ghost knew you would never cheat on him. that doesn’t mean he can’t get jealous from time to time.
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jealous of the way soap always calls you “bonnie” or “beauty” or “lass”. jealous of how you two train together when he’s managing the recruits. jealous of the sergeant-only meetings he’s not privy to. jealous of pub invites and drunk dancing. never enough to cross a line, never in a way you disrespect your relationship with simon, but it still makes him jealous. a feeling in the pit of his stomach, a slow fire that builds higher and higher every time soap’s hand brushes your waist to get past you. simon has worked so hard to be the loving man you need, and he won’t let soap take you away from him with a couple scottish pet names.
and now you’re in the common room late one night, arguing with johnny as per usual while perched on simon’s lap. simon doesn’t think much of it when he tells johnny off and johnny replies with a “fuck ye.” that is, until, you pipe up quietly “would you want to?” soap goes quiet for a second, considering.
“which one of ye?” you turn to simon, searching for something in his gaze. satisfied you found it, you turn back to johnny. “either?” simon clears his throat, hand finding your waist and massaging small circles into your skin.
“or both?”
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i am so obsessed with how like. taken as read the ot3 are at this point. like on the one hand it feels like they've been building up to this for ages but on the other hand it kind of feels like i blinked and we skipped right past some Major Turning Point where everything got spelled out and we're just already in firmly Established Relationship-land. obviously tarvek is too well-protected for anyone to assassinate openly, look how angry his boyfriend and girlfriend are at the idea of anyone threatening him. at this point i'm half-convinced agatha's just going to refer to her boyfriends in passing to someone else and no one's even going to comment on it until van finds out twenty pages later and immediately starts making everyone pay up
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the skittish horse snuffling gently at the handful of oats you've tentatively offered him
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