crossed, the look Ghost gave him after softly calling out his name made it too irresistible to not give in, to lean up, closer, as much as he was allowed. For a split second, it looked like Ghost was going to let him close the distance and kiss him, mask in the way be damned. 

But their comms buzzed to life and Ghost stepped back as if he was burned, awareness clearing the lidded haze in his dark brown eyes. The loss of heat was so palpable to Soap, it was the equivalent of throwing a bucket of ice water to his face. Effectively snubbed any semblance of that confidence he felt to take a step forward and take what he has wanted for a long while. It was fine. Soap wasn’t a stranger to rejections. The situation wasn’t ideal, and whatever that might’ve happened would’ve been a mistake anyway. 

If it was ever going to happen, Soap was going to make sure both of them had space to properly discuss it. Even if the ‘discussion’ was a reprimand from Ghost for pushing for something that shouldn’t exist; at least, he’d know on more certain terms, and he could move on. The mission continued without any other issues, albeit things were on the quieter end from his side. He didn’t want to cock it up more than he already had. 

Ghost’s gaze was heavy on the exfil back, not looking away even when Soap stared back, but they didn’t talk about it otherwise. Soap didn’t have an incentive to ask without making his feelings clear as day, and the delicate balance of friendship he’d earn after Las Almas was something he didn’t want to jeopardise. Call him selfish, or maybe coward was more apt, but it was the first time he had felt this much for someone else. He wanted to bask in it for a few more, before what he was inevitably ruined any possibility of indulging it in the future.

He’d ruined his relationship with his family because he couldn’t help it. Who was to say it wouldn’t happen again? 

The tension bleed away after a day or two. They were back to their usual back and forth, new missions and base shenanigans taking the focus, and Soap was relieved, so relieved, that he was sure Ghost noticed too. Though, he didn’t comment on it. Everything was back to normal, except it wasn’t. In the back of Soap’s mind was the knowledge of how it felt to be pressed by Ghost’s warm body, the delicious heat, adding into how naturally he’d protected him, kept him close until the danger was cleared. How bloody fit he looked in the process. 

There were nights where he regretted not ripping the plaster off and kissing him right then and there, consequences be damned. At least, he would’ve known how Simon Riley’s lips would’ve felt like before being kicked out of the task force. Crushing on his commanding officer — a new type of low to reach. It wasn’t like he could help himself. He was like a mutt with a bone, unable to tear himself away after a taste, even if he knew the bone was rotting from the core. 

It was subtle at first. Bare whiffs of consideration; Ghost always saving a seat for him, wee touches that could be brushed off by coincidence or accidents, the growing extent of patience he showed him. Maybe it was a by-product of their closeness, maybe it was just natural for Ghost to be this considerate, but he couldn’t tear his mind away from the increasing number of the mental tally. He didn’t need to, and yet, he did regardless of whether he wanted to impress Soap or not, like being good to him was natural 

His superiors weren’t usually like this. Most noted his talent for the field and kept their praise to just that, never going out of their way to treat him more than an expendable soldier. A very useful expendable soldier, but expendable nonetheless. Ghost treated him like someone worth having around, listened and entertained him beyond work stuff, and while he was pretty private about himself and his thoughts, he’d occasionally chime in and reveal things. Precious things.

Preferences. Tidbits of stories from his childhood. Once, when they were out drinking in a pub near base, Ghost even pushed for details about Soap’s sorry love life by offering a story of a relationship before he joined basic. Some bloke who worked the same job as him in a butchery, the kind of sweet sixteen love, broken off when he needed to move away for deployment. Soap was too focused on the ‘bloke’ part that he didn’t notice Ghost’s unblinking, curious stare at his silence, cheeks flushing warm. He was going to blame it on the whisky.

“Nah,” Soap murmured. “Had a fling or two, but nothin’ that lasted. Didn’t feel like I needed to be in one, if m’gonna be honest.”

Not until you. 

Soap downed the rest of the beer in his glass, refusing to look at the one person who was making him reconsider everything he wanted out of life.

“Makes sense,” Ghost said. Soap didn’t look at him until he was leaning away, gesturing for another round of drinks, and the warm, glistening gaze of his bourbon eyes when he returned the stare almost melted him. Almost. Soap wasn’t drunk enough to start blabbering yet, but the night was far from done, and he remembered the sting of Ghost’s ‘no, Johnny’ despite the amount of liquor in him. 

It was on the walk back to base, he was sure. Ghost was close enough to touch, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to feel him again, more purposefully than what happened in enemy territory, with more intent than the casual brushes that came with existing around another person. His hand shot out before he thought better of it, grabbing Ghost’s arm, and they stopped dead in their tracks. 

Ghost didn’t shake him off, didn’t flinch away nor say anything, the silence would’ve made sober Soap reconsider his actions, but it only emboldened him as he was, alcohol clouding his usually sound judgement. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was a sense of anticipation, a careful observation of what he’d do behind those dark eyes studying him. He had to do it. He had to step closer, invade the space standing between them and invite himself over to Ghost’s. His body language made it more obvious; the arch of his neck, the subtle shift of his weight from the balls of his feet to his tiptoe; his lips were parted, eyes dazed, focused and adoring — or so, he hoped — and he was willing to defy the line between them for a chance.

It was reckless. He was bloody swaying on his feet, nerves and alcohol finally setting in, and right when he was about to kiss him through the cotton balaclava, the world spun. His visions blurred for a second, and his back was pushed against a hard surface. A concrete wall, he realised. There was a hand on his neck, heavy and hot, his jaw held tight by rough fingers. Despite how angry and stern the hold on him felt, Ghost’s voice was anything but. 

“No, Johnny,” he said it in a whisper, a soft and low dip in his usual gruff accent that made him sound almost… sad. It didn’t take away from the impact of it, a heavy-handed cold crystallising in Soap’s chest at the firm answer to his question. He was fine, had to be, it wasn’t his first rejection nor would it be his last, but there was something about a first love that stung more than it should. The closeness lasted longer than he expected, though it could just be his skewed sense of time. 

He woke up with a hangover after that night, vague memories of what happened outside the moment of rejection lingering with him. He was in his room, in his bed, his jacket neatly folded on the foot of his bed and shoes placed aside — Ghost must’ve helped him get back. 

It took painkillers, lots of water and some breakfast to feel remotely like himself again. He stumbled upon Ghost in the break room, getting the usual greeting for the morning. The sight of him languidly relaxing on the sofa, perfect and handsome despite being covered from head to toe made his chest tighten, almost painfully. He was already nursing a cup of tea, and Soap shuffled over to make his cup of coffee, only to find a freshly brewed one waiting for him. 

“Thought you might need it,” Ghost murmured.

How am I supposed to not love this ma — 

Ah. Right.

He loved Ghost. Why the revelation flew past his head earlier, when it was obvious, clearer than day, when he wanted what he was feeling to be reciprocated so bad it was starting to hurt. 

Soap coughed, embarrassed about his line of thinking when the man was right in front of him. “Thank ye, L.t. Always lookin’ out for me.”

Ghost hummed, rolling his mask up to his ear to take a sip. No indication of wanting to confront him about what happened last night — he’d sigh in relief if he didn’t feel slightly disappointed. 

Soap tried very hard not to stare at his scarred lips. Pretend he was more interested in three second glances and not memorising his entire face to sketch him later. 

“Think I deserve somethin’ for that.”

“Aye?” Soap said in a daze, distracting himself by taking a sip of his own. Would do anything you’d ask, he didn’t say.

“Take over for me.” Ghost gestured towards the window leading out to the training grounds. 

Soap contemplated for a pause, but the expectant, easy look in those brown eyes got him to nod just as easily. His Lieutenant had a chokehold on his heart, and there was nothing to indicate he knew beyond his clumsy attempts at trying to kiss him. 

It was better that way. They were good mates, weren’t they? Soap didn’t want things to take a turn for the worst. 

He didn’t care if it felt like a full body ache, it was for the greater good. 

-

Despite Soap’s clumsy attempts, they got closer after that incident. 

Others might say it’d be natural to, considering the amount of time they spent in each other’s company. In-between the time spent training, eating and looking out for each other, camaraderie was natural, easy, the kind of brotherhood between men who dealt with the worst of the worst. But, he knew it wasn’t naturally for Ghost. There were walls and barbed wires around the closeness he allowed Soap to glimpse, and a quick glance between his interactions with others gave him the idea that what he allowed him was special. 

There was some leeway with Price, the Captain was ‘trustworthy’ enough for Ghost to obey his orders without question, but the night from Las Almas flashed in his mind whenever he contemplated further. ‘Be careful who you trust, Sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.’ He trusted Ghost. Without question, without thought. Did that mean he shouldn’t? Though, if Ghost decided to hurt him, he’d wager that he deserved it. Ghost was a good man, even if he didn’t believe he was; Soap knew he tried his best, regardless of their circumstance. He was there for him when no one else was, and the way he sounded, in that fucking skyscraper in Chicago when he didn’t respond back. 

On the verge of death, he sounded like Soap meant everything to him.

Or, at least, enough to be devastated by the possibility of losing him. Different from how he treated his other subordinates, different from how he treated the rest of the task force.

His delusions, probably.

Soap wanted more, but it was fine as it was. 

It was natural for them to find each other after ops. Either to drink, smoke or talk away the exhaustion from their bodies. They didn’t acknowledge it directly, but it became a ritual of sorts. Sometimes they were too tired to do much except get a drink from the break room and head to their rooms, although one of them would make sure the other knew. 

Over the years, Soap started realising that Ghost needed more R&R whenever it was festive season. More on December than November. It got worse around Christmas. They never explicitly talked about it, but there was mention of family during one of their conversations, when Soap was bitching about how they’re gonna blow up his phone for another missed Christmas with his phone in one hand and a cigarette in another. Ghost mentioned he didn’t like celebrating it either. Soap tried to inquire without pushing him, and all he got was ‘don’t have anyone to celebrate with, Johnny’ and that was that. 

This Christmas, he wanted to change that. 

They were in London, arriving a few days before Christmas, when intel revealed possible movement around the city, and they were settled in a nearby base to ‘train’ the recruits while MI6 figured out whether they needed to be on the field. They were stuck in base, allowed to get their energy up and relax as much as they could as they waited for the ball to drop. Ghost was more tensed up, something about him buzzed with a kind of energy Soap would usually get after a botched mission — something you can’t stop blaming yourself for. 

He preferred not to speculate, but he could try to make it better for him, couldn’t he? Soap wanted his CO to relax, it was only natural for him to extend the invitation to spar. It was only natural he let Ghost take his frustration out on him. Ghost was still a decent man, but between the agitation building up and the fact that he usually dominated with a 2-1 average, he didn’t notice the subtle slips Soap worked in their usual routine. It was a few more bruises to add to his body, one on his outer thigh, one on his chest and one on his shoulder. The closest he will ever get to having Ghost’s claim on him. He was fine with that, had to be. He wasn’t the focus, either. 

But, he selfishly wanted to be. 

“Go out drinkin’ with me. On the 24th.”

He’d managed to blurt it when he was pinned down by Ghost, gathering the courage as he was winding down from the controlled adrenaline high. Soap knew his plan had worked; he felt the broad, sturdy frame of his Lieutenant relax more through the spar, felt each blow lessen the tightly coiled tension, and there was a look over his eyes, pupils slightly blown but hazy, his guard was finally down. 

Before Soap spoke up, of course. 

Ghost tilted his head ever-so-slightly, shifting his weight on top of Soap and considering his request with more thought than he expected. 

There was a chance of rejection. Soap was bracing himself for it, and tried to keep his feelings at bay, because it wasn’t about him. Whatever hang up Ghost had with Christmas was obviously private, family-related, and yet, he didn’t want him to be alone during it. He knew Ghost could handle himself, but — 

Was it selfish to want to help him the best as he could?

The grip on Soap’s hands loosened, gloved thumb gently pressing against his pulse point, lingering for a second more before he spoke. 

“Alright,” Ghost agreed, moving off him. 

Soap took a few moments to collect himself before pushing himself up from the mats, staring at his Lieutenant with wide eyes. He was sure if he had a tail, it’d be wagging furiously, hiding his excitement by only a margin of what must’ve been showing on his face. He was never really good at hiding it when he felt things. 

“Serious?”

Ghost’s lashes shuddered, the corners of his eyes crinkling in what Soap recognised as a masked smile. “Planned somethin’ for it, Sergeant?”

“No,” Soap muttered. “But I can, if you like.”

“Do your worst, Johnny.” 

Soap grinned. “Solid copy, sir.”

When it was Christmas Eve, Soap didn’t catch a glimpse of Ghost. Unable to find him in his room or any of the communal spaces. He shot a text to him with the location of the pub, just in case, since he was going to be busy preparing the not-date outing, with his gift needing to be wrapped. He got it shipped early, an entire set he was convinced Ghost would find some humour in, even if he didn’t like it. 

Daytime passed within a blink. Soap was busy sitting on his bed, painting little white skulls on the black wrapping paper. A single glance would make the contents of the gift obvious, but he knew he could get that extra reaction with the set he’d managed to find in Ghost’s size. The material was nice too. Pure cotton, something that would last for a while. Maybe he could get him another set if Ghost liked it, he has always wondered about what went on in his Lieutenant’s spooky closet, and contributing to the pile seemed fun. 

The closest he would get to putting a claim on him.

Not that Ghost would know. Not that he felt any guilt in fostering the possessive desire, knowing nothing was going to come out of it. To finish the gift, he used a silver ribbon and tied a knot on the top. He checked his phone. Still nothing. There wasn’t a ‘read’ function in the messages they used, so he had no idea if Ghost saw it. It was a matter of trust, hope Ghost kept to his word. Soap planned the evening to start with drinking and end with roaming the streets of Soho, giving Ghost the opportunity to buy him something in turn. If he wanted to. He wasn’t expecting anything in return, company alone was enough for him. 

The festive decoration and alcohol warming their blood should be enough to distract both of them from less than pleasant thoughts. He went ahead and made sure the pub they were going to had good bourbon too. Something to try together, make new memories over. A clumsy attempt at trying to make Ghost feel better, maybe, but the spar worked, didn’t it? Who was to say their not-date wouldn’t either? 

It might not mean anything for Ghost, but it would be a cherished memory for him. 

That was enough. 

Had to be, Soap reminded himself, pushing himself up from the bed to move in front of his closet. He was going to wear something nice today. A nice button-up with fancier pants than his usual jeans and fatigues, leather shoes, a coat and a scarf. Which he may or may not bought, in addition to his gift, unable to resist trying on a new look for his —

For Ghost. 

Mostly to see his reaction, if there was any. Just because he liked men didn’t exactly mean he liked Soap, though he hoped Ghost wasn’t as indifferent to him as he thought he was. He wasn’t bad to look at, if the stares he got whenever he went on a night out said anything, and he could clean up pretty well. Simple white, black, brown and beige outfit, with face cream, aftershave, deodorant and some gel to slick back his hair. Looking in a mirror in his room, he would go as far as to say he looked fit.

Dressed adequately for a night out. 

He checked his phone again, nothing. Soap sent him another text. A simple ‘omw, will save yer seat, sir’ and hoped for the best. Christmas Eve, Christmas miracles, yeah? Not like he believed in any of it, but he believed in Ghost. That had to be enough. 

He took the scenic route, taking a walk through the streets of London to reach his destination and enjoying the decorations displayed in the process. It was snowing lightly, the Christmas atmosphere blessed by the rare snowfall in the city, and it added onto his belief that the day was special. If he could get a glimpse of Ghost with snowflakes stuck in his hair, he’d consider his wishes for the day and year fulfilled. The occasion to see his Lieutenant without the mask hiding away his handsome face was something he cherished, and the rarity only made it exceptional. Like the rest of him was. 

The opportunity to know Simon Riley was special in itself. 

He arrived to the pub fairly early. Soap didn’t notice his excitement making his strides longer, faster. He checked the time and his messages again when he walked in through the door, finding the place to be occupied but not fully packed. A quick glance around the place revealed no hulking, brooding blond lurking the corners. He decided to play nice for the evening, choose a table that would fit the big bastard. No need to cram his thick thighs in a tiny booth. 

He was being a good friend.

Nothing more than that. 

To pass the time, he ordered a pint of beer. There wasn’t a ‘right’ way to start the night. Something to ease the nerves was good, though. He checked his phone again. No updates. Just like their intel. The beer was a warm company to his shimmering thoughts, calmed him down enough to enjoy the rare moments of peace he was allowed. They were technically on a break through the New Years, duty resuming a few days into January since the bomb threats turned out to be less than credible. He could’ve visited home, actually bothered to show up for one Christmas after his deployment.

But he still remembered the face of disgust his father made when he returned home on his first break from deployment. 

His mother had tried to be supportive, in a way, and yet, her disapproval was apparent in the way she spoke to him about his work. They did an ‘intervention’ for him, telling him they didn’t approve of the unnecessary risk Soap was taking, they didn’t want their son to return to them in a casket one day. There was more talk about how smart he was, and he’d be better off using his brain to get a degree or three — a respectable profession and not the madness he was chasing. They had the audacity to bring up his interest in chemistry as a point, too.

That was the point he snapped. Minor arguments and disagreements leading to Soap needing some space away from his home had happened before, but he hadn’t stood his ground and defended himself with his teeth bared and anger lashing out of his throat before. Because there was a respectable ‘profession’ he wanted to pursue, and he didn’t because his parents couldn’t just be happy for him and support him for once. He was tired of the constant criticism and arguments he got into around them. He woke up the next day and left before anyone could stop him. 

He hasn’t returned home since that day. 

It was something he didn’t talk about in detail, shit was too sad to drag anyone or the atmosphere down with him. Soap was fine with it. Mostly because it was nice not feeling constantly judged and criticised and pressured to be someone he wasn’t, forcing himself to endure in the name of family. As if they’d ever cared to actually know him. 

Every family holiday came with a lick of envy, a voice in his ear reminding him he will never have the picturesque celebration. He did not let it corrupt his enjoyment of the said holidays or festivities, but it ate away at his psyche. A bitter reminder of things he will never get to enjoy. 

Luck has never particularly been on his side. He was great on the field, some close calls being too close for his liking, and yet, there was a stubborn beast forcing his hands to work faster, be better, because if he was allowed to, he was going to take back control of his life. Which included rewriting the tragedy of his sorry existence.

So, Soap waited for the one man he wanted in his life more than everything in his life. The unexpected perk of joining the SAS. Ordered a plate of chips and another pint of beer to keep him company, eyes trained on the door, every shadow drawing his attention until he realised it didn’t fit the Ghost mould. It would’ve been pathetic if Ghost hadn’t almost promised. If they weren’t good mates. He could wait — his Lieutenant wasn’t a man to be late for no reason. He wouldn’t leave him stranded, right?

Right?

Good three hours in his wait did he realise it wasn’t the case. No update from his phone, no response to his messages or the one call he decided to make when the server kept looking at him and his gift pitifully. Ghost wasn’t coming. 

And it shouldn’t have physically hurt. The stab in his heart feeling real, almost heavy, like he was bleeding from the inside out, his throat closing thick, made worse by the sweet heat of the alcohol. Spite spoke in his voice, logic presenting an argument tight enough to bury him underneath it. After all, why should Ghost come there? Just to waste time with him? Didn’t he remember the last time they were drunk, how blatantly Ghost rejected him? How wrong it was that he felt anything for him? Did he want to jeopardise everything for a glimmer of nothing that badly?

He should know better than to want something he couldn’t have. 

Green was an ugly colour on him, and envy could dip him lower than any of his other emotions did. The fact of the matter was, regardless of how much he desired or craved something, he wasn’t destined to get it, and he was better off accepting this fact than getting hurt each time it happened. Life, God, whatever else was in the universe dictating fate and destinies had been loud and clear with him. Easier to move on if he understood, fundamentally, that he has never deserved it, right?

It was hilarious, really. How the human spirit was stubborn enough to persist despite everything. How his blood ran hot and livid instead of cold and calm, sick and tired and ready to sink his teeth in and make the things that hurt him bleed. Only problem was…

It was the people he knew. 

The folks he loved, even if he tried to not linger in the sentiment. Like the rest of himself, he couldn’t help the love he had for his parents, for his job, for his Lieutenant. It was there; bruised, broken and buried, but there nonetheless, and he couldn’t imagine a world where he shouldered the burden of bridging the gap created by circumstance and deliberate inability to communicate. He would’ve been fine if Ghost texted him about not making it for one way or the other. It would’ve stung, but he wasn’t a bairn anymore, he’d get over it.

Except Ghost hadn’t. Soap was left alone in a pub, looking at the door like it could bring him his salvation, enough that he was pretty sure the server felt bad for him. When the one who was taking his order came around his table to ask if he was done, he decided to indulge in what he was there for, other than his Lieutenant. A glass of bourbon. Imported from the States. The kind of Ghost would’ve loved.

It was too fucking bad only Soap was going to experience the delight.

He ordered. It wasn’t bad, and it certainly didn’t taste like dog piss. The flavour was rich, smoky, with hints of vanilla and oak, strong enough to down his sorrows in. He found himself smacking his lips when he was done, wondering if it was how Ghost tasted that night in Chicago, not that the bourbon in that place was of the Kentucky variety, but it must’ve been somewhat close. He wasn’t tipsy yet, so he figured he could go for another, his brain providing distracting images instead of the awareness of the sorry sight he made alone in that pub. There were men, and women, looking at him with interest, and none that caught his. 

Heartbroken wasn’t the type people usually went for. It was Christmas Eve, less time to stick around, while liquor did most of the work of making him forget. The third glass of bourbon did it. He was drunk, a wee off-centre, his brain was warm and mushy, and he took it as a sign to end the night. Not a single fucking word from his bastard of a Lieutenant, but he was tired of the day, and people, to care too much. He paid his tab and went on his merry way, the gift tucked underneath his arm because fuck, if Ghost didn’t want it, he was going to keep it. 

Wasn’t his style, really, but he could use the set as jammies. He could return it when he was feeling better, the day after, maybe. Or he could burn it. Start his journey of getting over Ghost, regardless of whether he thought it was possible or not. Maybe it was going to be a lifelong journey — the options were plenty. He refused to let the sting of, everything technically, draw him away from enjoying his walk back. The snow was good. The cold distracted him, and his body ran hotter with the alcohol in his system.

The bright, burning flame in his mind’s eye was more enticing, elaborate plans of making a ritual out of the burning, maybe throwing in an explosion or two to spice things up. There was nothing a good ol’ explosion couldn’t fix. Especially in terms of eliminating things out of his sight and mind, and he was already coming up with a chemical concoction that would be perfect for the occasion. He mused all the way from the streets of Soho to the base they were temporarily staying at, so deep in thought — intoxicated too — that he ignored the vibrating buzz of his phone buried deep in his pockets. It was a call. 

Probably from Ghost. Maybe, if Soap allowed himself to hope for more, as if he wasn’t already tired of the possibility of more rejection to deal with. The feeling was good for a minute, ignoring Ghost like he ignored him without giving him a heads-up, but as the call died down, the bitterness was too heavy on his tongue to ignore. 

He barely made it to his room, swaying on his feet to the point he dropped the gift as he fished for the keys from his pockets. He stared at the thing — crudely painted, expertly wrapped, and felt a prick in his eyes, moisture gathering to compensate for the pain he refused to name. 

And he was going to keep refusing to say it because it wasn’t a confession, there was no sin committed wanting to be there for someone else. Intentions, thoughts, whatever the Church deemed wrong, be damned. 

“Fuckin’ cunt,” Soap murmured, both at his feeling and the complicated mess his life was turning out to be. 

He decided to leave the thing there. Deal with it in the morning, it wasn’t like anyone was going to be frequenting his room anytime soon. Not until midday, at least. He had enough of a headache for the evening. 

Soap went to sleep with a heavy heart and clear intentions. 

He was too tired to register the softest patter of footsteps coming to visit him late at night, lingering, a familiar, solid presence that vanished, alongside his gift in the morning. 

-

“So, you’re avoidin’ Ghost.” 

Gaz was staring at him like he was a dafty, and yeah, he probably was. Ignoring a problem wasn’t anywhere close to productive, but he didn’t want to confront it either. Whatever ‘it’ was. For his credit, Ghost was avoiding him too. So he wasn’t the only unreasonable one in their not-couple’s argument. 

“Do we have to talk about this?” Soap whispered. They were at the New Year’s Eve party to have a good time, not rehash the horrible way he spent Christmas — half in rejection and half in a hangover. 

Gaz raised an eyebrow at him. “You two have been inseparable for years, mate. This wasn’t the relationship update I was expecting, yeah? Give me a crumb here.” Gaz assessed him from head to toe, or waist, since they were seated at a table; slightly slouched shoulders, hand gripping the edge of his glass, and probably clocking the distracted haze in his eyes for what it was. His brown eyes went a little wide with realisation. “Don’t tell me. You confessed, and he didn’t take it well?”

Soap nearly spit out a mouthful of beer he was in the process of downing. He leaned back, coughing, trying to not choke as blood rushed to his face. Embarrassed, and caught entirely red-handed. 

Gaz shook his head at him, looking amused. He let Soap come down from his nearly-choking-on-his-drink-after-having-his-feelings-read moment, countering his anger glare with a tilt of his chin, a challenge to say otherwise. Of course, he couldn’t.

“Fuckin’ Christ. No. I’m not that much of an idiot,” Soap hissed. “He just didn’t…”

How was he supposed to explain it without sounding entirely oblivious?

“Didn’t what?” Gaz asked, putting his elbow on the table to lean closer. Not giving him the out this time. The party was just getting to the good part; they were in a restaurant with a pretty view of the Big Ben, a somewhat bougie place with good food and liquor, and they would have a clear view of the fireworks when the clock strikes midnight. The lads at the base they were staying at inviting the whole of 141 there for the party, and Soap had jumped at the opportunity, knowing if not anyone else, Gaz and Price was going to be there. 

If Ghost came, he could blend in the work, or get drunk enough to have his mistakes forgiven again. Whatever worked best. 

His team — Gaz and Price, at least, arrive pretty late. It was almost 2330 when Soap got dragged by Gaz to a booth while Price made rounds around, talking with officers more important than them. No sight of Ghost yet. It was almost reminiscent of that night, so he tried to not linger in it. The best he could, before his fellow Sergeant found him, of course.

Gaz was still staring at him. 

Soap sighed, relenting in the name of their friendship. He didn’t have anyone else to talk about it anyway, better to get it off his chest and start anew — the kind of nonsense folks sprouted around this time of the year. 

“We had a thing planned. He said he’d show up, but he didn’t. Left me hangin’ and lookin’ pathetically alone drinking by myself on Christmas Eve.” Soap stared at his own beer to give himself an excuse to not look at Gaz’s eyes. It wasn’t a date. Yet, it hurt like he got stood up on one. Made worse by the fact that he had deluded himself into thinking he was close, and mattered, to Ghost. “Went as far as to buy a gift for that big bastard. Couldn’t find and burn it in the mornin’ either.”

“Jesus Christ, Soap,” Gaz said. “It’s worse than I thought. So, he ghosted you. You’re not in speaking terms now?”

“Would speak to him if he showed his face. Haven’t seen him since that day. Maybe he’s out ‘o town, having more fun than we are,” Soap replied bitterly, finishing his drink. He was going for another pint. Needed to replace the taste in his mouth with something better. 

There was a commotion behind him. Soap had learned from his mistakes, took a seat opposite of the entrance to not repeat the pathetic performance. It wasn’t his circus, nor his clowns. 

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Gaz murmured, arching his neck to the side to get a better look past Soap’s shoulder. “L.t’s here.”

Well.

Fuck. 

“And it looks like he’s in trouble,” Gaz added, the final killing blow delivered with a dashing smirk. Soap pitied the man, or woman, who’d end up with him in the future. Who could say no to him when he smiled like that? 

At least, with Ghost, the man had the decency to keep his face hidden for the most part. Soap could figure out, and vividly imagine what he’d look like when he smiled, but that was far beside the point. The fact was, his CO was in trouble. Soap refused to sit around and do nothing about it. He was too conditioned, too devoted — to his detriment. 

He got up from his seat, glass in hand. An excuse, if he needed an out of a conversation, and turned around with heavy feet. The problem was obvious from sight. Ghost, in his 6’4 brooding glory, was standing at the entrance, staring down a much shorter security detail. He wasn’t wearing his balaclava. Yet, with his hood up and a normal mask obscuring half of his face, it didn’t matter much. Suspicious enough, no other company beside him, and the rest of the base too deep in the ‘party’ to notice.  

Other than Soap and Gaz. 

The moment he moved, Ghost caught his gaze. Sniper-trained instincts clocking him through the crowd, forcing Soap to suppress a shiver and ignore the goosebumps sprouting on his skin underneath his coat. Same outfit from that day, too. He wasn’t going to waste it on a sorry evening. There was nothing to read in those dark eyes, as far as they were from each other, but he could see wisps of his blond curls peak out of the hoodie, a familiar ache crawling in his veins. 

He started walking towards him, nearly stumbling into a bloke who neatly slotted himself between Soap and his goal. He was ready to murmur a sorry and move on when the man placed his hand on his arm, caressing. That bold move got his attention. Soap looked up to see frost-blue eyes drinking him in, auburn hair and decently built physic. He must’ve drank more than he thought because he didn’t immediately move away, aware of the growing weight of his Lieutenant’s gaze on him. 

“Let me get that for you,” he said softly, northern accent slipping through as he reached for Soap’s glass. What was equally surprising as that Soap let him, a bit dazed because he wasn’t expecting company, or be flirted with so openly. “Beer, yeah?”

“Aye, thanks.” Soap nodded, eyes flickering towards the man’s shoulder. He wasn’t tall enough to obscure his sight completely, not even close to Ghost’s bulk by any means, but having someone to distract him sounded nice for a change. Especially if he was allowed to think about other things than the dangerously obsessive feelings he had for his CO. Speaking of Ghost — “Give me a minute, I’ll be there.”

He saw the agitation clear in Ghost’s gaze when he walked closer, and for the briefest second, that look transferred over his shoulder. Away from him. To his new company, probably. It didn’t take long for Ghost to find him again, focused on him, dismissive, the irritation disappearing to a colder, sterner look. It hurt, because — yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have flirted with someone instead of getting him out of the situation sooner, and yet, he didn’t seem affected beyond that. Delusions, the lot in his head.

“He’s with us,” Soap declared when he was in earshot. The bouncer turned to him once, noted the sincerity of his face, and well, he added more to speed the process, “Lieutenant.” 

Tension melted when he stepped out of Ghost’s way. Soap chanced a glimpse of his face as he turned to lead the way towards the party; any trace of irritation was sorely missing, replaced by an indistinguishable intensity with which he stared back at Soap, the sort he was used to both on duty and sometimes outside. His initial impression of it was something closer to annoyance, but the closer he got to him, the more he realised it was similar to interest. 

He could be feeling sorry for leaving you alone, an unhelpful voice provided, so fucking hopeful despite the reality of everything. He moved on from the sentiment before it planted equally useless seeds in his head. It was going to be a new year soon, he was supposed to start it right — abandon the longing for something he could actually have. 

“Johnny.”

Soap swallowed down the bitterness trying to crawl up his throat. He couldn’t do this when he was right there. Ghost knew him. Too much for his thoughts to not be apparent if he looked at him. He needed to keep his cool, not fuck up his spot in the team. As selfish as it was to still want to be near Ghost, he couldn’t handle losing what he carefully built, and he had lived for so long pretending everything was alright. He could do it for a day more.

“The lads are near the bar ‘n balcony,” Soap said in a measured tone, making his way towards where he assumed Price was. They were close, right? He could deal with Ghost. “Let me know if you want a drink or a quieter place to sit. They’ll get loud when the time comes.”

Ghost was walking right behind him, so close that Soap could smell him, a fresh note of mint and spice and the shampoo he used. It was familiar, reassuring, borderline addicting. He switched to breathing with his mouth because fucking fuck that, he didn’t need his heid spinning on top of everything. 

“Johnny.” Insistent, commanding, breathing on Soap’s bloody neck as he clasped his arm — the same one the ginger from earlier had — hard enough to bruise. Mad, then. He stopped walking, causing Ghost’s grip to loosen, his voice softer than he’d ever heard it. “We need to talk.”

He understood what he meant. 

Ghost was right, they really did need to talk. 

“Alright,” Soap agreed, too tired to deny it any longer. 

He changed their course from the balcony to the stairs at the corner of the restaurant, the one leading towards the roof. It was his refuge when he needed a quiet moment away from the gathering, before he got a text from Gaz that they were close, and from how quiet it was, he assumed it wasn’t the part the guests were supposed to access. Most of the staff was busy tending to the people drinking and eating, though, and barely noticed two people missing from the crowd. Except Gaz, of course. 

The roof was a quiet, dark place, the standard brick and railing design, except they were a few storeys high, above the balcony where most people were at, which meant the Westminster bridge and the Thames was in full view. The scenery had kept him company a few hours ago, now the beauty of the evening was reaching its hands around his neck, ready to choke him with the reminder that it, and Ghost, wasn’t his. Laughable to think he was entitled to anything, really. This talk could’ve happened over text. Quick, easy, simple, keep it fucking tactical, Sergeant. 

Ghost was quiet, usually so. He walked over to the railing when Soap stopped a few steps away and did not stop until his hip was pressed lightly against the metal, too tall for the safety aspects to make a difference, but the height was hardly a thing of concern. He was focused on the sights, on the massive clock tower that said it was five minutes before midnight struck. 

Soap joined him, because. Of course. It was his place — not the one he hoped for, but close enough for now. Ghost turned towards him when he did. The roof was dark, but the street lights provided a crystal clear view when they were a few steps away from crashing into each other. Ghost was… 

Simon Riley was as handsome as ever. 

His masks hardly made a difference. Ghost’s lips were one of his favourite things about him, more if he got to see him smile or smirk, which was twice so far. Rare. But, his eyes. God himself must’ve been involved in making Simon Riley painfully beautiful; big brown eyes the shade of oak, bourbon, blood and gold, long pale lashes framing them, equally fragile and exquisite, face ragged, scarred, strong and angular, deadly in the right ways, and hair soft, wavy and blond, begging for Soap to run his fingers through them. 

Ghost’s eyes shuddered when he glanced down to them again, catching him in the act, as if he was aware of what he was thinking about. Maybe he was. He did not speak of it for the sake of what they had between them — considerate to him. He had done nothing to deserve it. 

“Johnny,” Ghost murmured, voice low and soft, like silk to Soap’s ears. His brows were scrunched, adorably so, a moment of hesitation present. Then, Ghost shook his head like a dog, the hood slide off, and he ripped the mask from his face. 

Soap bit his lips to prevent his mouth from falling wide open. Hard. He tasted blood, the pain and metallic taste of it grounding him into reality. He could imagine it, word for word, the questions, the accusation, wondering why it mattered to him at all when things could be normal if Soap acted rational, thought about those around him for once instead of being selfish.

He could imagine the disappointment in his mother’s face, the exact minute expression if he ever had the courage to retell what was going to happen tonight to her. Risking everything he painstakingly built just to put his feelings on priority again. 

Ghost’s lips parted, ready to say the words and shatter his entire heart. 

“Just tell me no,” Soap said, interrupting before he could speak. “Reject me outright. Here. I’ll get over it, new year, new me, yeah?” Lying through his teeth. He wasn’t sure if he would ever feel as deeply and intensely as he did for anyone else, but he wasn’t putting the burden of ‘the love of my life’ on someone who was preparing to put him down gently. “Everything will go back to how it was if you give me some time, promise. No need for things to change, if you don’t want it to, sir.”

Jesus Christ, he did it.

Years of wishing, yearning and suppressing the urge to spill his insides out resulting to this. Begging to be rejected swift and easy, anything to ease the bite of the pain. A headshot to erase his suffering. Except it was never going to be that easy for him, was it?

Soap did not have the level of audacity others often attributed to him, not as much as his feelings demanded, and yet, there was a special reserve of courage for moments when he said hell to it. He met Ghost’s eyes, expecting a lot. Anger, betrayal, distrust, etc, the list went on and on, his thoughts providing a colourful commentary. 

What he hadn’t expected was Ghost’s eyes to be as wide as it could be. 

Pure, unadulterated shock colouring the depth of his gaze, his face was frozen, like time itself stopped, and Soap was convinced that if he waved his hand in front of him, Ghost would be staring at him without even noticing. 

There were a few beats of silence, nothing happening for some awkward seconds, and then Ghost moved, blinking slowly, causing Soap to suppress a flinch, not used to the gentle weight of his gaze. It wasn’t… unpleasant.

The opposite, actually.

“Johnny,” Ghost started, taking a step forward. He was smothering him with his closeness, a few inches away from crashing into him completely. He could throw Soap down to the balcony easily, if he wanted. The corner of his lips twitched. A ghost of a smile. “What if I wanted things to change?”

What.

“You don’t — You’ve never —” Soap found himself stammering, unable to think. The air was suddenly colder, biting, heat rushing to his face, and he could feel him in his lungs. Obvious, he was so bloody obvious. Ghost hadn’t said no. “You’ve done it before, aye? I’m not…”

Not enough.

Not worth it. Not, not anything, to anyone, ever. Never meant to be anything, never meant to be precious like Ghost was. 

“You remember,” Ghost muttered underneath his breath. He was unfocused for a second, mind drifting away to that night no doubt, before returning to the present with a glint in his eyes. It flickered to Soap’s lips, and stayed there. Wanting. Very obviously so. “Didn’t want to kiss you when couldn’t remember it.”

Good lord.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Wasn’t that also just a confession —

A misplaced sort of confirmation, something that shouldn’t have happened to someone like him. Things didn’t fall in place neatly for John MacTavish, he had to grit his teeth and be fine with the hand life dealt him, even in places he fought to be in. Dismiss it, repress it, throw it out of his mind before the bitterness decided to poison his body with the kind of rage he couldn’t help but redirect towards himself.

Better that way.

“No, no,” Soap whispered, because he couldn’t. It was too good, some fantasy coming true of how he actually read the signs correctly and his fucking commanding officer was in love with him, willing to reciprocate his feelings. “Fuck, L.t. Don’t know who told ya to pull this on me, but I’m being serious —”

“ — as am I,” Ghost interrupted him, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

No shit, he didn’t.

He left him alone, rejected any advances and well —

Who would want him?

Soap snapped his jaw shut, unable to think, unable to say anything that wouldn’t make Ghost want to take back what he said, sullying the good impression he had of him. If any, at all. Ghost was right. He was waiting for the shoe to drop, for a camera to come out from somewhere, for him to wake up because there is no world where Simon Riley wanted to be his. 

Instead, Ghost reached for his hand. 

The one he almost bruised earlier, softer in his approach this time, like he was giving Soap the option to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Ghost held his wrist with an ease of a practised hand, tugging it downwards, pushing the flat of his palm above his waist. Soap froze, hands and arms and neck heating up embarrassingly, and he could hear the beat of his heart in his ear, so loud he was delirious enough to entertain a thought that everyone in the building could hear it. 

Ghost was letting him touch, inviting Soap into his space.

His hand was yanked under Ghost’s hoodie, guided up from his stomach to his chest, nothing but a t-shirt with an odd texture separating him from the delicious muscle and fat hidden underneath the piece of fabric. Wait, Soap thought, flexing his fingers to trace more of the texture, the pattern. It was familiar, fucking — 

“Somethin’ came up, last second. Hadn’t meant to ditch you. It’s… I’ll tell you later, if you like.”

The Christmas gift he got for him. The stupid, over-the-top skull face t-shirt with a Santa hat on it, with matching boxer briefs and socks that had the print of a pink soap on it. Soap looked down at his feet, expecting to see a glimpse of those socks, but Ghost was wearing boots and there was nothing to look at except his trousers. He was wearing it? Underneath his kit?

“Ghost…” 

Soap raised his gaze, and found Ghost staring at him with a glint of amusement in his eyes, hints of… affection too. Fondness. He circled a thumb on top of Soap’s hand, giving him a second before tugging it up to his chest, pressed over his heart. 

“Johnny,” he started, pushing his palm harder against his chest. Soap felt the beat of his heart, a steadily climbing rhythm moving in time with his breaths. “Took everythin’ to stop myself from keepin’ you against a wall that day.” 

The proof that Ghost wasn’t unaffected was literally in his hand. 

His heart kept beating faster, eyes flickering to Soap’s mouth and back up, silently asking for permission. The world was rushing in his ears, the crowd was loud, incomprehensible, lights from the streets turned blinding, and yet, the only thing he cared about was standing in front of him. 

Ghost was offering his entire heart to him. 

How could anything else matter?

“What’s stopping you now?” Soap asked, knowing his own heart was matching the pace underneath his fingertips. 

“No wall,” Ghost replied.

The smile on his face was as breathtaking as it was mischievous, completely different from the serious, stoic Lieutenant he was used to. Ghost released his hand to hold his face, thumb pressing underneath his jaw as he leaned down. He didn’t move from his spot. Proximity made his heart continue with the rhythm, a couple of inches apart — so close to getting what he wanted. 

A noise interrupted them, a loud, bonging noise from the distance, and Soap eyes flickered over Ghost’s shoulder, barely catching the first sparks before fireworks exploded in the skies. Sparks of red, gold, white and blue coloured the previously listless London sky, the cheer from below and around and within the city almost deafening. 

It was a miracle he heard Ghost speak, some words he couldn’t catch, drawing his attention back to him.

“Happy New Year, Johnny,” Ghost said, his lips pressed against his jaw. 

Soap’s heart erupted as Ghost kissed him along the stretch of his jaw, feeling like a volcano from the inside out, and he wasn’t sure how his legs hadn’t stopped working when he found his lips. His hand slipped to Soap’s hip, and Ghost pulled him in all at once. He kissed him like he was trying to merge with him, lips and body baring down, sweet, needy and hot against it; it was like the sky was a celebration for this moment, the jolts of electricity running through Soap’s body reviving him, reminding he was alive, needed and loved. 

So unbelievably and utterly loved. 

He pushed back, kissing him just as hard, feeling his heart skip beats underneath his hand. Soap hadn’t moved it away, and it was strange how the deafening fireworks and screaming of the crowd had done nothing to alter the rhythm, but when he nipped his lower lip, licked and pulled until he was allowed to taste him, it exploded. Wild and frantic for him.

Like Simon Riley wouldn’t have cared if the entire world collapsed underneath their feet, if it meant he was still holding Soap.

His head was light, floating in the clouds, unable to grasp the concept of anything that wasn’t Ghost, and he was sure he was drifting overhead, presented salvation in the taste of a man who wanted him just as much. Soap loved him. He wanted Ghost to know it; whatever they had, went beyond want and need. It was in his veins; in his ribs, in his skin and meat, pulsing through his blood, overwhelmed by the possibility of finally having. After years and years of nothing. 

It took a while to spell out the letters, index finger digging into Ghost’s chest. Slow because he was busy melting in the slow, passionate way Ghost devoured him, taking as much as he was given. There was an I, then L-O-V-E, and the moment he spelled Y-O-U, he felt that skip of beat again. Ghost smiled within the kiss, pace shimmering to a heart aching softness before he pulled away an inch, a moment to catch his breath.

Another to whisper the same.

“Love you too, Johnny.”

Soap had a matching smile on his lips when Ghost leaned down for a second kiss. 

Maybe things were going to fall into place for him this new year.

After all, Ghost was his. 

[highwayorgantrade]

Safe House

Pairing: Female Reader! X Soap

Request: Nooo

Summary: Oh no! A bunch of soldiers posted up in your farmhouse bed and breakfast?? Whatever shall you do!! Should you fuck them??

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, volume (keep quiet), unprotected sex, cervix kissing 

Author's note: Okay listen y'all I did not plan on doing this whatsoever. I was in the middle of writing a Graves thing when I got this idea and I knew I just had to get that damn little brain worm out before it ruined my life further. This is gonna be a series!!!!!

The mission had gone wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong. 141 thought they were smart by teaming up with Los Vaqueros again to take down a trafficking ring - “Positive international relations,” Price had called it. “We even got imported muscle.” He grinned, referring to the 6’10” man they had called in, after hearing of his ability to do his job and keep his mouth shut.

 However, the ring had decided on the same tactic, bringing in a nearby cartel to defend their location. Quickly, way too quickly, the group was overwhelmed, frantically phoning in to Laswell for extraction.

“Don’t worry,” She sighed, after directing the seven men to a relatively safe area, the black-tinted SUV already flying gravel. “I have a friend.”

You had just so happened to be the friend. Well, the relative was more accurate, being her sister-in-law. You knew what she did for work, but you never thought she would call on you for help with it.

“Please, (Y/N), it’ll only be for a few days, I swear. A week, tops.” She called you early one November morning. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” And you knew she wouldn’t. The fact was simple: You had lived relatively nearby, and the bed and breakfast you operated and lived in certainly had the facilities to house eight people, and it so happened to be the off-season.

You were eager to accept, happy to help your sister, and it would be nice to have some muscle with the chores that needed done around the property. When the SUV pulled up, you quickly regretted your decision. You had expected a house full of military boys, tearing around like a pack of dogs, but out stepped six of the most attractive men you have ever seen, all completely different, but equally as handsome and rugged. Two were masked, but Christ, were they big anyway. As they loaded packs out of the van, you stepped into the grass, the cold air causing you to draw your cardigan tighter around yourself. When you approached, you kept a safe distance - partly because you didn’t know them, but also because you were afraid that if you got too close, you’d get lost in the intricacies of their faces.

“Hey!” You spoke finally, the rustling of the dying leaves nearly drowning you out. “I’m (Y/N), I hope the trip out wasn’t too awful!” You internally cringed at yourself for giving them the usual spiel you reserved for guests, but continued anyway. “Come on in, all the rooms are pretty much the same, but you can pick, so… that’s something.”

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” One of them finally spoke, casting a friendly grin your way, and you turned quickly to hide the burning on your cheeks. 

You were proud of the way your property looked, hidden well off the road in a small forested area, the whole thing had kind of an eclectic feel to it, but you still felt kind of strange leading them into the common area. 

“Okay!” You clasped your hands together, and tried to remember that you were only a housing opportunity - they had more important things to focus on. “Well, uh, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can, but you might see me flitting about here and there. What’s mine is yours.” Some nodded their thanks, others were making quick work of checking their bags for God knows what, and one, the one in a skull mask, merely stared down at you, his large arms crossed on his chest.

Okay… You took that as your cue to leave, and you quickly stepped out the back door, hoping to make progress on your chores before the sun set.

The frigid air felt nearly unbearable compared to how hot you were burning in their presence - you didn’t even realize that you were slightly sweating. With a sigh, you reminded yourself of your responsibilities. Repaint the gazebo, refill and hang the bird feeders, and fix the greenery so everything is in full bloom by summer. Leaves crunched under your step as the half-painted gazebo came into view. You could hear voices coming from your house, a few with different accents, mostly British, but you could pick out a Scottish, a vaguely German, and a couple Spanish lilts. A booming laugh echoed, and you relaxed your tense shoulders at the sound. 

“Don’t make me regret this, Kate.” You mumbled as you settled into the grass and popped open a paint can.

She was pretty. It was the first thing Soap had noticed. It looked like she belonged here, in the woods, with the wind blowing her hair and birds singing in her presence. No doubt she kept them well-fed. He had barely listened when she spoke - he was much too focused on how her sweater wrapped tightly around her body, or how her eyes seemed to physically sparkle with curiosity. She had said something, Soap had no idea, but he responded anyway. Something about the drive? The rooms?

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” He answered, stabbing that it was an appropriate response. The way she averted her eyes and a hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips told him that he was successful. When she turned around to lead them into the safehouse, Price gave him a nudge and shook his head ‘no.’ No fucking Kate’s pretty little sister? Might as well ask him to walk on fucking water, next. 

She had promised to make herself scarce, and Soap was silently thankful. He didn’t want this woman caught up in what they were doing, and he didn’t want her to know something that could get her in trouble - Laswell would never forgive them. When she left, Alejandro was the first to speak.

“Nobody talk to me about this mission tonight.” He grumbled, and Soap recognized that as a request long ago, based on the way his jaw was clenched nearly the entire drive to the location, muttering what Soap assumed to be expletives every so often. He trudged up the stairs with his bag, Rudy trailing not far behind. 

“Right, then.” Ghost spoke, rolling his shoulders and pulling out a map of the enemy facility and laying it on the wood table, and Soap nearly laughed at how out of place it looked. “If they’ve gotten support from that gang, it eliminates them from support from anyone else, and makes them a target to others, not just us.”

“We need to get to them first.” Konig’s hand landed on the map, gesturing vaguely at an entrance. “This was lightly guarded.” Soap stared at the location, before his eyes flitted out the window to see you approaching a gazebo outside, and he itched to get this out of the way.

“Aye, they might reinforce that entrance since they know it’s weak now. Leaves somewhere else open to vulnerability.” Soap strategized, his eyes lingering on how your hands ran through your hair, and JESUS, how did it still look perfect after that? A light thump on the back of his head pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked back to see Gaz with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. 

“No-go, mate. Red zone. Laswell would have your head on a stick.”

“Might be worth it.” Ghost chimed in, following his gaze to the woman.

Price pointed a warning finger to Ghost, his face stony.

“Ghost, stop instigating. Gaz, leave Soap alone. Konig…” He took a breath, considering the man had nothing to do with their antics. “Good job. Soap, I wish I had control over who a soldier decides to sleep with, but I don’t.”

“That girl in Ibiza left a bad taste in your mouth, Cap?” Soap retorted, recalling one of his more infamous hook-ups, and Price laughed loudly.

“Lesson for the inexperienced,” Ghost turned to Konig. “Remember your date’s name or she will throw a knife at you.” Konig shook his head at this, and slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to call it a day.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

Soap had already tuned the ribbing out, and when Ghost packed up the plans, he was already tracing your path, walking out the back door to meet you.

A rustling of leaves caused your head to perk up, and you turned to see the one who had spoken to you earlier, a small smile on his face.

“Need any help?” He tilted his head at the gazebo. “More hands make less work ‘n all.” You looked back at your work, having made minimal progress since you began. 

“Oh! Yeah, sure. If you want.” You responded, pulling the paint tray out in front of you so he could take the spare paintbrush. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I’m Johnny. Most of the guys call me Soap, though.”

Soap? The nickname seemed to come out of nowhere, and you crinkled your nose at this.

“Why do they call you that? You shower more than everyone else or something?” He laughed at this, reaching up to cover the underside of a railing in white paint, and you fought to keep your eyes from lingering on his arms.

“Good at cleaning house, love.” Soap corrected you, your lips pursing at the nickname. “How long have you had this place?”

You shrugged, simply happy that he was making conversation with you.

“Coupl’a years. Since I was twenty. Bought it as a dump and flipped it.” He makes a noise of approval and takes a deep breath. 

“Your, uh, boyfriend live here with you, does he?” At this, you can’t help but allow a laugh to tear through you, both in recognition of what Soap was doing, and out of pure shock that he was doing it.

“Not sure where my boyfriend lives, I haven’t met him yet. Let me know if you find him, though, yeah?” Soap shook his head.

“I don’t think I will, but thank you for the offer.”

The back and forth with Soap left your head reeling, and you considered your options as you painted in silence. Kate would kill you if she found out, but she doesn’t need to find out. It has been terribly long since you’ve even been on a date, or even had sex for that matter, and Soap certainly isn’t the worst looking man in the world. He clearly had a great body, and you delved down the rabbit hole of how his arms would look pinning your arms above your head, his battle-worn dog tag trailing cold electricity down your chest.

A flash of yellow light pulled you out of your musings, and a firefly landed on your knee. You took a deep breath and turned to Soap, his attention garnered by your sudden movement of waving the small bug away.

“Do you wanna have a drink tonight? With me?” Your face was comically serious, and Soap let out a soft chuckle as he replaced the lid on the paint, taking the brush from your hand.

“Aye.” He stood, sighing a bit at the noise his knees made, and handed you the paint tray.

“I’ll, uh, go put this up and meet you inside.” You offered him a small smile, and his head tilted at you, trying to hide his own.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Soap had to stop himself from running back into the house. Giddiness coursed through him, and he burst through the door to see Gaz, Ghost, and Konig sat in various places around the living room, the TV tuned in to the local news.

“Get the fuck out.” He stated simply, his eyes wide and a dumb grin on his face.

“Pardon?” Ghost barely spared him a glance, and Konig automatically stood, silently confused as to where he was supposed to go. Gaz merely stared up at him.

“I said,” Soap wrapped his hand around Ghost’s bicep and pulled, forcing the man to stand, and Gaz followed. “Get the fuck out.”

“You sendin’ us to bed, then, eh?”

Soap picked up Ghost’s bag for him, and shoved it into his chest, nearly pushing the men up the stairs.

“I am.” He turned to Gaz, his mouth already open to protest, and pointed a finger in his face. “If you fuck this up for me, I will end you.” 

The second the three men shut the door to their respective rooms, you stepped back into the house, locking the backdoor behind you.

I raised an eyebrow at the television, and grinned at Soap.

“Did you turn on the news?” I ask, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of wine from cabinets, pouring us both a fairly full glass.

“Yeah, it’s a new form of foreplay.” He laughed, taking a sip. “Learnin’ that we world is shite.” 

“Oh, so foreplay is important to you?” And that question was your first step. He glanced at you from across the kitchen island, and you could just see the gears in his mind turning, figuring out the best way to get himself into your bed. Honestly, he could have asked to bend you dead over the kitchen counter, his large hand pulling your hair as leverage as he thrusted into you from behind.

But your imagination always runs wild.

“Mm. ‘S very important.” You cocked your head at his answer, and he shrugged. “I prefer to have a girl simply beggin’ before I even think of finishing.” He took a step around the island, not quite in front of you, but leaning on the side. You sipped your wine again, trying to cover your reaction to his answer, but there was no wine glass big enough to cover how you pressed your legs together, one hand gripping the counter with slightly more force than necessary.

“How do you do that?” It was an effort to keep your tone even , trying not to show how badly he was affecting you.

“Eh.” He set his wine glass down, finger lightly circling the base of the stem. “Usually have ‘em coming a few times before I get my own.”

Holy fuck. You needed Soap, and you needed him bad.

“Ah, so only good reviews then?” Damnit, why is your voice suddenly higher? You cleared your throat to try to get it to return to normal, and the fucking bastard smirked at you.

“So far. Tell me, love.” That damn nickname again. “When was the last time you were fucked?” You opened your mouth to answer, but it didn’t matter as Soap began talking again. “Ah, lemme revise that. When was the last time you were properly fucked? The last time someone had you cryin’, had you just stupid on their cock?”

You were buzzing, shaking slightly at Soap’s vulgar words. His accent got lower, rougher as he spoke, and you could feel your arousal tying a knot in your throat.He simply stared at you, waiting for your answer with a dumb smile on his face, like he already knew.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…” He began, in mock sympathy. “Never?” You shook your head at him, not wanting to tell him the truth.

In all reality, you’ve never orgasmed with someone else. It was all only you, and you learned quickly not to say this, as all men would try to be the first. Then you’d end the night by lying, and they would go with their egos inflated.

You both stood, the tension in the kitchen more than you could bear, and just as you were about to dismiss yourself for the night, Soap wrapped a hand around your forearm - Not tightly enough to worry you, but just enough so you looked up at him, your faces inches from each other.

“Love, I don’t like to, uh, think I’m all that, y’know?” He cleared his throat. “But I’d like to try. Show some thanks to our host.”

In one last attempt at quieting down your own perverse thoughts, you set your wine glass down, and looked at the floor.

“Ah, you don’t need to thank me Soap.”

“I absolutely do,” He responded immediately. “I really do need to. Nothin’ better than a pretty face while I work.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering all the ways this could go bad. Every single one was overrun with the way Soap was searching your eyes, silently pleading for you. With a purse of your lips, you poured the rest of your wine down the sink, and smiled.

“Absolutely.”

You barely got the words out before Soap wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way up the stairs, searching for any room that didn’t look like it was already occupied.

“Mine’s on the other end.” You breathed in an effort not to laugh at his eagerness, and he turned on his heels toward a door that was differently painted than the rest. He placed a hand over your head, protecting you from a bump as he ducked through the doorframe, and less-than-gently set you on your bed, locking the door behind him.

When he turned, you didn’t see the sweet man offering to help you with painting, you saw a soldier. A soldier tuned into your every breath, every movement, and every thought. He kneeled in front of the bed, between your legs, and began planting lighter than air kisses on your ankle, untying your shoes and setting them to the side haphazardly.

“Red means stop.” He whispered against your skin, traveling upward to your knee. “Yellow is slow down, green is good. Repeat it.”

“Red is-“ You were cut off by your own gasp as he delivered a light bite to the inside of your thigh before kissing it again, and you could feel him smile against you. “Red is stop. Yellow is slow. Green is good.”

“And where are we now?” He breathed against the spot right where your thigh met your most sensitive area, and you felt your stomach jump.

“Green. So, so green.” A whimper escaped you, and Soap tsked, like he was about to scold you.

“Stay quiet, lass.” Teased Soap, as he slid your shorts down, along with your underwear, and he whistled lowly. “A Chriosd ann an ifrinn, seall ort, a nighean bhòidheach.” And with that, he licked one long, thick strip up your cunt, dipping down to tease your hole with his tongue. Soap was eating you out like a man starved, and you were obsessed. 

Light, breathy moans left you, ever so aware of how quiet everything else was. 

“Tell me what feels good, love.” He punctuated his command with a nip to your thigh, pulling your mind out of the pleasure-induced haze. His tongue traveled through your folds, eyes trained on you to see your reaction to his ministrations. Soap’s lips wrap around your clit, fingers toying with your soaking entrance, and it felt like all rational thought had left you. You didn’t care about who exactly was between your legs, nor if his team could hear your desperate mewls.

The pressure inside you was building, and your movement was strange - trying to wriggle away from the incessant barrage against your clit, and trying to grind impossibly closer to Soap’s lips, and by his huff, it was clear he had enough of that. One large arm wrapped around a thigh, his other pressing down on your abdomen, and the only noise Soap could muster was a few low groans as he continued devouring you.

The knot inside you was getting tighter and tighter, and it felt like it was going to snap any second. A split moment of panic ran through you as your back arched off the bed, Begs and cries tumbling out of your lips before you could think of them.

“Soap, please, please.” You cried, hands aching from gripping the sheets. “Please don’t stop, please…” Staying true to your direction, Soap was unrelenting against you, the combination of his sucking, biting, and licking at your clit had dizzy spots appearing in your vision. With one hard push on your abdomen, and a particularly slow drag of his tongue at your entrance, you felt that snap, and you finally understood why it was called the Little Death.

Your mind had gone completely blank, mouth open in a silent scream, and your thighs clamped around either side of Soap’s head, where he still had yet to stop drinking you. It felt like your heart had even stopped beating, until the pounding was heard in your ears. As Soap continued, you felt your body lurch upwards, fingers tangling in Soap’s hair until he finally looked up at you, his hand coming back to slide a finger into you.The sudden intrusion forced a gasp from you, and he gently kissed your thigh, where you noticed the ache that predates a bruise.

“How we doin’, love? We okay?” His voice was impossibly sweet, a complete 180 to how he just made you feel. You nodded, despite feeling like every single sense in your body had been blown out. His finger continued sliding in and out of you, your walls pulsing around him.

“Green.” You confirmed breathily, and he smiled a wolfish grin before adding a second digit into you, his pace quickening. A quick flash of aggravation and desperation coursed through you, and you knew how to get exactly what you wanted. 

You looked down at him, eyebrows upturned in a pleading look, and your doe-eyes were working overtime. 

“Please, Soap, just fuck me.” You said, voice higher and more gentle than you thought it would come out, and he groaned, rolling his head against your leg. His fingers took on a ‘come here’ motion, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the feeling.

“Ah, I know what you want. You want these…” Soap planted a kiss on your thighs, interrupting his own speech. “God, these pretty thighs pinned behind your head, taking me so well, takin’ me so good.” He looked absolutely pussydrunk, his eyes darting between your eyes and his fingers, tsking and offering a slight noise of false sympathy when a tear rolled down your cheek. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel that fire building inside of you again. “Christ, love, you wanna come again, huh?” You nodded furiously at his question, one hand coming up to absentmindedly play with your tits. A bright look crossed Soap’s face, and while his hands continued, his mouth met your hands.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, and before you could think, he bit down - the orgasm that crashed through you was stronger than the last, and the muscles in your thighs screamed from being clenched so tightly. You felt his fingers work their way out of your pussy, hissing at the feeling of your walls clenching around nothing.

“You want me to fuck you now, pretty thing?” His face was almost smug as he climbed up on the bed, one hand going to your lower back to effortlessly raise you, and he peppered light kisses on your sweat-covered face. Of course you want him, how could you not? Your body was buzzing with the aftershocks of two orgasms, and here he was, lining himself up with you.

“God, yes, please.” You breathed, hands coming to rest on his back. Soap brought his lips down next to your ear, sending another shock straight to your core.

“Beg better.” He punctuated his command by rubbing his cock through your folds, and you twitched when the head ground against your already sensitive clit. Beg better? Fuck you, Soap. 

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you and, hopefully, how serious you looked.

“Fuck me, Soap. Now.” 

The simple instruction was all it took for him to push inside you, and it was like it activated something in him - Soap simply could not shut up.

“Ach, mo Dhia, tha thu a 'faireachdainn cho foirfe timcheall orm. So perfect.” He planted a kiss to your temple. “So perfect, my pretty girl.” 

You brought your lips up to his neck, kissing the curve where it meets his shoulder, and his babbling only continued as his cock dragged against nearly every nerve, your broken moans echoing through your room. God, his slow pace was nearly agonizing, you wanted more, you needed more. It was like Soap read your mind as he paused, hooking your knees above his shoulders, effectively pinning you into the mattress. He flashed you a wicked grin before he began his jackhammer pace, and this new position had him reaching impossibly deep inside you.

A vague, low ache began in your abdomen every time he bottomed out, his head kissing your cervix every single time. The depth combined with his pace, his groaning and endless praise in your ear - it felt like it was all culminating in a perfect storm, one that was threatening to break down every fibre of your being.

“Fuck, Soap, I’m going to-” You interrupted yourself with a low, hoarse groan, your admission only spurring him on as he replaced his hold on your knees with his hands.

“Look at me, love, I wanna see it, I wanna see you.” His stuttering hips told you he was in the same spot as you, and you both were not going to last much longer. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He growled, and that was all it took for you.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as you released around him, and your ending brought his own on. Curses left him lips as he buried himself inside you, collapsing next to you.

“Ach, come ‘ere.” He breathed, reaching his arm out to hook around your waist and pulling you to him, one leg wrapping around his waist. One hand rested on your jaw, planting kisses on your forehead, cheek, anywhere he could get access to. Your body felt numb, and you knew he stayed true to his word - you were fucked absolutely stupid. You wanted to talk, you wanted to ask where this left you? Would you ignore that this happened? Would it recur? Would he tell his team about it? You wanted to ask, and yet you didn’t - The song of crickets and his heartbeat was a lullaby, and one that you couldn’t fight.

The snare of sleep overtook you as your heart rate evened out, and only one thought was on your mind before you gave up the fight for consciousness:

You really fucking hope you don’t regret this.

[etclouie]

i loved your hotch fic from kinktober, could you write 2 and 20 from the first group of prompts please? the 50 prompts list

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; 2) “do you think things would be different?” “how so?” “i mean, if we hadn’t met at a strip club” and 20) “i love you” “i don’t care anymore” — from 50 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; hotch x stripper!reader, uh kinda a breakup??, angst tho, that’s it really but if i missed any lmk

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; i got my car on friday, so i’ve been dealing with that mainly (sorry for not writing much)

— thank you for celebrating 600 with me || submissions are now closed

towards the end of your shift, Aaron had shown up at the club. 

you’d pulled him aside and outback, away from prying eyes and the nosey guys that would always try and keep you to their selves. 

but the look in his eyes told you that whatever had to say was serious, so you waited. 

he gave you a ride home, and his whole demeanour was avoidant. 

he stood in the doorway to your bedroom as you got changed, his eyes flicking from you and away again. a churning feeling in his gut as his eyes grey half lidded. 

his suit blazer had long been discarded, yet his shirt still remained creasless— his expression remained just as guarded as it usually was, but tonight the usual walls between them seemed a little thinner. 

you still had your heels on, the sound of them tapping against the hardwood floors mirroring the beat of your heart. 

for the past few months now, Aaron had been trying to balance his world with yours. 

he’d never been one for casual relationships, told you so when you first starting seeing each other—especially not with someone who’s life was so different to his, complicated in a sense. 

yet somehow, you both had found each other amidst the chaos. 

“do you think things would be different?”

his voice broke the silence, he hadn’t intended to speak aloud but the question had been sitting on his tongue for longer than he liked. 

glancing over your shoulder towards him, eyes quickly searching his for an answer you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. 

“how so?”

you asked, your tone measured but soft. you let your eyes pull away from him as you sat on the edge of the bed, finally peeling off your heels as he watched. 

he pushed off the doorframe and walked towards you slowly, staying a foot or two away. 

“i mean… if we hadn’t met at a strip club. if i hadn’t walked in that night, would we have still crossed paths?”

your fingers lingered on the intricacies of the heel, his words settling in as you placed the heel on the floor. 

hands moving to work off the other one, and for a long moment you didn’t answer. 

the truth was you’d thought about it too. 

your life before Aaron had been a series of stripped down, fleeting encounters. and as some would say, unsurprising for a woman who worked as a stripper— only for what you could offer in a few minutes of attention. 

but that night when he’d walked into the club with the rest of the team, it was different. there was something in the way his eyes lingered on you, not with judgment but instead curiosity. 

it was the first time in years you’d been seen, really seen. for who you actually were beneath the surface. 

and you hadn’t been able to shake it since. 

“i don’t know”

you finally said, voice tinged with uncertainty as you set the other heel down by the first. 

standing from the bed and moving through your dresser, pulling out clean pyjamas and setting them on top. 

“maybe it would’ve been easier, you know? if we hadn’t met that way. but at the same time, i’m not sure i’d want that. maybe it’s the only way it was supposed to happen”

you shrugged, finally turning to face him again. and you couldn’t help the sigh that pulled from your chest at the sight of him. 

he took another couple of steps closer, close enough for you to feel the warmth that always radiated off of him. 

“i don’t want to regret it”

he said softly, not just to you but to himself too. his eyes met yours, and the softness behind them remained but it was mixed with something else. 

you swallowed the lump in your throat, the rawness in his voice hitting you harder than you expected. 

“you’re not regretting this, are you?”

his eyes searched yours again, for a long moment. the weight of his gaze felt heavy, like he was reading into every part of you and stringing together fragments of your past and present. 

finally, he exhaled a breath and shook his head. 

“no”

he told simply, but you sensed a ‘but’ coming. 

“but sometimes i wonder if we’re just living in two different worlds”

you took a step back from him, your back hitting the dresser and knocking something sat on top of it. 

the distance between you remained small, but it felt like a chasm. 

you’d always known this wasn’t easy.  ring with someone like Aaron, so tightly bound by duty and a life of danger and trauma—while you danced for men in dimly lit clubs for a living. 

you loved your job, even if others told you that you shouldn’t. but you couldn’t help but notice the wedge it had driven between you and Aaron as of lately. 

the silence between you grew heavier as you searched his eyes once more, the softness had dissipated and been replaced by something sadder. 

“i love you,”

you whispered, voice almost breaking slightly on the words. the admission felt like it carried a weight of its own, something you’d been holding onto for far too long. 

Aaron looked at you, but his expression hardened from its sadness seconds ago and the air seemed to crackle with a newfound tension. 

“i don’t care anymore”

he said, his voice tight almost as if it physically hurt to speak the words. 

you recoiled, a sharp sting of pain hitting your chest. you’d expected it, in a way. 

there was no way this relationship—your life— could be simple, no matter how much you tried to make it work. 

Aaron stepped back, his gaze never leaving yours and the hurt in his eyes was almost more painful than the words he’d spoken. 

“i’m sorry. i just.. i can’t keep pretending that this is okay. that it’s sustainable”

that stung. 

you couldn’t even pretend that it didn’t. 

but you nodded slowly, trying to keep the tears from pooling in your eyes. you had known deep down, that this day would come. but that didn’t make it easier. 

the man you loved, the one who had seen you beyond the stripping and the shadows, was telling you that it was time to let go. 

“i get it”

you whispered, your voice barely audible but the words felt final. 

“maybe this was just a chapter that ended too soon”

for a long moment the room was filled with nothing but the soft sound of your breathing, the tension so thick it could be cut through with a pair of scissors. 

finally, Aaron moved closer to you again. his large hand cradled your face, and despite the urge to pull away you let him. his thumb soothed across your cheek as he mumbled out to you. 

“i never wanted to hurt you, but sometimes i think loves just not enough”

your throat tightened and though you fought to keep yourself composed, your emotions broke free in the form of a single tear that escaped down your cheek. 

you wiped it away quickly, refusing to let him see how much it for at you. 

“i know”

you whispered softly, voice barely audible. 

“but it doesn’t change how i feel”

Aaron sighed, pulling you into his chest. his hand that held your face now lay on the back of your head as it lay against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat grounding you despite everything. 

even though everything inside you screamed to stay, to fight for this love that you both knew had no clear future. 

in the end, some love stories were written with a beginning and an end that no one could control, no matter how hard you tried to keep the pages from turning. 

and it ate you up inside. 

but now, as he held you—all the pain and tears disappeared, if only for a moment. until he left, you still had him but once he did leave you knew all the pain would come rushing back all at once. 

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[nayziiz]

Team Dynamics | LN4

Summary: To celebrate the launch of their 2024 car for the upcoming F1 season, McLaren hosts a masquerade gala event that sees two souls connect and lead to a whirlwind romance. Unfortunately, the pair realise soon after that they are to work together quite closely after they agreed it would only be a one-night thing.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, one night stand, unprotected sex, angst (in this chapter)

Pairing: Gemma (I don't like writing with Y/N or reader) x Lando Norris

Series Masterlist

PART 5 (quite a long chapter)

In the days that followed their agreement, Gemma and Oscar found themselves engrossed in the task of organising the karting excursion for Lily. Messages and calls flowed seamlessly, the excitement palpable in their exchanges. Gemma's characteristic enthusiasm shone through as she meticulously planned every detail, turning what could have been a simple outing into a memorable day filled with racing and valuable tips to get Lily comfortable in the machinery.

Gemma, drawing on her wealth of simulation experience, carefully selected a local karting circuit she frequented known for its challenging twists and turns. She considered it the perfect setting for Lily's introduction to the world of karting. With an eye for detail, Gemma coordinated the logistics, ensuring that everything, from the availability of karting equipment to the timing of the event, was seamlessly arranged.

Gemma arrives at the karting circuit adorned in her black and pink gear, her face beaming with enthusiasm. Lily, slightly nervous yet eager, meets Gemma with a mix of excitement and curiosity. Gemma wastes no time in immersing Lily in the world of karting, providing insightful tips on handling the kart, mastering the turns, and maximising speed on the straightaways.

Lando, always curious and with a mischievous glint in his eye, decided to accompany Lily and Oscar to the karting circuit to meet Gemma there. His motivations are twofold – not only does he want to witness Gemma's karting skills firsthand, but he also wants to observe her in her natural comfort zone. It’s no secret within the McLaren team that Gemma has a genuine love for karting, and Lando is keen on experiencing her in that space.

Oscar and Lando make their way onto a small pavilion overlooking the karting area, where the high-pitched hum of engines and the occasional cheer fill the air. As they settle into a prime viewing spot, Oscar turns to Lando, his eyes focused on the girls hovering around the karts on the track.

“Gemma asked that we keep ourselves out of the way so we don't distract them.” Oscar informs Lando, gesturing towards the busy scene below. Lando nods in understanding, leaning against the railing of the pavilion.

“Got it. We'll be the silent cheerleaders then. Wouldn't want to mess with their groove. I’m just happy to be here.” Lando concedes with a crooked smile.

Below them, Gemma, Lily, and the buzzing energy of the karting circuit command their attention. Gemma, in her element, is animatedly pointing at various parts of the karts, offering guidance and sharing insights with Lily. The two women exchange animated conversations, occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter.

“How does it feel seeing her in this kind of environment?” Oscar asks when he notices Lando’s eyes fixed solely on Gemma and her movements.

“It’s hot, to say the least. She’s pretty much the perfect girl.” Lando admits with a playful smirk, his gaze unwavering from Gemma as she continues to guide Lily through the intricacies of karting.

“Perfect, huh? I didn't know you were into girls who could outpace you on the track.” Oscar raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“It's not just about the racing, mate. It's the whole package – the passion, the skill, the confidence. Gemma's got it all.” Lando chuckles, shaking his head.

"Why don't you just ask her out on a date?" Oscar wonders.

“She just wants to be friends.” Lando informs his teammate and friend.

“And, you’re happy with that?” Oscar asks, sceptical.

“Yeah.” Lando quips. “I don’t want to let her slip through my fingers because I’m forcing for more, if you get what I mean.”

“She’ll come around.” Oscar assures Lando.

“I know she will.” Lando smiles, turning his attention back to the girls out on the track.

As they continue to watch the karting activities unfold below, Lando can't help but steal glances in Gemma's direction. There's a magnetic pull between them, an unspoken connection that goes beyond their environment. Gemma's presence seems to light up Lando's world, and he's content to let their relationship unfold at its own pace. Gemma, sensing Lando's gaze burning her skin, gives him a warm smile and a small wave, a silent reassurance that speaks volumes.

Gemma has been trying to keep her feelings for Lando in check, maintaining a professional demeanour within the team. Lando is always around, offering his emotional support in a subtle yet consistent manner knowing how vastly different Gemma’s new job role is compared to her previous role at the factory. His efforts to be a friend and provide a sense of security haven't gone unnoticed by her. As Gemma continues to guide Lily, her mind can't help but wander to the unexpected presence of Lando. The realisation that he wants to be a part of the experience, even in a casual setting, tugs at the edges of Gemma's carefully guarded emotions. She can't deny the connection they have formed.

After the exhilarating karting session, Gemma, Lily, Oscar,and Lando decide to grab lunch together. The four of them head to a quaint local restaurant, eager to continue their festivities. Seated at a corner table, the two drivers share stories and laughter over plates of delicious comfort food they are often restricted of. The atmosphere is light, with the thrill of racing still lingering in the air. Gemma finds herself enjoying the company, appreciating the genuine smiles and easy banter between the two teammates and Lily occasionally quipping in to tell an embarrassing story about Oscar.

As they discuss various topics, Lando's subtle physical touches don't go unnoticed by Gemma. A brush of his hand against hers as they reach for the salt, a playful nudge when sharing a joke, his knee pressing against hers, and the occasional lingering eye contact—all seemingly innocent gestures send a subtle current of warmth through Gemma.

Gemma, while savouring the moments, remains cautious, aware of professional boundaries. Yet, Lando's easygoing nature and the genuine interest he shows in her make it increasingly challenging for Gemma to keep her emotions neatly tucked away.

“That was fun. We should do this more often.” Lando states with his signature grin.

“I agree.” Gemma nods in response to Lando’s statement.

Gemma finds herself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The subtle touches from Lando have left an indelible mark, sparking a warmth that lingers within her. She glances at him, catching his eye, and they share a moment of unspoken understanding.

- Later that night -

Lando stands outside her hotel room door, bathed in the dim glow of the corridor lights. A hint of uncertainty lingers in his eyes as he raises his hand to knock softly. Gemma, immersed in her late-night activities, is taken aback by the unexpected sound at her door. Her eyes widen as she peers through the peephole, recognizing Lando's silhouette.

Her heart skips a beat, and a mixture of surprise and anticipation dances in her eyes as she quickly swings the door open. Lando stands before her, his expression a mix of vulnerability and something unspoken. The connection between them, that subtle energy that seems to hum in the air whenever they are together, is palpable.

Gemma has been up late, lost in the depths of social media, scrolling through TikTok and losing track of time while watching edits of Lando. The familiar warmth of his presence feels like a serendipitous surprise. Her room, softly illuminated by a bedside lamp, is evidence of her late-night activities, scattered with papers and notes from her work.

Tired from the day's adventures and the late-night scrolling, Gemma finds herself dressed in an oversized shirt that hangs loosely on her frame, paired with comfortable shorts. The fatigue in her eyes is softened by the subtle excitement of unexpectedly finding Lando at her door.

“Lando.” She greets, a smile playing on her lips. “What brings you here?”

“Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd take a late-night stroll, and, well, here I am.” He shrugs, a hint of sheepishness in his demeanour.

“Late-night stroll or an excuse to see me?” Gemma chuckles, a warm, genuine sound.

“Maybe a bit of both.” Lando grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. “I was wondering if you'd join me on a drive?”

“It's after midnight.” Gemma counters, her curiosity piqued.

“I know. I just need to clear my mind, but I could really do with some company.” He explains, his gaze unwavering. Gemma hesitates for a moment before nodding.

“Let me put on something warmer.” She informs him, leaving the door open for him to enter and he does.

As she retreats into the bathroom, Lando watches her with a mix of anticipation and gratitude. She returns in sweatpants over her pyjama shorts and a sweatshirt that seems strangely familiar.

“Is that my sweatshirt?” Lando questions, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah. You left it in the hospitality suite last Sunday, so I kept it for safety's sake.” Gemma replies, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

“Mmh, you stole it.” Lando teases, the corners of his mouth lifting in a lighthearted grin. Gemma shrugs with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Consider it collateral. Now, where are we driving to at this hour?” She wonders, quickly diverting the attention away from the topic of the sweatshirt.

Lando grinned at Gemma's playful remark, appreciating the banter that had become an unspoken language between them.

“Let's just drive and see where the night takes us." He suggested with a sense of spontaneity lacing his words.

Gemma nodded, a hint of excitement in her eyes as they ventured into the quiet night. The city lights twinkled in the distance as they wound through the deserted streets, the gentle hum of the car creating a soothing soundtrack to their impromptu journey. The soft glow of the dashboard illuminated the contours of their faces, revealing the unguarded moments between sentences.

The winding roads led them to a scenic overlook, where the city below sparkled like a sea of stars. Lando parked the car, and they stepped out, the crisp night air enveloping them. Gemma hugged herself, the stolen sweatshirt providing a comforting layer.

“Want to tell me what's on your mind?” Gemma breaks the comfortable silence, turning to Lando with a gentle smile.

“It's just been one of those weeks, you know? Needed a bit of a break from the noise and chaos.” Lando glances at her, his expression momentarily thoughtful. After a moment of silence, he speaks with a hint of frustration in his voice. “I need to win a race, and badly.”

“You will. You just have to be patient.” Gemma reassures him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I know, but it feels like I've been waiting forever. The competition is tough, and every race feels like a missed opportunity.” Lando sighs, the weight of his aspirations evident in his expression.

“You're incredibly talented, Lando. Your time will come. The journey is just as big a part as the destination, right?” She counters, her thumb rubbing comforting circles onto his shoulder.

“Yeah, you're right. It's just hard not to get caught up in the pressure sometimes.” He nods, appreciating her supportive words.

“Pressure can be a driving force, but don't let it consume you. You're doing what you love, and success will follow your passion.” Gemma adds as she removes her hand from his shoulder and replaces it with her temple as she leans against him. He instinctively wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer. “And, I’m happy to go on all the late-night drives for you to see that.”

As they make their way back to the car, Gemma can't help but notice a faint smile on Lando's lips. The stolen sweatshirt, the midnight drive – it all feels like a stolen chapter from a romance novel. The air between them carries a hint of something unspoken, a promise of more adventures and stolen moments yet to come.

As they drive back to the hotel, the city slowly coming to life in the predawn hours, Gemma rests her head against the window, feeling a sense of contentment that transcends the late-night escapade. When they return to the hotel, the quiet hum of the car engine fading away, a charged atmosphere lingers between Lando and Gemma. In the soft glow of the hotel's exterior lights, Lando turns towards her, his eyes reflecting a mixture of longing and restraint.

He leans in, and with a gentle touch, Lando kisses her softly, the connection lasting only for a split second. Gemma, caught in the warmth of the moment, pulls away, a conflicted expression on her face. She presses a hand to his chest, a silent warning.

“We can't, you know we can't.” She cautioned him, her voice a delicate plea.

“I know.” Lando acknowledges, his eyes searching hers. “But, it pains me that I have to stop.”

“It's complicated, Lando. Timing, circumstances.” Gemma sighs, a mixture of emotions playing on her features.

“It's just hard when everything else feels so right.” Lando nods, understanding the unspoken barriers that hold them back.

“It's just that there are things I need to figure out on my own.” Gemma added with a sincerity that cut through the charged air between them.

“Take all the time you need. I'll be here whenever you're ready.” Lando counters, his determination palpable.

“I can’t expect you to wait for me. We don’t know how long that could take.” Gemma continues.

“I’ll be here. Whenever.” Lando, once again, assures her, but her eyes are pained and her heart weighs heavy.

“Just one more kiss. Just one to keep my sanity in check.” Gemma whispers, her eyes searching Lando's with a mix of longing and reluctance.

“You know it won't stop with just one kiss.” Lando hesitates, caught in the magnetic pull of their connection.

Lando, understanding the weight of their shared desires, leans in, and their lips meet in a lingering kiss. It holds a blend of passion and restraint, a poignant moment amid conflicting emotions. As they hesitantly pull away, Gemma moves to get out of the car and Lando follows her inside without another word spoken.

[misspygmypie]

hello. im in panic because i had this idea and I CANT GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD

so, basically y/n is childhood friends with max verstappen and charles leclerc, but y/n moved away so they lost contact. when she and noah went to the meet and greet, they didn’t see her… so, one day lando and y/n takes noah (and their little girl too, if that’s not much for you to write!) and y/n see her both childhood friends and run to them, hugging and catching up with them, and that leaves lando and noah jealous because y/n’s full attention is on the two drivers - both lando’s friends - in front of them.

that leaves lando to ask something like ‘I thought you were a papaya girl?’ and y/n answers with a ‘i always was a red bull and ferrari girl first, i just never told you’

The circuit was alive with pre-race energy as fans, mechanics and team members hustled and bustled in preparation for the big day. Among the crowd were Y/N and her young son, Noah, both eagerly soaking in the sights and sounds of the Formula 1 world. Y/N had been dating Lando Norris for a few months now and she appreciated how he made an effort to include her and Noah in his world. Today was a special treat - Lando had arranged for them to get an exclusive behind-the-scenes look at the entire paddock.

Noah, clutching his miniature McLaren car and looking up at Lando with admiration, was practically bouncing with excitement. “This is amazing, Lando!” Noah exclaimed. “I never thought I’d get to see all this up close!”

Lando grinned, clearly delighted by Noah’s enthusiasm. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it! We’ve got a lot more to see. How about we check out the driver’s area next?”

They continued their tour and Y/N found herself enjoying not just the sights but also the company. Lando had a way of making everything seem exciting, from explaining the intricacies of the car designs to sharing funny anecdotes about race day. The ease of their conversation and the way Lando interacted with Noah made Y/N feel even more connected to him.

“Lando,” Y/N said, as they walked past the bustling garages, “I can’t thank you enough for arranging this. It’s not just Noah who’s thrilled, I’m pretty excited too.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he responded to her with a warm smile. “I’m glad you both are having a good time. It’s nice to share this part of my world with you.”

They continued to explore, Lando pointing out key features and introducing them to various team members. When they rounded a corner near the Red Bull and Ferrari garages, Y/N’s attention was caught by two familiar figures. Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc were standing together, engaged in conversation. The sight of them made Y/N’s heart leap. It had been years since she had seen them and the surprise of actually seeing them brought back a flood of memories.

Without hesitation Y/N squeezed Noah’s hand and started walking briskly towards Max and Charles. “Max, Charles,” she called out, her voice both excited and emotional.

The two men turned, their faces nothing but astonished when they spotted Y/N. Max’s eyes widened as recognition dawned. “Y/N? Is that really you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Y/N’s face lit up with joy, “I can’t believe I’m seeing you both here!”

Charles, equally thrilled, stepped forward. “This is incredible! It’s been ages. How have you been?”

The three of them embraced warmly and the air was soon filled with laughter and animated conversation. They quickly fell back into their old rhythm, catching up on each other’s lives and reminiscing about the past. Noah stood beside them, looking up with wide eyes, soaking in the reunion.

Lando, meanwhile, was left standing a few steps behind. He had been following along with interest but was now watching with a puzzled expression as Y/N, seemingly out of nowhere, rushed towards Max and Charles. He was momentarily disoriented, having no clue about Y/N’s past connections with the drivers.

Max, who had been listening to the exchange, smiled at Lando. “I had no idea you were dating our childhood friend.” Charles nodded, adding, “but it’s clear that you and Y/N make a great team. We’re happy for both of you.”

“So how did you all meet?” Lando inquired, genuinely curious, and Charles recalled their story.

How, around the age of ten, Y/N moved to Monaco with her family, which allowed her to be closer to the heart of European motorsports where her dad used to be a karting coach. It was here that she met Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc. Max and Charles were both young karting prodigies and their paths crossed frequently at various racing events and training sessions. Y/N became fast friends with both drivers and the three formed a tight-knit trio.

When they grew older their careers took them in different directions. Y/N's focus shifted to her studies and she moved to London for university. Max and Charles continued their ascent in the racing world, their careers skyrocketing as they made names for themselves in Formula 1.

The demands of their careers and Y/N’s new path led to a slow drift apart. They stayed in touch for a while but as their lives became more complex the frequency of their contact diminished. By the time Max and Charles became prominent figures in F1 Y/N was focused on her own world and then she got pregnant with Noah and they lost touch.

As the conversation between Y/N, Max, and Charles continued, Lando and Noah found themselves standing off to the side a bit. Noah, clutching his miniature McLaren car in one hand and Lando’s hand in the other, watched with wide eyes as his mother and her old friends shared stories and laughter. Lando as well observed the interaction with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Noah shifted from one foot to the other, his excitement about being at the race quickly giving way to a subtle feeling of abandonment. “Lando,” he said quietly, “why isn’t Mom paying attention to us right now?”

Lando glanced down at Noah, sensing his disappointment. “I think she’s just really happy to see her old friends,” he said gently. “It’s probably a big deal for her.”

Noah nodded but didn’t seem completely reassured. He continued to watch his mom who was animatedly talking with the two men, her laughter ringing out as they reminisced about their old days.

Lando’s own feelings of jealousy began to stir. He had been looking forward to spending the day with Y/N and Noah and seeing her so absorbed in the past while he and Noah stood on the sidelines left him feeling excluded, especially since he had no idea they even knew each other.

“Hey, Noah,” Lando said, trying to shift the mood, “why don’t we find a place to sit and watch the action from there? We can still see them but maybe it’ll be a bit more comfortable than just standing here.”

Noah reluctantly agreed and they found a spot near the edge of the paddock where they had a clear view of Y/N, Max, and Charles. They sat together, with Noah perched on Lando’s knee, both watching the animated conversation unfold.

Lando took a deep breath, trying to reconcile his feelings. He understood how special this moment was for Y/N but seeing her so absorbed in the past made him feel sidelined. He tried to focus on the positive aspects, like how happy Noah looked whenever he glanced over at his mother.

After a few minutes Y/N noticed Lando and Noah sitting together and realized how much she had been monopolizing their attention. She excused herself from Max and Charles and walked over to them, a look of concern on her face.

“Hey, you two,” Y/N said, kneeling down beside them. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you out. I got caught up in the nostalgia, I guess.”

Lando smiled warmly, though his eyes betrayed him a bit with jealousy. “It’s okay, Y/N. We were just hanging out and watching. It’s important to you, so it’s important to us.”

“Yeah, mommy,” Noah nodded, his earlier disappointment softened by his mother’s attention back on him, “It’s cool. I just missed spending time with you.”

Y/N reached out and squeezed Noah’s hand, then turned to Lando with a grateful smile. “Thank you for being so understanding. Let’s make the most of the rest of the day together. I promise I’ll give you both my full attention.”

Land guided Y/N and Noah back to the McLaren area and he couldn’t help but say what was on his mind. “Y/N, I have to admit, I am a bit confused. I thought you were all about McLaren, a ‘papaya girl’ as they say.”

Y/N looked over at Lando, her smile still radiant from the reunion. “Oh, I was a Ferrari and Red Bull girl first, I just never told you.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? That’s news to me. I had no idea.”

Y/N chuckled. “Yeah, it’s something I kept to myself. I guess I wanted to focus on the present and the exciting things happening now but seeing Max and Charles again, it just brought back so many memories.”

Lando smiled warmly. “Well, I’m glad you had the chance to reconnect with them. It’s great to see old friends catching up.”

Eventually, Y/N turned back to Lando with a grateful smile. “Thank you for being so understanding,” Y/N turned to him with a grateful smile, “this day has been incredibly special.”

Lando reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s my pleasure. I’m happy to be a part of this moment for you. Let’s make the most of the rest of the day and enjoy every bit of it.”

________

I hope I got this right 🥰 if not please let me know and I can rewrite!! 🫶

[wellpullmystring]

hm. knowing how so many ppl disliked ts4 (i know ppl who actually hated it) and also knowing disneys tendency to self-correct, added to bo not appearing in that first look... im scared man. i have faith in pixars writing teams of course (even monsters university which i didnt care much for had some really interesting concepts) but then i think of the incredibles 2 and the whole screenslaver thing, and in general how ppl dont know how to talk about technology to kids who were basically raised by it... its a lot to ask from a movie. and then i dont really like the delusional buzz bit anymore tbh... idk. from what you said im kinda worried

There's so many intricacies to filmmaking, especially when it's a big franchise that's being overseen by a massive corporation. It's really so hard to tell how a product will turn out when there's such a wide array of moving parts here. The fact that all four Toy Story movies have been great (IMO) is a complete miracle. I don't think any other franchise has kept that consistent quality. There's always risk involved in doing another one. I'll say that I have faith the movie can be as great as the others. Andrew Stanton hasn't let us down with Toy Story yet. He has a great track record. And The Incredibles 2 did have a different creative team behind it. I think a movie being directed by the man who did Wall-E has the potential to sell the whole "technology" bit. Toy Story 4 seemed like a completely different movie when you compare the teaser with the final product. I know that Disney has overcorrected sometimes, but Toy Story 4 was still a critically acclaimed film that won an Oscar. I can believe that any undoing of TS4 can be done with tact. I noticed on another look that Woody isn't wearing his badge in the concept art. Jessie still has it. There's some continuity being kept there. Regardless, it's gonna be an interesting ride. Thanks for the ask

[fumifooms]

do you have any character analysis posts you're working on? i'm currently mulling Daya/Dia over in my head right now. In general, I'm thinking a lot about Kabru's team because they don't show up much in the manga and won't be in the show much longer as noticeable players, but have quite a bit of outside-the-manga content to comb through. Personally, I like the idea of Rin and Dia becoming friends with Marcille post-canon, but I want to know them better first. I know Rin pretty well already. 1/2

(for example, Rin/Dia/Marcille seem to like clothes, and i want to draw them clothes shopping.) And I ask this not to put all the work on you! I want to discuss these characters with somebody, and you're one of the only ones I can think of who enjoys doing in-depth dives into the side characters of Dungeon Meshi. You, summerboletes, shisurus, and ambrosiagourmet are some other blogs i can think of that made great meta posts. You can reply to this privately if you want! 2/2 (think about it. daya has a boyfriend and marries him post-canon. marcille loves romance and loves clothes. it'd be adorable if she helped daya find a wedding dress. like kabru introduces them and dia (god i'm so used to writing 'daya') mentions her wedding and marcille immediately pounces on her with eyes sparkling in excitement. i plan to write this fic one day)

This idea is so cute! I’ll also check out those other blogs you mentioned when I have the time to hehe~ I do latch onto minor characters easily but it doesn’t mean I have much to say about everyone. Dia (agreed btw, the situation with Daya vs Dia is confusing)… I do like her, but I feel like her Adventurer’s Bible profile sums it all up quite nicely and straightforwardly honestly. You’re right though her reaction to the treasure bugs was so cute and honestly surprising considering her appearance and demeanor, she does like pretty things and jewelry I could def see her going shopping. More content of her would definitely be fun, I’d read your fic!! I do love imagining how everyone’s relationships are like in Kabru’s party, the intricacies of it… I haven’t mulled it over enough though. I’ve been thinking of Mickbell more because of recent posts though, also Rin… If you’d like, the dunmeshi discord I’m in would be a good place to brainstorm about it I think! Hmu for an invite if you want

Summing up the posts I’m working on was long so here’s a cut out of mercy

I have 78 drafts on tumblr currently oh boy… The thing about my process is that I ramble easily but then I need to compile panels to illustrate the points and that’s real tedious… Character analysis wise - I’m most hyped about a Falin one on the topic of if she’s a people pleaser, how much does she care, what’s her way of thinking etc etc, also her differences with Laios because I hate seeing people seriously say they’re the same person. - Also a Cithis one that I just need to streamline at this point. I want to analyze her demeanor, poke at her psychology and analyze her relationships, she’s fascinating. - Oh I’m so stupid I almost forgot to mention the one I’ve been working on currently about Thistle, the age shenanigans but in an in-world way where yes it’s wonky and it means something. He hauntssss me I have so many thoughts on Thistle & Falin lately. Like, offtopic for the analysis but… Falin loves nature and Thistle is named after a flower… Imagine her post-canon coming across wild thistles and feeling a rush of fondness and she doesn’t know why… Thistles have thorns but they taste sweet… Peel of his thorns and eat him pls.

I have more Chilchuck & family thoughts coming, and more Toshiro & family, but these will have more of a casual brainstorm & speculating tone to them, I also just need to streamline these… Like I am obsessed about Toshiyuki and Chilchuck’s alcoholism I’m sorry

Beyond those the topics of the character analysis become more specific, like - How much social awareness does Laios have? Not none, not a lot, but the specifics can be blurry in ways I think are interesting, he was sensitive to people’s judgements in his hometown after all, and he does worry about others’ perception of him… He does know that buzzcut guy was taking advantage of him, etc etc. - There’s an extensive one I want to make on how the winged lion reflects abusive relationships, like how he targets all his ‘meals’'s specific weaknesses and draws out the worst in each of them. A lot of Dunmeshi is about unity and overcoming prejudices & differences & flaws and forming deep and long-lasting bonds despite it all, and amongst all of it it’s like… How flawed relationships with flawed people can still be made into somehing good and healthy that make the world brighter… Except the winged lion there to represent abusive relationships which you need to fucking DITCH, lol. - And on the topic of Dunmeshi & relationships I want to talk about it and queerness, especially in the queerplatonic sense of blurring lines, and Izutsumi + Laios’ relationship to touch should feature in those.

And my crown jewel but I’m soooo hyped about the Marcille & Chilchuck’s arcs one I’m working on it’s gonna go over so much stuff I’m obsessed about, like the importance of books in Marcille’s life, what the succubi reveal about the characters in what ways, the theme that’s so prevalent in Dunmeshi of idealization, Marcille’s imagery as a dungeon lord, a shepherd a general a princess a monster a damsel a woman in mourning…

But that’s enough for heavy ones, side characters wise: doing quick posts like for the gold-stripper characters has been great, but those usually come to me on the same day that I post them. I might make some analysis posts on say Mickbell or Holm or Otta, but I don’t have the thread I want to follow yet. Flamela’s been on my brain so much too…

Mostly though there’s just a lot that I wouldn’t write analysis for, but that I’d love to explore in fanfics! For example, the hienbeni I want to write the most rn is about the surges of anger that Benichidori gets, impulsive and stressed out. I haven’t made a post on my Izutsumi & Benichidori brotp and all the interesting parallels I think I have, but I’ve written a fic on it! Same about Chilchuck’s daughters and their relationship with his alcoholism, etc. I explored the guilt and confliction he may feel about his wife in my fic Enough as well, etc etc. You can see my fics here! For Kabru’s party lately mickrin has been having a chokehold on my brain, I’d love love love to explore Rin’s and Mickbell’s characters and issues through fics for them. As I think you might have figured, I love to explore characters through the lenses of relationships they have with others (Cithis & Mithrun and Pattadol, Thistle and Falin, etc), and that’s why for example I love to make posts that pitch ship ideas, I think specific dynamics can really have a lot to say about either characters. Oh another one’s toshimari, I want to make a fic about them and their feelings of being foreigners and not being able to integrate well to The Island, through the plot of them going to a restaurant as coworkers and the food they eat there~

These are only the ones I have at the top of my head though………. Someone help me Hopefully this post wasn’t boring lol, but yeah those are my wips rn. Need to make posts on toshimari, kabushuro, cithaios, cittadela and ships like that I think have interesting potential too. Many of these I’ve mentioned here I’ve had in my drafts for like 6 months btw gdvd 😭

[superpyodan]

In Regards to Chapter 43

I have a lot of Thoughts about Alex and Kenny that came out in this chapter, but I need to ramble about them a little bit because I never got the chance to fully flesh those Thoughts out in the fic.

Alex:

I imagine Alex as being very lonely, pre-Farmer. The lore for my specific version of Alex is that he's always struggled to make friends. Like... He was a high school jock, right? But the other jocks on the gridball team didn't get him. Beneath his athleticism, he is a NERD, first and foremost. This boy cares about history! Is he good at reading? No. But he cares so deeply about the intricacies of gridball :( It means so much to him :( So the other boys weren't very nice to him (I feel like i wrote about this before actually, in one of the earlier chapters?)

& Alex was super intimidated by Abby, Sam and Seb. Abby less so, considering her frienship-turned-relationship with Haley, but Alex was like 'Man! They're so cool and effortless and nice, they'd never wanna be my friend!'. This boy has SELF-ESTEEM ISSUES! (and a praise kink)

Turns out, Sam and Alex get along super well. I'm probably going to write this into the sequel, because it's important to me, especially considering Kenny and Sam's.... History.... And Abby loves Alex so much. Like, that's her boy! She adores him!

Anyways, Evelyn worries a lot about Alex being lonely. He's been lonely his whole life. Not anymore, though, because he has Kenny :3 (I KNOW THEY'RE NOT SPEAKING RIGHT NOW BUT OBVIOUSLY THEY'RE DESITINED TO BE TOGETHER. THEY'RE SOULMATES, GUYS. EMILY SAID SO.)

Kenny:

'Found Family' is so, so, incredibly important to Kenny. He doesn't know it, pre-Pelican Town, because he's all like... ''Oh I'm cool and independent, I don't need anyone and also I don't trust anyone.'' but he is shown so much unequivocal love by the people in Pelican Town that he's eventually like... ''Damn :') These people are my family. I don't need my parents, because I've got my friends!''

He gets emotional about Evelyn referring to him as 'family' for that reason, and also the fact that he's obviously completely totally deeply in love with Alex. Like, Evelyn knows that Alex is gay, she's known it, and before anything is even revealed to her or made official she's just like ''Yup. Kenny belongs to the Mullners now.'' and Kenny's so.... EMOTIONAL about it, bro.

Evelyn had such a strong bond with Kenny's grandpa and it really shows. She's so proud of who Kenny is, and sees a lot of his grandpa in him. She's just so happy that Kenny and Alex found each other.

This one's not fully fleshed out but I like to think that Evelyn knows that Kenny's dad is a bit of an asshole. Like, with Kenny's parents, his dad is the problem, which I explore more in the sequel. Kenny's Grandpa is on the paternal side, and it's as if the nice gene just... skipped a generation.

I think that's it.

[toddistyping]

hi todd(can I call you that?

I read your construct a summer home yesterday. And I just want to say it is really a great story! Love how you subtly depicted Vince’s insecurities and sentiments and his interactions with Adam and Ryker. The abundance of details made it so alive and intriguing. I think this fic of yours opens a potential perspective for me to think about his injury. He must have been suffering during the past few weeks. And I really hate that.

Also, I noticed that in this story you’ve written, Adam hasn’t told Vince why he didn’t call to ask Vince about his injury and I wonder why. Is it because he think calling Vince will “scare him” just like you mentioned when they first confronted each other in Vince’s house? Did his other teammates or friends not call him also because they presumed that Vince would find it “offensive”? Not receiving a call from Adam, who is practically his best friend, certainly made Vince more melancholic.

I wept yesterday reading that part in which he felt so abandoned and alone in his new house and no one reached out to him. Your way of narrating the intricacies of Vince’s struggles, happiness, excitement, and loneliness is beautifully subtle and I think you should be proud of yourself! Thank you so much for taking the time to write and share this beautiful story. I will read it again and again. Waiting for your updates.

Many hugs :)

oh my god I have a whole long reply to this and I think tumblr ate it instead of posting it

anyway

hi hi hi omg thank you for the ask hi

1) thank you thank you thank you

2) yes you can call me Todd that’s my name 🥰

3) let me rant about this

So basically Adam explains to Vince that he was worried that if he randomly texted Vince and said “where are you I need to see you” Vince would power off his phone and hide- which is kinda valid

none of Vince’s teammates know how bad his injuries are. They think that if they were really that bad Vince would’ve been reaching out himself. Vince thinks that if any of his teammates cared they would reach out first.

Adam specifically thinks that’s Vince would’ve mentioned something by now even if just to have someone to complain to

So it’s this whole endless feedback loop of everyone thinking “he would text me first right?” And Garth is the only one who bothers to actually reach out first and then spam if he doesn’t get an answer.

So everyone thinks Vince is fine and living laugh and is happy and healthy and that’s why he’s not texting them - but in reality he’s laying face down on his bedroom floor because his leg gave out and his phone is still on the bed

as for all the background characters (the people who work for the team, Vince’s family, any other friends Vince might have, etc.) they all think that Vince obviously is friends with enough guys on the team that he doesn’t need to be bothering them asking them out to dinner and asking them to come over and that he doesn’t actually want them over

And then there is Adam and Ryker who can and will uproot their lives just to make sure someone is there to eat dinner with Vince once they find out how bad it is

also idk if you noticed it but in multiple chapters someone texts Vince first and he ignores them. in my mind Connor mcdavid is texting every couple days like “dude you alive” but in a 10x more autistic way and Vince swipes the notification away without thinking about it and texts Garth instead.

because Vince is mentally ill so logic doesn’t apply here

thank youuuuu

[zadien]

Writer ask game : 3, 4, 12, 18, 22 :)

I just realised I hadn't answered this and I have some time this evening while my parents are out at my aunt's wake.

3. how you feel about your current WIP

Right now I'm hitting a wall with it so I'm not loving it BUT I love the idea of TIOT. I know it's not something that will appeal to most: it's too slow paced, it's too character centric, there's not a lot of romance so far, but it's something I want to read. I love sports fics, I love exploring all the intricacies of a sport and the team dyanmics and I always like to explore the friendships around the main couple too. So this feeds that need for me.

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

I have two major ones: There's one where Lucy dies on DOD and so Tim goes to North Hollywood and then he dies and as he's dying, Captain Andersen comes to him and offers him the choice - move on to the next place, go back to his friends and family. And then he sees Lucy, completely ignores Andersen's choice and follows her and gets embroiled in a war between good and evil. The other idea is that Lucy, thinking she's on the verge of having that perfect life with Tim where they have kids etc, looks into her biological father's family and ends up finding her maternal grandmother in Ireland and so she goes to visit. Tim freaks out because Lucy has disappeared and no one will tell him where she is, so he eventually tracks her down to Ireland. And this fic is really just for me to set something on the rugged hills and coast of Ireland, where everything is moody and grey and Lucy and Tim hash things out with all the wildness around them.

12. a trope you’re really into right now

Ooh, I don't really know, I guess mutual pining? They're both oblivious idiots? Yeah that's probably what I'm most into writing at the moment. How much of a couple can they be without actually dating. That's always fun for me. 18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

When 'Wilful ignorance served with a handful of churros' was supposed to be 'Obstinacy served with a three course meal', Lucy and Tim had this conversation. It's not massively different from what they do talk about but it's a little more stilted because they're in a restaurant, and not the shop so Tim's more guarded:

“Oh? So you’re telling me you talk about kids with all your potential dates?” “When it starts getting serious I do. When it comes to that kind of thing, you need to be on the same page as soon as possible. It’s important. I’m sorry that Ashely doesn’t want kids, you and her would have cute babies but I’m glad you both had that talk now. It would be much worse down the line.” Just because her words echoed his line of thought and were completely rational didn’t mean he appreciated them. Would a little sympathy kill her? Could she put her degree away for five minutes and just be his friend? Could he have one friend who didn’t lambast him? Pettily, he folded his arms and shot back, “Did you and Chris have that talk?” “Chris and I aren’t dating and actually yes, we did. That’s where the five year plan came up. He wants to be settled in his job and reach partner before he has kids. It’s smart. Being financially stable is a good thing when bringing kids into the world. We’ve seen what happens when people aren’t.” “And you’re willing to wait five years?” She cut him a dry look then shook her head. “No, not just because Chris and I aren’t dating, but because you’re right. If I meet the right person tomorrow, I don’t want to wait. Yes, I want to be financially secure but not enough to plan my life out into blocks.” “Who’s the right person?” A startled look and then Lucy pursed her lips, distracting him for a moment. He looked away, considering pulling the question back but he was curious. He’d been hellbent on Lucy finding the right person, and both Ashley and Angela had asked him who he thought would suit her. He was curious what she wanted.

22. do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

Yes, all the time. I never feel like I'm contributing anything good to the fandom, that I'm annoying people with my writing constantly. Even posting on Tumblr I feel like I'm forcing people to see something they don't want to see, but I've always felt that way.

I never feel my writing is good enough, but I also know that I give everyone else more grace than I give myself. Like a story, even a published story or a TV show can have plot holes and I'll shrug it off, but then be brutally hard on myself when I'm just creating fun stories with my favourite characters for myself and sharing them with others.

So I have to regularly tell myself to get over it and just keep going, to remind myself that these fics are for future me. And that if I don't post them I'll peck at them continuously and never move on to write something else.

It doesn't always work, I do get in my own head, but I also know I'm not alone in feeling that way. I can't give others pep talks if I'm not willing to take my own advice.

[waru-chan8]

Pedrenzo + 25

Yeees thanks for giving me an excuse to write some Pedrenzo. This gave me so many ideas like their wedding 👀👀👀👀.

Anyway, this is in honour of Rins jumping out of Honda, so this is Jorge actually getting in that team. (Set in 2018 before Jorge is announced).

I have no idea what possess me to write this one, but it was fun to do. So again thanks yo so much for sending me this.

Pedrenzo and kiss …as a ‘yes’.

It's supposed to be a normal morning, where they will share coffee and talk about their plans to see if they match and they can go train together, but a call interrupts their morning routine.

‘Go and answer it' encourages Dani over the rim of his mug. Jorge is hesitant, but answers it anyway.

The call goes and goes for nearly an hour, time enough for Dani to have finished his coffee and leave the house for his daily bicycle run.

When Dani goes back home, Jorge is still sitting on the kitchen with a half-drunk coffee mug, meaning it was not an easy call for the Ducati rider. ‘We need to talk' is what welcomes the shorter rider once he opens the door of their home.

‘Okay, but it has to be now or can it be over lunch?’ Answers with concern. Jorge seems to snap a bit out of the trance he seems to be, but he is still tense.

‘Take a shower while I prepare something to eat’ the younger rider didn’t wait for an answer before getting up from the chair and start to rummage through their fridge.

‘So, what’s up?’ Questions the older rider when he enters once more to the kitchen. Jorge is just looking out of the windows to their garden lost in his thoughts, so he jumps after hearing his partner’s voice.

‘Let’s sit first’ and with that, Dani is guided to the table, where a salad and some grilled fish is waiting for them. There’s some white wine too, but none of them comment on it.

‘So, the call' tries the shorter rider to have some conversation. And with that, Jorge finally opens up. The call was from his manager telling him Puig and Honda want him, Jorge, to ride for them for the next two seasons (2019-2020). The call has gone on and on about the details and intricacies of their offer and why it's so beneficial for Jorge.

‘The thing is, I want to ride for Honda, but I know it will cost your seat. And I don't want to be the one to make you retire' the younger one seems stressed ‘on the other hand, every kid always dreams about racing for Honda, wearing the Repsol colours' starts to ramble the five-time World Champion.

Dani just gets up and kisses him on the forehead, silencing completely the other rider. ‘Then accept it. Take that seat because you deserve it. Don't worry about me. I'll find another seat for next year, and if not, then I'll be okay too'.

Jorge just stares at his boyfriend, ‘Dani' mumbles in surprise because the shorter rider is the embodiment of Honda and is willing to give up his seat for him.

‘Look, I knew for a while that things were not working for me and Honda. And them placing Puig as team principal was their polite way of telling me to hurry up. So, yeah, I knew it could happen, I'm just glad they have chosen you because you deserve it'. Still in shock, the younger rider can only drag his boyfriend to his lap for another kiss, this time on the mouth.

‘Thank you' mumbles against Dani's lips before kissing him again and again. Worries about next year forgotten now that he has Dani at his side (and his approval).

[nateslehky]

⭐ cribbage fic? either part I love them both

below a cut cause it got a lil long :) fic for reference

come into my ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines. 

Or, send in a ⭐star⭐  to have me select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

so one thing i struggled most with in this fic is the conflict that happens near the end where nate is jealous and a bit a dick about it. because my overall goal for this fic was for it to be lighthearted and silly (it's about cribbage lmfao), but i also wanted the emotions/actions to feel real and authentic, and part of that is nate being an asshole. so this scene, in particular from nate's pov , was interesting to write just because i needed to find that balance of lighthearted-but-still-real-and-believable-emotions-and-actions.

There’s a stirring in Nate’s gut as he sits across from Cale at the restaurant, both of them donning nice clothes while the flickering candles cast the table in a warm glow. [this is the first time in a bit nate and cale have interacted outside of the rink, and nate's struggling with that especially cause cale is ohhhh so cute] Nate can’t help but wonder if this is the outfit Cale would actually wear on a date to a restaurant like this instead of just a team dinner—or Teamsgiving, as Gabe insists on calling it. 

He’s in snug dress pants that hug his ass and a soft, cozy cashmere sweater. [there's a lot more detail in this scene from nate's pov vs cale's, and part of that is because i wrote cale's first so i already had something to work with/fill in, but also cale as a narrator is pretty oblivious to what's going on, like that's kinda the whole vibe of the fic. oblivious and in love.] He looks very datable. [i deliberately included this in nate's pov because in cale's pov of this scene, when nate call's him out he thinks 'Especially coming from Nate. Who clearly thinks Cale is undateable on principle.' it's a direct parralell and another indication that these two are sooooooo stupid at telling how the other feels lol]

So much so, that if Nate were to ignore the rest of the team, he could almost pretend he and Cale were on an actual date. That is, if they were actually talking right now. Which they aren’t, not really. [and whose fault is that, nathan?]

Nate’s chest aches. [oh right, yours]

Beside Nate, EJ is ranting about the complexities of whatever absurdly expensive wine he ordered, but it’s going in one ear and out the other. [more about ej later, but i liked adding him into this scene a lot lol]

Nate does try to listen, but he’s too distracted by Cale and the way he is somehow completely oblivious to the fact that the waitress is definitely flirting with him. She laughs at his polite comments, her hand lingering on his arm as she flicks her hair behind her ear. It’s obvious to everyone at the table, except apparently to Cale. [obviously from cale's pov we get that he's oblivious to this. to him, she's just being polite and doing her job, and he is being polite in return. it mirrors the fact that cale is also completely oblivious to nate's feelings towards him, which of course is something nate doesn't even consider in this moment (or ever)]

Nate’s trying—and failing—to ignore it. 

“She’s cute, Cale,” says Mikko after the waitress leaves. “If you ask her out, I think she’d be into it.”

Nate stills, gripping the stem of his wine glass harder than he should. Mikko is correct, she definitely would, but that doesn’t mean he has to say that. He slams back a gulp of his wine, ignoring EJ’s instructions on the proper way to taste the intricacies of its flavor.

Cale flushes, embarrassed, color rising high on his cheeks and low down his neck, below the collar of his sweater. [nate thinks cale is blushing because he likes the girl or thinks she's pretty etc etc.... cue ensuing jealousy]

Nate frowns, the wine tasting bitter on his tongue, matching his attitude.

“Cale doesn’t date,” he says before Cale can answer. [from cale's pov, this is the first time we're even made aware of nate in this scene. cale's entirely oblivious to both the waitress and nate and meanwhile it's all nate can think about lol]

Across from him, Cale takes a sip of his wine, then says, “I date.”

Something suffocates Nate’s chest then, his heart squeezing tight. [Even as Nate does this it makes him feel like shit and he's aware of that, but does it anyway cause he's stupid (both in general and about Cale)]

“No, you don’t,” says Nate firmly. 

He isn’t sure where this is coming from, this necessity to make it clear that Cale isn’t dating anyone. The urge to press him, goad him into admitting something Nate knows is correct. [nate is incredibly desperate to be correct in this situation and we all know why lol. his actions stem from a fear that he isn't correct and this guy he's been crushing on is actually in love with someone else.]

“Yes, I do,” says Cale immediately, voice firm.

Who the fuck is he taking on dates? He has never once mentioned a girl to Nate or to anyone else, not in the locker room, not during team outings, not anywhere. That is something Nate would definitely remember. [in both povs of this fic, there's moments/line like this that make the reader aware that both these guys are fucking idiots and they're obviously hanging out a lot even though both of them act like they aren't. Nate knows Cale, both as a teammate and as a friend, and besides the obvious jealousy, there's also a sense of hurt because if cale were dating he would've expected cale to have told him, as a friend, because they're friends.]

“All you do is talk about your stupid board game and the books you read and the shit you get from grocery stores.” [again, this line is another indication that they actually talk quite a bit. and nate pays attention to what cale says. and even though he's an asshole about it in this moment, he actually very much enjoys and finds their conversations interesting]

The screech of Cale’s chair as he pushes away from the table causes Nate to flinch, but he sits still, acutely aware that everyone else has fallen silent. EJ glances between Cale and Nate, his wine glass in his hand, looking bewildered. [i adore EJ in this scene and had a lot of fun writing him in. in cale's pov he isn't mentioned at all except for when cale hear's him say "the hell was that" (and doesn't even know it's ej saying it), but adding him into Nate's pov was a lot of fun and i think it helped break-up the asshole-y behavior from nate's internal monologue in a fun way and kept it more light hearted]

Cale grips the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. “I go on plenty of dates, Nate,” he says, his voice shaking slightly. “Just because I don’t talk about them doesn’t mean they don’t happen.” [this is obviously, as we know from cale's pov, a lie. and nate, deep down, knows it is, but there's also a part of him that wonders and latches onto the belief that it isn't]

Momentarily, Nate deflates, feeling as though he kicked a puppy. He hates the look in Cale’s eyes and he hates that he’s the one that caused it, but the whole team is watching them now, and he refuses to back down. [nathan is nothing if not stubborn] He crosses his arms and smirks, but there’s something coiling in his gut, causing him to shift uncomfortably. [even, and often especially, to his own detriment]

Cale storms away, and Nate swallows before delicately grabbing his wine and taking a sip. [he's trying to play it cool. like it's no big deal that cale's dating and that he wasn't just a bit of a dick]

“The hell was that?” asks EJ, breaking the silence that has fallen over the table. [ej's statement, of course, calls out both of these things haha]

that's where cale's pov of this scene ends, but i enjoyed writing this next bit because as a whole, i think the team is both used to and also doesn't put up with nate's shit. so him acting like this, while weird, is not entirely surprising, even if most of them don't know the context

“Yes, Nate,” says Gabe coldly. “What the hell was that?” [gabe obviously does know the context]

Nate shrugs, looking around at the guys, but no one really meets his eyes. 

“I’m right. You all know I’m right.” Please tell me I’m right. “Cale doesn’t date.” [this calls back to the beginning of the scene and reminds the reader that nate's doing this out of almost desperation because he's scared the boy he likes not only doesn't like him back, but likes someone else instead]

ok ok i'll call this quits here, but this was so much fun! thank you for sending <3

[insecateur]

i was writing counter-meta for some takes i disagreed with in my head in the shower (as i am wont to do) when i had a thought

so, to me, team flare has three layers of goals/motivations:

making the world beautiful in the sense of getting rid of perceived ugliness, like people who are deemed "unworthy" due to factors outside of their control (i.e. team flare grunts talking about how team flare is going to get rid of ugly poor people who are polluting the world by being poor and cringe and unfashionable)

making the world beautiful in the sense of ensuring that it won't succumb to the negative aspects of human nature and will be preserved for people who are deemed "worthy" due to factors that are mostly "lysandre said so" tbh (there is some intricacy to that i think but for the sake of this argument this is enough) (i.e. lysandre talking about well. more or less exactly that honestly)

lysandre wanting to make a difference and be remembered as the person who's made the world better/more beautiful/less likely to be corrupted by others/war etc (in a "triumphant hero" sense mostly, tho i do think his enthusiasm @ the protag & friends hints at him also being willing to be inspiring as a villainous figure also)

now there is reason to believe (based on things lysandre says and his notes) that that third reason was inspired by AZ and AZ's legend/story, where AZ is remembered as the king who, yes, killed millions, but also ended the great war and made it so that kalos could prosper and thrive in the future

i always idly wondered why lysandre doesn't recognize AZ; it's kind of a silly, inconsequential thing that i guess serves to highlight the fact that he's so blinded by what he's undertaking that he doesn't even make the connection that the inhumanly gigantic man in possession of the key to the ultimate weapon must be AZ

but actually, now that i've thought about it (in a tangent about something completely unrelated, which is hilarious) the dramatic irony of it is that... lysandre, who wants more than anything to make an impact on history, who wants to be recognized as the man who changed the world for the better... couldn't even recognize his own ancestor, the nearly mythological figure he was likely inspired by

i do wish they had actually talked to each other tho. but i guess their one interaction is more thematic than anything else. lysandre barely even acknowledges him as like... a real person. i mean ffs in french he calls him a circus freak 😭 anyway not in the right headspace to elaborate on this more rn but... much to think about