#he is a lightweight | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swampthingking · 10 months ago

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can’t study for my test because i’m having brain rot about neil accidentally getting super drunk and stumbling up to aaron like “andrew???” and aaron is like “wrong one” and neil is like “andrew.” and aaron is like “???? are you stupid” and neil goes to look for andrew but he stumbles into the table, and aaron has to catch him or he will get trampled for fucks sake, and neil just collapses into him in a drunk cuddly heap. and aaron is like “neil. you need to stand up” and neil is like “i am” and aaron is like “that’s because i’m holding you up” and they get neil to stand but neil kinda just flops into aaron’s arms again. and neil is like “i don’t hate you, i don’t, but it’s okay if you hate me” and aaron is like “ugh, ew are you really an emotional drunk???” and neil, to aaron’s horror, looks at him with tears in his eyes because you know when you’re too drunk and you kind of just get a little scared and you need help???? ya. and aaron is like … ok. and kinda holds neil until andrew comes back from the bar with more drinks. and he sees neil basically asleep on aaron’s shoulder, and aaron looking uncomfortable but accepting, so he kinda raises an eyebrow, an okay? and aaron nods and is just patting neil on his back

and tomorrow they’ll wake up and neil will toddle downstairs with his hand against his temple and aaron will have advil ready for him, and he’ll say “you’re annoying and you don’t know when to shut your mouth or mind your own business, but i don’t hate you” and the thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for staying goes unsaid but yeah

and that’s how aaron and neil became kind of friends

edit: vomited out a one shot for y’all (this will prob become a 5+1)

Aaron swirled his drink a few times, listening to the ice clacking against the glass.

Eden’s was packed tonight, courtesy of it being the end of the school year. College students and the regular patrons flocked to the bar, the dance floor, and all of the tables, leaving Aaron to reserve a high-top table, and his legs to dangle from the stool.

“Drew?”

Aaron ignored him in favor of the twinkling sound the ice makes in his glass. He’d already taken shots, danced, had another drink, danced again, and now Aaron’s body was heavy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Drew,” Neil said again.

Aaron looked around their table and didn’t see Andrew. He remembered Andrew getting up and walking to the bar with their empty tray. Aaron found him a few seconds later, hands in his pockets at the bar. That and Neil, staring up at him, looking uneasy.

Before Aaron could tell Neil to get out of his face, Neil was speaking.

“Are you’nt having fun?” Neil frowned, blinking sleepy, hooded eyes at him. He leaned closer to study Aaron’s face.

“What are you doing?” Aaron grumbled, pushing Neil’s face away.

Aaron hadn’t even pushed him hard, he more removed Neil from his space rather than pushed him, but Neil wobbled like his world had tilted out of orbit. Aaron realized, quickly, that Neil was going to fall backwards. He grabbed two fistfuls of Neil’s shirt and pulled him forwards. Neil’s head lulled on his shoulders with the force, his chin hitting his chest then righting itself.

Aaron’s stomach lurched, sick with the thought that someone had put something in one of Neil’s drinks, as he would for anyone, but thankfully he’s never been put in that situation. Neil’s eyes were hooded, his face flushed. Aaron snapped once at Neil’s ear, and Neil recoiled immediately.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” Aaron asked. Neil shook his head, frowning.

“Are you dizzy? Follow my finger.” Aaron pushes Neil back so he can see his face, keeping one hand on Neil’s shoulder to hold him up. Neil follows Aaron’s finger as it moves back and forth, albeit a little labored, but not as if he’d been roofied. Aaron declares that Neil’s reaction times and responses are fine, but he still pulls the front of his shirt up and checks his belt, the button of his pants.

“What—?” Neil slapped a hand on his abdomen, stopping his shirt from being lifted any higher. Aaron didn’t need to see anything but his pants, but it was reassuring that Neil still had inhibitions.

His clothes were fine. His belt was still done, zipper up. No one had tried anything. Aaron relaxed.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “Sorry, I just needed to…”

While racking his mind back to why Neil is this drunk, Aaron remembered Neil taking shots with Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Four shots. He’d seen Neil sip on another drink like the idiot had the tolerance for alcohol that the rest of them had.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Aaron said and released Neil. Neil attempted to step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“No?” Neil asked warily. Even drunk as fuck, he still respected boundaries. Andrew’s boundaries specifically, as it still hadn’t registered that he wasn’t talking to the right twin.

“I’m not Andrew,” Aaron said.

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, turning his head pathetically in search. Aaron only had a good view of Andrew because they were seated at a high-top. Over the throng of taller people coupled with strobing lights, Neil’s view was obstructed.

“At the bar,” Aaron nodded in that direction.

Neil turned towards the bar. Well, he attempted to. He pivoted, lost his balance, and toppled into the table. He tried to right himself and started to fall to the other side. Aaron caught Neil before he could bust his shit and get trampled.

“Jesus Christ, Josten,” Aaron spat, righting Neil with hands on his biceps. Neil slapped a hand on the table and leaned his weight on it. The table quaked under such abuse, but held.

Neil turned slowly, grappling against the table as if he was standing in one of those spinning fair rides. In his excursion to simply spin 180��, his hand slipped off the edge of the table as he faced Aaron once again. He reached for the table, missed, reached for it again, missed, said, “Motherfucker,” under his breath, and finally gripped onto the edge. His eyes locked on Aaron’s again, and Neil’s useless hand landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Neil said. Aaron didn’t know if it was more a request or if it was just not registering.

“Wrong,” Aaron said, tense under Neil’s hand, but he didn’t push him off. He’d rather hold Neil up than peel him off the floor. “Aaron.”

“‘m very drunk,” Neil said, looking up pleadingly at Aaron as if he had a magical cure to shitfacedness, and all Neil had to do for it was look a little scared. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m drunk.”

Aaron snorted. “That’s kind of the point when you’re at a bar.”

“But,” Neil said, taking a labored breath, “I’m…too drunk.”

This was beginning to feel exceedingly similar to speaking to a child. Aaron was annoyed, but not completely heartless, unlike the narrative of Aaron Neil had likely concocted. “It’s okay, Neil,” Aaron said. “You should sit down.”

Neil promptly sat as if there was a chair under him, but there was not. Aaron, still holding Neil vertical, got pulled out of his chair with the momentum. To avoid toppling to the ground—which did not get mopped as often as it should—Aaron planted his feet on the floor and hauled Neil up by his armpits.

“Help,” Neil murmured. His arms dropped to his sides as he yielded his dead weight to Aaron.

“Stand up,” Aaron grunted, readjusting to wrap an arm around Neil’s back. One of Neil’s arms flopped over Aaron’s shoulder.

“I am,” Neil complained.

“No, you are not.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Aaron said through clenched teeth, “I am holding you up. You need to lock your knees.”

“Oh,” Neil said. He looked at his feet as if he needed to check they were on the ground.

To be fair, Neil did lock his knees, but he also leaned all of his upper body on Aaron, arms still hanging limply at his sides. He tucked his head into Aaron’s neck with, what seemed, every intention to make a home there for the night.

“Neil,” Aaron said, frozen against the hair tickling his cheek. “God dammit.”

“And…ron,” Neil spoke against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aaron said sarcastically. “That’s me.”

“Can I j’stay here?” Neil slurred.

From what Aaron had seen of Neil’s dynamic with his brother, he knew Neil would get off if he said no. He could place Neil into a stool or pull up a chair with a back so he wouldn’t fall out and concuss himself. He could shove Neil off and make him fend for himself. He could pawn him off to Andrew.

At the moment, those other options seemed like far too much work.

That, or maybe it was the med student in him, the intrinsic urge to heal and help and nurture that smarted at the thought of pushing Neil off.

Aaron didn’t push him off when Neil readjusted and tucked an arm into his chest, the other gripping Aaron for stability. He didn’t when Neil asked again, a quiet, “Aaron.”

“Okay,” Aaron conceded. He rubbed a hand up and down Neil’s back placatingly, but also because Neil seemed like he needed it. And he came to Aaron for it. Well, he came to Andrew and got Aaron. But he didn’t push Aaron off, and Aaron hasn’t done the same.

And they just…stood like that. For what seemed like a long time, but it probably was only a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

Aaron hummed in response.

“I don’ hate you.”

“What?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?” Aaron said again.

“I don’wanna fight.” Neil lets out a colossal breath.

“We haven’t fought in a long time,” Aaron says, his idea of agreement. Acceptance.

Neil was quiet, because it was true. Neil seemed content to lay in Aaron’s arms, and Aaron didn’t have another stool next to him. He sure as shit wasn’t giving his up for Neil, but Neil was genuinely so unsteady on his feet that Aaron couldn’t let him go.

He trembled a bit, and Aaron was almost amused that after everything Neil had been through, being a little too drunk is what finally did it for him.

But Aaron had felt that way before. Inebriated and scared in a crowded room of strangers. Neil, however, has people he knows. How can Aaron be upset at Neil for wanting the comfort that he also craved? How can he be upset that Neil feels safe enough with Andrew to ask for help? That his brother finally feels safe with someone too?

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“What,” Aaron said.

“It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Oh God,” Aaron groaned, “Ew. Are you really an emotional drunk?”

Neil pulled back and, to Aaron’s horror, there were actual tears in his eyes. His lip trembled as he bit it, holding the tears in. Aaron hated how much of himself he was seeing in Neil tonight. The harrowing fact that maybe they are quite similar.

“Oh God,” Aaron said again, mortified. He grabbed the back of Neil’s head and shoved it back into his shoulder, effectively hiding Neil’s teary face.

He cast a desperate look to Andrew, who was finally on his way back to the table. He patted Neil on the shoulder, like one would burp a baby when they have no idea how to do so.

“Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t need prompting to look. His eyes were trained on Neil and Aaron from the moment he turned around. By the nonchalance of his movements and his lack of alarm, Aaron guessed he had been watching their interaction.

Andrew set the tray down on the table and cast a significant look between them, settling on Neil’s intoxicated form keeled over on Aaron’s shoulder.

Andrew raises one eyebrow, a silent question, an okay?

Aaron finds himself nodding, and unsure why. All he knows right now, a few drinks in, is that he doesn’t hate this. And he doesn’t hate that Neil doesn’t hate him.

The smell of coffee set Neil’s feet moving like a Pavlovian response. He was half awake already with a pounding headache, like his eyeballs were beating his closed lids to death.

Neil toddles down the stairs with his eyes closed, a hand pressed hard to his temple, stabilizing his brain.

Aaron was standing at the counter already, facing the sputtering coffee pot. His arms were crossed, hair ruffled from sleep. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned.

The memories from last night played past Neil’s mind like a sped-up movie. He grimaced in embarrassment, and felt a little sick at how drunk he was. How stupid he was, to drink that much. He should have known his tolerance isn’t matched with the rest of them. He could have gotten hurt, could have said something—

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Neil said, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He turned back to the coffee, though his posture was rigid.

Neil grabbed a glass of water. He noticed Aaron watching from the corner of his eye, but Neil chose to ignore him, figuring that’s best. He sat on the counter with his water, sipping it slowly while he and Aaron waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

The silence was thick, but they were both too stubborn to leave the kitchen. Usually, they preferred to wait and pretend the other wasn’t there.

That’s what Neil thought, at least. After a painful few minutes, Aaron huffed and grabbed the bottle of Advil from the drawer next to the sink. He shook two pills out and sat them next to Neil.

Neil stared at them until Aaron cast a pointed look at the pills, then physically gestured to them with raised brows. Neil took them while Aaron watched.

The coffee pot beeped. Aaron made a split second decision, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. He slid Neil’s across the counter. It sloshed over the side, but Aaron wasn’t capable of caring at the moment. His mind was busy, and he knew Neil had noticed his lack of eye contact; the analytical fuck.

“Look,” Aaron said. He did not look at Neil to say it. “You’re annoying, and you never know when to shut your mouth or mind your business. Most of the time, I’m convinced you have a death wish, and a lot of the time I find myself resenting you. You complicated our lives, put us all in danger, didn’t give a shit.”

Neil’s chest hurt. He didn’t know if it was anger or guilt. Aaron started talking again before he could figure it out.

“But I don’t hate you. I can’t, really. I can’t even fault you for the shitty things you did, because it all worked out.” Aaron glanced quickly at Neil, looked away. His cheeks were red.

The thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for being good to Andrew went unsaid, but Aaron hoped Neil wasn’t obtuse enough to force him to say it out loud.

Neil must have understood, because he nodded. Aaron figured that was as close to a reconciliation they were going to have, so he leaned against the counter and pretended everything was normal.

For the first time, they drank their coffee in silence without animosity orchestrating it.

Neil’s mug was half empty when Andrew joined them. He paused in the doorway, squinty eyed and mussed, looking between the two. Neil on the counter, Aaron leaning against it. Their silence, but lack of tension.

“This is weird,” Andrew finally said, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Yeah,” Neil and Aaron said simultaneously.

Neil glanced over his mug at Aaron, the corner of his mouth twitching. Aaron regarded it, but looked away, because something like contentment had made its way onto Andrew’s face.

Aaron smiled at that instead.

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cod-thoughts · 22 days ago

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What's ghost like when he's had a few too many?

Anon this ask came at a great time. I was writing a very tipsy Ghost snippet and i decided to flesh it out a bit more and finish it up to answer here. Bit long so there's more under the cut but here's what I came up with:

The pub was dimly lit, warm, and humming with soft chatter. Outside, rain pattered against the windows, a steady rhythm that only added to the cozy atmosphere. The 141 had commandeered a snug corner, a mismatched set of chairs pulled around a sturdy wooden table. They were celebrating—a successful mission wrapped up and a few extra days of leave in the States, a rare moment to relax as a team.

Price nursed a whisky, leaning back in his chair, his hat resting on the table beside him. Soap and Gaz were deep in a debate about some football match, their voices animated, hands gesturing wildly. Ghost sat on the bench seat, mask firmly in place, sipping cautiously from a pint of lager.

Price knew better than to let Ghost’s quiet exterior fool anyone. Despite his size and the fearsome reputation that preceded him, Ghost was a complete lightweight when it came to drinking. It was something Price had discovered by accident years ago, a rare night off where Ghost had indulged a little too much. Since then, Price had made it his unofficial responsibility to keep an eye on him during team outings.

Tonight, though, Ghost seemed unusually relaxed. He’d already had three pints, which Price knew was about his limit, but when Soap shoved another drink his way, Ghost didn’t refuse. Price’s brow furrowed, but he let it slide. One night of letting loose wouldn’t hurt.

As the hours ticked by, Ghost’s behaviour started to shift. It began subtly enough. He leaned closer to the table, resting his forearms on it and nodding along to Soap’s increasingly ridiculous stories. Then came the touches. Ghost rested his hand briefly on Gaz’s shoulder as he laughed at one of his jokes, his grip lingering just a second too long. Gaz froze, then shot Soap a look of sheer bewilderment.

When Soap said something particularly absurd, Ghost reached out and pinched his cheek with a low chuckle. “You’re an idiot, Johnny,” he said, his voice lighter than usual. Soap’s eyes widened in mock horror, though the grin he wore betrayed his amusement.

“Fuckin' hell, LT. You’re touchy tonight,” Soap teased, leaning slightly closer as if testing his boundaries. Ghost didn’t push him away. Instead, he gave Soap a lazy shove that barely moved him.

“Don’t get used to it,” Ghost muttered, though there was no heat behind the words.

Gaz, emboldened by Soap’s success, nudged Ghost with his elbow. “Didn’t know you were such a cuddler, sir.”

Ghost turned to him, and for a moment, Gaz thought he’d crossed a line. But then Ghost slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a side hug. “Don’t push your luck, Kyle,” he said, but the softness in his tone, and the use of his name, made Gaz grin.

Price, watching all this from his seat, felt a surge of amusement and something warmer. It wasn’t often Ghost let his guard down, and it wasn’t lost on him how much trust it took to do so, even after all these years.

By the time Ghost finished his fourth pint, he had switched seats with Gaz as the sergeants' debate continued, wanting no part in it. He was leaning heavily against Price’s side. His mask had come off somewhere in the haze of laughter and drink, revealing a face that was relaxed and uncharacteristically open.

“You alright there, Simon?” Price asked, his voice low and warm.

Ghost hummed in response, nuzzling slightly into Price’s neck. “You’re comfortable,” he mumbled, his words slurred but content.

Soap’s jaw dropped. “Did he just…?”

Gaz looked equally shocked but also thoroughly delighted. “I’m seeing it, but I still don’t believe it.”

“He’s had a few too many,” Price defended, though there was no mistaking the fondness in his tone. He shifted slightly to support Ghost’s weight, one arm coming around to rest at his waist. Ghost nestled closer, his breathing slowing as sleep crept in.

“You’ve got to admit,” Soap said, grinning, “it’s nice to see him like this. Kind of adorable, actually.”

Price rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. As Ghost’s head dipped against his shoulder, Price ran a hand gently through his hair, an instinctive gesture meant to soothe. Ghost let out a soft sigh, his body going completely limp as he fell asleep.

“Alright, boys,” Price said quietly. “Help me get him back to the house.”

“You’re not moving him,” Soap pointed out, gesturing to the way Ghost clung to Price like a barnacle. “He’s not letting go and he needs the sleep.”

Gaz leaned forward, grinning. “Come on, Cap, let him rest a bit longer. He looks… happy, you know? When do you ever see that?”

Soap nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, he’ll be dead embarrassed in the morning, but right now? Let ‘im have it.”

Price considered it for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. Few more minutes. But you two are carrying his kit back.”

As the conversation continued around him, Ghost stirred slightly, his brow furrowing as he shifted closer into Price’s warmth. His eyes blinked open briefly, and a flash of awareness crossed his face as he realised he was maskless and nestled against his captain.

He stiffened for a heartbeat, but then Price’s hand slid gently through his hair again, the soothing motion grounding him. “It’s alright, Simon,” Price murmured, voice low enough that only Ghost could hear.

The tension melted away. Ghost let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he settled back against Price’s shoulder. For a man who never let his guard down, he looked completely at ease.

Price gave it another few minutes before deciding it was time to move. “Right,” he said softly, shifting Ghost just enough to get them both to stand. Ghost murmured something incoherent but didn’t protest as Price kept an arm securely around his waist, guiding him towards the door.

As they gathered their things and prepared to leave, Soap and Gaz exchanged grins. They’d be teasing Ghost mercilessly about this come morning, but for now, they let the moment settle. Their lieutenant, who seemed carved from stone most days, had a softer side. And seeing it, even briefly, made the bond they shared as a team feel unbreakable.

Price, Ghost still nestled against him, led the way into the foggy night, a satisfied smile on his lips. For all the chaos they faced, moments like this made it all worthwhile.

#cod #john price #simon ghost riley #call of duty #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #q writes #asks #anon #team as family #i really think Ghost is a lightweight #it doesnt make sense cause hes huge but we're gonna pretend like that doesnt matter #a fun little break from studying woo :O

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