#this one called for angst

[beaulesbian]

Luffy & Zoro + reunions

The world's greatest swordsman?! The Pirate King would need no less than that on his crew!

+ bonus, one slightly different reunion

[blushweddinggowns]

Idea expanded, Rockstar Eddie falling head over heels for Bartender Steve working in a high class club type of joint. He sees him working one night and thinks God damn, he's hot. I'm taking him home tonight.

Except bartender Steve has developed a significant distaste for celebrities and rich people in general because of getting cut off from his homophobic parents for coming out and the general bad way many have treated him at work whilst sloshed. But lucky for Eddie, Steve doesn't recognize him. And even though he started off in a trailer park, the fame has gone to his head a little and he asks Steve out with the full intention of getting into his pants and never seeing him again.

But oh no, would you look at that Steve isn't easy. And what Eddie thought would be a booty call ends up being a ten hour date around the city where he has more fun than he even thought was possible. Just from talking with Steve about anything and everything, flitting to parks and museums. And Eddie doesn't even realize until he's back at his hotel that they didn't even kiss.

And they go out more and more, and Eddie likes him more and more and he finds out where the rich people hate comes from. And it scares him. So he keeps lying. Like an idiot. And he tells Steve a fake last name, he tells him a fake job (which is only half fake because he did used to be a tattoo artist) and he rents an air bnb that he pretends is his own place. And the lies keep getting more elaborate to cover up more lies. And he keeps refusing to meet Steve's friends out of fear that they'll recognize him. And he really just drove himself into a corner here because he is absolutely in love with Steve at this point but how the fuck can you have a normal relationship when you are pretending to be someone else?

Turns out you can't, and Steve finds out the truth despite his efforts. But the twist is, he thinks it's fucking hilarious. After a normal period of What the fuck reaction time he gets over it. But never let's Eddie live it down.

------------------------------

6/27 Edit: Welp, now there's a fic.

Two fics actually. The other is by KikiZ on ao3 which is great if you're not looking for an explicit fic! Because mine will be. It's also a bit more introspective than what I got going on, and also thus far, hella romantic.

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

[demigods-posts]

i was sitting in my room thinking of how convenient it is that the books in the pjo series takes places before or after the school year. then i remembered that ttc happened during winter break. and that percy and annabeth likely returned for their second semester after that quest. what a tragedy.

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

[mischefous]

im so sorry if this sends twice tumblr has acted strange for me ;~; but for the whump request can we have Sky waking up from a prophetic nightmare? or super injured?(near death maybe?)

Don't worry Anon! I got your other one hehe. And thank you for the requesttt!💙 you have a splendid day!

HYLIA how many times have I drawn Warriors?! make it 5 times MWAHAHA! he felt like a good fit for this situation. As a Captain, he is well-equipped to handle this. Sky definitely needed that hug T3T

I didn't know how to describe crying i sowwy if it looks stoopid ahhhhh

[birb-catto]

I love the wholesomeness of this fandom

Cale sacrificing himself:

TCF fandom: YES YES YEAAAH MORE BLOOD MOAAAR

DHB sacrificing himself:

TCF fandom: NOOOOOO baby don't die 😭

[m-1-8]

DADDY’S LITTLE FAILURE

“Welcome home, Simon” “Seems we have a new addition to the family” ”Saved ye a seat, Lt.”

[arunneronthird]

two different flavors of absolute menace

[lbhslefttiddie]

"Shen Jiu, you really are a demon!"

in which yue qi saves an injured fox kit, which turns out to be an young fox demon. once he's recovered enough strength, he adopts a human form so that he can talk to yue qi properly, but ends up being caught by the slave traders as well. Since he can change form, it would be pretty easy for him to escape, but if he's discovered as a demon he'll never be able to return, and he has no home or family anyways, so he decides he would rather stay and help qi-ge, who will probably get himself killed without someone to stop him from doing stupid shit.

when shen jiu saves yue qi from death by horse carriage, and subsequently is bought by qiu jianluo, fairly quickly qjl realizes he is not human, and delightedly gifts him with a enchanted collar, which renders him unable to chnage forms, stuck in him demonic form and unable to change to full fox or full human shape. like this, he cannot leave the qiu manor at all without immediately giving himself away, even if qjl hadnt also locked him up. like this, he has no choice but to wait until yq makes his way back to the qiu manor at last, but when he's finally freed, he's initially almost feral from how he's been treated, and very nearly kills yqy...

[amanitacurses]

Could I request some more vidow?? Maybe some angst >:) or hurt/comfort vidow or with the colours :) (with Vio or shadow as the centerpiece tho soz lmao)

Like I would pass up a chance to draw Vidow, c'mon

[athousandbyeol]

i can't stop thinking about this scene.

it was so light-hearted. sheng wang was all-smiley after finishing (perhaps multiple rounds) of revising and studying. but the lively atmosphere simmers down into this thick and stifling tension once jiang tian opens his closet.

honestly, if i were sheng wang, i would have so many questions too. why is he packing? is he going somewhere? but where? so, whatever sheng wang is thinking or feeling at the moment is valid (to me, at least, it is.)

i think it has so much to do with sheng wang's expression here (liu dong qin, the actor you are) that breaks my heart into tiny, million pieces.

it's in the way his eyes follows every movement of jiang tian, but particularly directed at the opened luggage, that has me thinking of sheng wang's fear of separation. the trauma he experienced when he was just a little boy.

i can't imagine how he felt when he saw his beloved mother collapsing to the ground—at the age so little to grasp the situation—to comprehend the meaning of sadness and grief and death.

he was broken. he was devastated. but those feelings as a child were just feelings. but the adult sheng wang now understood that those feelings come with bitter memories and realisations that death is inevitable, and death is permanent. his mother won't come back to him no matter how frequently she visits him in his dreams (and wake).

his heavy breathing. his fixated stare. that feeling of abandonment is washing over him again. they're coming in slow, steady and destructive.

so when jiang tian approaches him with the said book that has more extensive questions, he still can't look away. not until jiang tian realises that sheng wang's attention is now elsewhere.

and he finally asks,

i personally adore how benjamin acted this scene out. jiang tian immediately glances over at the luggage, somehow already knowing the context/direction of this conversation. (it's in the subtlety of benjamin's acting here that has me going nuts.)

when sheng wang asks this question, it reminds me of this scene in episode 1,

jiang tian was looming in front of sheng wang's house, wondering if he should stay or leave. possibly his only destination would be uncle ding's house. maybe he has nowhere to go, to be honest.

sheng wang immediately called him, voicing out his thoughts. and the context is similar—are you leaving?

although jiang tian answers sheng wang's question, not leaving him hanging the way he did in episode 1, it's still not enough. the reason being, as of right now, we're knowledgable of sheng wang's past. but what about jiang tian? we know nothing about him. we just know this boy is closed off and distant and cold and grumpy. but why?

these questions are the answers. but sheng wang doesn't know. not yet.

they could have just dropped the conversation here. but this is one of (the many) things i notice about sheng wang: he's always curious. always seeking answers. even in his studies, he would ask crab (i love you, friend) for the solution. and we saw some instances where jiang tian would share the method he used, etc, only to help him. and i think it's being presented at a different light here. sheng wang is waiting. he's waiting for jiang tian to give him answers.

as jiang tian says it's a habit, it might not be the answer sheng wang wanted, but it was needed, at least, only for the night.

it's so overwhelming to me how jiang tian has always been providing sheng wang with safety, happiness, anger, irritation, fun, answers and questions. how susceptible sheng wang is with everything jiang tian is. they are like mirrors reflecting one another. because for me, jiang tian is like a closed book, but i could understand him once i start reading. but sheng wang, he's more layered. he's open but also secretive. he expresses emotions, but not everyone reciprocates and understands him. not until jiang tian.

and i'm no longer sane in the head because of this.

[cumikering]

F1 John Price x reader 6

2.9k | angst The mask that started it all (part 1) (part 7)

The first thing John reached when he woke was his phone. He expected a reply from you - anything, but his messages from the night before hadn’t even been delivered.

Instead, Gaz’s texts awaited along with missed calls from Simon and Kate.

JP you getting cookies today? I swear they’re addictive

His headache was gone, but he still groaned as he got out of his comfortable bed, dreading the team meeting at the factory. He’d get chewed up for his ambitious blunder in Jeddah, and also for being late because he forgot to set his bloody alarm.

“Cap, I got you breakfast!” Kyle exclaimed when John entered the meeting room. “It’s your regular. Hot chocolate, right?”

“Thanks, Gaz.” He offered a small smile as he took the seat next to Simon who nodded at him.

It was then he noticed the aforementioned breakfast was wildly familiar. In the middle of the table sat a box of cookies, next to it, a cup with Kyle scribbled in the handwriting of his favourite woman.

“You went to the shop?” he asked carefully, his eyes flicking to his teammate.

“Yeah, when you didn’t reply, I figured you were still sleeping. She really got me when she pretended to not know you though.” He chuckled. “Funny birdie. But Soap’s right, she’s even prettier in real life.”

His heart stopped. He whipped his phone out. You’d read his messages.

“I’ve got to go,” he muttered before sprinting out.

“Cap! What the fock!” Simon exclaimed. “We need to-“

John’s McLaren screeched to a halt in front of your shop. He didn’t bother putting on a mask before storming through the door. He froze when his gaze met yours, and you turned away. He made his way across the shop and behind the counter to follow you, but Evie stood in his way.

She craned her neck, eyes narrowed at him with a finger jabbing his chest. “I don’t care who you are,” she began, her Texan drawl deepened. “You’re in my territory and I will not hesitate to beat your ass if she wants me to, so you better make things right.”

He blinked before she moved away for him to stare at the door of your office. He hadn’t rehearsed any sort of speech for the occasion. He just wanted to salvage what was left, if there was anything at all. He let out shaky breath as he knocked and turned the knob.

There you were behind your desk, frowning with your arms crossed over your chest.

The door clicked behind him. He stood there unable to meet your glare as he braced for you to yell at him, but the silence dragged on.

“I wanted to apologise,” he mustered finally.

“Was this some sort of sick test?”

“No. I promise it’s nothing like that.” He lifted his gaze. “I’m sorry, love. I never meant to fool or trick you.”

“Then why lie?”

“I just wanted to be a regular lad. I wanted you to like me for me.”

Your arms dropped to your sides. “And did I not, John?” you asked, but it sounded more like a plea.

“You did. You gave me normal and I’ve enjoyed every single second with you. You’re make me feel you like me for who I am, that you don’t want anything else but me. You make it so easy.”

You shook your head. “I don’t understand.”

He hung his head. “It’s my fault. I was selfish. When you told me about not wanting long-distance, I got scared. I didn’t want to lose you, but it’s no excuse. You have the right to know and I’m so sorry. I should have told you right away.”

“What do you expect me to say?” You laughed dryly. “Thanks for wasting months of my life believing we were going to be something?”

“We are.” His head snapped to you. “You know who I am now. I know it’s a lot to take in and it’s a huge ask, but please, could we try?”

“How do you think I can trust you again? After all this… And with how much you’re away. How… How do you think I’d feel?”

The silence continued.

He was shameless to ask after what he’d done. The least he could do was walk away after breaking your trust, yet he whispered, “Is there hope for us?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Are we… Are we over?” He forced the words out.

“Why did you have to make it so hard, John…” You choked, and a tear fell. And another, and another.

Would he only make things worse if he went over this desk that spread like an ocean between you? All he wanted was to pull you close and tell you he would do anything to keep you in his life. Instead, you made your way to the door as you wiped your tears away with the back of your hand.

The bond he’d formed with you was unravelling before his very eyes. This might very well be the last time he saw you, yet there he was breaking your heart again. With how fast the warmth between you dissipated, how the sweet memories disintegrated, was any of this ever real, or had he been hallucinating all this time?

“I'll wait for you. If you ever change your mind, or just want to talk- anything. Please call me anytime.”

You turned the knob.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said quietly, staring at the back of your head. “I’m sorry it had to go this way.”

“Me too.”

You opened the door for him - his cue to leave. His heart sank deeper, somewhere he didn’t know existed as he let out a shaky breath.

When he shut the door of his car, the tears finally poured out of him.

John’s nine days off in London didn’t mean anything if he moped in his apartment the entire time.

Kyle knew he’d done something when his teammate came back to the factory with puffy eyes. When prompted, he simply averted his gaze and said “Please don’t go there again.”

Still, Gaz, Soap and Ghost came to visit him at his place almost every day bearing food. It was embarrassing how his appetite was out the window, that no salmon teriyaki or blueberry anything prodded his hunger at all.

He wanted you. All he wanted was to go to yours and curl up in your bed for the next month.

Alas, at the end of March, they flew to Melbourne for Australian GP. He put on a practiced smile, but when the team returned, once more, he spent his days cooped up at home waiting for the next race in Japan. Still sitting by his phone, still hoping for something from you.

It had been over two weeks since the conversation in your office.

How were you doing? Did you think about him at all? Did you look him up?

John wondered if you saw the photo of the doodle you did on his cup before Christmas. He still hadn’t decided if he should leave the photos up: the dinners you made him over the months that always started a flurry of speculations in the comments. If he did, would you think he was shameless? And if he took them down, would you think he’d moved on?

“Let’s go do something, JP,” Kyle said at his bedroom door that Friday afternoon. “It’s a nice day out and the lads are bored.”

JP. He wondered if you’d chucked him, or baked him in the oven with your cookies, or used him as a toilet brush.

He didn’t even tear his gaze away from the TV. “Nah.”

Kyle strode over. “You need to eat, John. You can’t survive on crisps like that.” He gathered the empty bags on his nightstand.

“Still here, aren’t I?”

“Oh, who’s that?” He pointed at his phone.

John bolted up to grab his silent phone and glared at the lad who grinned at him.

“Get up right now.” He slapped his shoulder. “Or I’m getting Ghost and Soap to haul you out your bed.”

Kyle’s shiny Mercedes G-Wagon turned into the new dog park not far from John’s apartment.

“Gaz?” Johnny perked up in the back seat, alarm in his voice.

He cut the engine and looked into the rearview mirror. “Relax, we’ll go to the part for the small dogs if you’re that scared.”

Not convinced, he turned to Simon next to him. “Can you give me a piggyback ride?”

Okay, maybe Kyle was right. John needed to go out and see the sun, because the puppies barking and running around him took his mind off you a little.

He chuckled at how the muscular Johnny yelped as he dodged the tiny dogs charging at him. As usual, Kyle filmed it all while Simon had wondered off into the other section to play fetch with the big dogs.

When a blond-grey pooch jumped into his lap, his heart sank. It was a Yorkshire Terrier, just like Holden, the lost dog you rescued. The memories surged.

He got up to sit on the bench in the corner. He marvelled at the dimming sky in the distance and took his mask off. It was no use if Kyle was with him in plain sight anyway.

The mask had started it all.

Would things have been different without it? Would he have given you a second thought if you’d known who he was, when he had no way of knowing your intentions? If you’d treated him like how a typical fan would, fawning over him, incapable of looking past the manufactured façade of an F1 driver who had it all? Would you have given him a chance if you knew about the distance?

John leaned back and laughed to himself. There was no point in wallowing when he couldn’t change a thing. It was always if if if, right? ‘If my mum had balls, she would be my dad,’ as a very wise Red Bull Dutchman once said.

In another part of the city, your shop had closed for the day. A woman in a grey suit cracked the door open, her long, dark locks flowed behind her as she wheeled her luggage in. Behind the counter, you perked up at the sound and she gave you an empathetic smile.

“Come here, girl,” Nicole said, spreading her arms out.

You ran right to her and she crushed you in her ever-comforting hug.

It’d been two weeks of barely eating and lost sleep. Days of Christy, Sophie and Evie never leaving your side, bringing you lunch and volunteering to close just so you could relax at home. You wished you weren’t so upset anymore, but still, you sniffled as soon as you saw your dear friend.

A renowned lawyer, Nicole’s schedule was packed, but you could always count on her. You couldn’t thank her enough for making the time to see you as soon as she was back in the city.

On the nearest table, you placed a cup of matcha latte for her. She pulled her chair next to yours as you told her about what happened with John.

“I looked him up. He’d been posting the food I made him. And that show that keeps popping up on my Netflix? It’s him on the cover in his orange helmet. And I hate that on Google there are all these photos with-“ You sighed. “He can have anyone, Nic, and I’m just me.”

“I can’t have you saying stuff like that in front of me.” She shook her head, gripping your shoulders. “I know some days we don’t want to look in the mirror, days we’re not who we want to be, but you’re so much more than that. You’re not just you. You’re smart, kind, resilient. You see the best in people, you’re fiercely loyal.  I see it every day, for years now, and I’m sure he sees it too.”

“I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder, thinking he deserves someone else. Someone better…”

“That’s not for you to decide. You say he could have anyone, well, it doesn’t matter if he only wants you. You think I don’t notice whenever I get my coffee? It’s sickeningly sweet, the way he looks at you. Always with that loving gaze when he watches you work.” She chuckled. ”He’s so silly. Probably thinks no one can see with his cap over his face, but I bet he was grinning under his mask.

“He’s so down bad, always willing to help out. You don’t need any of your girls if he’s around, he’s more than willing to run the shop with you. I mean- I love you, and I say it with my chest, girl, but I’m not cleaning for free.”

You laughed between the tears.

“I’m not saying what he did was okay. It’s not at all, but I think he had his own doubts too. Probably just as scared of getting hurt, never knowing who to trust, but I don’t think he meant to hurt you.” She grabbed your hand. “Have you ever doubted what he feels about you?”

You shook your head, lips pulling into a tentative smile. “No matter where he was, I knew he’d always be a call away. He never made me feel like I was an afterthought.”

“I’m not trying to change your mind. You’re allowed to be scared, but don’t let it stop you. If you still feel the same about him, if you can still trust… I think one day, maybe far in the future, you’d be glad you tried.” She smiled to herself. “I know I am.”

She knew what she was talking about.

Nic had her own John. It was love at first sight, if there was one. When they met, he was still a captain in the SAS, had mutton chops, smoked cigars, loved bucket hats and beanies. You remembered how the distance terrified her too, and the risky nature of his job didn’t help. She’d call you late at night in tears when he went dark too long, sometimes would even stay over at yours for days. But as time had proved, nothing could stand between them.

“Love like that is a privilege. Sometimes it has to hurt, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My John, he makes it all worth it.”

You wrapped your arms around her. “Half of the UK really is called John.”

She laughed, stroking your hair. “You deserve to be loved, girl, even if you can’t see it yet.”

Still at the park, lost in his thoughts as the lasts of the sun fizzled out, John almost missed his phone ringing in his pocket. His breath hitched. It was you.

“Hello?”

You let out a long exhale and he closed his eyes, imagining he was there with you in the silence that followed. He’d wrap himself in the second and curl up in its warmth forever.

“John, I want to see you.”

His eyes flew open. “What?”

“I miss you.”

Your whisper, wispy thin, sent shivers down his spine. “Fuck- I miss you.” He laughed as he let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “I miss you so much.”

John could have sworn Kyle was dewy-eyed when he dropped him off in front of your building.

“All the best, mate,” he said, patting his shoulder.

When you opened your door, the maskless John almost whimpered at the sight of you. You pulled him into a hug and he sighed into your hair. How did your embrace effortlessly piece the shards of his heart together?

“Love, if you would give me another chance…” he breathed, blue eyes looking right into yours.

“Would you promise to never lie again?”

“I swear. I’ll always tell you everything.”

You led him to the couch. “John, if we’re really doing this. I need you to know it will take me some time to get used to things. I might get worried if you don’t reply every few hours. Might want to call you every night, might miss you too much it annoys you.”

He grasped your hands on your lap. “Why are you saying that like I don’t want that? That I won’t miss you too?”

“You’re used to all this, and I’m not.”

“I’m not either. I’m used to seeing you, having dinner with you.”

“I just don’t want you to resent me. If, maybe, I get clingy sometimes…”

“I never can. I don’t want you to change. What we have, it’s more than I could ever ask for, so I’ll try my best to make it as easy as possible for us.” He paused. “When you’re ready, I want you to meet my friends, my manager. Maybe I can take you to the factory too?”

The corner of your lips tugged. “Does it feel like people are always watching when you’re out?”

“That’s why I wear a mask, but I don’t want to wear one with you anymore.” He smiled. “It’s always a hassle when I want to kiss you, and I want to show you off, if you’d let me.”

You scooted closer and rested your head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“Would it be fine to send me postcards when you’re away?”

“Of course, love.” He laughed. “I’ll send you one from each city.”

Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @le16erc @kyletogaz @its-me-mila @gamergirlbones

@the-darling-fishy @two-autumns @voids-universe @s-rinaldi-18 @dirtymana

@sadcowboyhours @hungrycrazy @wannabhere @freshlemontea @rowanyaboats

@shinymriver @eve-lie @princessdaniiiii @nocturnalreader106 @flowerfreya

@berrysealsblog @fruitymoonbeams-blog @praying-for-the-sun @dwaekkiiiiiiiiiiai

@hxnneydew @sklt987659 @nelladowney

[gomzdrawfr]

that's all I ask

[islayhawkin]

It's from her

Captain John price x fem!reader

Summary: The task force learns that john's beanie holds way more importance to him than it should

Warnings!: sad and vulnerable john, prob ooc, not edited

Leaving for a mission was always hard. He knew that you struggled immensly with it and while he never showed it, it took it's toll on him too.

To leave you behind. Knwowing that you had a hard time because of him.

To have the mission ahead of him. The knowledge that he'd be away for weeks or even months on end. The contact to you was rare and it took a lot of effort for him to be able to have a phone call or receive a letter from you. He always worried. While he was the one fighting for his life, there was always a part of his mind that thought about how you were doing, if something happened, if you needed him...The constant uncertainty was driving him on edge sometimes.

And he missed you. Oh, how he missed you. He spent so many lonely nights in his tent or a safe house imagining you beside him while the snores of his comrades filled his ears.

John clung to the few things he had with him that were you. One of them being his hat.

It was one of the first things he got from you. You had knitted the beanie when you first moved in together. Every evening when you two had cuddled up on the couch, the TV playing, you had knitted. He had seen it develop and it was the most calming sound to him, whenever he heard your needles clicking softly against each other. Not until you finished the hat had he been aware that you made it for him.

"Here. I made this for you." You had smiled at him proudly as you handed over the dark-knitted beanie.

It was nothing special and with closer inspection, a few mistakes could be sighted but for john it meant the world. At first, he had struggled to even think of a response as he gripped the soft fabric in his rough hands.

"I know you always like to have something on your head and I thought that would keep you warm when you're in a cold area..." you had muttered out your explanation.

"thank you." He had replied quietly. The love and astonishment had been evident in his expression.

There were times when he thought back to that moment and wished he had said more. That he would've been able to express what it meant to him. But you knew without him saying so. It was clear in his actions.

It was endearing how he still took it on every mission after all these years.

The 441 started to notice it's importance to him when he couldn't find it at base. His usual calm demeanor was slightly irritable and underlined by the strong walk as he barged into the common room as if he were on a mission to save the queen.

"Does any of you shitheads have my hat?" His deep voice made the whole room go quiet.

Soap and ghost exchanged glances. "Got no reason to steal your hat captain." Ghost grumbled out.

John clenched and unclenched his fists multiple times. The muscle in his jaw tightened. "You'll have no problem then if I check your rooms lieutenant." There were some unspoken words between them as two pairs of hard eyes met each other.

"No problem." Ghost replied.

Price took a look around the room before giving them a nod and leaving for their private quarters.

"What's wrong with him?" Gaz leaned over the table to his comrades.

"No bloody idea. Probably got his period." Ghost grumbled.

Price rummaged through room after room methodically. The drawers and cabinets were thrown open and closed softly after close inspection. He muttered a few annoyed curses when he arrived at soap's room: the drawers were already opened but his clothes were probably more scattered over the floor room than in his closet. Room inspections were obviously in dire need of attention.

When he made it to Gaz's room the hat was the first thing his eyes spotted as he opened the door. There it was. slightly frizzy and worn at the edges but still looking soft the way it always did. Except that it didn't lay at its usual spot in his neatly organized closet.

"Can't keep their bloody hands to their own stuff." John grumbled.

The tension fell from his body as he picked the beanie up and took it back to his room. He laid it back to the dedicated spot with a scarf next to it. His eyes observed how it seemed to lay so innocently in front of him. A tired sigh escaped his lips before he pushed himself into an upright position and locked the door to his room for good measure.

In the next moment he dragged gaz out of his chair pressed him against the wall. Johns hand clasped the collar of gazs uniform. While gaz grunted from the impact of his captains weight against him, his face stayed nonchalant. If you knew him better you'd seen the small sliver of nervousness in his eyes.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing with my stuff?" Price gritted out.

"I didn't take anything from you sir." Gaz shot back almost angrily at the accusation.

"You think that's funny huh?" John sneered. It was unusual for the captain to throw angry words at his team. He was always the composed one; giving them a sense of confidence and security in the battlefield.

"No sir."

"Hmhm. I found something in your quarters. My goddamn hat on top of your closet."

Gaz frowned. "Captain I didn't- sir I don't know anything about that."

Price grunted in frustration before ghost stepped to them and slightly pulled the captain back. "Take it easy cap."

John let himself fall back before pointing a warning finger at the young sergeant. "Just keep your hands off of my things. Especially that hat. Got it?"

Gaz gave him a nod but he didn't back down from his position as innocent. The air was tense as everyone watched the ongoing confrontation.

Ghost gave his captain a look which held john back made him leave the room back to his own office (where he should've worked for the last hour). The lieutenant followed him out as if to escort him. "Why are ya followin' me simon?"

Ghost was about to protest about his name choice but decided there were more important matters at hand right now.

"I figured you'd want to tell me what's going on?" The deep voice came from behind the mask.

Price stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms while shifting his weight onto his toes. "What?"

While price was a tall and muscular man he had no chance against the build of ghost as he towered opposite of him.

"You're going wild over a damn hat for no reason." His tone sounded almost bored.

"It's not just a bloody hat!" John's jaw clicked.

Ghost scoffed. "Then what is this about?"

"With all due respect lieutenant, you wouldn't understand."

That was it. It was never brought up again until a few months later on a mission at the Russian border.

A small safe house offered them shelter before they took off for the next day.

The night was a troubled one. Everyone was anxious and tired, which was a dangerous mix of feelings in a group of men. But they were trained for this. Keeping one eye and ear open constantly; without pause. This was the requirement to survival.

John took the night shift after Ghost woke him up out of a rather unpleasant dream. Everything was quiet except for a few night animals chirping in the forest surrounding them. The sun already brought a bit of light through the windows.

He sat down against a pillar and rubbed his exhausted eyes with his calloused palms. A defeated sigh escaped his lips as he took the gun into his hand and let his head lull back against the wood.

The last few months had been rough. The 141 was on this mission since almost two months now and it felt like they didn't get any closer to their target. For john it meant two months without you. No call, no letter, nothing. For all he knew you could be laying in bed with another guy right now. No, what was he thinking. That was a riddiculous thought. He grunted quietly as he rubbed his hand over his beard. John definitely needed sleep.

His beard and hair had grown out over the time, which made him think of the way you'd sit him on the toilet lid and step between his legs to shave his beard for him. You never realised how that position made it quite impossible for him to relax under your intense stare. He smiled at the memory and simultaneously hope that he'd be able to be in that position soon again.

The nightmare had made him unpleasantly agitated and worried. John just hoped, prayed and begged Laswell to make sure that you were okay.

A few hours later the sun started to rise above the horizon, which brought john his clue to wake everyone up and get going for the day ahead. When everybody was checked and price paced slowly in front of the group to explain the plan his voice got stuck in his throat. He had been telling them that they would be making their way into the snowy area your voice made it's way into his thoughts.

'to keep you warm in colder regions.' you had said with that sweet smile when you gave him his hat.

The hat.

He didn't have his beanie on. It got soaked through yesterday and he took it off to dry. But they had checked the whole safehouse already, ready for departure.

"My hat. Has anyone seen it?" he questioned the group of men standing before him. They looked stunned at his sudden change of topic.

When they didn't answer he started walking up the stairs. Frantically going through the rooms again. Soap went with a nod to the others after him. "Capt'n. We're ready for departure. None of us saw yer hat."

John shook his head. "Not without it." He searched the drawers in the room even though he knew it couldn't be there. His expression was stoic and unreadable but there were emotions behind those blue eyes.

They gave him a few minutes but when he didn't make a move to get on with it ghost shouted up the stairs. "Cap we have a schedule remember?" It sounded slightly irritated coming from behind the mask.

"I said I'm not going without it!" John thundered back.

He couldn't leave without it. It felt like leaving you behind. It was irrational and stupid and the hat was going to cost him his goddamn live someday but he needed it. That feeling couldn't be explained with rationality or tactic. you would have described it as love. But john would rather name it desperation.

"It's just a bloody hat. We need to get going." Ghost came up beside him.

"It's not. It's from her." John pulled his lips in a thin line as he exhaled through his nose sharply. The room went quiet for a moment at his admission.

Ghosts expression stayed emotionless as he crossed his bulky arms over his chest.

"Yer bonnie wife?" soap asked for clarification.

John nodded sharply and but turned away quickly from the pair when soap raised a brow.

"Honestly dinna know yer were married to her until a few weeks back. I'm sure ye'll survive a week without the hat and see yer lass soon hm?"

Ghost grunted in frustration. "Seriously? That's been the reason for this bloody hat."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. When you're married we can have this conversation." John shot back at his lieutenant. His voice thick with accent and a deep grumbling from the throat.

Soap got between them before Ghost had the chance to respond. "So we ready to go then? Captain?"

John pursed his lips and it pained him to go through with it but he shut off his emotions like he so often did and gave them a stern nod. He started to talk about their upcoming task again as he took the lead once more.

When he got home to you a week later he couldn't hold back a few tears in his eyes when you presented him a new, more colourful beanie, that you made when he was gone. And to his delight you ushered him into the bathroom to shave him first thing in the morning.

The task force never dared to touch his hat again.

[girlwitheconverse]

YOUR BEAUTY NEVER EVER SCARED ME

╰┈➤ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Genre: romance, fluff, a little angst

Story type: two part story, short story

Part 1 | Part 2

Word count: 870

TW(s) for this part: insecurities, mentions of face scars

Simon fan art credit: @shkretart

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God, being Ghost’s girlfriend surely isn't easy. He has a lot of boundaries, like a lot: no hugging, no intimate touches, no sudden touches…But the most important one was the mask stays on. Always.

Even though you two have been together for almost a year you’ve never seen Simon’s face apart from his lips since he sometimes felt comfortable enough to kiss you, even for a split second, but you’re glad even for that little moment.

You understand how hard it is for him to open up to people, and you’re glad for every single moment that you get to spend with him.

Today was your one year anniversary, and you happily hand Simon the gift you’ve got him, he looks at you with wide eyes and from the movement of them you understand that he’s smiling under the mask. He opens the little box and looks inside: you’ve gifted him a necklace with the date of the day you two got together imprinted on the pendant.

“Do you like it?” You ask anxiously, choosing a gift for him was so difficult.

“I love it, darling” he says in a soft tone, the tone he reserves to you only. From the moment he entered your room today you had noticed that he didn't have a gift with him, but you didn’t care: you two had made it to one year of relationship, that was already a gift for you. “Darling…I wanted to get you something too, but…I didn’t know what to get you…” He says as he looks down at the necklace still in the little box.

“You don’t have to worry about this kind of things, really.” you say with a soft smile, he walks to your bed and sits down, making you stand between his open legs.

Like this you’re just one or two inches taller than him.

“But, in the end, something came to my mind…” he says almost in a whisper as he takes your hands in his and places them on his cheeks, you look at him confused. He isn’t wearing his skull balaclava, just a normal ski mask, you could feel the soft, black, fabric against your fingertips.

“Simon? What…?” You ask confused as you cup his cheeks in your hands over the soft fabric.

Simon takes a deep breath and looks directly in your eyes as he leans in your touch, he loves the way you touch him: like he’s made of crystal and at the same time he’s precious to you but you’re still afraid that he could break at any moment. “The mask, you can take it off.”

Your heart drops and your eyes widen.

“W-What? A-Are you sure? If it’s for the gift, don't worry, I-I–”

“I’m sure, darling…I trust you, I want you to see my face…But I can’t promise that it will be a good view.” He tries to laugh it off, but the truth is that he’s filled with anxiety: what if you don’t like the way he looks? What if you find his face hideous (just like he does)? Will you – the first person he has ever trusted and loved – leave him?

“We need to work on your confidence.” You chuckle slightly, “are you sure? 100%? 1000%? If I lift this mask I won’t find another one right under, will I?”

He chuckles at your excitement, “I’m sure and don’t worry, under this mask there’s just my face.”

“Okay then.” You smile and kiss his lips through the mask one last time before slowly lifting his mask up, the first thing you see are his lips and you kiss them softly.

Then the tip of his nose, youI kiss that too.

You take a deep breath and, as Simon closes his eyes, you take the mask off completely. Simon continues to keep his eyes closed as you stare at his face, the first thought that goes in your mind is: so his hair is light brown.

Only after you notice the scars that are all over his face, he has one on his upper lip, one on his left cheek, one on his right eyebrow and two on his forehead.

“See? I told you…Definitely not a good view.” He whispers as he slowly opens his eyes, only to see you smiling down at him with a few tears on your face, “Hey! Why are you crying? Am I that ugly?”

“God, no…You’re so handsome…” You whisper as you gently touch his face. “I’m crying because I’m…so happy right now.” You chuckle and kiss his cheek.

“I…Am handsome?” Simon asks, shocked as his cheeks become red, a shy smile forms on his mouth.

You nod happily, “I just want to…Kiss you all over your face.”

“You can do it.” He says shyly, you don’t waste time and immediately start to leave lovely kisses all over his face while he chuckles.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” You repeat between each kiss, Simon looks at you with a smile. He feels so loved now, loved like he has never felt in his entire life.

And for the first time in a year, he says it: “I love you.”

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