just-random-imagines

Latest Posts by just-random-imagines

the first time i cried in thunderbolts was when they all worked together to save that woman from the chunk of a building

superhero movies are about people who have the ability to help people and choose to do so

that isn’t all there is but i think the mcu has gotten so focused in the weeds of the multiverse and inner group politics and whatever that they forgot that the reason we watch superhero movies is because we want to watch good guys fight bad guys, but more importantly, we want to watch them help people because that’s why they fight the bad guys in the first place

No but to be serious guys i didnt expect that movie to be that kind of good. I expected great fights. I expected complicated morals. I did not expect that movie to say i know everything seems hopeless but you dont get a choice, you have to try. I did not expect that movie to say when we are up against an impossible, unjust threat the only way through is freely given kindness and forgiveness. I did not expext that movie to say the real way villans win is by preying on those we’ve already decided are hopeless. I did not expect that movie to say we all have to believe we can get better. Please believe me we can all get better. Oh my god.

Where Soul Meets Body - Ghost x Reader

Ao3 Link

Content Warnings - afab!reader, no pronouns used, reader has a call sign, canon typical violence, ghost's past :(, angst, smut, fingering, oral, thigh riding, PiV, unprotected sex, happy ending. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary - Simon Riley has been your best friend since the two of you were five. You've been in love with him since you were 15. It's too bad life has other plans

WC: 18k

Big thanks to @shotmrmiller for helping me with the last chapter and big thanks to @itsagrimm for listening to my rambling about this since January. I'm so happy to see it written and finished.

Rainy days in the United Kingdom were far from abnormal. Seeing the bright sun with no clouds obstruction was abnormal. Seeing someone without an umbrella, even a jacket, in the rain was more than abnormal to you. Who in the world would set out to school without a jacket or umbrella? You approach the strawberry blond boy and tentatively hold your umbrella over his head. "What are you doing without an umbrella?" You ask, head tilting ever so slightly at the boy looking up at you. Oh, he's from your class, what was his name again?

"I don't have one."

"Did your mum not buy you one?" There was a small silence but you smile, "Well it doesn't matter now, I'm here and we can share." You give him your name and get the smallest smile from him.

"I'm Simon Riley." Ah, that's right, Simon Riley.

"Well then Simon, let's get to school." The umbrella was hardly large enough for you to fit under but you held it over his head as the rain came down. It rained all day but that was okay because you and Simon sat together all day. "I'll walk home with you so you don't get wet." You say while playing another round of Sorry!.

"You don't need to." Simon mutters as he moves his piece, his brown eyes downcast. You frown, brows pinching together as you try to piece together the logic behind that statement.

"I don't need to but I want to." You respond with a toothy grin. "It's what friends do." You say with confidence as you draw a card.

"We're friends?" Simon asks, his eyes suddenly meeting yours.

"Of course. We're sharing an umbrella." You laugh and move your piece according to the card. "And when you get your own umbrella, we can be umbrella friends." He repeats the term umbrella friends as if testing the waters and then smiles. A smile suits him much better than a frown you decide. During lunch, you offer part of your sandwich when you realize how sad his packed lunch is. "Here, I'm full." A lie but he hardly had half of what your mum packed. He looked at the triangularly cut sandwich with apprehension. "Please eat it." He continues to stare at it before picking it up and taking a bite then looking at you. When he sees your smile, he keeps eating it. "You have very brown eyes." You suddenly comment, unable to keep it to yourself. "I like them."

Simon easily fit into the routine of your life, each day after school he would walk home with you on Fridays. Together the two of you would chatter about anything and everything, conversation flowing easily. Somedays were worse than others, like right now while you treated Simon's busted lip with a bag of cold peas pressing against his cheek. "I'll beat him up." You promise. He seems different these days, he had always been a bit timid before but any loud noise scared him. You don't ask what happened, you could see it in his eyes that he didn't want to talk about it. Those same eyes were always looking down all the time now too, you wish he wouldn't. You like to see his eyes.

"You can't beat up Tommy." He insists.

"He beat you up, I'm just returning the favor." You huff as you dab the blood away from his lip and hand him a bag of cold broccoli. The attic of your home had become a safe haven to him and the walls and ceiling were decorated in drawings that the two of you had created over the last two years. A plate of triangle sandwiches sat half eaten on the box-made-table. "I'll just punch him. Serve him right." You huff and cross your arms after throwing the wet rag in the corner. Books and half put away board games were scattered all around the little attic.

"Please don't." Simon begs, his brown eyes downcast again.

"Will it make you happy if I don't?" You ask, twisting your shirt and pulling at the loose thread. Simon nods and you sigh, pushing your hair from your face. "Fine then but you're staying the night." You declare.

"Don't you need to ask your mum and dad permission?" He asks.

"They'll say yes. They always do." It was true, there hadn't been a time your mum hadn't let Simon sleep over if you had asked. Simon tapped your arm and handed you a book from the pile.

"Out of your head, let's read." He says while giving a frail smile. When did his smiles get smaller? You take the book from his hand, you hope it'll make him happy. A knock on the attic door as your mum peaks her head up.

"Are you staying for dinner Simon?" You mum asks and you jump on the opportunity.

"Can Simon stay the night mum? Please." You draw out your please and put on your best puppy eyes. Your mum looks between you and Simon who still held the bag of broccoli against his mouth.

"Of course he can stay. Just be quiet after eight pm." Your mum disappears back down the ladder towards the kitchen while you turn to Simon with a victorious smile on your face.

"Told you so."

You knock rapidly on his home's front door, "Come on Riley! I'm not gonna stand out here all day waiting for you." You would, of course you would. Rain or shine, warm or hot. The door swung open and you scrunched up your nose when Tommy was standing in front of you. "You smell like a sewer rat." You remark, "Where's Simon?"

"Don't you ever shut up?" Tommy snapped, "Simon isn't your boyfriend."

"He doesn't need to be my boyfriend in order for me to ask where he is." You immediately respond. He snorts and rolls his eyes. Tommy, Simon's younger brother, had been teasing the two of you for years since the first time he saw you walk Simon home. "Simon!" You say, a smile immediately appearing on your face as he finally appears behind his brother. "Come on!" You push Tommy out of the way and grab Simon's hand. "I got my drivers license." You boast, "Dad's letting me drive his truck around whenever he doesn't need it."

It was a rare day in spring when it wasn't raining and you weren't gonna let it go to waste. The windows of the truck were rolled down and the wind blew through your hair. The city of Manchester slowly disappears, the loudness exchanged for the quiet of the countryside.

"Don't look so grumpy Simon." You say when you notice he had his head in his hand and a scowl on his face. "You're acting like I'm driving you to your death."

"With how you drive, I'm sure you are." He retorts, a small smile growing on his face as you bark out a laugh.

"Well we're almost there so your death won't be quiet so soon." You remark. You slow the truck down before pulling off into a dirt road and coming to a complete stop. You turn the truck off and tuck the keys into your pocket and grab the basket you brought from the back of the truck. You look at the fence blocking the way into the flower field before you toss the basket over the fence before you launching yourself over the fence. "Come on Simon, just jump it!"

"Isn't this illegal?"

"Only if you get caught." You laugh and wink before helping Simon over the fence. The field of flowers stretch far and bumblebees buzz around from flower to flower. You open the basket and lay out the thin blanket onto the ground. Lowering yourself onto the blanket and you motion for Simon to join you.

"What's all this then?" He asked with a brow raised as you began to pull out a few cans of coke, a couple of sandwiches and apples.

"Happy 15th birthday." You say with a grin, "I got your present back at my house but I figured you'd like it out here." Simon stares at you, brown eyes wide as he looks between you and all the food you somehow managed to pack into the basket. You shift a little his heavy gaze as anxiety crept up as your cheeks turned red. "Do you not like it?" You ask.

Simon looked at you before a lopsided grin grew on his face, "It's great. Thank you."

"What are you planning to do after school is over?" You ask after taking a sip from your coke. "I mean, we only have next year left. Are you going to attend University?"

"I'm gonna take a butcher's apprenticeship."

"What?"

"My grades aren't doing great and I figured why not." Simon shrugged, "Not like it's a bad idea." You punched his shoulder lightly and glared at him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were struggling Riley? You know I would have helped." The wind blows softly, the flowers and grass rustle, birds sing in the distance. "You're a smart man Simon, if this is what you want to do," You take a steadying breath, "then I'll support you."

Simon smiles at you, "You took it better then my mum did at least." He sighs and takes a bite from his apple.

"She just wants what's best for you." You say, softening your voice. If there was one thing you learned about Simon Riley after these five years, it's that he loves his mum more than anything. You lean against him, coke can still in hand as the silence blankets the space between you and him. After a few minutes of silently eating and drinking, he nudges you.

"Look." He whispers and points to a flower by his side. You lean over and a massive smile grows on your face as you spot a very tired bumblebee resting within a flower. You look at Simon and feel something within yourself turn on or maybe become louder as you see his soft gaze at the sleeping bee. Suddenly, you wanted him to look at you with that same soft expression.

"You know Daisy?" Simon asks one day while you were driving to the flower field. It had become a place to get away from school and home, away from all the stresses of life for at least a few hours. Daisy was a classmate in the same year, you had never been close with her but you had grown up with her the same as you had with Simon.

"Of course, Daisy Lockmon right?"

"Yeah." There's something in the way he says it that makes your heart clench. It's the softness of it, the fondness and the soft sigh, even the sort of dreamy look in his eyes you spot in the mirror as he gazes out into the countryside.

"Yeah?"

"I'm dating her. She asked me out a few days ago." Few days ago. Why did that sting so fucking much? You smile at him as you grip on the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white and your fingers go numb. It doesn't compare to the squeezing grip of whatever is holding your heart. No, you know who holds your heart and he doesn't even know it. It's my fault, I never told him. You try to reason with yourself but it doesn't stop the hurt.

"Congratulations then. Daisy is a sweet girl."

A few months later, you feel like you're going to throw up. You fight back any words threatening to come out of your mouth besides something good and kind because he doesn't deserve your anger or sadness. Simon doesn't know, you keep reminding yourself, you're just his best friend that he's confiding in. Just the person he's grown up with since ten years old, just the person who treated his busted lips, cuts and bruises. Just his best friend. Not the girl, not Daisy Lockmon who he thinks he loves. He probably does love her, you've never seen him look at someone the way he does Daisy.

You lay in the field, something that allows your stress to melt away, does nothing for you. Not as Simon lays next to you, not as you think about the times before all of this you could have said something. Simon says nothing, you say nothing and the two of you just watch the clouds float by. Simon sits up as he speaks, "I'm ready to leave, how about you?" Your heart clenches again, time in the field has been getting shorter and trips less frequent. You know it's not just because of his relationship and it's just how life is sometimes. He has his butcher's apprenticeship and you're studying for university classes but logic doesn't dictate emotion.

"In a moment, I'll catch up with you at the truck." You say, pasting on a smile. Simon shrugs and grunts as he gets up. You wait until you're sure he's already hopped the fence and heading towards the truck before you move over to his spot. Where the grass and flowers are flattened down into his shape, slowly you curl into the spot. For a moment, you imagined that you were the one he says he loves. For just a bittersweet moment, you pretend that you're his and he's yours.

"I'm joining the military." Your ceramic mug shatters on the floor. Just like that, everything comes crashing down. The world was still reeling from the twin towers attack in the United States, the sense of safety shattered in a terrorist attack.

"What?" That was the only word that could come from your mouth. You look at Simon with wide eyes, the cozy atmosphere of your flat turned cold. "You're joking. Right Simon?"

"I'm not."

"What about your apprenticeship Simon? You've been working as a butcher since you were 16. You're nearly done." The words come flying out of your mouth, "Simon-"

"I'm not asking you to understand my decision. I'm just telling you that I'm doing it and you can't stop me." You laugh bitterly and the sound is so foreign to both your ears and Simons.

"As if I could stop you Simon." You mutter, moving to grab a broom and dustpan to clean up the shattered mug on the floor. "But why? You've never once shown interest in joining the military." The answer is clear, its reason why many people were joining the military and you already know his answer before he opens his mouth.

"The attack in the US." Of course, he doesn't elaborate. "I'm being sent to bootcamp in two weeks."

"Two weeks? That's hardly any time at all." You sigh and sink down into your couch, putting your face in your hands as you try to process everything. "What about Daisy?"

"Broke up with her." He says so plainly and with a shrug of his shoulders. You have to bite your tongue to keep from saying something back handed. You're not petty, you're not petty, you're not petty, is the thought running through your head but you can't deny how good it feels to know he isn't dating her anymore. Not like you have much of a chance now since he's going off to bootcamp. "She said she didn't want to date a guy in the military. It's a deal breaker apparently." It's not for me you think quickly.

The day comes too quickly, for once you wished life would slow down and let you soak up Simon's presence in your life. It's not like he's dying, he's just going off to bootcamp and then he'll be back is what you think to keep yourself from falling apart. Nearly nine years of friendship, spending hardly any time or going a long distance away from one another, now Simon will be gone for 14 weeks. Then he'll be stationed somewhere for two to six years. You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him hard and burying your face into his jacket. "You be safe Simon Riley or I'll raise you from the dead."

He chuckles and pats your head, "Its bootcamp not an active war zone." You just shake your head and he wraps his arms around you. "But I'll be safe. I'll write to you every chance I get, I promise."

"Good."

The last three years had passed quickly with the letters from Simon being the only rest stop between university studies and work. Grabbing your coat from the back, you sigh as you finally shut off the lights to the cafe you work at part time. With a small click, your work day was finally, finally over. You twist the lock on the cafe front door, struggling momentarily from your thick gloves. You turn to start walking towards your rather cheap flat and scream when you see a massive figure barely a foot away. The familiar voice hissing your name made the panic subside as quickly as it appeared.

"Simon?"

"Glad to know you still have those pipes of yours." You look at Simon, he is barely illuminated by the street lights but you can still tell he's different now. He's no longer the slightly slender boy you knew three years ago. He wasn't slouching and made direct eye contact with you. You take him all in before you rush to him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his coat and drinking in his scent.

"Simon Riley," You whisper into his coat before pulling back to look up at him, "you've really grown. Come on, I'll let you crash at my place." He opens his mouth to argue but you're already pulling him along. You lead him to your flat, which isn't far away from your place of work thankfully. You kick off your shoes at the door and tell Simon to do the same. Placing a kettle on the stove to boil some water you then sit down and look at Simon. "So, what's brought you back here?" You ask.

Simon looks at you, drinking in your appearance. You look tired, worn down and ready to collapse. "I'm gonna fix my family." He finally answers after you cock your head to the side.

"You're... gonna fix your family?" You ask, leaning back as the words wash over you. Your heart hurt slightly for a reason you didn't want to understand, for a reason you didn't want to voice out loud or in your own head.

"Yes. And I'm not leaving until it is."

You purse your lips and get up to pour the boiling water into two cups. You put an earl gray tea bag with a splash of milk into the mug for Simon and a few cubes of sugar for your own cup of tea. You hand him the tea and sit back down as you continue to run through the implications of his choice. "Alright." You finally say. "You can crash at my place while you fix your family."

"You don't believe me." Simon states and you snap your head to look at him completely. "I know it sounds crazy but I'm stronger now. I can finally do what I've always wanted." He says between sips of his tea. "And I won't leave until it is fixed."

You sigh and set your cup down, "Fine." You get up and grab a piece of paper and a pen. You scribble down the addresses of Tommy's friends that he keeps couch surfing between before handing it to Simon. "This is what I know about Tommy. You'll probably get a confirmed address from your mom."

"And my dad?"

"Still an arsehole who comes and goes as he pleases." You grumble.

You walk out of your bedroom as quietly as possible. You peak over your couch and feel a weight lift off your chest. He was still here, right here in your flat. Your best friend, your rock and crush. Simon was finally back, not for the reason you might have fantasized about more than often you were willing to admit, but he was back. Love is such a funny thing, you think to yourself as you lay in bed. It had been three years since you had last seen him, hugging and barely holding back tears as he hopped on a bus to bootcamp. You hadn't cried that hard ever as you had cried on that day when he left. You turn onto your side and wipe away a few tears that leak from your eyes, at least he was here now.

You stand outside his family's home. You look down the street and recall the exact path that you could take to see your family. You had turned down Simon's offer to come inside, you didn't want to intrude on his reunion with his mother. You tap your foot as you lean against your truck, the same one you had driven to the fields outside of Manchester all those years ago. Simon steps outside of the house and hugs his mother one last time, his mouth moves but you don't hear what he has to say. His mother looks around him and looks at you. She's been crying you realize. You exchange a smile and a wave before she goes back inside of the house.

"Got the address?" You ask Simon as you both get into your truck.

"Got it." He confirms and gives you the address. You can't stop yourself from grimacing, of course it had to be that arsehole’s address. You hadn't left Simon in the dark of what was going on with his family while he was deployed and away. You didn't bother to spare details, okay, well maybe a few. Mostly about your own interactions with Tommy and his friends. But Simon didn't need to hear that, he had already sworn to come back and fix his family at least a dozen times since the third month. He didn't need to stress himself over you.

The car ride was quiet, the radio was off and the only sound was the wind blowing in through the open windows. You can feel the rage rolling off him but also the concern for his brother. The truck comes to stop outside of a dingy and unwelcoming flat building, you look at Simon and take him in. His brown eyes fill with determination and rage the longer he looks at the building. Finally, he opens the door, "I'm gonna get Tommy." He says before turning to go into the building after shutting the door. You let out a shaky sigh and let go of the steering wheel, looking at your shaking hands you try not to think too hard about what Tommy and his friends had done. What kind of people they were.

Tommy, your best friend's young brother had let his so-called friends push you around at your job until they were banned by your manager. Then they slashed your tires. Tommy hadn't changed, just become a carbon copy of dirt-bag father. Simon was made from something different, he was his mother's son, the undying love of his family and the ability to go with the flow of life. To never give up. You tense up as the people who lived in the flat walk past you, your breathing becoming more shallow as you watch them enter the flat. Oh god. Oh god. You panic and go to unbuckle yourself but struggle as your trembling hands only become worse.

You could hear the fighting coming from inside the house as you finally unbuckle yourself. There were five of them and only one of him. Oh god. Oh god. You push the truck door open and nearly tumble out, rushing to Simon's aid. You didn't expect to see him handling himself well against five other people while Tommy crouches low to avoid the fight altogether. One of the men goes to try and put Simon in a headlock, you do the only thing you can think of. You grab the man's jacket and pull him into your punch.

Simon places Tommy in the back seat, telling him he's going to bring him to the clinic and get him clean. You rub your throbbing knuckles, the pain from that one punch still echoing in your body. Simon gently takes your hand and inspects your knuckles, clicking his tongue. "You were never much of a fighter." He comments and looks up into your eyes. "But that was a good punch."

You're standing outside the clinic, the cold early spring wind making you pull your jacket closer to your body. Today was the day Tommy was going to be released, you weren't going to turn down Simon's request for you to be there. You had been spending more and more time with Simon and his mother. She is such a sweet lady, and loves her sons more than anything in the entire world. Simon looks at you and smiles, "I told you I would fix my family."

You roll your eyes, "I'll believe Tommy is clean when I see it." You grumble.

"I know he wasn't a good man back then,"

"He was a fucking mess Simon." You say, "He and his druggie friends cornered me once, demanded whatever money I had on me." You finally spill your guts, "I don't like him. You've been defending Tommy and his stupidity every day since I've known you." You look him right in the eyes, "He doesn't deserve your love or your mothers. As far as I'm concerned, he's been on my shit list since the first time I had to clean your bloody lip."

Simon looks at you for a long moment, your words hanging in the air until he pulls you into a hug. "I'm sorry." He mutters and hides his face in the crook of your neck. You freeze and he hugs you tighter, "I'm so sorry. You should have told me about that. I would have never-"

"Don't be sorry." You whisper quickly, "Never be sorry. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. Simon you're too kind, too forgiving."

"That's not true."

"I think it is."

Someone coughs and Simon lets go of you, his face breaking into a smile as Tommy stands in front of the two of you. He looks different, better. Healthy and alive. "Can we go home now?" He asks. You watch as Simon walks up to Tommy and wraps him in his arms.

"Of course."

You watch from the driver's seat as their mum opens the door and jump into Tommy's arms as Tommy hugs her tight. You can't help the smile that grows on your face when Simon joins the hug. Their mum looks at you and motions you to join them. You shake your head but Simon walks over and pretty much drags you from the car and into the group hug.

Later that night, their mum pulls you to the side. "Thank you." She says and takes your hand into hers, "for being there for my Simon."

"It really was nothing." You assure her and she shakes her head.

"You love him very much. Don't try to deny it, you've stuck by his side all these years and I've seen the way you look at him." She winks, "I just hope the two of you get together before I'm dead."

You can't help the quiet laugh that comes from your throat, "Me too." You whisper and look over at Simon who sits next to Tommy as they watch a football match after eating dinner.

You can hardly believe that you're sitting here at Tommy's wedding next to their mum as you comfort her. Simon stands as Tommy's best man as they trade vows. Beth looks beautiful as she always has. Long black hair and charming blue eyes, she was beyond kind as well. Perfect for Tommy who hadn't lost some of his snark but Beth softened him. You look at Simon and smile when you notice he's holding back tears as they exchange vows.

The wedding's reception wasn't filled to the brim with people but it was lively, friends and distant family members mingled as you sit at a table with a glass of champagne. Simon lets out a sigh as he sits next to you at the edge of the party. "Are you having fun?" You tease and Simon rolls his eyes. Joseph, Simon's nephew who you are sure will never know a day of fear or hurt like his uncle and father, is exchanged between party members and snuck small bites of cake.

"I'd let to get away from all of this for a moment." He admits as he runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair. You remember when he was the sad strawberry blond boy that rainy school day. The way he avoided eye contact and others. You smile and take his hand.

"Then lets go."

You can faintly hear the music from the reception but other wise, this bench away from the party was the perfect place. The night sky is some what visible, with only the brightest stars being visible from all the light pollution of the city. A small breeze blows through your hair and you close your eyes to just soak in the moment. You open your eyes and Simon looks at you, softness in his eyes.

"What?"

"You're stunning." He says and you furrow your brows, ignoring the heat in your cheeks and neck. He leans in closer and cups your cheek, "Can I kiss you?" The words don't come to you but you nod frantically, feeling worried that he might change his mind for some reason. His eyes look between your eyes and lips before he leans in. The kiss is slow and he holds you like you might break or in case you want to leave. His lips are slightly chapped but soft and you vaguely wonder if he put on flavored chapstick earlier. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer and he takes the hint. The kiss turns from soft to practically ravenous as he holds you close, your mouth parts automatically and he slips his tongue in.

When you finally pull back to breath deeper, he looks at you with amazement. "I love you Simon Riley." You whisper and rest your forehead against his, "I have since we were 15. Don't leave me again Simon. Not if you can help it."

"You're gonna hate me then." He whispers as he holds you close. "I'm returning to duty in a month."

"I could never hate you Simon. Not in a million years. Just… write to me and when you go on leave again,” You take a steadying breath, “We can talk about what we are." He nods and you press your lips to his again.

You stand in the rain. You fucking hate the rain. It soaks through your black clothes and makes it stick to your skin. It mats down your hair and hides the tears that run down your face. There is no one here, no one but you and the priest at this funeral. How could this happen, you wonder. Everything was perfect. You look at the name on the gravestone. Tommy, Beth and Joseph, there's another gravestone a few feet away that has his mothers and fathers name on it. Simon is the only one who is buried alone. A bitter and petty choice from their distant family. Everyone thinks Simon did it. There was no proof to prove otherwise and it fit the story. A soldier returns home and suffers a PTSD breakdown and kills his entire family.

It didn't make sense. Simon was getting better, he promised he was getting better and attending therapy appointments. He loved Joseph, he loved his family and he loved you. He would have never done this. Maybe he would have murdered his father but the anger there was long and bitter, if he wanted to kill his father, he would have done it years ago.

Earlier last month, you had passed by a stand with different brochures. Some of them were for churches, others for activities to do with the family. Normally, you would have passed by it, eager to leave the store as quickly as possible. But you stopped this time and glanced at a particular brochure, you picked it from its spot and glanced over it. “You belong here.” A soldier is yelling while another is taking cover, inside are different recruiting offices and general information. You pocket it.

It was an impulsive decision. But the papers were filed and your two week notice already given. You didn't want to think about the consequences of what you were about to do, you just felt lost. University didn't matter, your cafe job didn't matter and every street in this fucking city reminded you of him. You decided if you were going to join the military. You had been accepted, the letter sat in your bag now that all of your items in your flat had been packed up and stored in your old childhood bedroom. This was just the last thing to do before the bus picks you up tomorrow morning.

You throw the roses in your hand into the caskets until you reach Simons. Your hand trembles as it holds the thorny rose, shakily you bring it to your lips and kiss the petals before tossing it into his grave. "I love you Simon Riley."

You watch as the city of Manchester flows past you like a river. It's raining again and the droplets obscure your vision of the outside world. People around you talk and you realize just how out of place you are. These are 16, 17 and 18 year olds with bright eyes and dreams. You vaguely wonder if Simon had sat in silence as he liked to do or if he had been dragged into a conversation. You glance at your duffle bag by your feet before leaning your head back and shutting your eyes. The bus ride would be a long one, you figure that some rest would make it faster.

Your name is called and you step forward, you hold onto the bag of items shoved into your arms. You listen to the drill sergeant yell that these are your items. You are responsible for maintaining and keeping track of all things in this bag. You realize, in a way that makes it difficult not to smile, that Simon was right. They are hard arses here.

The scratches that litter your body sting as you crawl through the mud and muck underneath the barbed wire with a rifle held close to your chest. You breathe out puffs of condensation in the air, you’re shivering and you keep your jaw clenched so your teeth don’t chatter. You keep crawling, inching like a caterpillar towards the end of this section and fight the urge to just lay there on the ground. The cold rain soaks through your clothes and you grunt when part of the barbed wire above you catches onto your leg again. “Fuck.” You hiss but you’re nearly there.

You wonder why Simon never told you about this but he never seemed to tell you anything. You curse the dead man and curse yourself for being impulsive. Nearly done with university and you dropped out for him, for a dead man who was buried alone in his own grave. You use your anger to make it to the end, your uniform is covered in mud and the sensation makes your skin crawl but you run forward towards the rope wall, swinging your rifle over your back. “Come on Private!” The drill sergeant screams at you, “I’ve seen injured men move faster than you do!” You grit your teeth as he mocks you.

It's his job, you remind yourself, to try and break you. If Simon leaving didn’t break you, if him and his family dying didn’t break you then this fucking drill sergeant was not going to break you. You climb up the rope and grapple onto the next bit of rope, locking your legs with your ankles and you inch down the rope even as your hands burn.

That night as you sit in the corner of the mess hall, you itch at the bandages wrapped around your hand. Whatever salve the lady in the med bay had slathered onto your hand hadn’t done much to cool the burning. You know it's counterintuitive to scratch at it but who was going to stop you? You were an adult now and could suffer the consequences of your stupid actions. Like not demanding Simon give you answers on why he was pulling away after finally confessing his feelings. You clench your fist and smother those feelings with the pain you feel.

No matter how many times you try to remind yourself there's no point in focusing on the past you can’t stop. How can you stop? Everything you’ve done has been for him and now he’s gone and you’re still doing things for him. You look around the mess hall at the different groups of fellow trainee’s and know you’ll never have that kind of connection with anyone else. Simon was it. Your best friend since childhood, your first crush and first heartbreak. You wander outside and sit on a stack of crates near the mess when the talking and clanking of silverware grows too much.

The night is cool, the sky is clear from the rain that had poured so hard earlier but you can’t see the stars anyway. You go to itch at your hand again when a drill sergeant comes around the corner. You stiffen up and immediately get up to salute but he dismisses you before you even get your hand to your forehead. “Private, why aren’t you in the mess eating?”

“Lost my appetite, sir.” You reply, “Figured some fresh air would do me some good.” You go to scratch at your hand again and his eyes snap to the motion.

“Private, did the nurse not provide you with burn cream?” He asked and it was weird having the man who yelled at you all day suddenly become concerned for your well-being.

“She did, sir, it just itches.” You explain and the drill sergeant makes a face, for a second you worry that he will demand that you return to the med bay again. Instead, he nods.

“Dismissed Private. Get some rest.” You nod and scurry away to your barracks.

The helicopter’s wings slow but any flyaways in your hair whip and stick to your face anyways. After serving in the SAS for five years, you had been picked by Chief station Laswell and Captain John Price to be a part of the 141 task force. You couldn’t believe you had finally done it, all these years of serving and you start to finally believe that you might’ve done Simon some justice. All the broken bones, bruises and scars are worth it if it means he’s looking down on you fondly. You look between the four men in front of you. You recognize Captain Price immediately with his boonie hat and well groomed mutton chops. He extends his hand which you take and shake with a firm grip. “Boys, this is Gator. They’ll be joinin’ our task force startin’ today.”

The man standing next to Price smiles at you, beautiful white teeth with a stunning smile and soft brown eyes. He has a scar on his cheek and you wonder how he got it as you shake his hand, “This is Sergeant Garrick.” Price says and you beam back at him.

“A pleasure to meet you Sergeant.”

“No need for that, just call me Gaz.” He assures you and lets go of your hand. You turn to meet the third man and before you can even open your mouth or extend your hand to shake, he’s grabbing yours with a grip tight enough to shatter a few bones. He has a stupid mohawk haircut that he somehow makes work, crystal blue eyes and you can tell that he’s a little mischievous.

“I’m Sergeant MacTavish but e’eryone calls me Soap.” He laughs, warm like an early summer day, when he sees your eyebrows raise. “I’ll tell ye why later.” He promises with a wink.

“Oi! Johnny, stop hoggin’ the new meat.” You turn to the voice and have to stop yourself from taking a step back just so you could look at the man fully. He’s fucking huge. Broad shoulders, wearing all black and a skull mask to hide his face. You can barely make out his brown eyes from under all that eye black. His accent is rough, with a voice that gives away how much he smokes. He looks down at you, like you suspect he has to most people, and you want to slink away into whatever hole he thinks you crawled out of. Despite this, you stick your hand out for him to shake.

“And this is your Lieutenant, Ghost.” You have to stop yourself from snorting. Ghost, how fitting for a man literally wearing a skull mask. He grips your hand and gives it a firm shake as his eyes burn holes into your soul. You look at his hand when you feel something other than familiar flesh, it's a glove. Even funnier, its skeleton gloves. It sends you nearly into a giggle fit, yes this man is intimidating to a point where you would have been shaking in your boots a few years ago. But he’s unironically wearing skeleton gloves. How is that not funny? He gives you a firm shake but just as quickly removes his gloved hand from yours. “Alright Gator, Ghost will give you a quick tour around here and then I want you to report for training at 0500 hours.”

The tour is silent besides the simple sentences Ghost speaks and you’re that sure he wouldn’t if Price hadn’t put him on the spot for giving you the tour. “This ‘ere is the training hall, this is where yer expected to be tomorrow.” He gruffly says, stiff as a board. You nod and nearly jump out of your skin when someone wraps their arm around your shoulders.

“There ye are! I was tryin’ tae find ye.”

“Sergeant.” Ghost says gruffly and Soap rolls his eyes before removing his arm. “They are busy.”

“Away an bile yer heid.” Soap says with a laugh, “I ken that yer aboot as excited fer this tour as they are.” You didn’t need to see Ghost roll his eyes to know he did, it was just in the way the air shifts around the three of you. “Lemme take over the rest of the tour aye?” Ghost sighs but concedes which confirms that he would really rather be anywhere else than giving the FNG a tour. “Good lad.” Soap chuckles and pats Ghost’s shoulder.

Ghost leaves quickly for being a man so massive and Soap turns to you, “Dinnae mind him, he’s a big grump.” You snort and laugh while nodding in agreement. “Alright, let's continue this tour.” Soap claps a hand on your back and for the rest of the day, with breaks for food of course, he showed you around. He was certainly better at it then Ghost who acted like he had been asked to travel across the sahara desert while carrying you.

“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap groans while he stumbles back from you. Sweat sticks to your forehead and your usual hairdo is ruined but so is the way of sparring and training. “I see why they call ye Gator.” He grumbles as he holds his head. “Ye fuckin’ death rolled me.” Soap accuses and it was true. You have the strength to take down men bigger than you in not only height but sheer mass. It was a skill you had honed for the past several years ever since you figured it out in bootcamp.

You wrap your arms around him as he tries to pin you to the mat and roll. You twist with all your might and switch the position then without a second thought you slam your head against his. The force knocks your brain around and the headache you’ll get later is going to be absolutely terrible but the man under you groans and holds his forehead. “I yield! Holy shite.” He curses as you immediately back away from him. You glance around at the group of people who had made it this far into the training and then meet the eyes of your drill sergeant who, if you weren’t mistaken and didn’t have a concussion, looked almost proud.

That night as you hold an ice pack against your forehead and sit outside the mess hall away, he approaches again. “Never seen a private do that.” He says after immediately acknowledging your salute and telling you to be at ease. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do that before.” You sheepishly shrug.

“I didn’t want to lose.”

“And so you didn’t.” A silence hangs in the air as the crickets chirp and you wonder if that's an owl’s hoot you hear. “I think you're going to have a nickname before you even leave camp.” He says, “You have the other sergeants wantin’ to call you Gator.”

“Gator?” You ask even if you understand the implications. You guess you did a kind of death roll that poor buy but Gator? Really?

“Better than some poor sod who got named Dirt because he ended up with a mouth full of dirt after tripping on the 20 mile march.” You chuckle at that.

“I guess Gator is much better than Dirt.”

“That’s the spirit. You better get some rest for tomorrow, Private.” He says before walking away and just like that time, leaving you to sit in the cool night air before you heed his warning.

You grit your teeth as Ghost ignores you again. You’re just trying to get him to sign from fucking paperwork Captain Price asked of you. “Lieutenant I need-”

“Not now sergeant.” Ghost says as he walks away from you and you want to scream. Its been like this the entire time you’ve been on this team. At first you thought it was his way of hazing you, act like a dickhead and see if the FNG breaks. Well you haven’t broken, you’ve only doubled down because every time he acts like this you keep being reminded of Simon and how he wouldn’t have given up.

At least Gaz and Soap were more open to you being on their task force now that months had passed. Although you doubt if Soap had ever disliked the idea of you being on the force. You barely duck Gaz’s punch but aren’t fast enough to catch his leg before it slams full force into your side. You grab it before he can bring it back and yank on it so he falls onto the floor, he rolls over before you can pin him down. You stare at each other for a moment before you lunge at him like a rabid dog without a leash.

He steps to the side and then grabs the back of your shirt collar to slam you down into the mat. You squirm and fight to keep him from pinning your arms back but it's no use. And in this position, death rolling him was nearly impossible. And you’ve definitely been trying. “Distracted Gator?” Gaz asks as he pants and you snarl back at him before you let out a meek ‘I yield’. He releases you immediately and you rub your wrists. “Broken?”

“Negative.” You say as you walk over to grab your bottle of water.

Watching you spar from the corner was Ghost. He observes the way you fight and the way you wiggle out of every attempt to pin you until the last. If it wasn’t for your infamous ability to death roll, he’s sure you would have ended up being called Weasel. And wasn’t that an amusing thought? Still better than Soap. “Ye stalkin’ the FNG.” Soap teases and Ghost glances down at Soap with what he knows is a deadpan expression. Or at least deadpan eyes. Mask and all that.

“You stalkin’ me?” Ghost shoots back and Soap grins this feral grin that makes Ghost groan inwardly because that grin meant only one thing. Dog with a fuckin’ bone, thats what Soap is when he thinks he’s smelt something out. “Don’t start MacTavish.”

“Oh its MacTavish it is?” Soap feigns hurt as he clutches his chest. “Ye wound me sir.”

“It is when yer about to say somethin’ god awfully stupid.”

“Yer no fun L.T.” Soap laments and Ghost rolls his eyes while shaking his head at Soap’s antics. Soap looks past Ghost and to Gator who is talking with Gaz on the bench while the two of them drink water and give the other advice. “Slippery thing they are.” Soap comments and Ghost nods. “Dinnae think I’ve ever seen someone slip out of your hold befure.”

“Is tha’ the reason yer botheirn’ me Sergeant?”

“Botherin’ ye? Nae sir, jus’ wanna see how Gaz manages to take them down.” Soap says, a half truth and they both know it.

“They gave him a hard time too.”

“Do ye think tha’ they oil up befure every sparrin’ match?” Soap says with a smile and Ghost rolls his eyes despite the small smile growing beneath his mask. You look up and notice Soap and Ghost which immediately makes him want to flee the scene. Every time you lock eyes with him, it sends him back to his time in Mexico. You’re a constant reminder and he wants you gone. Simon is dead and he’s not sure why you even joined the fucking military in the first place. Last he knew you were close to finishing off your degree, did you drop out to join this place?

Ghost grits his teeth as he shoves the memories of both Roba and you back into the box he had stuffed the two of you into years ago. He can’t open the box for one without the other escaping. You offer him a small smile and he turns on his heel. He walks as quickly as he can back to his private quarters, perks of being an officer and also being dead he guessed. He slams his door behind him and marches right into the bathroom. He yanks off the mask and stares at himself. He stares at the scars across his face, his broken one-too-many-times nose and the scar that cuts his lip. He takes stalk of his flaws within his face, the one you had seen and hadn’t recoiled from.

He wonders if you even suspect that its him and his chest hurts at the thought that you’ve forgotten him. But he knows he hasn’t earned his right back into your life, he’s dead. He can never be the man you need or want, he’s different now. Much more scarred than when he returned from Mexico, he’s brash and rude. He doesn’t like people and he doesn’t like that he still wants to be near you. It’s irrational, it’s stupid and there’s nothing he can do about it but try and get to you to quit.

“Captain Price told me to give this to you.” A Corporal says, clearly shaking in his boots, as he hands Ghost a file. “A-and he told me that he wants you in the briefing room.”

“Dismissed Corporal.” Ghost says and the man scurries off. Ghost looks at the file and opens it, the first thing he sees is that it’s a duo op. The second thing he sees is that you’re the one coming along. “Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters as he looks at your little picture papercliped to the top of the page next to his faceless one.

“He always does that.” You groan to Gaz as you watch Ghost turn on his heel and leave once you lock eyes with him. “Did I do something wrong?” You ask, “It's been months.”

Gaz shrugs, “Ghost is an enigma, when you start to think you know him you find something else about him. That man has secrets upon secrets.” You frown at that statement. Obviously he was hiding his face to protect his identity and of course that made you naturally curious but you’ve never pressed about it. He’s quiet and efficient if any of the stories told you by Gaz and Soap were anything to go by. And now he’s a secret keeper.

Who are you Ghost?

You sit at the table in the briefing room, bouncing your leg up and down under the table as Captain Price goes over what the mission objective is and what intel you and Ghost will be going in with. The mission is in Siberia, the objective is to get an old usb drive from a recently re-abandoned USSR base. You glance over at Ghost who hasn’t stopped looking at you this entire time, only dragging his eyes away from you when Captain Price addresses him specifically. His brown eyes seem to be trying to burn holes into your very soul so you try to match it. This would be your first duo op with Ghost and you would not be pushed around during it.

”The group that had been inhabiting the old soviet base are still lingering around and might return when they realize that they’ve left behind a very important piece of information.” Captain Price says and points to the projected map on the wall. “You’ll need to be fast and efficient. Is that clear?” His blue eyes scan over the two of you and both of you echo a ‘yes sir’ at the same time. “Good, get your gear and be ready, you’re wheels up in two hours.”

“Yes sir.” You say and leave the room after being properly dismissed. You look at the file in your hand, the information covered in the briefing summarized in the file with certain things blacked out. Like the fact this is in Siberia or that it’s an old soviet base that had been taken over by a terrorist group for a short while. You worry about that fact, if this base had been well and truly abandoned, why would the group set up there? Siberia wasn’t exactly a very hospitable environment and would take a certain amount of resources to deal with. Not just any kind of terrorist group would be able to afford those expenses.

“What’s got ye frownin’ so hard?” Soap asks and you jolt, not even aware that Soap had come up to you. He glances at the file and whistles, “Yer on a mission with L.T?”

”Somethin’ wrong with that? Something I should be worried about?” You ask, glancing behind Soap to make sure that specter wasn’t there.

“Nae, nothin’ ye should worry about besides the stick up his arse.” Soap jokes and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. Soap grins, “There’s that smile.” Soap pinches your cheek and you swat at his hand.

”What are you? My aunt?”

”Nae I’m worse.” Soap laughs as he goes to pinch your cheek again. You squeal and laugh as you take off towards the armory and Soap gives chase. You eventually make him leave, shoo-ing him off so you can change into your gear. The gear is heavy but familiar, a comforting kind of weight that you always mourn once an op is over. Tightening the strap of your vest until you felt like it was secure enough and doing the same thing with the gun holster on your thigh.

”You tighten it anymore and you’ll lose blood flow.” Ghost grunts and you stop yourself from startling a little. Ghost walks up to you and loosens the straps himself a little before your brain starts working again. You slap his hands away and glare up at him.

”I am perfectly capable of knowing when to stop tightening my straps.” You hiss. You had been in the SAS long enough to know your preferences and the fact that he is trying to baby you is insulting at best and downright disrespectful at worst. Ghost stares down at you, brown eyes dead but also filled with some kind of emotion you can’t place. He says nothing else, doesn’t even grunt, before he turns to get his gear on. You huff and finish preparing your items for the op.

You go over the file one last time while on the flight to Siberia, flipping through the different pages and you can’t fight off the gut feeling that something isn’t right. You bounce your leg as you look at the map of the base, for an old soviet base, it's small. Granted, you don’t know how big USSR bases in Siberia tended to be but this is just too small. You glance at Ghost and contemplate mentioning this to him but since the armory he hasn’t spoken a word to you. Let alone even look your way which would normally be a reprieve but right now you wish he would look, just so you’d feel less awkward starting a conversation. You remind yourself that he’s a Lieutenant, he knows more than a Sergeant such as yourself. You need to trust your commanding officer.

Ghost can feel the warmth from you, like you had leaked a part of yourself into his gloves and now he can’t get rid of it. He doesn’t understand why he had approached and went to fix your straps, really they are too tight for comfort, but when you had slapped his hands away it was like a shock had gone through him. Like his entire system had been rebooted from the simple touch, now he can’t even bear to look at you. He can feel the weight of your gaze on him though and that’s how he knows that he acted out of character. He clenches his fist so tight his knuckles are cramped when he opens it again, he wishes you would just say what you want to say.

He wishes you would yell at him so he would have something to tell Price about, to maybe get you booted off the team. He’s been a prick to you, moving your stuff in the rec room, eating your food and being condescending. What kind of drill sergeant you had, he didn’t know but they must’ve turned your will into steel. Or maybe you were always like that, you hadn’t given up on him when you got a glance at his life at home. You treated his bloody noses and busted lips, you convinced your parents to let him stay over as often as possible. You even went with him to get Tommy despite the shit Tommy and his shitty friends had put you through.

Ghost clenches his jaw, no matter what, this is better for you. He just needs to get you to quit or maybe transfer to some kind of safer job in the military if you’re so hell bent on staying. He still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you dropped out of university. He steals a glance and sees you looking at the file the same way you would look at study notes before a test.

You were right. Of course you were fucking right. Why do you have to be right? The base is much, much bigger than the intel said and worse is the fact that its not completely abandoned. “Get the fuck out of there!” Ghost yells over comms and you’re so close to just tearing the wiring in half so you don’t have to listen to him. You turn another corner, refilling the ammo in your pistol as the sound of pounding footsteps echo down the long concrete hallways of this underground base. You wait for the man to turn the corner and shoot him right between the eyes, the muzzle on your pistol only does so much and the sound bounces off the walls. ”I said to get out of there soldier!”

You snarl, “I’m getting this fucking USB drive, fuck off!” You say into comms as you run down the halls. Lights flicker above you and distantly you can hear soldiers yelling. Just a few more turns, you tell yourself as you slide into a wall, using your arms you push off it and keep going. Once out of this god forsaken underground, NOT abandoned, USSR base you’d die happy never seeing another concrete hall. You slam the door open to the server room stored deep in the base and lock it behind you, hoping that might spare you some time between you and soldiers surely running down the halls towards you.

”Don’t ignore me Sergeant!” His voice comes out warbled, likely because you’re so far underground. You clench your jaw so hard your teeth hurt as you fling open different desk drawers, toss everything onto the desk in search of the USB they sent you here for in the first place. After six desks, you realize there is no way there is a USB.

”Fucking CIA intel.” You grab an unused USB from a desk and jam it into the nearest computer. “Fucking lucky I took that damn class.” You mutter to yourself as you bypass the passwords and begin to download the information.

”Sergeant! I said get out of there, use your bloody ears!”

”I have to download everything myself!” You yell into the comms, “The intel was shite!” You slam your pistol into the PC you’re not currently using. “Fucking CIA.”

”I don’t care! I’m pulling us from this mission.”

”I’m getting this USB Lieutenant, you’re welcome to chew me out once I’m back on the surface.” You snap, “Going dark.”

”Don’t you da-“ You rip the wires out of your comms and throw the damn thing onto the floor.

Ghost yells into the comms again but only gets static back, he looks down at the base from the scope of his sniper. It looks abandoned, it looks small and easy to navigate but he heard what you said. He knows that its all a facade, that the terrorist group had found tunnels to another base nearby and have been smuggling weapons and food between those tunnels, hardly ever having to go outside at this base. Which is what led the intel team to believe its been abandoned and therefore an easy op. His heart is pounding against his chest and it hurts from how hard its beating against his chest, he keeps trying the comms. “Gator! Gator turn your comms back on!” He snarls into the mic but still nothing.

It’s then that it dawns on him that you didn’t just turn comms off, you ripped the wiring out. “God damn it.” He grunts as he gets off the ground, the snow disguising him falls to the ground as he hauls his sniper up and buries it under the snow between two trees. He pulls out his shitty cracked phone, that he frankly refuses to replace. He knows why and its not because he doesn’t like the newer versions. It’s because this one has those pictures of you, the version of you that hadn’t turned your back on civilian life yet. The version of you that makes him feel kind of sick for looking at now that he knows you now.

He opens up his map to the coordinates to the nearest safe house, and grabs his pistol before he puts his phone away. He sighs and makes his way down towards the base that must be crawling with enemy terrorists but no one gets left behind. And he’s not about to let you die down there, his grip on his pistol tightens for just a second before he forces his fist to relax. He saunters his way in, everyone is far too distracted with chasing you down to pay attention to the cameras. He slides down the ladder into the base and is immediately greeted with the muffled sound of an alarm. “Fucking hell.” He mutters as he readies his pistol and knife.

You grunt, push the metal cabinet against the door, pushing through the pain in your thigh to do so. By the time it’s in place, you collapse against the wall next to it, grunting at the pain that shoots up your thigh in quick bursts. You look at the bullet wound and can’t help the disgust that crawls up your face when you realize it's pumping blood out in the rhythm of your heart beat. It’s funny, you’ve been shot before but you never had the time to look at it. It makes sense that it would do that though. You lean your head back against the concrete wall and can’t help the sob that rips it way out of your throat. Not because you’re going to die, not entirely because of that. Because you’re going to die in a concrete box alone.

You smear your bloody hand against the wall, wiping it off as you fumble with your shirt, pull just enough fabric out and rip it. No, you think, you’re not going to die here. Anywhere but in fucking Siberia surrounded by enemies and in a damn concrete room underground. You wrap the torn fabric around your thigh, just above the wound and wrap it tightly. So tightly you can actually feel the blood flow being slowed and this time on purpose. You check the bullets in your pistol and laugh when you see only two. “And I’m fucking out.” You mumble just as you hear someone’s boots echo outside of the room. You rise on shaky legs and bite your tongue to keep from crying out from the pain but walk over to the corner. You raise the gun and point towards the metal cabinet that is rocking from the force of what must be either several people pushing or one big motherfucker.

You don’t pray, no sense in praying right now. Even if you did ask for forgiveness you wouldn’t get it, the blood on your hands is more than any person can justify, not even God because it is a rule. Thou shall not murder. You huff out a laugh at that, well you’ve certainly sinned. The metal cabinet comes crashing down and in bursts three men. Fuck. You fire your last two shots and take down the first two but when the third enemy hears the gun click, he laughs. It’s an ugly and horrible laugh, one that expresses his entire arrogance of you being in this situation. Wounded and without any ammo, your knife left behind in some fuckers neck a few corners ago. “You lose.” He taunts as he walks closer and your leg finally loses feeling, you slide down the wall as you stare at the man who is going to hopefully bring you death.

You’re reminded of that quote you read once, When I die, bury me in the woods, the wolves will be kinder to me than any man. And if you weren’t about to meet your end, you’d laugh at the fact you can’t even remember the woman who said it. You hope she got her wish. The man raises his pistol and presses it to your temple. You hear a bang echo in the room and expect for it all to be over but you grunt when the man lands on you. “What the fuck?” You mutter as you struggle to push the weight of a dead man off of you. He’s pulled off of you and you look up at the bloody skull face plate, “Aren’t you just a life saver?” You quip before you throw up.

Ghost huffs when you pass out after throwing up and narrowly avoiding his boots. He hauls you up and over his shoulder, tucking your pistol into your thigh holster. Trying to get you up the ladder was hell, he was constantly afraid that his grip would loosen and you’d fall to your death. The walk to the safe house is about half way done when he feels your stirring. He grips you tighter just in case you try to flail around and attempt to land yourself in the snow.

When you come to, you realize that you’re over someone’s shoulder. Just as you’re about to flail around, the memory of Ghost standing over you. “Awake now?” Ghost asks, his voice rough as always and that reminds you of someone you used to know. You give your reply in the form of a groan which is all that seems to want to leave your mouth. “We’re about an hour away from a safe house.”

”And I wasn’t told?” You snap, anger pushing past the way you feel like you’re going to throw up if you speak again.

”Need to know.”

”Well I might’ve needed to know!” You flail your arms around harmlessly before you collapse back to being a rag doll on his back. He doesn’t respond and when you think he’s about to return to his normal grumpy silence, he breaks it.

”What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He snaps and you jolt awake from the half sleep you had unknowingly slipped into. “Ripping your comm wires out and going dark. What the fuck Sergeant?”

”I wasn’t able to focus with you screaming at me to abandon the mission.” You immediately jump to defend, “I got the damn USB drive with the intel they need, I completed the mission.” You don’t even realize that he’s reached the safe house until he nearly kicks the door in because the doorknob is frozen. He practically tosses you onto the couch before slamming the door shut. “I completed the objective.” You nearly snarl out.

”You failed to follow simple orders to retreat.” He slams his pistol and knife down on the table, “You nearly died.”

”Yeah, well it didn’t seem like you’d care all that fucking much if I did! If I hadn’t gotten the USB,” You pull the damn thing from your front vest pouch and throw it onto the table. “then the entire thing would have been a waste!”

”I don’t care about the USB, if you’re in danger like that you follow my damn orders! I can’t lose you!” Ghost grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you just a little. You look at him, feeling confusion creep up before it is swallowed down by anger.

”What?”

”Forget about it.”

”No. You’ve been treating me like a damn nuisance the minute I joined the task force and now you suddenly care? Why now huh? Why now? Because you sure didn’t act like I mattered very much.”

”I said forget about it.” He snarls but you go to stand on shaking legs

”No fuck that! Fuck you Ghost! What changed?” You keep hounding him until he slams his fist down the table and rips off his mask.

Rage boils up in you so quickly, so quickly you aren’t able to express it all just through yelling. It burns you up, sets you on fire and throws lighter fluid into that inferno any time you think it's about to burn a little less. It’s all consuming anger mixed with all those years of grief that you never properly addressed, just slapped a bandaid on called military life and carried on. Hot tears run down your face as you scream and rage at him. You even throw something at him, though he ducks out of the way easily. “You fucking bastard! You bastard! Fuck you Simon Riley!” You scream as you cry, head pounding from something. The pain in your thigh? The rage in your temple? Or how hard you’re crying? Probably a mixture of all three. “You’re dead! I buried you! I went to your funeral Riley!” You throw something else at him, probably an MRE.

He says your name gently, like he’s trying to soothe an animal but you’re frankly ready to sink your teeth into his skin if he tries to approach. “You didn’t even have the courage to write? Not even a little postcard? Something! Anything! To let me know you’re not dead? You’re lucky I’m not able to walk.” You spit.

”Would you listen-“ Simon tries to say but you immediately cut him off. Hearing his voice makes whatever walls you have built up over these five years crumble so easily. You can’t let him speak or else you’ll fall into his arms and just cry. And you need to be angry because you deserve to be angry.

”No! You listen to me Simon Riley!” You ball your hands into fists, “Why? Why did you treat me like shit? Why did you undermine me at every turn? It’s bad enough that you let me believe that you were dead! Wasn’t that enough for you? But of course it wasn’t, you had to make my life hell because you met me again!”

”Shut up!” Simon finally snaps, his brown eyes swirling with fury and guilt. “I had my reasons and if you would just-”

”Well what were they then? Huh? I’m all fucking ears.”

”You keep interrupting me. If you didn’t-“

”You had months to come clean Simon! Years if you count the time before I met you again and after all that time you couldn’t just be a man and tell me? Couldn’t even send me a hint that you were alive?” You slam your fist into the wall, you ignore the pain that shoots right up your arm into your shoulder. You glare at him through your tears and wipe at them frantically. “You didn’t even try.”

”I did it to protect you! And if you’d just let me speak I’d tell you all the reasons I had to not tell you or even let you think I was alive!” Simon finally manages to say, he goes to speak again and you hold up your hand.

”Don’t talk to me Simon Riley.” You say as you wipe away any tears from your cheeks that hadn’t rolled all the way down. Your eyes burn and your stomach hurts from just how much you’re feeling right now. Deep down, past the anger you feel relief because he’s alive. Your Simon is alive and maybe more rough around the edges with a scar bisecting his lip, a nasty scar along his cheek and nose broken and not properly set several times. You’re also sure his eye bags have increased tenfold since you last saw him but his eye black keeps that little fact hidden from you. His teeth are chipped and broken but his brown eyes still hold that same depth. You can tell he still smiles the same and he’s still that overprotective boy who had scared off your date that one time just by opening the door.

That’s still your Simon Riley. But damn him to the deepest hell and back for making your heart hurt so badly. “Fine.” He grits out before he marches to what you assume is the safe house bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

There is something wrong with me. That is Simon’s first thought when he looks at himself in the mirror that must be old because his reflection is warped. There is something wrong with me and it's not the scars or the way my joints ache when I stand or sit down. There is something wrong with me and it makes my blood run black. Simon wonders if he had been born wrong. He suspects he’s always been this way, he was his father’s son after all, doomed to be awful to all of those he knows. To use them and drain them dry until they cut him off or he tosses them away. He doesn’t want you to be part of that cycle, to be a part of the cycle that always results in those close to him dying.

He already lost his family, he couldn’t lose you too so he cut you out completely. It was better if you thought he was dead. You were better off thinking he was dead in the ground even if it hurt you, even if it hurt him. And fuck did it hurt that first year, every time something happened he wanted to call you or text you. Tell you all about it late at night in a part of base where no one would care if he was awake if they even dared to approach him at all. Simon wanted to return to you more then anything but Ghost hadn’t dug himself out of that grave and lost his entire family as consequence for not fucking dying just for you to meet that same fate. No, you’d be his only in memory. Maybe one day he’d stalk your social media and find that you’ve moved on. Hopefully out of that fucking city, working a good paying job with a man who deserved you.

And it didn’t matter how much that thought made his supposedly ice heart hurt. It didn’t matter because he was dead and there was nothing he could give you besides this rotting body and whatever love he could scrape together for you.

Simon looks at himself in the mirror, completely maskless and bare for what felt like the first time in years. It felt like his skin had been pulled away to show the maggots, rotting tendons and muscle underneath. Every tear that had left your beautiful eyes had felt like acid on his skin, every word thrown his way a well placed knife throw. He knew he deserved all that malice and if you didn't want to talk to him, then he wouldn’t talk to you. No matter how much he wants to.

The next two days go by slowly, it reminds you of the time you had to go through a bog. Slow movements and time seemed to slow to a fucking crawl as you traversed the bog to go around an enemy encampment so you could get the jump on them from behind. It didn’t matter that your clothes had been soaked through or that you could feel the cold of the water seeping into your bones. You kept going. So the same logic was applied here. Your bullet wound in your thigh eventually got treated properly, in silence of course. Simon had given you the first aid kit and you did your best with what you had. Digging out the bullet had to be one of the most painful experiences you’ve ever had.

Simon had wanted to step in and do it himself but he knew you’d sooner accept an infection then let him any closer then needed. By the end of the hour and several deep, guttural screams cut off only by the belt between your teeth, you had managed to pull the bullet out. You were quick to stitch the hole closed and to wrap it in bandages. When that was over, you only had enough strength to crawl onto the shitty couch and pass out.

The first day not talking to him was filled with tension. It was so thick you could cut it with your knife, if you had it that is. It’s still stuck in that asshole’s neck which sucks because it was a good neck. You were hesitant to put any pressure on your wound, terrified of ripping your frankly shit stitches and increasing the chances of you getting an infection. You spent the entire day cleaning and taking apart your gun with occasional glares sent to Simon if he tried to enter the same room as you and stay for more than a few minutes.

He understood your anger, he did, but he couldn’t stand it at the same time. He wants to sit right next to and soak in your presence in a way he hadn’t allowed himself before this. He hadn’t bothered to put his mask back on and when he had stepped out of the bathroom without it the first time you had jerked like someone had pinched you. You could still tell he had blonde hair from his eyebrows but seeing his blonde hair in a buzz cut had felt like an electric shock. That was still your Simon even all these years later and that made you angrier. How could he? How dare he? After all these years, he looked the same despite the scars on his face but you? Do you still look the same despite the weariness in your eyes and being grief eaten.

The only word he spoke to you was, “There’s a blizzard coming in tomorrow.” You had only given a grunt in acknowledgement which he had to admit, stung. How many times had he responded to you like that while trying to get you to quit and transfer somewhere else? Far too many times, he ran a gloved hand through his prickly hair as he shook his head. God he had been so fucking stupid and stubborn. As it turns out, the blizzard couldn’t wait until tomorrow or maybe it was the next day. The wind shook the entire safe house, the walls creaked and groaned from the force of it. The windows were covered by snow or maybe it was a white out, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t even want to lift your head to check. You were fucking freezing despite your thermals and the blanket. Your teeth chattered as you pulled the blanket even closer and closed your eyes. Your cheeks were numb and you could barely feel your nose, your fingers actually hurt from how cold they were.

You blew more warm breath into your cupped hands, your entire body shivered as another burst of wind caused the house to groan from the weight of it. You glanced around the living room/kitchen area, the fireplace was boarded up but it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t, you had no wood. The only thing of light was a battery powered lamp that you had been surprised still worked. You knew where Simon was, in the only other room besides the bathroom, the bedroom. Getting up those stairs would have been impossible for you the first two days here with your injury. Hell, you even doubted if you had enough strength to do it now even with the protein and nutrient packed MRE’s given to you for rations. But you suspected if you didn’t seek out another form of warmth and soon, you’d end up a popsicle. And frankly? That sounded like a bad way to go.

You shakily got to your feet, where it was from being nervous about putting weight on your injured leg or if you were cold, you couldn’t be sure. But you wobble up the stairs, gripping the rail for life the entire way and nearly falling when you finally manage to get the doorknob to turn. Simon catches you, he opens his mouth to chastise you before he realizes the state you’re in. He mutters your name, brown eyes filled with worry as you shrug, too tired and frozen to verbally shrug. He shakes his head and brings you to the mattress in the corner, he quickly runs downstairs and grabs your blanket before returning upstairs. You grumble, which honestly was just noises from the back of your throat as he settles next to you, pulling both blankets over the two of you. After a few minutes and warming up a little you mumble, “This doesn’t change that I’m upset with you.”

”I would never expect it to.” He whispers back as he wraps an arm around you. It shouldn’t be as easy as it is, like two pieces of a puzzle finally snapping together. You seep warmth from him like a leech while he holds you close and steady enough that you don’t shiver or shake. He stays awake the entire time, long after you’ve fallen asleep on your pack-made-pillow. Simon looks at you and drinks you in properly this time. Despite the blizzard outside still raging on and the cold temperatures making your skin lose a little color, you’re still as stunning as the day he confessed his love to you. He can still recall that day, sitting at a bench a little ways away from the reception party. The cool October breeze blowing through and the way you looked so relaxed. So content with the moment and with him. He kissed you that night, he kissed you like a starving animal. Like he might never get to kiss you again and that he needed to take what he could now.

“I love you Simon Riley. I have since we were 15. Don’t leave me again Simon, not if you can help it.” He was fucking idiot not to say it back, he didn’t even think to do so because his heart had been stabbed the moment you pleaded with him not to leave because he was leaving again. He was leaving you, the best thing in his entire life. Then he came back fucked but he did his best to get better. He didn’t want to touch you, he was terrified he would hurt you. Force himself on you, every night he dreamed that he was hurting you and that he enjoyed it. The therapy helped a little, you and his family helped a lot. Having something to return to helped so much. Then it all came burning down and damn it, he wasn’t going to let you die. So he killed the men then he returned to Mexico and killed Roba and his entire cartel. Then he never returned home, he never let you even think that he was alive. He glances down at you, sleeping in his arms

Sometimes, if he looks at you even now, he can recall the day the two of you met.

It was so cold and the rain didn’t make anything better. He trembles in his too-big shirt and pants which are rolled up to stop him from tripping again. He sniffles and wipes at his face, if he wipes away tears or the rain he doesn’t know. Other kids pass by him quickly with their umbrellas, rain coats and boots, protected by the things their mum’s and dad’s buy for them. His dad had sold his and Tommy’s umbrella’s and coats to afford more alcohol and drugs. Being the good big brother that Simon told himself he was, he let Tommy take their mum’s coat instead of him. He didn’t regret that, he could never regret making Tommy’s life a little better.

He isn’t expecting you to walk up to him with an umbrella with yellow ducks on it. He recognizes you almost instantly, you go to his class. You ask him, “What are you doing without an umbrella?” with your head tilted to the side like a confused puppy.

He mumbled out, eyes averted to the ground and soggy strawberry hair sticking to his forehead, “I don’t have one.” You asked if his mum didn’t buy him one. She did, she always did her best to provide for him and Tommy but his dad always ruined it. You don’t wait for him to respond, you don’t push for further answers or make fun of him for not having an umbrella or raincoat.

Instead, you smile at him and hold the umbrella with yellow ducks on it over his head after pulling the hood of your coat over your head. “Well it doesn’t matter now, I’m here and we can share.” You give him your name and he gives you his with the tiniest smile on his face. You held the umbrella over his head the entire way there then you walked him home because it was still raining. You called him a friend.

When you wake up, he lets you sit in silence. The blizzard had mostly passed through during the night, the worst of it was over but the safe house outside of the blankets was freezing cold. Simon knew he wasn’t exactly in a rush to leave the warmth and comfort of this moment. The silence hangs between the two of you and at some point, you begin to play with fingers in the way you used to when growing up. It takes a better part of an hour for him to work up the courage and it really feels like he is going to throw up when he whispers, “Do you still love me?” It’s quiet that if you didn’t know his voice that you’d think it was the wind still blowing.

He swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the killing blow. For you tell him that you don’t love him anymore, especially after these five years and the shit he pulled. But it doesn’t come, instead he hears your shuffling and feels your slightly cold hands cup his stubble covered cheeks. He peaks his eyes open and nearly melts at the sight before him. You, nearly in tears as you look at him so fondly like you did that October day. “Of course I still love you Simon Riley.” He can’t stop himself from closing the gap between the two of you as tears spill from both of your eyes and kiss you.

You’re taken by surprise when he kisses you, it's gentle and some tears slip between your connected lips. You don’t even realize that either you or him has started to cry but you return his kiss, trying to keep him this close for as long as you can without breathing. His hands tug you closer, if he could tear open his ribs and stuff you in there instead of his heart and lungs, he would. When you finally pull away, tears still running down your cheeks, you look at him. Tears run down his cheeks too and wet the fabric of his shirt now that they’re not being caught between your lips and spread between your cheeks and his. “Say it again.” He croaks and you repeat it.

”I love you Simon Riley.” You kiss his cheeks, “I love you.” You kiss his forehead, “And I’ll keep loving you for eternity.” Simon melts with each kiss you give him and sighs when you kiss his lips again. His large hands find your waist and tug you closer, his thick thigh parting yours as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip. You happily part your lips for him, your hands gripping his shoulders as his tongue explores your mouth and a needy moan leaves you. Your heart aches still and tears keep slipping down your face because he’s here. Simon Riley is alive and has been for years. The relief is almost enough to make you forgive him on the spot.

Maybe you are forgiving him in a way, not fully. God knows that it will take a lot more than just this to make you forgive him but it's a start. And it’s a start you desperately need, your fingers dig into him further which pulls a groan from him. Immediately you loosen your grip on him, fearing that you’ve hurt him until he pulls away completely breathless and with pupils so wide there’s hardly any brown left, “Don’t stop doing that.” He leans in and whispers against the shell of your ear. It sends goosebumps rising up on your skin as you dig your fingers back into him right as his mouth connects with yours again.

He rests a hand on the back of your neck to keep you close and connected to him. You feel like a teenager again when he slips one of his thick thighs between your own and you grind down on it nearly out of pure instinct. The pressure of your pants seam pressing against your clit makes your legs weak and a liquid warmth to pool. You do it again and you moan into the kiss, his other hand which he had used to cup your cheek immediately went to your hip and grabbed it. He doesn’t try to stop you, instead he encourages you to grind against his thigh. He mutters something against your lips and it comes out muffled but it sounds like, “Take what you need love.” And you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You grind against him, a little harder this time which causes your entire body to jolt as the electric pleasure shoots up your spine. His hand on the back of your neck tangles itself into your hair and he pulls away only barely so he can catch his breath. You’re left breathless and panting as you grind against his thigh, he rests his forehead against yours and his eyes focus on you using his thigh. “Fuck.” He mutters as his hand on your hip moves up and cups your chest. “I’m sorry.” He whispers and you furrow your brows, your pace faltering at his words.

”Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No, I’m sorry fo’ bein’ such a twat.” He says and pushes his thigh back against you. Your head tips back as a moan leaves your throat and you resume your previous pace. He gropes and paws at your chest, trying to pinch and twist at your hardened nipples from over the fabric of your shirts. “Love, please let me- let me push your shirt up.” He begs and you immediately give your consent. He doesn’t waste another second and pushes your shirt up as far as it would go then he grumbles something to himself before he pulls it over your head and discards it nearby.

He dips his head down and immediately takes a nipple into his mouth while his hand squeezes the other breast. He sucks on it, laving his tongue over it like a dog and letting his teeth graze it slightly when he figures out it makes your hips jolt. You tighten your grip on his shoulders as your thighs tense up and you desperately keep rocking your hips against his thigh. “Si-Simon I’m cl-“ You’re cut off by your own moan when he switches nipples and when he looks up at you between blonde lashes your orgasm washes over you. Your hips stutter and your entire body jolts once or twice as you soak your underwear. Simon swears at the sight of your mouth falling open and your head tipping back to expose your entire neck.

His fingers are nimble as he unbuttons your pants, he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of both the pants and your underwear then yanks them down. “Let me? Please let me make you feel good.” He begs and you nod, mind still trying to piece itself back together after the first orgasm. He shuffles under the covers and it’s kind of funny to see the bottom half of his body sticking out but the sight of it is pulled away from you as he yanks you further down the mattress.

”Simon-“ You yelp before it’s cut away into a moan. There’s no preamble or teasing, likely because he feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t have his mouth on your cunt now, before he buries his face in it. You grab at the blankets, your mouth falling open as you moan when his tongue flicks your engorged clit. He can’t seem to decide if he wants to focus on your clit or your pulsing hole, dipping his tongue down to slurp up your juices before returning to your clit. He’s desperate, his hands are gripping your thighs like you might try and pull away despite your moans and pleads for more filling the safe house.

He eases one thick finger into you as he sucks on your clit and you see stars in your vision. “Like that- oh my god- like that please don’t stop.” You whimper as your fingers card through his hair. You moan and start to squirm a little as he begins to pump his thick digit in and out of you. He seems to be searching for something, trying different things and sticking to the one that makes you keen the loudest. He crooks his finger just right and your thighs tense up around his head as a moan tears through your throat.

Like the sniper that he is, he focuses on that spot within your increasingly soaked cunt as he tortures your clit with his mouth. The slurping sounds have your cheeks heating up and you squirm as he pushes a second finger into you with no resistance. He rubs against that soft spot inside you that causes your body to relax further and pins down your hips when you try to squirm away from his tongue.

“Simon- nngh- that feels so-“ You can barely string together a sentence as he seems intent on rendering you boneless and incapable of speech as he abuses your g-spot. You feel a tightness growing within your abdomen, like something is winding up before it lets go. It barely registers in your brain that you’re on the verge of cumming. Simon must feel it too, with the way your pussy clamps down around his fingers, because he redoubles his efforts. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as your pussy pulses without a rhythm and you’re thrown over the edge. The muscles in your thighs clench involuntarily as the pleasure runs through you. He keeps rubbing at that spot through your orgasm, his fingers soaked in your slick as you twitch a little from the aftershocks.

You try to move upwards when he eases a third finger into you but he holds you down. “It’s too much.” You choke out as he crawls up your body, leaving a trail of sticky wet kisses. “Si please.” You hiccup as he begins to work you open with those three fingers.

”Got to work you open love.” He mutters reassuringly before capturing your lips in a kiss. He swallows down your moans like the greedy man he is, keeping all of these sounds for himself. He doesn’t care if the two of you are the only people around for miles upon miles, he doesn’t even want the walls to know your sounds in case they ever learn to talk. You whine at his words and a hand grabs his bicep as he fucks his fingers in and out of you. The stretch of three of his fingers is delicious, just that slight sting that ebbs away the more he finger fucks you.

It feels like he rips the next orgasm out of you, your entire body tenses as it slams into you. You feel yourself gush on his thick fingers and he keeps going, keeps fucking you through it until your pushing at his arm and pleading for a moment of reprieve. It’s only until tears gather in your eyes that he finally stops. Simon peppers your face in kisses while he whispers that he’s sorry. He promises that he’ll do right by you this time, no more running away or disappearing. He swears it as you unbuckle his pants and pulls them down. There’s a noticeable wet patch on his boxers but you don’t comment on it, just pull those down as well. Your mouth waters and your eyes widen when you see his cock.

It's thick, uncut and long. The tip is red from neglect and drips pre-cum like a leaky faucet. His cock is heavy that it hangs low and his brown eyes are filled with lust as he watches you reach down and wrap your hand around his length. “That’s not going to fit.” You finally whisper out, meeting his eyes which crinkle from the cocky smile on his face.

He leans down, body draping over yours. You can feel his body heat rolling off him in waves as he takes his cock from your hands and lines up the bulbous tip with your cunt. He strokes it a few times with his slick coated fingers as he looks you in the eyes before whispering, “I’ll make it fit.” When he pushes it, he does it slowly. You can feel every ridge, every pulsing vein of his cock against your walls. Despite having stretched you with three of his fingers before hand and making you cum twice the sting remains. It’s a sweet burn, a delicious heat that licks from your hips up to the back of your skull. It grounds you to the moment as his fingers dig into you as his hips meet yours, bottoming out in you he lets out a low moan. His eyes flicker down to where the two of you meet and he licks his lips at the sight.

He pulls back just a little and the squelch that comes from your cunt when he pushes back in makes your face hot. He leans down and grabs your uninjured thigh. He hooks his arm around it and forces it up as he cages your body between his arms. You grab onto his shoulder and bicep, your eyes can’t seem to leave his as he thrusts in and out of you. The pace isn’t fast but his hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin fills the room and mixes with each noise pulled from you. Simon swallows the lump in his throat as he supports himself on one arm and cups your cheek, his thumb swiping something away. You sniffle and reach your hands up to his face, you try to drink his face. The same face you thought you would never see as tears roll down your cheeks and his cock fills you past the point of full.

“I love you.” You say between hiccups and moans. You watch as his eyes water and he buries his face within the crook of your neck. He mouths at the sweaty skin there and whispers that he loves you back. That he loves you so much it hurts and that he’s sorry. He repeats it over and over again with each roll of his hips and that feeling within your stomach grows again quickly. With each snap of his hips you feel yourself getting closer and more tears leak from your eyes. You cum again with his name on your lips and feel his hips stutter and loose pace. He grinds up against you, nudging your cervix in a way that causes a slight pinch within your lower abdomen that makes you clench down harder on him.

You feel him cum, you hear his groan right next to your ear as his hips come to a complete stop and pressed against the meat of your thighs. His sticky warm cum fills you, the feeling is odd. Foreign but not entirely unwelcome as he stays in that position after letting your thigh rest back down onto the mattress. You twist your head to the side and give him a quick kiss, “Say it again?” He whispers.

”I love you.”

Simon lets out a shaky sigh, the relief he feels is palpable, “I love you too.”

It’s not all that surprising that he can’t keep his hands off you and you’re not innocent either. After seemingly fucking all of your anger towards him out, the two of you cling to each other. He rocks his hips into your again, every movement lighting up your nerves in a way that seems never ending. Like this pleasure will swallow you whole but you don’t mind, it hides the twinges of pain from your thigh from being pressed so close to your chest. You kiss all of his face, soft moans from both of you mixing together into a melody.

”How long until someone is able to get us?” You ask later while you lay on his chest and trail your fingers up and down his abdomen. You’re exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open and the heat between the two of you is slowly lulling you further into sleep.

”The radio said they’ll be here tomorrow.” Simon replies and you mindlessly hum.

”What will happen when we leave?” You ask, “When all of this is over.”

”We’ll figure it out.” he murmurs and kisses you. “Rest up love.” You’re not surprised, actually delighted, when he wakes you up with kisses on your neck. He trails down from your jaw, nipping occasionally at the soft flesh which earns a wanton moan from you.

”Happened to resting?” You tease and he chuckles against you.

”Oops.” He says and it would be convincing if you couldn’t feel his smile. Simon’s hands trail down your naked body and he pushes two fingers back into your sopping wet cunt. You gasp and arch your back, eyes fluttering closed as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. “You’re so wet.” He groans, like he still can’t believe that you still want him. “Never going to let you go again.” He promises as he begins to abuse that soft part inside you.

Simon kisses your nose and you chuckle. “Excited?” You ask and he nods. It’s been two years since that mission when everything changed again. Two years since you found out Simon Riley never died, that he had refused to die once again. It had taken a little while to figure out what the both of you wanted, therapy helped a lot. It helped you realize that the military lifestyle, despite it being the thing you had only known for the past five years, wasn’t truly for you. Of course you had known that you had only joined in Simon’s memory but therapy helped you let go of it.

God bless John Price, bless him for being utterly professional despite two of his soldiers fucking which has to be the most unprofessional thing to do in the military. He looked at you with that smile that made his eyes crinkle when you placed the discharge paperwork on his desk that day 8 months ago. “Finally figured out what you want then?” He asked as he immediately signed off on it, not even bothering to read through it.

”Yeah, I have, Captain.” You said with a fond smile, you’d miss this. You’d miss him, Gaz and Soap but it wasn’t like they couldn’t come and see you when on leave. You’d only be an hour away in a nearby city anyways. You glance at the two keys in your hand, one for you and one for Simon. You place the second one into his palm. “Let’s go see our home then.” You pick up the cat carrier and Mittens meows in protest. You coo your reassurances to her, promising that it’s almost over. The three of you climb the steps up the porch of the townhouse you now own and Simon unlocks the door.

You glance around the currently empty space then glance behind you to the moving truck parked out on the side of the street. “I think it might take us a day to get everything in here.” You say when you turn to look at Simon

”I’d say two.” Simon says as he takes the cat carrier from your hands and sets it down next to the stairs. You quirk an eyebrow up and part your lips in an ‘o’ shape when you realize what’s on his mind.

”Really Riley?” You ask as you loop your arms around his neck and he chuckles as your expression.

”I’ve always wanted to bend you over a countertop.” He purrs as he tugs his mask down and plants a kiss on your neck which sends shivers down your spine.

”Is that so?” You ask as he backs you up against it after closing the front door. He hoists you up on top of it with a ‘mhm’ before he captures your lips in a kiss and his hands settle on your hips.

You grasp at the edge of the counter, moans being punched out of you with each thrust of his hips. The sound of skin on skin echoes in the house and mixes with his groans. Simon’s fingers dig a little harder into your hips, enjoying the sight of how your fat squishes up between his fingers. “You’re so fuckin’ stunning.” And all you can respond with is a moan as his fat cock abuses the tip of your cervix. “I’m gonna retire.” He babbles and his words hardly register in your mind as you begin to clench down on him as a sign you’re on the precipice of an orgasm. He loops a hand around and rubs mean circles around your clit which sends you falling off the edge.

He swears as your cunt clenches down on him like a vice and he spills himself in you all while he keeps rubbing at your clit. You lay there panting, trying to gather your senses as you blink away the tears of overstimulation once his hand falls away. You gasp and gulp down the air, “Simon?”

”Fuck I said that out loud didn’t I?”

You can’t help but giggle and shake your head. “You mean it?”

”Yeah, I mean it. I’m gonna look into retiring, I can’t be a soldier forever.” He rests his sweaty forehead against your back as he speaks.

”I love you so much Simon Riley.”

His hand reaches out and loops through yours, the matching rings on your fingers glinting in the light. “I love you too.”

They couldn’t see Pedro, but he was there. - part 2 part 1 __________________ Thanks for all the likes, reblogs and comments. :)

if being hard on yourself worked, it would have worked by now

baby i’ve got half finished wips you couldn’t even imagine

Sherlock Holmes (2009) dir. Guy Ritchie

Misdial; Redial - Billy Russo

Prompt: Wrong Number AU: Reader is going through hard times and her friend gives her number to a guy who usually helps veterans but won’t say no to a civilian. But instead of talking with a polite man named Curtis she ends up texting with a guy named Billy who’s incredibly witty, funny and maybe gets attached to her but doesn’t want to show his face. Prompter: Anonymous

So this is my 17k word oneshot because I got really inspired by this request. It took on a life of its own. 

Warnings: Discussion of past sexual abuse. Smut. Immediate angst after smut? I don’t know if that deserves a warning or not. Just be kind to yourselves darlings.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

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me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst

Katryn you had to know this was coming at some point I assume BUT you know we need THAT pledging fealty scene with Tovar 👀👀

I love you for this. Oh boy. Here we go. I'm saving my favorites for the last few days of the prompt week. ICONIC. I loved this scene so much I’ve worked it into Footprints...don’t look at me. This is like 2100 words...IT GOT AWAY FROM ME. @thewaythisis gif credit

Pairing: Tovar x Reader Warnings: mild domestic abuse, language, SMUUUUUT, for those of you who haven't seen Outlander I will try to give you enough context that you're not looking at this like 'WTF KATRYN???' [Completed Prompts] [Tovar Prompt Info]

You hadn't spoken to him in days. Riding in silence with the rest of the company while they moved between tiny towns and worn down villages. A week ago you had tried to escape, back to your own time, back to the fae circle of stones that lay beyond the mountain range in the middle of the desert. Only his majesty’s royal guard had gotten in your way, taken you prisoner, and William and his men had to risk a lot to get you back. You had been so close.

It was easy to see why the rest of the company was mad at you, going silent when you tried to join their circle at meal times, talking in hushed tones as you walked passed. That you could accept. What you couldn’t accept was what happened afterwards.

“Come on,” Tovar said in a gruff tone that he rarely used with you any more. He grabbed your upper arm tightly and turned you towards the stairs of the inn.

“What is it?” you asked, suddenly concerned as the rest of the men watched him march you to the bedroom you shared. He let go of you as soon as the door bolted behind him.

“Now, I take no pleasure in this, hermosa, but it is my duty as your husband,” he said, careful to keep his eyes off of you as he slid his belt off of his waist slowly. The worn leather folded in half easily and he nodded to your legs. “Lift your dress, and let’s get on with it.”

“Wait,” you said, eyes going wide as your heart began to race, You moved to the other side of the bed, putting the large piece of furniture between you and him. “Wait a minute--Pero, I said I was ‘sorry’--”

“I know you did. But that doesn’t matter much. You put all of us in danger and now none of William’s men trust you--”

“Well, that’s not my fault--”

“Hermosa…”

“You think I wanted to get captured?? To put you all in danger to come rescue me??”

“If you would just listen to me, we wouldn’t be in this!” He finally lost a bit of his composure and clenched his fists. “But you never listen! And why should you? You’re just my wife--”

“Your wife? You mean your property!” you spat back at him and moved a few more steps back. “I’m just a woman, is that it? And it doesn’t care what I think as long as I realize that you own me?”

“Do not speak to me that way--”

“You’re a brute! And a fucking sadist--”

“If any of William’s crew did something like that, he would take him out in the courtyard and black his eye, making sure they knew not to do it again. It’s a bit different with you, but maybe you’ll remember every time you sit down--”

“You are not going to put your hands on me, Pero Tovar,” you grit your teeth and pointed at him, moving a step back as he started towards you.

“It’ll be over quick--”

“I’ll scream--”

“Considering you never stop talking, that doesn’t surprise me--”

True to his word, it was over much faster than you thought it would be--but you didn’t make it easy for him. You may have left the room the next morning with a bruised ass and ego, but Tovar left it with a split lip. However, just like he had predicted, the rest of the men’s attitude towards you had changed back to what it used to be. As you wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and came down to breakfast, one of them handed you a bowl of porridge and a hot cup of tea.

“Here, m’lady, have a seat with us.” He offered kindly and you felt your face grow hot.

“I’ll stand, thank you,” you said, feeling your backside sting at the thought of sitting on the wooden stool. A roar of laughter came from the rest of them and you took your breakfast back to your room.  

--

Days later, you sat in your room by the fire, looking into the flames and realizing that although the pain was gone and the bruises faded, you hated Pero Tovar for his actions. And what hurt most of all was that you weren’t sure if you could ever forgive him.

That night you all had some to a halt under the stars and after a quiet meal around the campfire, you retired to your tent alone. When you heard Tovar’s boots approaching, you turned over in your bedroll and pretended to be asleep.

Pero took his time, taking off each piece of his armor and pouring a little water from his canteen into his hand to wash his face. He paused and looked at you and finally let out a heavy sigh. “I know you’re awake, hermosa.”

You didn’t answer him.

“Is this how it’s going to be then?” he asked and you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, feeling like a child. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s new.” Your tone was bitter, angry, and you could see from his shadow on the canvas wall that it made him flinch.

He swallowed hard and rubbed his jaw, ignoring your jab at his intelligence. “Wives obey their husbands.” His voice was calm, speaking slow and plainly like he wanted each word to be understood. “And it’s a husband’s duty to discipline them when they don’t--it was like that for my father and his father and his father before that--” He sat on the edge of the bedroll and looked at you, waiting for you to turn and look over your shoulder at him. “Maybe it has to be different for us?”

You sat up slowly, letting the blanket slip down your shoulders as he leaned over and took the dagger out of the sheath on his armor. He turned to you and held it carefully by the blade, offering you the handle with his head bowed. His intention was unclear, but he moved to one knee as if he was waiting for you to knight him.

“I swear by my dagger,” he took a shaky breath and held it tightly, looking at your lap. “You may think I have no honor as a mercenary, but I swear on all that I have, hermosa, that I will never lay a hand on you again. I give you my loyalty and protection, my trust and my devotion, and if I ever go back on my promise I hope that the blade I hold finds its way through my chest.”

You took the dagger from him gently and looked at it, turning it slowly in your hand before looking back at him. When you were silent for a few moments, he looked up, his face carefully made of stone, but his eyes were worried.

“Do you not want me anymore, corazón?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you wish to live apart?”

“That should be what I want…” you said, tone matching his in the dark of the tent. “But it’s not.” You reached forward and cupped his face, rubbing your thumb along his bearded jaw. At your touch he let out a shaky breath and turned his head in your hand to kiss your palm.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed quietly. He kissed his way up your wrist, then your arm, whispering his apologies and sweet nothings across your skin as he made his way to your lips and crawled onto the furs with you. “I want you. I want you so badly I can barely breathe,” he admitted and you felt yourself break out in goosebumps. “Will you have me? Will you have me, mi corazón?”

“Yes,” you whispered against his mouth as you pushed his shirt from his shoulders. “Yes, I’ll have you.”

He pulled your shift over your head in one fluid motion. His rough hands gripped at your soft body as he kicked off his trousers and tried to lay you back but you put your hands firmly on his chest. He allowed you to push him onto his back and climb on top of him. You kissed him hard, tongue tasting and teeth biting as you felt him start to harden under you, raising to your knees so he could reach between your bodies and line himself up.

As much as you were reluctant to admit it, you truly had missed him these last few days. Having him inside of you once again was a comfort to both of you that you hadn’t realized had become so important. Falling through time felt like eons ago, instead of the few short weeks it had been, but having Tovar in your arms felt like you had waited for one another for millennia.  

He groaned as he bottomed out inside of you and threw your head back in ecstasy. His fingers dug into your hips as you started to rock against him and you looked down. The dagger had fallen off to the side and you leaned over grabbing it by the handle only to shove it up against his throat. You didn’t press, it wasn’t harming him in any way, but the cold steel made him pause his thrusts and look up at you with wide eyes.

“Hermosa?” he asked, swallowing hard and eyeing the blade before looking up at you in awe.

“Listen to me carefully, Pero Tovar,” you said, using his full name as you started to gently roll your hips against him. You panted as your heart raced and the nails of your free hand dug into his chest. “If you ever put a hand on me again, this dagger won’t pierce your chest on it’s own--I’ll cut your heart out myself. Do you understand?”

He let out a heavy breath as he thrust up inside of you and nodded.

“I didn’t hear that,” you said, moving the blade just enough to make him hiss.

“Yes,” he looked up at you and his eyes were ablaze with more passion than you think you had ever seen from him. “Yes I understand.” He growled as you tossed the dagger to the side and allowed him to roll you onto your back and thrust hard against you. “You’re still mine, hermosa?” he said, as he leaned down to kiss and bite at your neck.

“Yes…” You put your hands in his hair and gripped it. The feeling of his cock hitting the end of you was enough to make you arch against him with a groan. When he leaned down to take as much of your breast into his mouth as he could and suck firmly at your nipple, you whispered lovingly against the shell of his ear. “And you are mine.”

--

Tovar’s arm tightened around you gently and you hummed happily as he nibbled the spot under your ear. His breath was warm against your skin and you pressed yourself back tightly against him, seeking the warmth of his body in the chilly night air.

“What’s a sadist?” he asked quietly.

“What?” you laughed and looked over your shoulder at him.

“You called me a ‘fucking sadist’?” he said with a grin and rested his chin on your arm.

“Oh,” you giggled and laid your head back on the pillow. “It means someone who gains sexual pleasure from harming others.”

“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?” he chuckled, releasing his grip enough so you could turn in his arms. “Can’t say I blame you. I was a bit of a brute.”

You touched his face gently, tracing his jaw, then down along his bottom lip and finally to the dimple of his chin. He closed his eyes gently and pulled you closer. You paused your ministrations when you noticed a rather large mark on where his neck met his shoulders--you’d left a pretty prominent hickey on his tanned skin.

“Was I too rough?” you asked and he ginned, already knowing without looking what you were talking about.

“No,” he huffed. “When you bed a vixen, you expect to be bitten.”

“A vixen?” you asked with a laugh as he leaned in and nosed your chin up so he could nip at your own neck. “Pero!”

“Come here and bite me some more,” he said, delighting in the way the feel of his mustache made you continue to laugh. For the rest of his days, or as long as you would let him, he vowed to only make the sweetest of sounds come from your lips.

--

How did you get this footage of me?

Tiny round rain frog wakes up, yawns, rubs his eyes, then squeezes himself into his tiny hole 

(Source)

Me at 3am clicking “keep reading” on the most jaw dropping, earth shattering, pantie dropping, smutty fic when I have to be up in 3 hours

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

Turtles helping each other in times of need 

(Source)

Free Ride

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Your taxi driver is surprisingly familiar.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Set in London, Jake is driving a black cab in my mind for some reason.

Warnings: Jake being mistaken for Steven, kisses, awkward silences, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1161

You got into the cab quickly, the cold night air raking its nails over your skin. You pulled your coat a little higher and shivered. 

The bar crawl hadn’t exactly gone to plan. Two of your friends had had to check out early, and a third had hooked up with someone they’d met while getting a round. You’d decided to call it a night.  

“Hi,” you greeted the driver, about to give your address when you pause in surprise. “Steven?” 

Jake freezes, watching your reflection in the rear view mirror. 

“Steven Grant, you, you live on the floor above me.” You smile. “I didn’t realise you drove a cab?” 

He swallows, raising his chin up in a nod, his mind racing. He’d left it far too long to deny it. “I… just, part time.” He spoke quietly, adding a croak to his voice to disguise the difference in accent. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah… cold.” He tapped his throat, “so, erm, home?”

You nod, “yeah. Sorry you’re unwell, hope you feel better soon.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing.” 

You nod again, something about the energy in the cab seemed… odd. Different. You were on pretty good terms with Steven since he’d helped you out when you were lugging your shelves up the stairs (they were too wide for the lift.) You chatted when you ran into each other going out or coming back. Somehow you both usually ended up going to the local sainsbury’s at the same time for your weekly shop and had kind of settled into a not exactly planned routine where you would wait for each other and do it together. 

Steven talked. A lot. In the best way possible. Excitedly and passionately. Bubbly and enthusiastic. He genuinely listened as well, asking follow up questions and nodding. But even when he was listening, he wasn’t quiet. Always adding in ‘hmms’ and ‘oh right’, and little snippets of commentary that warmed your heart. 

Now he was quiet. Pulled in and zipped up. 

Maybe it was just the cold making his throat hurt. You’d have to get him something to help, maybe tomorrow you could knock on with some ginger, lemon, and honey tea. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

You stilt your head to the side as you watch him drive. He takes a turn smoothly, travelling down the late night roads without as much as a pause. Or a word. 

It just didn’t make sense. 

How unlike Steven he was being. You pause, for a second entertaining the idea that he wasn’t actually him. But that made no sense did it? He’d have to be an identical twin, and besides, he was talking you back to your flat. If he wasn't Steven, how would he know where you lived? 

“I didn’t know you could drive?” You say, speaking up a little to try to hide the spike of nervousness that had settled in your gut. You had been so sure that he’d told you he couldn’t… though had that just been an excuse? A reason to tag along with you when you went food shopping? Was his quietness now embarrassment from being caught out? 

“Hmm,” he nodded, glancing back at you again in the rear view mirror. “I don’t mention it… much.” 

You nod. “Yeah.” You pick at your fingernails as he drums his hands against the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. 

The silence stretches out, almost blanketing the low grumble of the engine. It’s sickening. Nerve wrecking. 

“How’s work?” You blurt out, and then quickly clarify. “Both I mean, how’s driving going today and how’s the museum?” He glances back at you again, the action is starting to remind you of a priest in a confessional. 

“It’s all… normal.”

“Normal?” 

“Fine. Normal.”

You don’t speak again until he pulls up by the block of flats, putting on the handbrake and getting into neutral. He puts his hands on his lap, folded neatly with his palms facing upwards.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask.

“Nothing.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing. It’s on me.” 

“Stev-”

He turns quickly, flicking off his seatbelt in a practised move so that he can twist his body fully around to face you. 

For a moment you think he’s going to say something, reveal some grand secret but instead he pauses before giving you a very weak smile.

“It’s on me.” His voice is quiet, barely there at all. And, for the briefest second you could have sworn that his accent was different. 

“Thank you.” 

He shrugs politely, dismissing it as if it was nothing. 

Before he can turn away you reach out for his shoulder, the action instinctive and leaving you lost for a reason why you did it.  

He glances at your hand for a second before looking back to your face. 

You lean forward. “Thank you.” You repeat softly, and slowly kiss his left cheek, giving him plenty of time to pull away and rebuff you if he wanted to. 

Instead he leans slightly into the touch, swallowing and turning his head towards you. His nose brushes against yours and you think he’s going to turn back to facing the wheel, but instead he presses his lips to yours hesitantly. 

You squeeze his arm, surprised but responsive as you kiss him back. 

He kisses you slowly, but intentionally. Swiping the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip before opening your mouth with his own and licking inside. He groans, low in his chest as the kiss becomes hungrier, boarding on desperation as he presses as close to you as he physically can in his position. 

When suddenly he pulls back, blinking heavily. A mumbled, ‘sorry’, just escaping his lips. 

“It’s okay.” Your voice is quiet too, your mind only just catching up with what happened. 

He turns back, putting his seatbelt on with a click and staring straight ahead. “Have a good night.” 

“I, erm, I’ll see you later.” You mutter as you get out, feeling almost shaky from what just happened. Your thoughts reeling. 

You get up to your flat in a daze. You’d kissed him, well, he’d kissed you. Did that mean anything? Had you done something to chase him off? 

You change into your pyjamas and brush your teeth, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

There’s a soft knock at your front door and you freeze. Wait. 

Maybe it’s a neighbor's door. Maybe it’s noise from another flat.

There’s a knock again, still soft and your phone buzzes. A message from Steven, ‘can we talk?’ 

Fuck. 

You head to the door, checking the peep hole and confirming that yes, it is Steven outside your door. You unlock and open it quickly. 

“Steven, I-”

You don’t get a chance to finish your sentence before he moves forward quickly and kisses you deeply. His hands settle on your hip, the back of your neck as he walks you further inside and kicks the door shut with the heel of his foot. 

____________________________________________

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“human beings in a mob”

“what’s a mob to a king?”

“what’s a king to a god?”

“what’s a god to a nonbeliever who don’t believe in

anything?”

Rare Variant Cover

Pairing: Jason Todd / AFAB Reader

Fandom: Batman (DC Comics)

Word Count: 3100+

Tags: SFW, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Pre-Relationship

Synopsis: Your first meeting is inside a second-hand bookstore. Jason leaves the store in a rage and it’s all your fault.

You had been leaning against the counter with your arms crossed for over half an hour, silently following the young man with your watchful gaze. The first time he entered your store, he greeted you with a kind smile and you in turn answered with a typical friendly shop assistant's welcome. Since then he had been browsing through the rows and rows of books stacked in every nook and cranny of the room.

Most of the time you knew at first glance why someone entered your second hand bookstore and what they were looking for. It was a fun little game you played with yourself. What genre did they prefer to read? What kind of book did they want to buy? What were their favorite tropes?

Collectors looking for coveted first editions of rare classics; thrifty shoppers who wanted to experience exciting literature for a small price; walk-in customers who strolled into the store out of sheer curiosity after standing in front of the window for several minutes; library staff who tried to buy back destroyed copies of their inventory, even if they were long out of print.

After several years of selling books to avid readers, you were able to assess most of the customers who entered your store. This one was different. You just couldn't figure him out. This man looked like he could crush Superman with his thighs. He was wearing full biking gear sans the helmet, explaining the motorcycle in front of the store. He was about your age. Definitely not a teenager anymore, but it was hard to gauge exactly how old. Mid to late twenties, maybe.

He looked like a thug. Anyone would forgive you for your suspicion after he stepped into the store, clad in leather from head to toe. It wouldn't be the first time you had been mugged. It was Gotham, after all. You had seen your fair share of robberies. Why someone thought it was a good idea to rob a bookshop though, you still couldn't explain.

In the end it was the way the stranger handled the books, convincing you that he was most likely more harmless than he looked. Every time he pulled one book from the shelf, he supported the spine with one hand and turned the pages gently, cautious of never wrinkling the paper. Every single book was treated with almost loving care, as if they were living beings with heart and soul.

If he started a discussion about literature with you now, you would be convinced that this was a dream. A man this good looking sharing one of your favorite hobbies and appearing to be a gentle giant? Impossible, right?

So you should also be forgiven for your suspicious stares turning into rapturous glances.

His back was turned your way while he browsed through one of the shelves. The black leather jacket emphasized his broad shoulders. He turned to browse the shelf at his back, facing your direction once more, and you marveled at his face. Strong cheekbones and the chiseled jaw of a Greek god stood in stark contrast to full, soft lips and large, round eyes. The latter was the first indication that he was possibly younger than you had initially though. Perhaps in his early twenties?

You were aware that you shouldn't ogle your customers like this. But it was late, you were tired and there was a waking dream walking through your store. Of course you stared. Maybe you had fallen asleep on the counter?

"Excuse me?"

The voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up, somewhat taken by surprise. The handsome book lover was standing right in front of the counter. When had he come so close? The wooden floorboards throughout the store creaked, it was an old building. How had you not heard him move?

Had he caught you staring? You quickly put on your friendliest customer smile and asked, "How can I help?"

He looked at you intently for a few seconds, then returned your smile.

"Do you also sell international literature in their original language?"

His voice was pleasantly dark and raspy. A strong Gotham accent originating most likely from the poorest parts of the city. Customers from Park Row were unusual here. Your store wasn't located in the expensive districts of the city, but most Park Row residents wouldn't waste their money on public transport to shop here.

You knew the stock by heart, but it had been a long time since anyone had asked for non-English literature. It was less popular with most collectors. Another reason why the young man caught your attention. There was rarely an opportunity to sell the less sought-after items. An interesting change from your usual business.

"We have a small selection. Is there a particular language you're looking for?"

The man leaned against the counter and even through the thick leather of his jacket could you see his biceps flex. Be still, heart.

"I would prefer something in German. But French, Italian or Arabic would also be fine."

You tried to hide your surprise. Was he serious? Could he really speak all those languages?

"I can think of a few titles," you said, already going through the stock in your mind, and directed him to follow you with a quick wave of your hand.

The store wasn't big, but each of the shelves was almost bursting at the seams, filled to the top with books. It was no surprise that he hadn't discovered any suitable books during his foray through the store. You steered purposefully towards a shelf at the back of the store and pointed to a place slightly above you, out of your reach.

"Here are the non-English books we currently have in stock. I could get a step stool-"

You had already noticed how tall the man was, but now that he stood right next to you, with him being able to read the spines of the books you could barely reach, you truly realized his height. It should be intimidating, with him almost looming over you. You just thought it was hot as hell.

When you looked up to meet his eyes - blue-green like the sea and just as deep - you also noticed his smug grin.

You stopping in the middle of your sentence seemed to tell him exactly what you were thinking. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat. His grin only grew, showing a hint of teeth.

"Thank you, a step stool shouldn't be necessary," he said, amused, only slowly averting his gaze from your face to scrutinize the old books in front of him.

He stretched out his hand and ran a finger over the spines of the books. Every now and then he pulled one out before pushing it back in disinterest.

"Are you looking for a present?" you asked.

You just had to know. Maybe he wasn't interested in books himself and was just looking to buy a present. You hoped that he wasn't here for a present.

"No, I'm looking for myself."

The answer came after a brief moment of hesitation. He gave you a cold sideways glance, then turned back to the shelf. Any friendliness drained from his voice. Did you say something wrong?

"If you need any help, you know where to find me," you said, giving him a nervous smile and pointing towards the counter.

He met your eyes once more, it felt almost scrutinizing. Without his smile he was intimidating. Nothing hot as hell about a man that looked so annoyed, like he would curb stomp you the second you opened your mouth again. 

"Sure. I'll let you know if I need you."

Crude and tight-lipped. That was definitely the end of your conversation.

For the next thirty minutes, your full attention was almost exclusively on the stranger. Only when another customer had a question were you able to focus on you work. Every time he caught you staring, you averted your gaze in shame.

"I'd like to pay," said a voice to your right.

You flinched and your head jerked to the side. There was Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, standing right next to you. He had a look on his face that rivaled your annoyance-levels when you were just about to close the store and someone entered anyway. He placed a single book on the counter. You asked yourself once again, how he managed to approach you without you noticing. How did he manage to evade the squeaky floorboards?

With one hand on your chest, you laughed breathlessly. "What are you, a ninja?"

His cold expression gave way to the slightest of smiles. His change of mood gave you whiplash. What was his problem? Were you the problem? Maybe he just suffered from resting bitch face syndrome and his mood-changes only seemed so extreme because he had a wonderful smile?

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

You waved him off and scanned the book. Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. You had tried to figure out his taste in literature, but nothing about his person screamed Sturm und Drang to you.

"I always try to guess what my customers will buy. I was really unsure about you, but I certainly wasn't expecting this!" you said with a genuine laugh. The man was a real surprise. In a positive sense.

Instead of responding to your statement, the corners of his mouth turned downward once more.

"Do you have any older literature? First editions?" he asked. Hard change of topic, but okay.

You nodded in reply. Most of your books were on the younger side, but occasionally you came into the possession of older first editions. Not the kind of books you had to pay a fortune for, but expensive nonetheless.

"I have a few first editions, but I store them elsewhere. The storage conditions in this building are not suited for brittle paper. You can tell me if you're looking for something specific or give me your email address and I can send you a list of what I have. But first editions can be quite expensive, are you sure you're looking for something like that?"

There was no reply for a few moments after you finished your sentence. You looked up at the man, confusion written all over your face. Anger burned in his eyes. Surprised, you took a step back.

"What's your fucking problem? I don't understand you. First you stare at me like I'm trying to steal something. Which, okay, it's Gotham. I don't exactly look friendly. I can understand being cautious. But then you start to undress me with your eyes, only to call me stupid the next moment? Then you stare at me like that. Again! Following up with claiming I'm what? To stupid to understand Goethe? Laughing at me? And now you assume I'm poor. Why? Because of my accent? My appearance?"

He slammed a hundred dollar bill on the counter. "Fuck you and your prejudices."

With those sharp words, he grabbed the book, left the store and rode off on his motorcycle with a roaring roar.

He left behind too much money for a single book and a trembling shop assistant. What the hell just happened? Well. Maybe Sturm und Drang suited the stranger just fine after all.

---

You were convinced that you would never see the literature-loving stranger again. Gotham was big and he would never voluntarily set foot in your store again. Still, you wished you had a chance to apologize.

You really screwed it up. At first, you didn't understand why he suddenly snapped at you, but it had been over a month since his angry escape and you had spent enough time thinking about that day. Your behavior, even if unintentional, had been an absolute disaster. He had misinterpreted your every question, your every action. You had never meant to offend him, but looking back, you could understand why he had taken it the wrong way.

And there he was. In a BatBurger across the street. He was sitting at a table with several people, chatting animatedly. You met him again by pure chance.

You could walk away. Let him enjoy the rest of the day with his friends in peace. He looked so happy, with a slight grin on his lips, leaning back and relaxing as he listened to the rambling tales of another black-haired man.

You should walk away, but your guilty conscience has been gnawing at the back of your mind for over a month. Even if he raised his voice at you, you wanted to at least try to apologize.

Your legs started moving without permission. You crossed the busy street and pushed open the door to the BatBurger before fear could catch up.

With sure steps, you moved towards the table. God, the people were all absolutely gorgeous. Did the handsome stranger only have even better-looking friends? A gathering of models, perhaps.

Halfway to the table, several people of the group lifted their heads to look at you. A mix of friendly but suspicious glances. The latter was the least you expected of residents of Gotham.

When the handsome stranger raised his head, however, his expression darkened abruptly. Understandable, but intimidating. You swallowed your growing fear and came to a halt in front of the group.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" you asked. A quick sideways glance at the other people at the table, "Alone?"

Everyone's eyes wandered back and forth between you and the man. The attention only fueled your nervousness. Instead of getting up and following you or telling you to get lost, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared you down with a cold gaze.

Even though he was sitting and had to look up at you, you felt tiny.

"Anything you want to tell me, you can tell me right here."

You swallowed, anxiety rising in your veins. All eyes were on you, scrutinizing you with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"I'm sorry!" you said in a firm voice, a little too loud for the small room. Before you could lose your courage again, you began your rambling explanation.

"I didn't understand why you were so angry at first. Honestly, I still don't quite get it. All I know is that I hurt you and I'm sorry! You have to believe me that wasn't my intention. The whole situation? A huge misunderstanding! Granted, at first I kept an eye on you because you looked like trouble and I've been mugged several times. So yes, that was a prejudice on my part. But after that, I was just trying to make small talk! I was staring at you because you're smoking hot and you like books. I thought I was dreaming. I mean, where else would I find a man like that? You're just totally my type and then I make such an ass of myself. I've been meaning to apologize to you since the incident and then I happen to see you just sitting here and now here we are. And, well-"

You looked around. Your heart was pounding in your throat. Everyone stared at you with wide eyes. A tall, black-haired man stifled a laugh, holding a hand over his mouth. A blonde girl inconspicuously held a phone above the tabletop and filmed you. The unknown stranger sat in his seat with his eyes wide open, mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what. The situation couldn't get any more awkward.

Throwing your last sense of shame overboard, you focus your gaze on the stranger. This was your last and only chance. What could possibly happen? He snaps at you?

"I owe you ninety-three dollars and five cents. That's a lot of BatBurger meals. Or a couple cups of coffee. Maybe dinner for two at a good restaurant? You could explain to me in detail all the wrong things I've said to upset you, so I won't say them again."

You felt the blush rise to your face, refusing to look at anyone else at the table except the handsome stranger. He, too, was bright red in the face, his lips moving as if he was trying to form words that just wouldn't come.

A few moments passed. Neither he nor his friends said anything. The entire room was silent. Your sense of shame won the silent battle. 

"Okay, got it. Sorry for the interruption!"

You turned on your heel and left the restaurant with quick steps.

That was by far the most embarrassing thing you had ever done. A rejection wouldn't even be that big of a deal, but the embarrassment of being watched by an entire group of friends while getting rejected? Suppressing your tears, you tried to escape as quickly as possible.

You didn't get very far. Just a few buildings down the street, a loud voice called out behind you: "Hey, just wait a minute!"

You recognized his voice immediately and quickened your steps. Whatever else he had to say to you - it couldn't be good. Just a few seconds later, he passed you with a short sprint and came to a sudden stop in front of you. You had to halt in the middle of the pavement, earning a few rude comments from pedestrians in turn. The stranger snarled at a few of them, before turning to you, a concerned expression on his - sadly still extremely handsome - face. 

"Sorry. You just caught me off guard. Let's try this again, all right? My name is Jason. And you are?"

Confused, you look up at him. You definitely hadn't expected that. Hesitantly, you told him your name.

"Hi," he said, followed by your name. Each syllable carefully accentuated, as if he was trying to taste the letters. Your name sounded so enticing from his lips. The warm smile he gave you afterward made your heart flutter.

"I'm incredibly sorry for screaming at you. Whether I was right or wrong, I should never have raised my voice. I overreacted and took my frustration out on you. Totally out of character for me. I was having a bad day, you hit a few sore spots. I should have come by again to apologize, but I assumed you wouldn't want to see that crazy customer again."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, embarrassment written all over his face. You marveled at the splotchy flush on his cheeks. He was just as uncomfortable with the whole situation as you were. It was kind of endearing.

"So, getting back to your offer," he mumbled hesitantly, "a dinner to talk about everything would be good. Really good. Fantastic, actually."

Everyone had prejudices, you of all people knew that. Getting to know the handsome stranger would hopefully clear up some of yours. You were confident that your date would turn out just fine.

🟢 You are still a writer even when you haven't written in a while.

🟢 You are still a writer even when you feel like you aren't writing enough.

🟢 You are still a writer when you feel like your work isn't good.

🟢 You are still a writer when other people don't like your work.

🟢 You are still a writer when you aren't published.

🟢 You are still a writer when you only have works in progress.

🟢 You are still a writer if all you write is fanfiction.

Coming to you soon...

Daydreaming about my book:

Writing my book:

Keyboard go BRRRRRRRRRR

May I present: Leda and the Swan Princess! It's based on this post about a swan princess who refuses to go quietly in obscurity when cursed. (If you liked this one you will probably also like my other comics which you can find on my pinned post).

If you enjoyed and want to support a queer art student, you can tip me over on my Ko-fi! Tips help me out dramatically while I'm still in school!

HOW TO SURVIVE A HEART ATTACK WHEN ALONE Let’s say it’s 6.15pm and you’re going home (alone of course), after an unusually hard day on the job. You’re really tired, upset and frustrated. Suddenly you start experiencing severe pain in your chest that starts to drag out into your arm and up into your jaw. You are only about five miles from the hospital nearest your home. Unfortunately you don’t know if you’ll be able to make it that far. You have been trained in CPR, but the guy that taught the course did not tell you how to perform it on yourself..!! NOW HOW TO SURVIVE A HEART ATTACK WHEN ALONE… Since many people are alone when they suffer a heart attack, without help, the person whose heart is beating improperly and who begins to feel faint, has only about 10 seconds left before losing consciousness. However, these victims can help themselves by coughing repeatedly and very vigorously. A deep breath should be taken before each cough, and the cough must be deep and prolonged, as when producing sputum from deep inside the chest. A breath and a cough must be repeated about every two seconds without let-up until help arrives, or until the heart is felt to be beating normally again. Deep breaths get oxygen into the lungs and coughing movements squeeze the heart and keep the blood circulating. The squeezing pressure on the heart also helps it regain normal rhythm. In this way, heart attack victims can perhaps buy precious time to get themselves to a phone and dial 911. Rather than sharing another joke please contribute by broadcasting this which can save a person’s life! Be prepared and become part of the solution. Get your free next-of-kin notification card today. Click here: https://www.InCaseOfEmergencyCard.com/

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” - G.K. Chesterton

Ah, I'm so glad you liked it! I was nervous that he was going to come off a little overbearing but I'm very grateful the idea got across. 😁

Nervous Little Thing

IMAGINE: Tim’s been through a lot during his time at NCIS. He’s been stabbed, shot at, attacked by a dog, even almost got blown up a few times. Safe to say, he can get a little paranoid at times. All it takes is a little reminder that the two of you are perfectly ok. WORD COUNT: 572 WARNINGS: Not gonna lie, Tim might sound like a psychopath at one point. Author’s Note: Had a little writer’s block but I decided to release another sappy feel-good piece. Hope y’all like it!

He sat nervously at his desk, constantly looking over his shoulder as if you would magically appear out of nowhere. Usually he’d be in bed by now reading a book but that’s when you’d be next to him, snoring away like a NASCAR engine.

It wasn’t normal for you to come home this late. Tim was used to coming home to you playing some of his video games wearing one of his baggy MIT shirts.

Imagine his surprise when he walked in at around 7:02, an hour after he was supposed to clock out of work, you were nowhere to be found.

“Don’t freak out,” mumbled Tim, sparing a single glance at his watch. The hands that read 9:47 seemed to taunt him as they slowly marched along the face.

There had to be a reasonable explanation why you weren’t back yet. There was a reason why you hadn’t texted him at all today warning him you would be late coming home. There was a reason you weren’t back and he hadn’t heard at all from you.

Keep reading

Nervous Little Thing

IMAGINE: Tim’s been through a lot during his time at NCIS. He’s been stabbed, shot at, attacked by a dog, even almost got blown up a few times. Safe to say, he can get a little paranoid at times. All it takes is a little reminder that the two of you are perfectly ok. WORD COUNT: 572 WARNINGS: Not gonna lie, Tim might sound like a psychopath at one point. Author’s Note: Had a little writer’s block but I decided to release another sappy feel-good piece. Hope y’all like it!

He sat nervously at his desk, constantly looking over his shoulder as if you would magically appear out of nowhere. Usually he’d be in bed by now reading a book but that’s when you’d be next to him, snoring away like a NASCAR engine.

It wasn’t normal for you to come home this late. Tim was used to coming home to you playing some of his video games wearing one of his baggy MIT shirts.

Imagine his surprise when he walked in at around 7:02, an hour after he was supposed to clock out of work, you were nowhere to be found.

“Don’t freak out,” mumbled Tim, sparing a single glance at his watch. The hands that read 9:47 seemed to taunt him as they slowly marched along the face.

There had to be a reasonable explanation why you weren’t back yet. There was a reason why you hadn’t texted him at all today warning him you would be late coming home. There was a reason you weren’t back and he hadn’t heard at all from you.

But from past experience, Tim couldn’t fight this feeling that he had to drop everything he was doing and find you. It wouldn’t take long to track your sim card and-

He heard the lock creaking in the hallway, the tell-tale sound of someone coming in. The door slowly swung open as you struggled to pull out your key.

“I’m home,” you called out into the apartment. Your bag slipped from your shoulder during your struggle, the weight of it pulling you to the floor. “Timmy, a little help please?”

No sooner after you called for him, the agent was at your side taking your bag with a worried grunt. He carried it over to the table, leaving you to strip your jacket in peace. For the moment. It wasn’t long before he returned, already looking for answers.

“Hey you all right?” Tim asked you. “It’s a bit late ain’t it?”

“I am fine Timmy,” you promised, pressing a kiss to his nose. “I just had a long day at the office, that’s all.”

His hands captured your face, holding you in place as he returned the favor. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just get worried, y’know? You could get hurt and-”

Before he could continue his rambling, you put your hands over his, shushing his rambling.

“Tim.”

“(Your Name),” Tim sighed.

Something about the way the two of you held each other, he could relax knowing you were ok. You were with him. Home. Safe.

Feeling him ease up, you nodded towards the bedroom. It had been a long day for the two of you. Nothing that an hour or two of cuddling and some takeout couldn’t fix.

“I’ll order your favorite and we can watch (Choice of Fantasy Movie) in our underwear,” you offered.

Tim couldn’t help but chuckle, stealing another kiss before letting you go.

“That sounds amazing. You’ve got 5 minutes to call it in before I steal you away,” he teased.

“Promise?” You called out, already dialing in the number.

It’s no secret that Timothy McGee could get a little anxious at times. What he’s had to experience at work doesn’t help. He can’t help it when his fears get the better of him.

But at the end of the day, he knows that you’ll be there with him. For better or for worse. And that’s something to look forward to.

Reading amazing fanfiction, then forgetting to bookmark it