#and they found easy compatibility immediately

[blueheartboys]

“In terms of… the magnitude. I mean, Chris and I really got along. We always got along from the beginning. And he was always such a team player, so it never felt like I was alone in the process. Um.. y’know. And I think he.. was a big brother to me, in the sense that he really.. made me feel comfortable. Y’know, he had done so much more than me. I mean, they all had, when I got there.”

— Sebastian Stan (2024)

[akutasoda]

hold my hand, lean on me

synopsis - jiaoqiu adjusting to domestic life with you

includes - jiaoqiu

warnings - gn!reader, spoilers for 2.5, angst w/ some comfort, fluff, maybe ooc, wc - 1.3k

a/n: i actually cannot get this darn foxian out my mind :( shouts to @thelightofmylife for some vv helpful pointers and information ^^ tbh i feel like this is just 1.3k words of word vomit HAHA

the healers finished informing you of the situation, thanking them you then closed the door to the shared abode. a sigh you didn't know you were holding back escaped alongside a glance down to the papers the healer's handed over. you could read them later, the news followed by the details of it wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, if anything it might be a final push for the tears to start falling.

your thoughts were distracted by the sound of hesitant, shuffling footsteps. turning around, you were met with the sight of jiaoqiu standing idly not too far from you - almost as if he was taking in the surroundings, although now it was more him trying to piece together the memories of what it looked like.

jiaoqiu had arrived back at the yaoqing not too long ago, admittedly rather late, but the luofu's alchemy commission had kept him for a while. he'd been forced immediately to the yaoqing’s alchemy commission as they were now the ones responsible for his treatment plan for the future. a short talk with them had then led to him being escorted back home. to you.

upon arrival, some of the alchemy commission healers explained to you about the entire situation. they kept it short but soon handed you a full document containing everything from “patient’s injuries” to “doctor’s post-charge advice” - each and every sentence pained you more and more, you refused to acknowledge what would've happened if moze hadn't found him, you would have to thank him later.

the healers had asked you to take upon the responsibility of looking after him at home, and in most day to day life scenarios - at least until he adjusted properly. they asked you to keep strict to the “post-charge advice” as otherwise it probably would cause more harm to him, making his healing process longer and maybe even worsening it beyond healing.

“jiao-ge” you called out, to let him know that you were still near. it pained to see the somber look on his face. the last thing jiaoqiu saw wasn't anyone, anywhere or anything he loved. no. it was something he hated, someone he loathed in unfamiliar territory surrounded by no-one he knew.

now he stood in familiar territory, with the person he loved the most. but he couldn't bask in the sights or even see you. all he had was memories to cast images in his mind, to help pretend that nothing was wrong and that he could see what he remembered.

you knew that he wouldn't want you doting on him. jiaoqiu needed to adjust, to learn how to go about his life as usual and you overly fussing over him would only probably annoy him and prolong that.

it had been a long day, any proper conversations could be held tomorrow. to no surprise, jiaoqiu insisted he could get ready and do everything by himself. you granted him that independence. eventually, admittedly with some help, you two were ready for sleep. and even though you were right there beside him, jiaoqiu never felt further from you.

---✩

the process was slow. nobody would've said that it was going to be anything other than that. jiaoqiu very clearly wanted independence. he didn't want to seen as a burden, he chose to do this, and knowing that people were constantly doting on him instead of continuing with their lives made him feel awful.

one of the first things you did was help make your shared abode more compatible with his needs. an easy step was making sure that everywhere was clean and free of obstruction, normally moze always

showed up and helped with cleaning as well. another step was helping jiaoqiu become able to navigate the home on his own, mainly he acted on memory but you needed to make sure that where he frequented was always obstruction free.

occasionally you could hear a bump or hurried shuffling from the room over, each and every time you dropped what you were doing and checked up on him. it was never anything major and if anything it always resulted in jiaoqiu silently cursing at the piece of furniture he walked into.

you two always adopted a verbal calling system at home. should you need to leave the room he was in, you would tell him exactly where you were going and what you were doing - that way he knew where you were. jiaoqiu would also inform you of where he planned on going just in case something happened or he got lost.

although, admittedly, for the first couple of weeks jiaoqiu stuck to you like glue. to him, it was a way to quickly adjust and therefore he wouldn't have to be a burden for long. however jiaoqiu subsequently had developed a rather interesting habit, one neither of you addressed - you because you thought it was sweet and didn't want to embarrass him, him because he didn't want to admit it.

and that was him using his tail as a guidance. at home, it was either curled around your waist, wrist or leg. in public, it lingered around your wrist, so much so that it constantly tickled you. it was a way of him making sure you were there with him, you hadn't left him and he was okay.

although most admittedly it was worse at night. he would hold you close, an ironclad grip that usually you would ask for him to let up but you knew he needed this. tail curled around your waist, preventing you from escaping. in his opinion, you helped him sleep easier, much easier than any fragrances he was prescribed.

however, this always came with a risk. due to residual lupitoxin still in his body, jiaoqiu became frequently prone to nightmares which plagued him constantly. everytime his mind was tricked into believing that the borisin were waiting, patiently looking for an opening to get revenge.

he wakes up because of them, drenched in fear and swear, and because he's so fearful the lupitoxin can take hold easier. suddenly he's tricked into believing that the borisin have found him. unbeknownst to the fact that it's you. so you sometimes take the liberty of sleeping away from him, but then he wakes up to an empty bead but he can hear someone in the room over and when he finds out it was you, sleeping away from him, he becomes consumed with guilt.

a major change for him was his inability to cook anymore. jiaoqiu was determined to do so with his impairment but he needed to learn. nowadays you cook with him. instead of being hushed out of the kitchen, you stood closely beside him, handing him the tools he needed, telling him where you put them so he could find them again on his own.

gently reminding him to lay off the spices when he requested more, he was to avoid spicy foods at all costs for the time being. a hard change, one that he absolutely despised but he knew better than to go against a doctor's order. helping him go out and buy ingredients, listening to what he told you and carrying out the tasks diligently.

---✩

and that was a shortlist of changes. you were very happy to accommodate anything for him, so long as he felt comfortable and loved. it wasn't uncommon for jiaoqiu to experience major lows, it was only natural and you needed to be there for him.

to listen to him, to show him that the support he needed was always a simple ask away - you didn't want to push to dote on him for many reasons. but that was different to showing genuine care and love to him when he started seeing himself as a useless, dependent person.

life would be different. for a while or maybe even forever, perhaps feixiao would strike lucky in her search for a healer that knew how to help. but for now, you two would have to learn how to adjust. to be there for eachother.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[vm-haunts]

Butterfly Effect

The GIW got new funding and new crew, Fenton Works went up in flames, so did Vlad's castle. Danny is captured, Dani melted, Jack and Maddie died in the explosion that took out their lab.

Team Phantom is in deep trouble. Down to four human members, they're truly on their own in their quest to save Danny.

Not all hope are lost though, there's always good news between bad ones.

...

Good News: Jack Maddie and Vlad don't completely suck in this one.

Bad News: Jack and Maddie died and turned into ghosts.

Good News: Vlad finally get a true hero moment and brought the two with him when he fled into the zone before he blew his own portal.

Bad News: They're immediately arrested for their crimes against ghost kind for the foreseeable future. Wait isn't this good news actually.

Good News: no more ghost attacks because both portals are down.

Bad News: no more ghost help or easy ecto source either. But that's worth it as a trade off for the attacks.

...

Good News: Ellie didn't melt completely, only her human side did. She's souped (literally) inside a thermos for now.

Bad News: she lost her physically form, and they either need to find her a fresh and compatible corpse or clone her a second body.

Good News: all of them agreed on the second choice.

Bad news: they now have to find a way to make a clone

...

Good News: Team Phantom found a another group that is strongly interested in taking down the GIW research facilities.

Bad News: the potential ally turned out to be a cult of assassins.

Good News: the lady leading them is looking for her son and offered help.

Bad News: she's now very interested in what they know about ectoplasm.

Good News: they get Danny out!

Bad News: the assassin lady won't leave them alone. Team Phantom might have to join a cult now.

Good News: at least they get to hang out with the lady's son sometimes. He's pretty chill.

Bad News: chill guy get dunked into mystery goo by his mom, is now Dan no.2 and wants revenge on his dad.

Good News: at least Dan#2 is still negotiable as long as no one gets in the way of his obsession.

Bad News: Team Phantom is now the enabler of a rising crime lord. Hell of a first impression to make with Batman...

Good News: at least they're out of the League now, that's good right???

[ultravi0lence14]

Flower Crowns

dean winchester x bimbo!reader

1.5k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: dean had lived his life as self-reclusive and stoic as possible. who knew one girl in tiny skirts with glossed lips could make him completely whipped?

dean winchester grew up in an environment that most people would widen their eyes at. mouths agape in shock as dean and his brother recount all the times their dad treated them like soldiers instead of children.

that lifestyle is what made dean who he was today; and most people would find it encouraging that he and sam didn’t turn out like complete asshole’s.

unlike his younger brother, dean was always the troublemaker between the two. yeah, sam had a knack for defying john’s orders, but dean always found himself in forms of trouble that landed him in boy’s homes.

all he wanted was to appeal his father. be tough for sammy and protect the people who he cared about. all that squished together made him into the hard shell of a man he is today; and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

that’s what drew you into dean in the first place. he was so languid in his actions. already knowing the exact way to push people out of his life when they got too close. having the tough guy act down to the final line. but you saw beneath it. you saw the man who cared so deeply about the people he actually allowed himself to hold close, and that interested you even more.

dean first saw you when he was on a case down in your hometown. and instantly, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

bobby had directed sam and dean to one of his hunter friends who lived in town. telling the boys that if they ever needed help, this guy was the one to call.

that man ended up being your father, and dean was thoroughly surprised that someone like you grew up around a hunter.

you answered the door wearing a baby pink sundress, thigh high stockings pulled up as high as possible with black heels on your feet. when you turned around, dean noticed the delicate ribbon placed in your curled hair, and he suddenly had the urge to pull it loose and use it on you for something else completely.

the whole time dean was at your house, he found himself thinking those unsolicited thoughts. you reached into your purse to reapply your lip gloss, dean wondered how it would taste on his lips. you tossed your hair over your shoulder to get it out of your face, dean wondered what it would be like to grab it in his fist.

each time he found himself alone with you, he couldn’t help the easy flirtations that fell from his lips. you almost dragged him upstairs to your bedroom when he called you a ‘good girl’ for finding a key detail in the case.

when it was time for him and sam to leave, dean slipped his phone number in the back pocket of your jeans. he disguised the action in the hug he gave you. . . while also lightly grabbing your ass.

he was scared you would smack him across the face for that last part. but the light kiss on his cheek that left a glossy residue in it’s wake had him thinking differently.

after months of talking — and establishing some form of relationship after multiple phone calls, dean asked if you wanted to live with him and sam in their 1950’s bunker. normal people would be immediately turned off and say no, but you weren’t normal people. and by the next weekend, you had your room packed up and ready to move in with dean.

every day you lived with dean was bringing you two closer together. your aesthetics varied so greatly, yet that somehow made you two even more compatible.

dean found himself falling even more in love with you as time moved forward. the evening he knew he loved you was when he walked into the kitchen, watching you attempt to make an apple pie. you were dressed in the shortest skirt imaginable, and dean almost passed out when you bent over to put the pie in the oven and he got a nice view of your lace panties.

he had come up behind you, wrapping his arm around your middle and dragging you back into his chest. whispering a soft “what are you doing” in your ear, dean went on to carry you back to your shared room, eclipsing your body with his own as you laid underneath him on your bed. he had whispered a soft and sensual, “let me show you how much i love you, baby,” and the rest was a story that dean still smirked about when he thought of it.

today was different. the weather in kansas was gloomy, and dean found himself wanting to stay in bed all day and cuddle with his girl. though for some reason, he couldn’t find you anywhere in the bunker.

he looked everywhere. every room and any place that he could think of you being. dean started to worry when sam told him that he saw you go outside a couple of minutes ago. so with the clambering of his boots, synchronizing with the patter of rain falling behind the door, dean ventured out to find you.

to dean’s surprise, he found you rather quickly. though, it wasn’t the fact that you were scaling the side of the bunker that surprised him. it was the fact that you could incorporate pink into any outfit and any weather condition imaginable.

a soft pink rain coat was covering your white tank top and pleated black skirt. a pink and black striped umbrella was perched over your head, and dean noticed how it was meticulously covering the pink uggs you wore with your classic white, knee high socks.

dean wanted to coo at your hunched figure. you looked adorable as you grumbled in frustration at your umbrella, legs bent at the knees as you searched for something dean couldn’t quite see.

“what’cha doin’ sugar, it’s pouring out here.” his voice startled you, your head whipping around to notice dean standing by the railing at the entrance.

tightly clutched in your hand was different types of small flowers, seemingly growing around the bunkers edges. dean craned his head like a confused puppy as he noticed the assorted flowers in your palms.

huffing slightly, you stood to your full hight as dean stared on at you, a massive grin on his face as he watched you dust off your clothing. “i’m trying to collect flowers dean, what does it look like i’m doing?”

the man couldn’t help but laugh at your matter of fact attitude. you looked so adorable standing there, covered head to toe in pink as you clutched pretty flowers in one hand and a comically large umbrella in the other.

with a shake of his head, dean approached you and grabbed the umbrella out of your hand, holding it over the both of you as he placed his free palm on the small of your back, leading you inside. “yeah, i can see that sweets, but why?”

you held up the assortment of flowers to give dean a closer look, allowing him to notice all the pretty pink’s, white’s, and purple’s you had grabbed. “i want to make you and i matching flower crowns, that’s why.”

dean stopped in his tracks as the two of you made it to the railing over looking the war room. never in his life had someone catered something so sweet towards him. yes, flower crowns were something dean would definitely not gravitate towards, but it was going to be made by you, and there was nothing better than a gift from his sweet girl.

“you are one of a kind, you know that baby?” he had rested your umbrella by the door, moving so he could wrap his arms around your waist and pull you closer to his body. with a soft smile on your face, you placed your arms around his shoulders, the flowers tickling the side of his neck as he rubbed your back up and down. “yeah, you’ve told me once or twice.”

the rest of your day was spent as dean had intended when he woke up; in his arms. you both laid on your bed, dean’s back against the head board as you rested in between his spread legs and against his back.

you concentrated on weaving the flowers stems together, not noticing dean’s eyes on you the entire time. his hands rested on the tops of your thighs, moving from there to your hips every once in a while as he silently watched you work.

he couldn’t help himself sometimes and he would lean down and place a kiss on either your cheek or the crown of your head. when you turned around, placing the finished product on his head; you rocking your own of the same colour’s, dean left a lingering kiss on your lips, mumbling who beautiful you looked in his relaxed state.

you were his flower. his beautiful peony that grew the love in his heart. as you rested against his back again, fingers fiddling with the the pretty pink ribbon you were attaching to the back of your crown, dean wondered if the flowers and ribbon were going to be how you decorated your wedding veil one day.

because dean knew one thing for certain; if he didn’t marry you, he would be the dumbest man alive.

[kingkatsuki]

Imagining Mitsuki trying to play matchmaker

And maybe she’s done that before, thrown girls at her son hoping he’ll hit it off with one of them and give her grandchildren. But it just royally pisses him off and he wants nothing to do with any of them. Then maybe she gives up for a while

But booooyyyyy oh boy, if you’ve caught his eye and she notices? She may not have introduced you, but she’ll make it happen. Just trying to help him out ya know?

She’d have to be as subtle about it as possible though. I could see him pushing you away just to spite her, even if he was head over heels for you.

I got a little carried away talking about this, but I just love the idea of Mitsuki meaning well, but never quite getting it right.

Warnings: Mitsuki tries to play matchmaker.

Word Count: 1.6k.

It isn’t that Mitsuki wants to force him into a relationship, she means well. She doesn’t like the thought of him coming home to an empty apartment each night, especially because she’s one of the few people who know about his night terrors. She’s been on the receiving end of many a call at four in the morning where he’s calling to make sure everything’s okay, or hearing him as a young man screaming in the night when he wakes up from another one of those nightmares. And although she’s taught him well, never needing to learn to cook, clean or use a washing machine— some companionship can’t hurt.

There was a time that Mitsuki thought that Bakugou wasn’t searching for love— that he’d already found it. His cheeks turning a violent red when she’d suggested that he was dating Kirishima, immediately reassuring him that she wouldn’t love him any less and that she’s happy he’s found someone as Bakugou tried to set her straight.

It isn’t that she ignores Bakugou when he says he’s not looking. She’s just worried, and maybe she’s right. Maybe he is lonely, and could use someone to help fill that void between work and sleep.

A mother can always tell, after all.

But Mitsuki’s methods can be a little unorthodox. Masaru tries to tell her not to meddle, that their son will find love when he wants to. On his terms, when he’s good and ready. But now he’s pushing thirty, not even a tabloid based rumour about a girlfriend and she starts to get antsy.

The window for grandchildren is slowly closing, and the hope is diminishing so of course she has to take matters into her own hands. It’s for Bakugou’s benefit, it’s like she’s doing him a favour.

At first Mitsuki is trying to set him up with someone based on attributes, wealth, success, career goals. Even though it’s difficult trying to find someone as motivated and strong as her son, she knows there are thousands upon thousands of women out there that would love to date him.

And poor Bakugou would prefer to be doing anything else with his time, sitting in his boxers playing video games and sipping a beer sounds far better than a twelve course dinner with portions so small he’s got to cook at home after. Especially with women he could care less about, listening to them drone on at him about their meaningless lives while he picks at his hors d'oeuvre two courses in.

No matter how perfect these women seem on paper, how compatible they are based on personality tests and star signs the dates never work out.

When this tactic doesn’t work, Mitsuki still won’t give up. Working in the fashion industry for as long as she has means she’s got a phone book full of gorgeous women. Personalities may not match up, but however bias it may sound she knows her son is an attractive man. So it’s easy to scroll through her contacts to find an array of women who would jump at the chance of a date with the Number Two Hero (also another benefit she slips in to conversation).

Bakugou tugs at the black tie around his neck as he stands awkwardly in the corner of another one of his mothers networking parties. Wondering how at 29 he’s still subjected to this kind of misery, thinking this would have stopped well into his teenage years. Groaning internally when he can see her out of the corner of his eye dragging a pretty young woman towards him. He knows the drill, knows exactly what that old hag is up to as she gives him a warning glare that only he can see. Turning to the poor girl with a faux sincere smile as she introduces her to him, her hand tightening around his forearm in warning as he offers his hand out to the poor girl.

But as quickly as Mitsuki arrived she’s gone, pretending to wave at someone in the crowd as she excuses herself and leaves Bakugou standing alone with this woman. Listening to her begin to rattle off ad campaigns or endorsements she’s been involved in like he gives a fuck, and talking about how many offers she’s received for her next one. It’s all he can do not to tell her that he doesn’t care and walk off as he notices that old hag watching from across the room as he throws back his whiskey and excuses himself to the bar. At least there’s enough alcohol to drown out the pain and suffering his mother is currently inflicting on him.

Mitsuki’s quick to join him, wine glass in hand, as she asks what he thinks and gushes about how pretty and perfect she is.

“Yeah? So why don’t you date ‘er then?” Bakugou scoffs as his mother rolls her eyes and he can tell if there were fewer people in the room she would’ve hit him upside the head by now.

It’s exhausting.

Groaning as he collapses into bed to find one new text message from the girl he’d been introduced to hours earlier. Knowing that his interfering mother had clearly given his phone number out— again.

But when perfect matches, and pretty faces don’t work Mitsuki changes tactic. After that, it’s just anyone.

Bakugou could be saying thank you to a girl in a coffee shop whilst he’s out running errands and Mitsuki is asking if she wants to go on a date with her son— she already had a boyfriend. Or the kind waitress at lunch who gave him a little extra spice in his ramen— she wasn’t interested in men. And even one time where Bakugou stopped to let a lady onto the train before him— she ended up posting about it all over social media before he’d even arranged the first date.

Deep down, there’s never anyone Bakugou truly wants. Dates are done out of obligation, and spending a few hours taking someone out for food or drinks means his mother is off his back for a few weeks or a few months depending on how well he can hide the immediate break up.

It’s a few months later when Bakugou realises the true lengths of how far his mother is willing to go to get him married off. He’s given a short, curt answer about his last break up. A “relationship” that Mitsuki thinks lasted for six months, but really there wasn’t even a third date. He’s out for drinks with the guys after work when Mina shoves her phone in his face, drunkenly squealing about how she didn’t realise he was trying to date people right now. And Bakugou didn’t realise himself— grabbing the phone from her as he assessed the profile. Thinking it was just another scam account trying to con lonely, desperate women out of their money, but he notices it. Pictures uploaded to the profile that only his mother has access to, key words that she’s used on many occasions to describe him.

That old hag. He groans, passing the phone back to Mina as he steps out of the bar to call his mother. Hearing the disappointment in her tone when he says he’s not interested. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact she made the profile, telling him there’s hundreds of women replying to his page. That he can have his pick of any of them if he wants to— but it just doesn’t feel right?

Until there’s you.

And there’s almost something about you that makes Mitsuki not try, because however much she loves and adores her son you’re almost too good for him? You exude happiness, positivity and love. And Bakugou is well, Bakugou.

And somehow you get together and you just work? Like there’s some sort of gravitational pull navigating you into each others orbit. And everything is just easy.

It’s not like expensive dinners, formalities and pretense. It’s comfortable, safe, warm. When Bakugou finds his place with you, he wonders how he ever spent so many years alone. Now he can’t ever imagine life without you, and Mitsuki is shocked when he appears at the door with you for the first time. Because for the first time, her son looks genuinely happy.

The most positive thing about it is now she no longer has to try and play matchmaker for Bakugou, the hard work is finally over. And now she has far more things she can annoy him with instead— like grandchildren and marriage.

And although she may hate to admit it, she’s happy that her son could pick a better match for himself than she ever could. No matter how much she insists that if she’d met you first she would’ve immediately set you two up on a date.

Bakugou finally found his own happiness in you.

But just because she no longer has to play matchmaker, doesn’t mean she won’t try to organise your wedding, your first home, your first child. And you better be prepared for her slightly unorthodox methods for that too— as she buys you pretty lingerie for birthdays, Christmas, Valentines—

“You can’t buy my wife lingerie for valentines, you old hag!”

“Maybe if you’d marry her she’d actually be your wife, you little brat. You should be grateful I’m trying to help.”

And oysters being the main course when she invites you over for dinner—

“They’re a natural aphrodisiac, you know”

“You can’t talk about sex so openly when we’re eating, you old hag. Jesus—”

Most family dinners include Masaru offering you a large glass of wine in the kitchen as you watch your spouses argue together.

But deep down Bakugou is just grateful that you stick around even though Mitsuki is almost a third wheel in your relationship. But you make the perfect team, and together you can handle anything— even his mother.

[bosbas]

Epilogue: quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

series masterlist previous part || alt ending

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 2.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love (except not really anymore), alluding to sex, benedict being so down bad for this woman (like down horrendous), this woman being so down bad for benedict, pregnancy and discussions around pregnancy

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: i am so sad to let these bbs go i love them so much!! i will simply have to write drabbles because they are so dear to me oh my

January 3, 1819 – Y/N

A happy new year indeed! I missed you all terribly during the holiday season this year, but John and I had a wonderful time here in Scotland with Michael. It snowed beautifully on Christmas Day, and it made me think of all of you and our often violent snowball fights on your birthday.

In fact, I believe this letter should reach you at around that time, so I am sending you the brightest of birthday wishes as well! While I won’t be able to attend your celebration this year, seeing how we’ll still be at Kilmartin House, I am sending you a wonderfully tight hug and hoping your day is incredibly special. Hit one of my siblings with a snowball for me, please! Preferably one of the boys, but really anyone will do. 

Love from your sister, Francesca

You squinted your eyes in your dimly candlelit bedroom, unsuccessfully attempting to undo the tiny buttons on your dress. Perhaps it was the undercurrent of nervousness that had been moving through you the whole day, but you found your fingers were shaking so much that you couldn’t hold them still for long enough to unclasp the buttons on your back. A deep sigh escaped your lips as you accepted that you were simply not going to be able to do this by yourself, and you gripped the edge of the chest of drawers in front of you as you willed your voice to come out sounding more carefree than you were feeling at the moment.

“Ben, darling, are you still upset about earlier?” you called across the room.

A small huff escaped his lips as he shifted on an armchair in the corner, murmuring something about betrayal and honor without looking up from his book. You smiled and held back a laugh, anxieties momentarily soothed. Per Francesca’s request, you had hit Benedict less-than-gently in the chest with a tightly packed snowball during your annual snowball fight earlier today, and he had taken it quite to heart. Well, that and the fact that you had sneakily teamed up with Hyacinth and Gregory without telling him. It really wasn’t your fault, you reasoned. Benedict had thought you would go easy on him simply because you were married to him, which, of course, was a foolish thing to think. Though he wasn’t as competitive as you were, evident in your much more successful Pall Mall record, you knew today’s loss still stung.

“Well, do you think could find it in you to help me with my dress?” you raised your eyebrows pointedly. “Or are you still feeling too betrayed?”

He immediately looked to meet your eyes, grudge completely forgotten as he nodded excitedly and rushed over to you from the armchair he had previously been sitting in. It was rather endearing that Ben was still giddy every time you asked for his help undressing, even after four years of marriage. 

After a few moments of Benedict concentrating intensely on the buttons on your back, you teased, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

He hummed in assent and smiled at you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Oh, immensely. It certainly makes up for earlier, I think,” he winked as he fiddled with the buttons. 

Honestly, you were inclined to think that Benedict had been secretly asking your seamstress to make the buttons smaller on each new dress she made you so you would have no option but to ask for his help. Even so, you wouldn’t have minded. You, too, enjoyed his sturdy hands on your back, his deft fingers fiddling with your dress and his lips softly kissing your shoulders as you told him about your day.

“A well-deserved win today, Mrs Bridgerton,” he said, never quite growing tired of how sweet the title sounded coming from his mouth. “And on your birthday no less. A stellar performance. I suppose I’ll have to start recruiting Simon and Daphne’s children to help me against the lot of you from now on. And then when we have ones of our own I can form a small army and I will never lose again.”

Your heartbeat sped up a fraction, but you were saved from having to answer when he undid the last button and your dress fell to the floor. Benedict placed his hands on your shoulders and gingerly turned you around to face him, drawing in a sharp breath as he took in your figure covered by nothing but your chemise, completely mesmerized by you. But he was quickly drawn out of his awe when he noticed your nervous eyes shifting around the room. 

“Darling, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on your elbow and drawing you closer. “I wasn’t truly upset about today, I promise. I rather enjoyed seeing you, Gregory, and Hyacinth absolutely obliterate everyone else. It was only a slight inconvenience that I was one of the people you were obliterating.”

You shook your head, sending him a small smile. “No, no don’t worry, Ben. It’s not that at all,” you said, laying your head on his shoulder tiredly, an entire day of worrying having taken a toll on you.

“But it is something, then,” he prodded, desperate to find out what was making you so anxious. 

You said nothing, fiddling nervously with the hem of his waistcoat instead. Benedict, on his part, was growing increasingly alarmed. Usually, he could instantly tell exactly what was plaguing you, but you were being oddly evasive, and he was at a loss. Perhaps the best thing to do was to let you rest and broach the subject tomorrow morning, so he tugged on your hand and sat you down on the bed.

“It’s alright, darling,” he said, softly kissing your forehead. “I’ll ring for some tea, and we can get ready for bed.”

“I think I’m pregnant,” you blurted out before he could let go of your hand to go ask for some tea from the kitchen. Your shoulders sagged in relief, and you immediately felt a weight lifted off your shoulders as you said the words aloud.

“What?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Pregnant. With child.” 

“With my child?”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” you responded, laughing.

He instantly relaxed, rolling his eyes and engulfing you in a tight hug. “Oh, shut up, woman! I was merely trying to process the news,” he laughed, ecstatic that there would soon be a tiny version of one of you running around the house. He looked at you, eyes shining, and shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it. 

“So, you’re happy?” you asked, anxiety still lingering in the back of your mind. It had been four years, after all. Your marriage had happened rather hastily, considering the years the two of you had spent pining after one another, and you had decided to revel in your romance for a while before having children. And eventually, you had wanted them. It was just slightly frightening to know that the time had actually come. You were excited, of course. You couldn’t imagine a better life than one where you raised children alongside your best friend, but you couldn’t help the nervousness you felt as you locked eyes with Ben.

“Happy? I’m over the moon, darling,” he said giddily and pushed you back on the bed so he could plant kisses all over your face. 

“If I knew it would be like this I would’ve gotten pregnant earlier,” you joked as Benedict moved on to kiss your neck and your breathing got heavier. 

---

You awoke quite suddenly, sitting up in bed so abruptly that Ben’s arm, which had previously been wrapped around you with his hand placed on your stomach, fell away from your body entirely.

Benedict grumbled in protest, noticing your absence even in his sleep. Typically, you slept on your side, with Benedict wrapped around you until the moment you woke up. Despite your racing heart, you smiled down at him, placing a soft kiss on his temple and sliding yourself back into his arms. 

But your attempts to fall back asleep were futile. You had stopped tossing and turning but found yourself lying on your side, staring at the wall opposite you while you felt Benedict’s chest rising and falling against your back as he breathed. 

“S’wrong?” Benedict asked sleepily, sensing that you were still awake.

Not wanting to disturb his sleep more than you had already, you whispered, “No, it’s nothing, Ben. You can go back to sleep.”

But Benedict was having none of it. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, turning you around to face him. “That’s alright. I was awake anyway,” he lied, voice husky with sleep. “What’s wrong? I’m incredibly awake. Awake. I am awake.” 

“Sounds like it,” you said, laughing at him softly. You leaned up and pecked him on the lips, secretly thankful for his unrelenting line of questioning. 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes and leaning on his arm to face you, Ben looked at you and smiled fondly. “I am! Promise.” Then, tracing his fingertips on your arm, he pressed you a bit more. “It’s just me, darling. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m a bit scared,” you whispered. “Actually, I’m terrified. Terrified of becoming a mother, and of having to take care of an entire other human being, and of what it might change between us. Is this what you really want? Having a child?”

Benedict’s fingers never stopped moving as he thought of how to best address your fears, knowing the motion calmed you down. “Having a child with you,” he corrected. “Of course it’s what I want! I get to see a little bit of you in an entirely different person. And you’re my favorite person. So, I don’t really see a downside.”

You hummed thoughtfully, feeling slightly calmer. “But what if I’m a bad mother? What if our child is unhappy?” you cried, tears brimming your eyes as you thought of the endless scenarios in which you failed as a mother.

“What if you’re a great mother? And our child is happy?” Ben countered. “Look at how you are with Gregory and Hyacinth. How you’ve always been with them. You’re going to be a wonderful mother, Y/N. Besides, we’ll learn how to be parents at the same time and it’ll be something we do together.”

Nodding thoughtfully, you interlocked your fingers with Benedict’s. “I suppose you’re right,” you conceded. “It will certainly be a hell of an adventure.”

Sensing that you had calmed down significantly, Ben added cheekily, “Don’t forget you’ll finally have someone else you can force to listen to your ramblings about literature.”

You smacked Benedict playfully. “You enjoy the ramblings, might I remind you,” you replied airily. 

Kissing the top of your nose, he tucked your hair behind your ear and winked. ”Mm, I believe I did admit to this, yes.” Then, after a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke up gently, “What about you?”

“What about me?” you asked.

“Is having a child what you really want?”

Your heart melted a bit. Even after he woke up in the middle of the night to have a chat with you and was clearly exhausted, he was still making sure you were alright. “Well, obviously. I’m thrilled! Especially now you’ve brought up the fact that I can have a book club of my own. If it’s a boy, I bet he’ll be just like you. A tiny Benedict running around the house ruining our expensive furniture with acrylic paint.”

“And if it’s a girl we’ll name her Daisy, right? Flower names and all that,” he replied sleepily, relieved you were finally easing into the idea of motherhood. “She’ll be just as smart as you are, I bet. I’ll give her the flower encyclopedia as well so she can know where her name came from. I think the one I gave you is still at Bridgerton House. I’m sure we could find it if we look.”

You gasped, having forgotten about your childhood plans to name your daughter after a flower. “Oh, that would be so darling!”

Benedict laughed softly, kissing you and pulling you back into his arms. “It would, wouldn’t it? Do you want to go back to sleep?” he asked, burying his nose in your hair as his eyes fluttered shut. You nodded, squeezing the hand that was nearest to you and interlocking your fingers. 

Ben was fast asleep soon after, but you spent a few moments looking at his sleeping form, chest rising and falling as his breathing deepened. Your heart swelled with love for this silly boy you had fallen in love with all those years ago. He was your husband now! Even after four years, you couldn’t quite believe how lucky you’d gotten. And you would get to raise a child together now. You really couldn't imagine anything better.

—

previous part || alt ending || buy me a ko-fi!

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[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. 

[genshin-obsessed]

Helliuw~ Can I request how Luocha from Honkai Star Rail going after his crush (reader)? Thank you!

𓆩⟡𓆪 Ooh this is a cute one!! Well they all usually are, but I really like this one. Luocha is just so *sigh* 𓆩⟡𓆪 This was also much longer than I intended it to be, i didn't even realize. It may not be entirely compatible with his personality, but I was just having too much fun to change it.

How He Confesses

Luocha is a generally observant person, and he's good a picking up emotions of others. So, it wasn’t hard for him to recognize that his own emotions stirred when he interacted with you.

However, just because he can recognize these feelings doesn't mean he's good at acting on them. He’ll understand them but he’ll try to either deny it or just avoid it for a while in the earlier stages.

Luocha doesn’t want to rush things, which is why he tries to take it slow. But over time, he realizes just how much he loves you.

It does make it harder for him to take it slow, so at some point, he throws caution to the wind and just attempts to confess.

Here’s the thing, there’s a certain rule to confessing, right? Like you don’t just say it to someone’s face that you love them without setting up something. Doesn’t need to be anything grand, but some effort has to go in it.

Well, that’s what he tried. See, he wanted to confess in private, wanting the atmosphere to reflect the love he felt for you. So, he set up a little picnic in a secluded area he’d found. It was perfect, with how easily the stars could be seen, to the way the moonlight poured onto the seating area. It was truly the definition of beauty. The setup was easy, he needed a blanket, maybe a couple of pillows, a bottle of wine, some snacks, and a clear night.

But then apparently it was an extremely windy night? Like, he couldn’t get the blanket to stay, the small rocks weren’t helping too much, the basket flew away, he accidentally spilled the wine before he could even set it up. Like, the date failed before he even asked you to join him.

So, he tried something else. Decided maybe something indoors would be a more neutral choice. Even if it started raining, you two would be fine. So, he set up a reservation, asked to be put in a more private area so you could talk without much noise. The venue was all fancy and stuff, so you'd love it for sure!

But apparently four customers got into a heated argument that became physical. Somehow the fight moved to the kitchen and they ended up starting a fire? Everyone was evacuated and Luocha got a call mere hours before the date that they’d be closed for a couple of weeks due to the damages.

So, that clearly failed. Well, to hell with fancy confessions, he just needed to tell you right? Maybe it was best to confess in person then give you the option to take some time to yourself and think just in case. He was a little disappointed that his other plans didn't work, but maybe it was for the best! Putting you in that situation might force some pressure onto you to give him a response immediately.

The next time you two met up, he decided to go for it. He was running with the conversation and was building up to the confession… when you got a call from Yanqing claiming he had an emergency he desperately needed you for… and you had to leave.

At this point, Luocha had to wonder of it was even in the cards for him to confess. Cards! Oh! Nothing could possibly interrupt a card, right? Sure, it was the tackiest idea ever, but desperate times call for desperate measures!

The process of writing a love letter was much more complicated than he realized. He needed it to be short and concise, but not abrupt. He also didn't want it to be too cheesy with over the top metaphors and whatnot. Honestly, it took him at least 6 drafts before he settled on one that was bearable.

He debated on sending it to you through the courier but decided against it since so much had gone wrong already. Best part about this idea? He didn't need to take up too much of your time, even a few minutes worked as he just needed to explain it. Basically, he gave it to you and instructed you to keep it safe until you got home and then read it, so that you had that privacy. You agreed and he went home feeling somewhat mediocre. On on hand, he finally got the confession out, but on the other, it was such a dumb way- in his opinion (Pocky thinks love letters are hella romantic).

APPARENTLY you lost your entire bag and the letter with it. I mean, Luocha was at his wits end. It’s like the entire universe was against him just confessing. Everything that could go wrong, literally went wrong. Your entire backpack vanished! You wouldn’t even get a chance to reject, which, at some point, had someone stopped being a fear of his due to these bizarre circumstances!

Finally, he gave up and just kept his mouth shut. He realized how much trouble was being caused every time he confessed and decided to save the entire world some grief and just bury his feelings. He’d just die with them.

The days went on, nothing really happened. Like those weird events just magically went away which did make him wonder if he was being set up. He threw that out the window when he realized no other soul other than him knew about his feelings. You two hung out as often as you usually did but you started noticing Luocha’s behavior. It was… odd. Less cheery and more distracted. You tried to ask but he kept saying it was nothing and he was just tired.

Honestly, Luocha hated lying to you. Omitting details for others was easy but for you, it felt wrong. He didn’t want to distance himself but clearly he wasn’t meant to be with you.

Then you did the unthinkable. You just… confessed. Lemme explain:

“I’m ok. You’re worrying again.” Luocha said with a slight chuckle as he raised the teacup to his lips. He easily noticed you weren’t really convinced in the slightest, but he didn’t intend on letting you know anytime soon. Who knows, the entire street might explode to keep him from confessing.

“Of course, I would worry. I really care about you, you know.” Your words were spoken with no hesitation that it made Luocha’s hand pause in the middle of him taking another sip of his hot beverage.

“Huh? O-oh, thank you. That’s really kind of you.” He said, slowly returning to reality and waving his hand a little. As if you didn’t have to say such a thing to make him feel better.

“I mean it.” You pointed out as you leaned forward a little. “I really like you and you being so withdrawn makes me worry a lot.”

“I can assure you, I really am just- wait, what?” Luocha’s eyes widened as he fully registered what you’d just said to him. You seemed confused by his expression and just shrugged.

“Well, yeah. It’s normal to worry about someone you like, right?”

“R-right but you like me. Like… you’re romantically interested in me?” His words were deliberate and he wanted to make sure there was absolutely no confusion between you two whatsoever.

“Yes. I have a crush on you. Well, for me it's a bit more intense than like but you know what I mean.” His eyes immediately darted around and he even turned around to see the area behind the outdoor café. “Luocha? What’s wrong?”

After a moment of silence from him, the blond man sighed and turned back to you. You could visibly see the relief he felt.

“Honestly, I was expecting a skiff to crash and kill us.” You were taken aback by his morbid words, your eyes widening.

“Wh-why?”

“Yeah. Why? That’s my question too.” He replied, rubbing his face. “Wait, no. Forget that, you actually feel the same way?”

“Feel the same? Wait, you like me too!? Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked, leaning even closer. At the simple words, Luocha felt a bitter feeling in his chest.

“I tried.” He replied flatly, pushing his hair back to recompose himself. “But my confession quickly turned into a series of unfortunate events.”

“Oh? What happened?” You asked, eyes filled with curiosity as you waited for him to elaborate. He was about to, opening his mouth to speak before he fell silent once more. What? No! No, he couldn't waste any more time.

“N-never mind that! Let’s talk about us. You like me, I like you. We should just go ahead and just get married.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, shaking your head a little. Now, it felt like he was returning to his normal self. Honestly, it wasn't that bad of an idea- technically speaking.

“Marriage? Shouldn’t we go on a date first?”

“Why? Tomorrow’s never guaranteed and we might as well just make it official.” That and… Luocha was a little scared to propose seeing as how his confession went. At this rate, you’d be the one proposing. Well, he actually didn’t hate the idea.

You couldn’t help but laugh again and Luocha felt a smile tugging at his own lips. Ok, maybe he was jumping ahead a little too fast. So instead, he reached out and grabbed your hand, feeling the warmth and comfort of it.

“Kidding. Why not turn this into an official date, then?”

“Yeah, I like that.” You said, nodding and squeezing his hand. "I mean, I don't mind getting married right now but we should probably take it slow."

[meazalykov]

sharing a space

❀ esmee brugts x USWNT!reader moving in together headcannons ❀

warning: suggestive mentions

❀⋆ Six months after Esmee and you were official, she brought up the idea of the two of you moving into an apartment together. to her surprise, you said yes immediately. 

❀⋆ You’ve stayed at her apartment at least three nights a week, even before you both were official. After moving to Barcelona from the United States to join the catalan club, you felt alone as you were far away from your friends and family on the western continent. Esmee felt the same way after moving away from her home in the Netherlands. Both of you bonded over having someone who can relate to each other and their hobbies. The compatibility between the two of you was very strong, which is how you both fell in love.

❀⋆ The two of you decided to get another apartment to live in together, instead of you moving into hers and vice versa. You and the Dutch woman didn’t have to look at many apartments until the two of you found a spacious apartment that you both loved.

❀⋆ Moving in with significant others isn't easy. Esmee prefers a more modern, cool, minimalistic space while you might prefer a midcentury modern, warm, and plant filled space. 

❀⋆ After coming to a compromise– you both moved into a modern minimalistic apartment to accommodate Esmee but the bright sun that shines through the bedroom windows in the morning–and the living room windows in the evening– with plants around the apartment accommodated you. 

❀⋆ The new apartment has two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Obviously, Esmee and you decided to share a bedroom to sleep in. With the second bedroom— You and your girlfriend decided to make it a space where clothes, important football stuff, shoes/cleats, and necessary makeup and hair stuff will go along with a vanity. The two of you did leave a space in the smaller bedroom which had a twin bed, just in case either of you had visitors. 

❀⋆ Speaking of visitors, you both had them at least once every two months. Recently, your two sisters (if you don’t have sisters, make them up hehe) came from the United States to visit you for a few days. Your oldest sister is 3 years older than you– Your other sister is your fraternal twin who's 12 minutes older than you. They were excited to meet Esmee since they’ve noticed how happy you’ve been with the dutch woman. After staying for three days in Spain, they’ve grown their own friendship with Esmee and approve of her for you.

❀⋆ Due to the small distance between Spain and the Netherlands– in comparison to Spain and the United States—Esmee usually has visitors the most. However, it's not frequent. Esmee’s brother will come to visit Esmee for a day or two which you don’t mind at all. The two of you get along and he has noticed how happy you and his sister were together. 

❀⋆ Since you’ve played at Barcelona together, the two of you will usually wake up around the same time if you had morning training sessions. Sometimes, you’ll (quietly) wake up an hour before Esmee since you like to have time to chill and watch television before having to rush and get ready. Sometimes when you try to sit up from Esmee’s arms, she holds you tighter and asks you for a couple extra minutes of cuddling. That can lead into making out and more—if you get what I mean–but waking up with disruptions is never an issue.

 

❀⋆ Except for that one time— you had to wake up at 6am one morning to get ready for a shoot with Adidas. Throughout the shoot, you had to take pictures for their new soccer launch and film content with Barcelona Masculí player Ferran Torres (think of the shoot Vicky Lopez did with Ferran). You had an alarm that was set for 5:50am and 5:55am so you were able to wake up on time, unaware that you accidentally set an alarm for 4:30am as well. As Esmee and you were comfortably asleep, the 4:30am “apex” alarm sound on your phone erupted in the bedroom. The phone violently vibrated on your bedside table and the Dutch woman was the first to wake up from it. 

❀⋆ “Y/n?” Esmee barely opened her eyes as she shook your shoulder. As your eyes opened, you heard the alarm and immediately sat up from sleeping on your side. Clicking on your phone screen, you saw the “4:31am” clock on your lockscreen which confused you. You didn’t have to wake up for an hour and a half to get ready.

❀⋆ As you turned to look at your girlfriend, you noticed that she went back to sleep. The warmth of the thick  baby pink blanket that you shared with her enveloped your body which helped you lay down again. As an hour passed by, you couldn’t go back to sleep. You accepted your fate with the accidental alarm and stood up to get ready earlier than expected. 

❀⋆ Besides scoring goals for Barcelona, you both loved to cook as well. When you both decide to stay inside during some evenings, Esmee and you loved to look up new recipes and try them. This can end in a disaster sometimes– with you getting flour all over the place— or Esmee accidentally burning a piece of bread— but you and your girlfriend laugh and bond about it.

❀⋆ There are times where your girlfriend and you will take showers together. Half of the time it's more intimate instead of it being sexual, but the warmth and vulnerability helps after playing on a chilly and sometimes aggressive pitch for two hours on match days.

❀⋆ Overall, moving in with Esmee was what you needed after joining Barcelona. The comfort brought you two company, love, companionship, and happiness. 

<3

[sorchathered]

Sacred New Beginnings- Chapter 10

A/N- Holy cow yall we are finally here! Our last chapter of this series, but not the end for Jake and Stormy! I will be checking in here and there, I have some one shots planned for them in the future and I’m excited for you guys to see how things have been going for them. Again thank you all so much for the love, I will always have a special place for this series since it’s my first baby. I want to give a massive shout out to @mamachasesmayhem for being my cheerleader from the very beginning of this series, proofreading for me and helping me brainstorm when I couldn’t push through the writer’s block. You have been amazing and I love you!! 😘

Pairing- Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader (oc Stormy)

Warnings- language, PTSD, smut

It had been a little over a week since you showed up at Jake's doorstep, he still couldn’t believe that he’d finally gotten what he wished for. Waking up next to you every morning, getting to commute to work together, sneaking off to hook up during lunch, it was all so much more than he could’ve hoped for. You were so damn happy, you and Viper had integrated seamlessly into your new squad, some people like Harvard and Omaha you already knew but there were new players as well and everyone had been so welcoming. You had kind of dreaded running into Bradley and Erin but even that seemed to go well, they had welcomed their son Nicky a few months after your accident and he was now a full blown toddler, the spitting image of his father. Both of them had been friendly, Bradley welcoming you back and Erin saying she was so happy you’d recovered, you knew they truly meant it and graciously accepted their words.

Jake maintained that you were a saint but really it was just that you hadn’t truly loved Bradley, at least not in a way that would’ve lasted. Neither of you had been compatible, and it was so easy to see now that you’d been with Jake for nearly two years; when it was truly meant to be it was unlike anything else mattered but the one you loved, and you couldn’t imagine life without Jake beside you. The ring in the top of his closet seemed to mock him every day, he wanted it to be absolutely perfect but nothing seemed good enough for his girl, so he let it sit untouched for yet another week as he took you out to the arcade on Friday for what had quickly become a weekly date night.

You had put a bunch of ideas in a jar the week before, told him to shake it up and pick one and off you both went on whatever adventure was scribbled on the tiny note, tonight was burgers and laser tag and while he’d joked that he was too old for that he had been the one hunting you down to shoot you as he cackled, maybe he just needed to be reminded that things didn’t always have to be so stressful because he couldn’t remember when he’d had this much fun.

After a lazy Sunday beach day and dinner on the grill he’d curled up with you on the couch with a movie, you’d meant for things to be innocent but he smelled so good and you found yourself turning in his arms to sling your leg over his hip, making out with him like you were a pair of teenagers. He fucked you slow and steady into the leather couch while the movie droned on in the background, his mouth slotted against yours as his hands roamed your body, you loved to joke how insatiable he had become since you moved in but you knew you were just as gone for him, too many nights had been spent apart and now having him in close proximity all you wanted was to make him feel good. You both came undone together as you whispered I love you into his neck, and all Jake could think of was how perfect his life had become.

Monday morning before he’d even had his coffee he’d gotten a text from Maverick to head to Cyclone’s office as soon as he got in, he immediately felt his stomach drop just thinking of what that meant. Deployment, for who knows how long and who knows where, and ultimately having to say goodbye to you again after he just got you back. He couldn’t bear to say anything to you until he knew for sure, so he went through the motions business as usual as you both ate breakfast and headed to work, kissing you a little longer than normal before you parted but you didn’t seem to notice anything off, promising to meet him for lunch with a wink and kisses blown in his direction. His feet felt like lead standing outside of Admiral Simpson’s office, he knew nothing good was coming from this meeting and when he entered he could tell by the look on his face that it was exactly what he thought. “How long?” He said as Mav handed him his papers, he could feel the lump forming in his throat and wanted out of this room as soon as possible. “Nine weeks son, I’m sorry Jake I know Y/N just got here, but you’re the best for the task and if I could I’d let you stay. She’ll be alright, I’ll keep an eye on her, you just do the job and come home safe.” Jake nodded and shook his hand, bailing from the room as soon as he could, he swiped his phone open and dialed you as fast as he could, but he couldn’t seem to catch his breath and when you answered he was full blown panicking, choking out to meet him by the truck and hanging up as he collapsed into the seat of his f-150. He wasn’t ready to go, you’d only been back in the air for a few months and now he finally had you here where he could take care of you, why couldn’t someone else have been picked?

You’d run across the lot to find him with his head in his hands in the front seat, wrenching the door open to wrap your arms around him, anything to help him regulate his emotions. He finally seemed to settle his breathing, relaxing into your arms while you stroked his sandy hair and kissed his cheeks. “What’s going on baby? You’ve got me scared now, did something happen with your family? Is your mom ok?” He squeezed your hand and passed the papers off to you, you knew exactly what it meant and you felt cold all over. This was the job, and while you both loved it you hated this part more than anything. He would miss all the major holidays together in your new home, your heart broke a little at having to celebrate Christmas without him and he let you curl into his arms and cry.

He only had a week from getting his papers to shipping out and it felt like the time was speeding away from him and he couldn’t catch it. He’d been adamant that the two of you update your wills on Tuesday and you had vehemently opposed it, he was stressing a little too much for your liking and it left you unmoored. Deployments were a part of this life, and yes you’d had a serious scare this last time but that didn’t mean he needed to become doom and gloom over it, you were worried about his mindset going into this, he needed a clear head if he had any hope of getting through this unscathed.

Wednesday night he was meticulously going through his packing list, gear spread all over the living room when you stepped into the house with take out, the vein in his forehead that only came out when he was angry seemed to be a permanent presence as of late, he was all furrowed brows and tense shoulders and you couldn’t take it for one more minute. “Jacob Thomas Seresin!” You called from the kitchen and he snapped his head to attention, he hadn’t even noticed you had gotten home until you shouted, looking across the room to find you with a pizza box in one hand and you completely stripped to nothing as you leaned against the doorframe. You sauntered over to where he sat cross legged on the floor, dropping the pizza box on the coffee table as you lowered yourself onto his lap, he was already getting hard for you when you pressed your bare pussy to the front of his gym shorts, his face going completely blank, no sign of that pesky forehead vein in sight.

“Fuck Stormy what are you doing baby? I gotta get this-“ he stopped short with a gasp as you ground yourself into him as you yanked a little roughly on his hair, pulling his face to yours and sloppily licking into his open mouth, he seemed to short circuit for a moment but recovered quickly as he wrapped his arms around your bare torso and kissed you back with fervor. Yanking his head back again to look up at you he blinked glazed emerald orbs at you, you were frustrated with him, he could see that now but he couldn’t focus enough to ask with you on top of him like this, he thought about asking but thought better of it when you reached down and took his length from his shorts, thoughts scattering all over again when you got up on your knees and sunk down on him, you still hadn’t said anything but he couldn’t be bothered anymore, whining out your name as you took him to the hilt with your warm center clenching around him. You nibbled on his lip and rubbed your nose along his as you wrapped your arms around his neck and you could feel the tension leaving him as you held him close, you knew he’d needed it as much as you, just the closeness of your bodies pressed together was enough to soothe whatever had been ailing both your minds.

“I’m going to sit here with you just like this until you calm the fuck down and tell me what’s got you so amped up, you’ve been like an exposed nerve ever since you got your papers and I can’t let you leave like this. You’re scaring me Jake, you can’t leave for a mission distracted you know better than that. You’re the best pilot I’ve ever seen and they picked you to head this op. You have to tell me what’s going on, you just have to!” You cried out as tears began to pour from your eyes, your throat felt raw with the emotion bubbling out of you and you began to shake in his embrace, the combination of being so full of him and revealing your worry almost too much. He seemed to jolt out of whatever trance he’d been in at your tears, swiping at them as they ran down your cheeks and kissing you hard, he knew he’d been distant and stressed couldn’t begin to describe how he’d been feeling, but he hadn’t even thought about himself and how it could affect the mission; all his worries had been solely focused on you.

“Oh baby I’m so sorry, shh hey I’m here ok? I’ll tell you all of it, just don’t cry sugar. I can't stand knowing I hurt you.” He was kissing every bit of your face he could get to, smoothing his hands all over you as you began to come down and regulate your breathing. You couldn’t be closer if you tried and yet he still felt so far away, you needed more so you latched on to his mouth and tightened your arms around his neck, he let you ground yourself and calm down, just breathing you in until the tears finally stopped. “Baby, baby I love you so much, I’m sorry” he murmured against your lips, you nodded and sniffled a little but didn’t loosen your grip, rocking into him slowly knowing he’d know what you wanted. He groaned low in his throat and flipped the two of you over as he pressed you gently into the carpet, letting the hot languid kisses burn the two of you up, all heat and bodies grinding into each other, letting all the stress go and just being hopelessly in love.

Hours later after you were both fully sated and relaxed you laid naked in his arms and ate the cold pizza while he let out all the words he’d kept bottled up. “It hadn’t ever occurred to me that we could lose this, I mean our job is dangerous sure but some naive part of me just thought we were untouchable.”

“Until I got hurt” you said quietly.

“Until you got hurt. It felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under me, every dream I’d ever had of us and our future could’ve been gone in an instant and I am terrified that something could happen to me and I’d leave you here alone.” He tightened his grip on your waist and you pressed a kiss to his chest, you knew exactly how he felt because you’d felt it all as you fell out of the sky during your ejection. But he couldn’t live in fear, it made him a liability to his fellow pilots and he was too damn good at what he did to let this destroy his confidence.

“You have to have faith baby, faith that you’ll make it through, that I’ll make it through and that we will get that long happy life that we want. I’m not going anywhere Jake, and I need you to be my cocky asshole pilot who thinks he’s God’s gift to the navy. Go be a badass and come home to me.”

You both laughed at that, he’d grown so much from that dickish holier than thou douchebag he had been when you first met, he was so much more level headed and mature. He promised he’d fight like hell and you knew he would.

The missions were grueling, the weather had been miserable lately and it made drills almost impossible, intel was scarce and worst of all he hadn’t been able to hear your voice in weeks. He had missed Halloween and thanksgiving, both squads had joined up for a potluck and you’d sent him a bunch of pictures, he was just grateful you weren’t doing this alone. He had gotten an email from his mother earlier in the week hoping he could talk to you about staying for the Christmas holidays and he couldn’t think of a better place for you to be. You loved Christmas, it used to annoy him because it wasn’t his cup of tea but somehow you’d softened him to it. He wrote to her quickly to tell her it was a great idea and to give you a call, when he’d had a knock on his door. Fritz leaned in with a look he knew all too well, it was time to fly out. He emailed you as well, telling you he loved you and then grabbed his gear and headed for the tarmac, he could only hope he’d be able to execute this and get home safely.

You stepped off the plane in Austin on December 18th to the entire Seresin clan in the lobby, Jake’s sisters and mom rushing forward to wrap you up in hugs and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this kind of love, probably not since your grandmother had passed nearly a decade before. She would have adored Jake and his family, they spent the holiday season showing you all over town, hitting up all of Jake’s old haunts and embarrassing family pictures. Movie nights and Christmas cookie bake offs, family dinners and shopping trips with the girls; it had been so much fun and the Seresin’s had welcomed you with open arms, it felt like somehow you belonged here, the only thing missing was your 6 foot sandy blonde dreamboat boyfriend.

Correspondence had been spotty with Jake for a while, you’d gotten a FaceTime call after a mission and he had seemed grim, they’d lost a teammate to enemy fire and the weather had been abysmal, almost everyone had come down with the flu and he was miserable. He said he hoped he’d make it home by mid January and your heart broke all over again at not getting to spend Christmas together in your home, but he was adamant that the best place for you was with his family, and that next year would be a big blowout, he even agreed to let you buy any and every inflatable you wanted to cover the yard in Christmas cheer.

What you didn’t realize was that he was already on his way back to Coronado, he had coordinated with Phoenix to help him turn the house into a Christmas wonderland and would be back just in time for you to get home. He couldn’t let the ring sit any longer, he needed it on your finger now. After too many hours covering his house from top to bottom in snowflakes and Christmas lights, it was finally time for your plane to land. He was so nervous, he knew he didn’t have any reason to be, Javy had kept him up to date on when your plane landed and when he picked you up. Jake could barely sit still, so full of nervous energy knowing what was to come. Finally, he heard Javy’s truck pull into the drive and watched through the blinds as he helped you gather your luggage, even in leggings and his old UT Austin sweatshirt you looked like you’d stepped off a runway in his eyes, every bit his dream come true. This was it, when you came through the door he’d finally get to make you his forever, it had all been worth the wait.

Epilogue (Lover)

Jake Seresin masterlist

🏷️ Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @bobgasm @attapullman @kmc1989 @pinkdaisies9285 @seitmai @seitmai-too @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @mygyn @jessicab1991 @jostan456 @86laura11 @dempy @shanimallina87 @floydsglasses @dizzybee03 @its-the-pilot @nouis-bum @roosterforme @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer

[heartsoji]

MISINTERPRET

akaashi keiji x reader

summary: akaashi is kind. he's kind to you, but he's also kind to everyone. you need to make sure you don't misinterpret his kindness.

a/n: akaashi getting a quad bc he's abt to hang out with bokuto is so funny to me

you'd always considered yourself an observant person.

you were good at watching people. you picked up on their habits, tendencies, movement style, and hidden traits. you picked up on how they responded to certain comments and the best way to be friends with them. you were on the quieter side, but you were well respected for being eternally considerate and kind.

also due to this nature, you were a very good judge of character. you found that the kindest and most interesting people were typically either very loud or very quiet, occasionally coming in the middle, though that wasn't often.

for example, take bokuto koutaro, the star pin on the team you co-managed. he was one of the loudest, bubbliest, people you had ever met, and also one of the kindest. he had a way of lighting up the room, and the way he cared for everyone you met was always heartwarming to see.

on the other hand, take someone like akaashi keiji, the setter on the same team. he was much like you. quiet, observant, yet one of the kindest, most tender-hearted people you'd ever met. he was a true gentlemen and was always considerate of other people's feelings and their boundaries. he was also in a few of your classes, and he was always so kind and warm. if you were being honest, you'd developed a small crush on him due to that.

you and akaashi were friends. being similar in nature, you two were quite compatible and got along well. you'd often study in the library together, and you took that as a chance to sneak glances at his stupidly handsome face every so often. however, his face wasn't the only part of him you loved. (though it was certainly an added bonus) there was something about him, aside from his kindness and good nature, that made you feel warm. welcomed. seen. you hadn't ever felt that way about anyone before, and you just knew that he was special.

"hey, l/n-san, uh, so for this part, do you think that the main idea of the passage is- l/n-san? l/n-san? are you alright? l/n-san?"

you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder bringing you out of your trance.

"sorry. yes?"

"ah, i was just asking a question about this part."

"oh, i see. so, in my opinion, i think that.."

as you talked, it might've been your imagination, but you felt like he was gazing at you. however, if you glanced away to see if he was, you'd lose your train of thought, so you continued on, your cheeks becoming slightly rosy as you did so.

after you two finished studying, he cleared his throat.

"uhm, l/n-san, would you like to stop by the cafe on the way to the train station with me?"

your eyes widened before a happy smile spread across your face.

"i'd love to!"

you walked with him to the cafe, making lovely conversation along the way. akaashi was kind, patient, and a good listener, too. talking with him was like riding a bike for the first time in a while. you're a bit nervous before you start, but once you do, its easy, relaxing, and fun.

"the leaves are beginning to turn orange." you commented.

"indeed. it's quite beautiful." he replied, a gentle smile on his handsome features.

"right? it's so pretty! it's a shame they'll fall soon." you said, an excited look on your face present before slightly saddening at the thought of bare trees.

he chuckled. "is fall your favorite season?" he asked.

"hmm.. maybe! i like how pretty the leaves are, but i'm not fond of how chilly it can get." you replied. "it's actually pretty cold right now. i probably should've worn a thicker coat or a scarf."

"oh, are you cold?" he asked before quickly removing his scarf. "here, take my scarf."

you felt your cheeks warming up. "no, no, akaashi-san, keep it! i'm really fine." you protested. he really was kind. he immediately tried to offer what was keeping him comfortable to you in order to ensure your own comfort. that selfless nature of his might be one of the sweetest parts of him - the ability to love and care for others, even when at the expense of himself.

"please, l/n-san, i insist. it wouldn't be good if you caught a cold. i'd be worried." your eyes widened slightly. he'd be worried? however, almost immediately after saying that, he gave a small cough. "i mean, the team and i, of course."

of course. he was just being kind. your feelings for him were beginning to make you misinterpret his simple kindness.

you accepted the scarf. "thank you, akaashi-san. i really appreciate it."

he let out a sigh of relief as he handed you the scarf. "of course. also.. you, uhm, don't need to be so formal with me." he started slowly. "i'd... be much.. uh, happier, if you just called me akaashi. we're on the same team, after all. you're the only one who still uses an honorific with my name."

you smiled. "of course, akaashi. that goes for you, too. just l/n is fine."

he returned your smile. "got it. thank you, l/n."

your heart skipped a beat when his voice spoke just your name. akaashi was making you fall harder for him by the minute, but you felt a bit sad knowing that your chances of being with him or him at least slightly reciprocating your feelings were slim to none. after all, akaashi was an extraordinarily skilled athlete whose personality, height, and overall good looks attracted many girls, even ones from different schools. akaashi's a very kind person. don't misinterpret it.

when you arrived at the cafe, akaashi had you order first. you ordered your usual basic latte, but he ordered a quad, something you'd never tried before.

when your drinks came, you noticed that his had a nicer aroma than you were expecting. he noticed you staring at him as he took his first sip and commented on it. "is something the matter?"

"no, no. i was just wondering what four whole shots of espresso could possibly taste like. i've never heard of anyone with that drink order before. and also, why four shots?! isn't that like, a ton of caffeine? you're not gonna be able to sleep tonight!"

he chuckled. "i need the energy. i promised bokuto-san i would set him some balls today, since it's a friday, and i have a feeling that we'll be going for a while. as for the taste, i quite like it, though it's definitely an acquired taste. bokuto-san tried it once, and he spat it at the wall." he said, chuckling at the memory. "i really enjoy the bitterness of the espresso. i think that out of the five flavors, i think that bitterness very well may be the most underrated one. well, it's in my top two, anyways. additionally, espresso contains immune-boosting antioxidants and-" he then stopped himself short, seeming a bit embarrassed all of a sudden. "ah.. i'm sorry for rambling. uh.. would you like a sip?" he offered.

you smiled. "yes, please! i think it sounds very interesting."

you took the cup from his outstretched hand and took a careful sip. you then began trying to register the flavor. however, while you were doing so, although your face remained stoic, you were internally freaking out. you just shared an indirect kiss with your crush, and he had offered it to you without a second thought. you just shared an indirect kiss with the akaashi keiji. you just shared an indirect kiss with him, and you were trying your best not to start smiling and blushing at it.

stop. don't misinterpret it. don't misinterpret his charity, his kindness. you had asked what his drink tasted like and he was explaining it to you before doing the kind thing to do, offer you a taste. he probably wasn't aware of the fact that you two shared an indirect kiss anyway, and it was only you who was thinking about it-

you stopped that thought at the sight of akaashi. at the sight of akaashi clearly trying to avoid staring at the mouth hole of his cup, but failing miserably, a rosy blush dusting his cheeks, and his lips slightly upturned. at the sight of akaashi keiji, nervously trying to ask what you thought of it, clearly still flustered, and still staring at the mouth hole of his cup.

suddenly feeling a bit confident from his reaction, you licked your lips while holding eye contact. "it was good." you said. "it tasted a little like you, too."

you watched as his cheeks turned from rosy to red, averting his eyes nervously while stealing glances at the cup where you two shared your indirect kiss.

huh. you thought to yourself. maybe, just maybe, you weren't misinterpreting, after all.

[alicesmindpalace]

I've decided that I'm gonna take the excuse of Anthony's birthday 🎂 as a chance to make a quick post to explain why I love and respect this guy so much.

For context, I have been a Smosh fan since 2013 and as you can imagine, it's been a real rollercoaster 😆, but I am glad I stuck around because in the end it was really worth it.

I think the main reason why I am still around and I'm still here in my late 20's (yeah, I'm old lol) is that Ian and Anthony as people more than as creators, always kinda hit a little different for me.

Ian and Anthony are so precious to me, and I will never shut up about how Anthony deserve a lot more praise and understanding.

Because sure, being good looking in our society is a big advantage but being known as "the hot one" in a comedy duo isn't that easy. Anthony's contributions get overlooked often because of this dumb old mindset and I think it's really unfair tbh.

Anthony has a great sense of humor, even if he doesn't make jokes 24/7 he can immediately recognize what makes something funny, hone in on it and use it to make the situation funnier. He built a media empire doing that if you really think about it! He really found a golden goose and immediately knew what to make of it. Anthony and Ian BOTH (that's right both) have a great sense of humor and it's very compatible, which is why Smosh became a thing imo.

Of course, the best part of this is that you can't have a sense of humor and be stupid, it's impossible, you can be funny and be an idiot yeah, but having a sense of humor needs quick thinking, an ability to recognize subtle patterns, the contradictions, making unexpected connections all of that good stuff, which means that these two guys are also really intelligent.

Which makes sense because Anthony was already building websites when most of the people his age were clicking around on Newgrounds. He created two successful buissness form scratch, the boy is smart! 🙌

He came from nothing and got to where is now which is very impressive.

That's also why another thing that I respect about him, is that he almost never mentions how hard it's been for him during his childhood or uses it to gain sympathy even though it would be really easy to do it. He only mentioned the difficult situation at home and his mother's problems a few times in all these years on camera. He still is mentally struggling these days because he didn’t have an easy life but he doesn't use it to get pity or attention, like a lot of people on the internet do.

He really is one of the only remaining unproblematic internet creators that there are left and he managed to be one of them for decades.

There is no dirt on him. He is a nice person and that's probably the most important thing for me tbh and the reason why I could never just forget of Ian and Anthony or get over them or just swap them for some else. Finding Smosh to me felt as mind blowing as finding two four leaves clovers right next to each other.

Even when things went south and they separated, they were never spiteful or malicious, like (a lot of) other people are in these situations, and both handled it with so much respect. They could have made up stuff and thrown shade or dirt to make themselves appear in the right but they didn't. We maybe not know all the details but even just the way they still love and think of each other now after the worst went down tells you who they really were and are behind close doors.

I have so much more to say but it would get too long, so, yeah, this is (part lol) of the reason I love and respect Anthony Padilla so much.

These are only my thoughts of course, I'm talking for me, but I hope you enjoyed (will probably do one for Ian's birthday as well and talk about more of the reason Ianthony are my all time favorites 🤞).

[profoundbondfanfic]

More Than One Ace to Play

More Than One Ace to Play by Cozaure Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: 57k

Cas, a 3rd-year biology student, is an introverted and very anxious guy. Full of insecurities, he doesn't need to add one more thing to worry about in his life (and certainly not his potential "asexuality"). However, one day, he meets Dean at a poker night his roommate Balthazar is hosting. Dean is Cas’ exact opposite : easy-going, confident, funny… and also, very flirty. They keep bumping into each other around the campus and, somehow, every time Cas is with Dean, all of his worries seem to go away… However, when Cas learns about Dean’s reputation as “the master of one-night stands”, he is certain that they are DEFINITELY ABSOLUTELY not compatible. Or, are they?

We’re back at it with another college AU. More Than One Ace to Play caught my eye thanks to the asexual!Cas tag. Always on the lookout for any ace rep, this fic didn’t disappoint even a little. One of the things I loved about it was how much it embraced Cas’s journey with figuring out his sexuality beyond knowing for sure that he’s gay. Not only does he come to terms with who he is, but he does so all while battling his anxiety, the portrayal of which I found accurate and compelling with the way the author wrote it. 

This story is told from Cas’s POV, but with that comes a great depiction of Dean as an easy-going college student, living a pretty damn good life when he meets Cas at poker night. The magic of fanfic finds them volunteering for the same program where they are immediately paired up as partners hosting afternoon activities and tutoring with young kids. They become fast friends and even though Cas doubts it at every turn, we the reader can tell Dean is interested in being more than just friends with Cas, even if they think it’s for different reasons. You can’t help but fall for Dean a little too, when he stumbles his way through asking Cas out on a date that Cas is convinced isn’t a date. You feel for Cas as his anxiety dictates his doubt in Dean’s flirting, and, as tagged, Dean’s constant winks. When they finally figure it all out, you’ll be just as relieved and delighted at the outcome, a very satisfying happy ending you shouldn’t skip. 

[sergeantgoggles]

Would you be willing to do a 💙 drunken kiss / tipsy for Cody/Tech????

Dearest Anon, do I know you? Because drunk kisses in bars/night clubs are my favorite trope.

.

Not often does the opportunity come up to go drinking on Coruscant with Commander Cody, so when the boys of Clone Force 99 found themselves in that exact position, they certainly weren’t going to turn it down. Honestly, it was only happenstance that brought them there. They had been commissioned by Commander Fox to run a covert operation under the radar. Now that it was completed, and they weren’t due back on Kamino for another two rotations, they decided to celebrate another successful mission. Mission number 79 to be exact. Ironic, since that was the name of the clone bar that they’d ended up at.

Of course, the clones there weren’t entirely receptive of them. They were “The Bad Batch” after all, defective, but effective, as Wrecker liked to say. As it were, Tech rather liked Commander Cody’s definition, “defective clones with desirable mutations.” It made him feel like, in some strange capacity, that he was desired by the Marshal Commander.

It was no secret among his squad that he’d developed something of a crush on Cody over the years. According to him, however, it was only logical that he admired him as a strong, forthright soldier with good morals and strategy. He’d never treated them any differently, and Tech could appreciate a man that didn’t mind getting a little dirty. In fact, he’d heard Cody complain once that as the Marshal Commander, he didn’t get to see a a lot of action on the battlefield, and he was always itching for some excitement. It was information that Tech stored away for no obvious reason.

When Cody caught sight of them from his seat at the bar, he kindly waved them over and immediately ordered them a round of shots. Wrecker wasn’t for drinking, always complaining that it made his head hurt (and despite Tech telling him repeatedly that he would feel better if he drank water in between shots, Wrecker continued to drink like a man dying of thirst, and then wondered why he needed two hypos and a medpatch the next morning). Hunter and Crosshair were glad to take it easy and fell into lively conversation with the Commander, well, as lively of a conversationalist as Crosshair was, at any rate. Cody was one of the only Regs that he tolerated, maybe even liked.

Tech, on the other hand, though he accepted the drink, was happy to simply listen to the three of them go back and forth, accepting drinks as he was given them. Before long, he was pleasantly fuzzy, and he couldn’t help the smile that kept creeping onto his face every time Cody spoke. Cody’s voice was like velvet, soft and elegant, belonging to only the most royal of beings. He didn’t bother to correct the strange comparison, blaming it on the slight inebriation. Besides, it was true. Cody was handsome and wise. He should have been a prince instead of a soldier of the Republic. After all, Cody was the closest to being a complete carbon copy of Jango Fett with a 92 percent compatibility. That alone had earned him the title of Marshal Commander of the Third Systems Army, never mind how battle savvy, intelligent, and compassionate he was.

Tech had been known to zone out here and there when working on a project that required a lot of thought and attention to detail, but it was rare for him to get lost in his own head while they were out. So, when Crosshair had poked his goggles and Hunter started snickering behind a gloved hand at his expense, he flushed deeply and frowned. Cody was also chuckling, though he couldn’t discern whether that was necessarily a good thing or not. One thing was for certain, the heat of embarrassment crawled up his neck and made his stomach flutter. He would later blame it on the number of shots he’d had, six, if his count was still accurate.

“What’s wrong?” Crosshair teased. “Tooka caught your tongue?”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Tech defended, but he giggled immediately after, not helping his case.

Crosshair smirked, then leaned into Tech’s space to whisper in his ear. “You’ve been gawking at Cody all night. Do something about it.”

Tech tried to look indignant, but the edges of his vision were fuzzy, and the alcohol was sitting heavy on his tongue as he glared. “Nah uh.”

Hunter laughed harder, leaning against Cody’s shoulder, who was also trying to hide an amused smile. “Sounds like you have your work cut out for you, Commander.”

Cody chuckled with a shrug. His eyes raked over Tech’s body, looking at him up and down, and Tech felt himself shiver despite the heat. “Crosshair…what did I miss?”

His brother took some pity on him and patted his shoulder apologetically. “You really don’t realize what you’re doing half of the time, do you?”

Tech’s eyes widened. “What—”

“You talk to yourself,” Crosshair said as though that wasn’t a common occurrence, “…and you just told Commander Cody you think he’s a perfect specimen.”

Tech needed to leave. Right now. He tried to stand, and he managed, but his weight distribution was entirely off, and his equilibrium sent him tumbling off the stool and right into Commander Cody’s chest. Strong arms caught him easily, and as he tried to right himself, caught a whiff of the cologne Cody was wearing tonight. It was musky, a little floral, and maybe something akin to what a day filled with Sunshine was smelled like. He giggled again, his wit slowly leaving him as the alcohol caught up with him, and he thought that distantly he heard Hunter and Crosshair sneaking off, but he couldn’t hear or feel anything beside the light of Cody’s smile being cast upon him.

“Easy, trooper,” Cody said with an authority that went right through Tech.

“S-Sorry,” Tech apologized, but the giggles just didn’t seem to stop. Being this close to Cody should have had him panicking, but the alcohol was doing wonders for his nerves, or rather, they were absolutely giving him a false sense of hope that anything would come of his little crush. He’d expected Cody to right him and let him go, but his hands were firmly on his hips, keeping him close, nearly flush to the line of his body, and Tech bit his lip coyly.

“Something on your mind?” Cody purred, or, Tech thought he purred. It sounded like a purr.

“I think…I would like to kiss you,” Tech admitted forwardly, emboldened by booze.

Cody laughed outright that time, but there was no hint of resentment or disgust. Rather, Cody took Tech’s chin in his fingers and drew him closer. “So, if I kissed you…like this…”

Their lips brushed, soft, tender, not at all what Tech expected from a drunken kiss. It was over before Tech could blink. That should have been enough. Commander Cody kissed him, publicly, in front of hundreds of other clones. He should take this one victory and say that it was sufficient and run as far away as possible to process what the hell had just happened.

“I am drunk, not a blushing virgin,” Tech stated boldly. “Kiss me like you mean it, Commander.”

Above all else, Tech hoped that he wouldn’t wake up in the morning with a court marshal with his name on it for sexually harassing a Commander. He tried to gauge Cody’s reaction as his eyes darkened, and his smile turned into something more predatory.

“Like this?”

Cody didn’t wait for Tech to be ready. He slotted their lips together, guiding him into open mouthed kisses, clacking teeth, dragging his tongue along Tech’s, and tasting him. Tech melted in his arms, slowly wrapping his arms around his neck, and drawing him deeper. A few others whispered in shock, but they certainly drew attention when people started whistling and telling them to get a room. Perhaps, in the morning, Tech would care about such a lewd and public display, but right now, pleasantly tipsy, and more intoxicated from Cody’s lips than the alcohol at this point, he couldn’t care less what a few Regs thought of him.

When Cody finally let him breathe, he kept Tech close, keeping him steady and grounded despite the rush pulsing through his veins. Cody was incredible, and if possible, even more beautiful with kiss-flushed cheeks and panting for breath.

“I…would say that was more than sufficient,” Tech answered quietly.

His reply earned him another heart-warming smile, and Cody kissed his cheek. “Let’s take this somewhere a little more private. No pressure, whatever happens, happens…but I think we both know where we want this to go.”

Tech grinned and bit his lip coyly. “I will follow your lead, Commander.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told my brother to wait to have kids after his more recent attempts to start a family? Or at least wear protection for right now?

Alright this may be a doozy, so I (24FtM) have an older brother (26M), and over the years of being a teen and adult, he’s always made a habit of just diving deep into a relationship no matter what.

His last girlfriend (20?F) who was his fiancé, he knew only for three months before he was proposing and moving her in with her son (1 and the sweetest lad ever). That’s… fine a bit fast in my opinion, but sure! It was the week of her moving in that she was pregnant.

Now there was issues in the relationship for sure immediately. And it quickly turned out the two of them weren’t compatible at all. And it was during her baby shower that the marriage was called off and she moved back in with her parents.

Which was then revealed that she had had an affair, and the kid may not be my brother’s. Now at first he said he would get a DNA test and pay child support if the baby was his. Until about two months before the baby was born.

When he got a new girlfriend (2XF). She’s nice I guess, I haven’t met her too much exactly. But when they got together, immediately brother decided he didn’t care if the baby was his. No paternity test, no worries all that. If he was forced to take a paternity test and the baby was his then he’d just sign away his rights, the whole shebang. Of course he doesn’t understand signing away rights isn’t Y’know super easy to do but besides the point-

This of course caused a little uproar in the family with only two people openly supporting that decision. And I know at least one has been in contact with ex-fiancé in going to the courts for a paternity test. Since brother has already said if anyone got a test done testing dna with the baby he was going to cut contact, no one really wants to risk it. For some reason.

I’d probably risk it, if ex-fiancé had contact with me. But unfortunately I wasn’t Cis or straight, so contact between her and I are a no go (a tiny part of the break up was apparently about me so that was fun to find out). So we’re just waiting to court ordered test to see if my brother is the father.

Now it’s been four months since the baby that may be his was born, and I’m staying at his house. And I’ve found pregnancy tests, all of them negative, but it’s been three-four pregnancy tests I’ve been finding out in the open.

Which is where I got to thinking about the super super recent possible paternity of the baby, and mishap of that entire relationship. The new gf has moved in already, but he’s only known/been with her for six months now. Which is also reminding me of the last one with how quickly things are moving.

So I guess here is where I WBTA for talking to him about not diving deeply into another relationship again so soon after the last one. Especially not trying to have kids with someone after just six months of knowing one another.

I just feel like if they do get pregnant, there’s a chance a few months down the road it’ll be the same story of “oh we’re actually not compatible at all!” The only family members that know right now were the ones who supported the decision of no paternity test, and they’ve already said not to bring it up because “it’s his life, his decisions”

But I don’t know it just feels like he’s making a similar mistake once again and I just want to talk to him or something about it. Before it all crashes and burns again. Especially with the last time being not even a full year ago (hell the conception of the baby wasn’t even a full year ago at the time of this). I know some relationships do move fast, and they can be successful, but it’s just from how last one went and how fast things were going, I can’t help but worry.

So tldr- brother has recently left a relationship where his fiancé was possibly pregnant with his baby (three months of knowing her before moving her in/possibly getting pregnant) that he refuses to get a paternity test for. And he’s now entered a new relationship four months after breaking it off and has moved new gf in and trying for a baby (possibly) after six months of knowing one another.

WIBTA for maybe asking him to slow down and maybe not have a kid right away or wear protection for the time being. At least until he knows if he and his new gf are compatible.

What are these acronyms?

[legendofmorons]

Rank the Links from most compatible to u to least and y? Not who ur favorite is or whatever but like relationship compatibility. I’m sad bc I love Wild and ik him the best but we’d be pretty incompatible. He loves nature and adventuring and rather chaotic. I don’t like physical activities and I like more calm down to earth people.

Most to least compatible with me

This took a while to figure out, some like Legend and Wind I knew immediately, but for others like Warriors and Four, I had to really think about it.

Eventually, I think I'd be good with all the links, but I think I'd get so with some better/ faster than others. Content under the cut

Legend -

most compatible off the bat. He's a grumpy jerk at first but hot damn do I vibe.

I'm stubborn, happen to think I'm funny, and sarcastic. Obviously I care about people and spread kindness but I enjoy sarcasm.

I think he's funny, and I think he'd find me funny too

I know we'd get along several of my friends have similar personalities

I appreciate his honesty

Twilight -

I hear his accent and am home.

We understand eachother, he's hardworking and loyal, I am loyal and always looking out for loved ones. We both love kids, we both love animals, we both are tired of the red neck jokes.

At heart we have similar values and would get along well

Time

Time seems a little stand off-ish at first, not rude just- reserved

That's fine, though. I don’t mind reserved.

We'd bond over trying to keep the others alive and sane.

Wild

My little gremlin best friend

We both enjoy cooking and have a general lack of regard for our safety

Not to mention the love of outdoors and creatures

Wild would help me find and raise a snake

Warriors

He's a charmer but I feel awkward if I pick up on flirting.

I think we'd get this sorted out sooner than later. He respects women and I appreciate honest people who do the right thing.

We'd probably bicker but that's okay.

We would definitely go shopping, I would drag him through the farmers market and we'd get distracted by shiny things

Wind

Look man I understand this little gremlin. He just wants ants to be treated like a person not a kid

I'd act like I do either all kids. Like their capable, he's old enough to start a fire and fight monsters he's old enough to be trusted

Annoying little brother acquired, I'd die for him

I'd also kick his ass in Mariokart

We'd go to the beach with a metal detector and find stuff

Sky

I love Sky so much but we would not get along as fast as I would with others.

Sky comes off as passive at first (to me at least). I don't think I'd hate him or anything but I prefer people who are passionate about things

After we got past that (perceived) lack of fire we'd be cool.

Sky is laid back and once again, honest. He loves deeply and he loves birds

He'd befriend the crows with me!

We could just hang out doing different things and I love that.

Hyrule

Kind of the same boat as Sky6 comes off a little too calm and easy going for me.

I wouldn't know how to handle him, and realistically he might feel the same about me. I'm stubborn, passionate, loud about what matters, and reckless.

But we'd figure it out. His healing and my interest in medicine would be a fast bond

Also he'd see a lot of me. I get into weird accidents a lot.

Hyrule and I would share folklore and info dump together

Eventually, I think we'd be close but it would take a while

But we both have a HUGE sweet tooth and I think we'd bake together

Four

I love him okay? But we'd have some problems

He obviously wouldn't be upfront about the colors. And I'd probably pick up on the fact he's hiding SOMETHING

I HATE feeling lied to/ left out. I wouldn't confront him outright unless I felt it was a dangerous secret but I would NOT trust him

I wouldn't think he's like out to get me or the others, but still.

This would damage our compatability

After I found out I'd wonder what else he's hiding

And we'd probably get along fine but I do better when I trust you and he would probably want to be fully trusted

Eventually I'd trust him fully but it'd take a while