#Riley doesn’t have their jacket in this because…yeah

[spaced-out-tiger]

Lore related sketch? Maybe? I dunno I’m still figuring it out lmao-

But yeah, take this angsty sketch while I run away :D

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

hockey player simon x f!reader’s relationship through the eyes of their fans but like smau - sorta like this!!

simon has never really used his socials properly before. hell, he probably still gets his gossip from the grapevine (being their locker room) or something. of course their goaltender, price, isn’t any better, but at least the man is active online. riley? a fucking ghost.

until, of course, his girl starts popping up in people’s posts.

.

emory @.emowysg

just found out that simon riley’s WAG doesn’t know hockey but she still flies to see him play 😭🙏

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.emowysg she’s the sweetest

STREAM TASTE @.bosseysnumber1 to @.riley41 AINT NO WAY YOURE LURKINJ

emory @.emowysg to @.riley41 WHAT IS BRO DOING HERE 😭

bry @.strobrymilf to @.emowysg The way you didn’t even tag them but he still saw this IJBOL

emory @.emowysg to @.strobrymilf IM SAYING 💀

.

sandra @.nightwingsgf

oomf was telling me that simon riley the type to overexplain the sport to his gf (tisming, if you will) and i fucked w that hard

icarizz @.brycelims to @.nightwingsgf tisming 💀

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.nightwingsgf haha no i go caveman when i try explaining it to her but she’s so patient with me anyway

papillon @.breedthatginger to @.riley41 i saw this comment, scrolled away, then audibly went, “PAUSE” yo king what thenrufk 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

sandra @.nightwingsgf to @.riley41 trying to stay nonchalant about simon fucking riley shirsey #41 forward and alternate captain of specgru just casually being in my replies (girl im failing)

.

cigarettes after shrek @.autumnblooms

can simon fight

[it’s a screenshot from simon’s instagram story—the phone is being jostled, leaving people looking like pixelated streaks, but the screenshot does a good job at capturing your wide smile as you hold up a puppy in the air]

huggy @.hghsbros to @.autumnblooms she is so so pretty 🥹

ouroboros @.ayacchi to @.autumnblooms heavy on the caption lmao

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.autumnblooms and win

marie @.mariejayp to @.riley41 what being in love does to a mf

౨ৎ @.persephonessin to @.riley41 shounen ahh reply 😭

jonah @.jonathanmllr to @.persephonessin bro said [image of gojo’s infamous ‘nah. i’d win’ quote/meme]

.

🍂 @.zeekewin

YALL LOOKIT RILEY AND GARRICKS GIRLFRIENDS CHEERING AFTER THAT LAST GOAL

[the first image is a blurry shot of you in the box, your mouth open as you yelled. the background is a mess of specgru’s colours, showing that the rest of the WAGs came in with this season’s WAG jackets.

the second image includes kyle’s girlfriend who is holding your hand while the two of you are mid-jump in celebration.]

hime @.peaxhespie to @.zeekewin are we.. seeing the formation of a new polycule

🍂 @.zeekewin to @.peaxhespie cant even be like “dont ship real ppl!!” bc theyre too cute 🥹

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.zeekewin is that the clearest picture you have?

🍂 @.zeekewin to @.riley41 KING?????? also, yeah. sorry :(

char-les @.charlatron to @.riley41 shit it’s not a myth - bro really /does/ pop up like bloody mary 😭

.

eren truther @.aotsucks

yall are we about to censor his fucking name because hows he always in our replies 😭

🎀 @.ttius_overkill to @.aotsucks no because he’s so in love on g 😭 “she’s the sweetest” sir stand up!!

eren truther @.aotsucks to @.ttius_overkill NOT STANDIP LMAJDHS

momo @.mrdawcy to @.aotsucks not us knowing who you mean right away 😅

.

louis @.lovingtomlinson

idek who simon riley is or the lore with his girl but that man is smitten as hell. good for him good for him

good luck babe @.stellastic to @.lovingtomlinson one of us one of us one- [screenshot of simon riley’s ‘likes’ on his page, with this post at the current top]

louis @.lovingtomlinson to @.stellastic it hasn’t even been five minutes 💀

.

John Mactavish ✓⃝ @.jmactavish_91

Okay but imagine hearing him in person

[video is of drunk simon, nuzzling his face on kyle’s shoulder, murmuring something too faint for the camera to pick up. there’s a muffled laughter from the person recording, probably johnny from the sounds of it, before they shuffle forward and stick the phone close to simon.

simon blinks at it, looks at the person from behind the screen, and goes, “s’at m’girl?”

video cuts with johnny and kyle laughing at their friend, fond and teasing at the same time.]

samson @.zachob to @.jmactavish_91 GIVE THAT MAN HIS GIRL 😭

susana @.sewswan to @.jmactavish_91 PLEASE WHY’S HE ACTING LIKE THEY ONLY SEE EACH OTHER ONCE EVERY 10 YEARS

baron @.mlawdy to @.jmactavish_91 bro must be winning in life if he’s that in love. lord me when

.

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41

Me and my baby

[image is of the two of you in the lake house, enjoying the last days of summer. the puppy is curled on your lap, sleeping, while you angled your head up to smile into the camera. simon has his arm looped around your waist, his head resting atop yours.]

sandra @.nightwingsgf to @.riley41 TEARS WERE SHED

emory @.emowysg to @.riley41 GOOD SOUP

cigarettes after shrek @.autumnblooms to @.riley41 TWO PRETTY BEST FRIENDS

i laughed making this fhjefjefw. idk just thinking about how simon fr the type to show off his partner if he can - and he could so here we are!! i also just love making outsider’s pov through SMAU <33

[alwaysshallow]

please bless us with some soft, cosy times between simon and higher ranked reader. it is FREEZING in Europe right now, and i think our lovely man deserves to have some comfort (while he waits for the inevitable breakdown of the higher ranked reader's marriage lmaoooo)

simon riley is basically unbreakable.

you learn about it when winter strikes - cold one, you can't remember the time it was cold like this. you sit in your office in a nice turtleneck, winter jacket. under your cargo jeans, you have a pair of thermoactive leggings, and somehow you still feel like your body heat is lacking somewhere.

the amount of work you have, doesn't even let you go out and take a nice, hot drink. anything, hot chocolate, coffee, tea, you wanted anything to feel something.

simon riley had to read your mind because moments later, he enters your office. he's without his mask, only a white balaclava on him, and you automatically smile.

"tha's not for you," he murmurs, when your eyes drop to two mugs in his big hands. without thinking twice, he puts them right in front of you, and gets past your desk, just to stand by your side.

"somehow, there's two of them," you tease, looking at him with curious expression; especially that now you can see that he's in his cargo pants and a plain, black t-shirt. only this, not anything else that could protect him from cold. "you're crazy."

"y'know, you told me this too many times," he barked a laugh, his eyes going up and down on you - in seconds he seems amused by the view. "you're on antarctica?" 

"very funny. i'm dressed properly to the weather," you roll your eyes; it's hard not to envy that he's not affected by these cruel temperatures. “feels like i’m on it, though.” 

“i’d tell you that: more layers will do.” he smirks under his balaclava, when you give him a look. “when you’re gonna drink this one up, it’ll make you better.”

“thought it’s not for me?”

“not until i say so,” he hums, as he sits next to you. it doesn’t surprise you - the surprise comes when he takes your hands into his. 

you raise your eyebrow, when he shakes his head with… disapproval, you think. “what?”

“your hands are cold. no wonder that you’re still cold too.”

“so, you’re telling me this is my fault?” you ask, still focusing on his hands. he rubs yours, delicately, but quickly enough for you to feel the warmness from them.

“my ma’ used to say that in winter, people should protect their hands, feet and head. you could be in many layers, but if they aren’t covered, it’s a lost cause,” he murmurs. “so yeah, your fault.”

“how come you aren’t cold? you don’t have anything protecting you either,” you remark, at which he laughs.

“‘m a bit different, love.” he shrugged, still rubbing your hands. “but you? you’re the one to protect.”

the next day, you have a small package on your desk. leather gloves, classy and feminine, and this image itself makes your heart skip a beat. he thought of you.

[sobbing2sapphic]

skye riley x reader who isn’t popular

The Art of Small Talk

a/n: by “not popular” i'm assuming you meant not famous and also not many friends. also in hindsight this is more of a headcanon sort of request but… it’s okay. I suck at titles. there are 3 unfortunate uses of y/n. so sorry. and I need to rewatch smile 2 so I can remember how she speaks...

word count: 2.5k

Sitting in an inconspicuous cafe, you drum your fingers along the tabletop while staring blankly at your empty Google Docs page.

You’re sitting in a corner by yourself. You are totally alone, except for the few girls behind the counter chatting away. The lights were dimmed, and candles were lit at the counter and on a few other tables. The warm environment mixed with the hot chocolate you were drinking and the smell of food, you were getting sleepy. You slouch against the plush chair you were sitting in and let out a sigh. You were meant to be writing. 

Here you were, lazily nodding your head along to Eternal Life blasting through your earbuds, tapping away at your table instead of working. At least I’m having a good time, you think to yourself. 

You wonder about your best friends, across the country. Feels like they’re across the world. Ever since you moved to New York to pursue your dreams of becoming a writer, you’ve been so lonely. So damn lonely.

Your train of thought is interrupted when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn to this person, removing an earbud at the same time.

You take in the woman’s appearance. Bleached blonde hair in a pixie cut, messy, but in a cute way. She was wearing a navy blue hoodie with an oversized jacket that was just too oversized. Her hood was on, leaving her face shadowy. 

“Excuse me. Hi. Uh… do you have a charging port here? My phone’s about to die and… My table over there didn’t have one. So. Yeah.” She looked at you, and then to your laptop. The sweet smell of her enveloped you, but you couldn’t quite place what perfume she used. Or if that’s just how she smells.

“Yeah. Think so,” you say, a little too coolly. She probably thinks you’re rude, you thought, while looking underneath your table for a charging port beside. “Yeah, there’s one below the table.” 

“Okay, great! Do you mind if I—“ she smiles, almost sheepishly, “— if I sit with you? I won’t bother you.” She fidgets with the sleeve of her jacket. 

“No problem.” You could feel her looking at you from your peripherals, and though it was unfocused, you could’ve sworn she was looking at you oddly.

She sits down opposite of you, leaning over to get the charger in the port. You don’t watch her, but you can hear the inevitable struggle of the metal connectors hitting everywhere except the port. You fail to stifle your smile.

When she finally plugs it in, she sits back up and looks at you. You avoid looking at her. Because you’re afraid you’ll end up giggling at her. She lets out a little huff at that, and does exactly what she says. She doesn’t bother you.

For a little while. She’s scribbling something in her notebook, or maybe drawing? You’re working away at your laptop. But you keep feeling her looking at you. It’s very off putting. Eventually, you look back at her and maintain this weird eye contact.

“Do I have something on my face?” you say, half-jokingly because you were getting a little scared you did have something on your face.

She shakes her head no. With a subtle tilt of her head, she says “I’ve came here a couple times, but I’ve never seen you. What’s your name?” She speaks with an air of casualness, but you felt that there was something about her that was intrigued by you. Or maybe she was being polite and your ego is playing into it.

“Yeah, this cafe is so hidden, I didn’t notice it until last week.” You played with the rings on your index finger absently-mindedly. “My name’s (y/n).” 

She nods. “That’s a pretty name.” You note that she doesn’t mention her name.

 After a brief pause you muster up the courage to ask. “So, what am I supposed to call you?” 

She takes a sip of her coffee, and looks out the window on the opposite side of the cafe. It’s starting to drizzle outside.

“Skye,” she says softly.

“Hm?”

“My name’s Skye.” 

“Oh. Cool.” You raise your brows a bit to acknowledge her, and go back to work.

You can still feel her looking. 

She takes her hood off. You don’t want to stare like a freak, so you continue to aimlessly type words just to look busy. As if Skye could see what you’re doing.

She lets out a breathy laugh after a few moments, smiling out of disbelief. “Do you.. not know me?”

Your brows furrow. “No?”

“Skye. Skye Riley. Does that name not ring a bell?” she laughs incredulously. 

Holy shit. You’ve heard about her everywhere. The scandal of her and her drug problems. The car accident, where her boyfriend died. And she's just… sitting in front of you. Holy crap. She looks different.

“Oh. I thought—“you inhale sharply before saying this, “— she was in a— I mean, I thought you were in an accident. I thought your hair was long.. and dark too. Probably why I didn’t recognize you.”

Her smile falls. She swallows the imaginary lump in her throat, “Yeah. I was. And after it happened, after rehab, I changed my look.” While speaking her eyes were averted, and she wrapped a small strand of hair around her finger. Tugging it once. She looks back at you, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Awkward. So awkward. Why the hell would you mention the car accident? How insensitive could a person be?! You cringe internally, hoping this was all a weird dream and you’d wake up dazed but relieved. There’s a silence that smothers the both of you, and you try to quickly change the subject. Should you apologize and end up dragging it out, or just… Compliment her? You could say something about her hair.

“Hmm. I like the short hair.” You gesture to her head, “Think it suits you.”

She rolls her eyes, “You’re just saying that because you know who I am now.” She doesn't look quite as upset anymore.

 You laughed, “Seriously! You look great. I’m not the type of person to flatter others.” 

She smiles gently, her eyes wandering through your features. You can’t stand when people look at your face for too long. It doesn’t matter if you took your time getting ready in the morning, you felt that she could see the modest asymmetry of your brows, the blemishes on your face. She looked.. perfect. Perfect skin, teeth, brows. Perfect everything. 

You look away from her. “I’ve heard a couple of your songs. Like, on the radio,” you mention. 

You didn’t notice the admiring look in her eyes.

“Oh, yeah? What do you think?” She leaned forward, her elbows on the table as her hands supported her head. A smile plays on her lips. Your eyes lingered on them, and the brown mole just above her lip. God, you thought, she’s so beautiful. You felt heat rush to your ears.

“Makes the other songs sound like shit.” You hide a shy smile behind your cup of hot chocolate, taking a sip and feeling a slight burning sensation on the tip of your tongue. 

She snorts, “Okay, now you’re just flattering me.” But, she was smiling too. “Anyway, why were you just sitting here alone?”

“Because I wanted to write and focus,” you deadpan. “And.. because I don’t have any friends here in New York.”

“Oh. Dumb question. So, where are your friends?” 

“They’re studying in different places. I have two in Seattle, and another friend in Vancouver.”

She nods slowly, like she’s deep in thought. “That sucks. I don’t have many friends either.”

You laugh a little at that. How could Skye Riley not have many friends? “Is that why you sat with me? There’s literally nobody here, you could’ve tried another table.”

“I did check… one table..” she trails off. “Is it a crime to sit with another human being and have a nice conversation?” Skye asks, very defensively.

“Woah there, I didn’t say anything,” you raise your hands in a “settle down” gesture, “What if I ended up being a super fan of you or something?”

“I’d get the fuck out of here.”

“Aw man.” 

She lets out a giggle from your childish response, and the conversation slowly dies out.

This is weird. You, talking to Skye. Like she’s your friend! 

You then notice how it’s begun to rain heavily. How were you meant to get home? This is what you get for taking a walk and helping the planet a little. The rain lashes at the windows, spooking you a little.

“Shit, I have to walk in that rain.”

She perks up all of a sudden. “No you don’t, I can get my assistant to get us home.”

“Uh oh, you’re gonna know where I live.” 

She raises her brows, “Yeah, as if I have the time to stalk you.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can I have that ride home? Please?”

“Sure, since you said the magic word without me asking,” she teases. Skye goes through her phone and dials someone’s number.

You don’t pay much attention to what she says, instead packing up your stuff in your grey backpack. You pull it on, and practically feel the weight of the world on your back and shoulders. You put your earbuds away too. 

About ten minutes later, you see a black car waiting outside the cafe. 

“Damn, that was quick.”

She shrugs in response, and gestures for the both of you to get up.

You leave the wondrously cozy cafe and the harsh wind and rain whip your face and ruin your hair. Damn it.

A man steps out of the driver's seat and opens the door for Skye, giving her a questioning look. Was it about you? 

“She’s with me.” Skye doesn’t even look at him, and mumbles a “Thanks,” as she gets into the backseat of the car.

You, hesitantly, get in beside her. She’s sitting in the middle of the three seats, and there’s another guy sitting on the opposite side of her, so you have to sit directly next to her. Great.

The seats of the car are leather, and so comfortable. In front of you, there’s a compartment with bottles and bottles of Voss water and, below it, some snacks.

Skye sees you looking at them, “Do you want something to eat?” She’s drowned out by the revving of the car.

You lean closer to her, your ear facing her mouth to hear her better. You hear her say “something to eat” and shake your head no.

When you move away, you catch her smiling at you. The sweetest smile.

“You smell good,” she says. Your heart starts chugging like a train. You smile awkwardly, “Thanks. You too.” You look out the window beside you, and cover your mouth in a casual way so she doesn’t see that the smile didn’t leave your face.

 As the car pulls off the curb, the man beside her starts speaking to you. “So, you’re a friend of Skye’s?” The man asks, leaning forward to look past Skye and look at you, “I’m Joshua, and this is Elizabeth, Skye’s manager and mother.” He motions towards the woman sitting in front of you. That lady and Skye do not look alike. 

“Oh, cool. Nice to meet you guys. My name is (y/n).” 

“Sweet. How’d you guys meet?” Only Joshua is making conversation with you, and Elizabeth is on her phone, looking vaguely frustrated. He looks happy and refreshed, like he got a full eight hours of sleep. Lucky him.

“Oh we.. uh.. just..” You look over to Skye for some help.

“We met at that fundraiser a couple weeks ago, don’t you remember?” The lie came quite easily to her. “Stop interrogating her.”

“Sorry Skye, I didn’t mean to question you guys so much. Also sorry about getting this car instead of the limo. It would’ve dragged too much attention over here.” Joshua says, almost in a panicked way. 

“It’s fine.” She’s very curt with Joshua, you wonder why she was so amiable with you.

A silence settles over the car. You clear your throat before telling Joshua your address, so he would tell the driver and they could drop you off. 

“That’s not a good area to live in.” Elizabeth says. She turns around to look at you and Skye. She already rubs you the wrong way. “Is it safe?”

“Ehh. As long as it’s daytime it’s fine.”

As she turns back to face the front, she scrunches her nose up slightly, as if smelling something rotten. 

You smooth down your hair after the wind dishevelled it. When your hands come down to rest on your lap, you feel another hand on top of yours. It’s soft and warm.

You look down at the hand, and then back up to look at Skye. She mouths “Ignore her.”

Oh. She thought you were upset about what her mom said. You mouth back “It’s okay.” Sweet of her to care.

The weird thing was how her hand didn’t move off yours. It was like you two were in your own warm little bubble. You leaned against her, and she laid her head on your shoulder. When you looked down at her, she didn’t meet your eyes. You hoped she couldn’t hear your heart drumming away.

You could feel Joshua looking, but he didn’t say anything at all. It would be pretty embarrassing if you were already disliked by Elizabeth in the first 10 minutes of knowing her.

When you finally got to the parking lot of your apartment complex, you sighed with relief. You gently got Skye off your shoulder, and opening the door for yourself, you step out and put your hoodie on. 

“Okay, thanks for the ride, Skye.” You turn to quickly dash into your apartment.

“Wait, (y/n)!” Skye says.

You turn around, and stick your head into the car, “Yeah?”

“Can I have your number?” 

You were taken aback. Why did she want your number? I mean… You and her basically cuddled but still. It’s Skye friggin Riley. “Okay, sure. Give me your phone, I’ll put it in for you.”

“Okay. I’ll put mine into yours,” she says.

You exchange phones and put your phone number as a contact. After, you snoop a little and see that she has Beyoncé and Adele in her contacts. Dang, you thought. You’re technically connected to them now.

You hand her back her phone, and she gives yours back to you. 

“I’ll text you. Or call, ” she says. 

You smile at her. “Sure thing. Later!” 

You’re already half drenched from standing in the rain, and you waste no time jogging to the front door where there’s cover. You unlock the door with your key, and wave at the car before heading inside.

As you walk to the elevator, your mind is totally overwhelmed by this experience. Skye completely consumes you, without even being there. You wonder why she even talked to you. You wonder why she gave you a ride home, why she held your hand and asked for your number. Is she just as lonely as you are?

➽──────────────❥

After a few days, you wake up from a nap and see 2 new messages from Skye.

“heyyy how are you”

“are you free next week haha”

[duchessbird]

oh, father! where art thou?

part two.

highschool au, long lost lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, grumpy and sunshine-esque dynamics, simon riley & fem!reader.

cw) angst, use of 2nd person, allusions/vague depictions to intimacy eventually, drinking eventually, breakdowns, motherhood, simon riley is father, un-canon lore! all of it eventually

tw) super short and i’m so sorry

also, scarf scene inspired by @girl-lostconnection ! please read her “Unsweetened Lemonade” AU! <3

previous part

Winter in Manchester was never easy. It marked the beginning of a new term, new classes, new people in these new classes. Not to mention the Manchurian weather. Fog, humidity, and wind.

All of Simon’s adversaries. His clothes were too thin, too ratty for all of this nonsense. You noticed this, more closely — perhaps, for the first time when you caught him smoking outside of the orchestra building again. He’s lucky Dr. Harris was too senile to really care about busting him for smoking.

You sat and watched him. Effortlessly blowing the smoke from his chapped lips, like he’s already setting a somber tone for his day. Fucking weirdo, also, what’re you doing just standing here and watching him?

Since when did you become so interested in him?

You approach him again — before you can think better of it — and thrust your scarf into his chest, same as you did with the granola bar just a few weeks earlier. He’s puzzled, but almost unsurprised. He flicks some ash in your direction and snickers to himself as you flinch away from it.

“Wot’s ‘is?” He asks. You’re dumbfounded by how dense he must be.

“S’a scarf.” You respond, and you’ve must’ve made a face because he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, gathered ‘at much. Wot’s it for?”

“It’s 5° celsius outside, and you’re asking why I’m giving you a scarf?” She asks, her eyebrows aching from her confusion.

“No need for lip, princess,” he chuffs back at you. Princess? Wot? “Was jus’ askin’ why you’ve decided to gimme your scarf.”

“‘Cause I ‘a clearly see you’re cold.” She says, reaching the point of exasperation.

He scoffs, as if that’s the most ridiculous idea he’s ever come across. “Come off it,” he chuffs and passes the scarf back to you unceremoniously.

“Mate, ‘at’s so hard to understand?! Givin’ you a scarf, ‘ot a billion quid!” And he snickers, having found you riled up again. He seems to let go of his grief a bit easier now. Especially in your presence.

He towers over you, as lanky and awkward as he is. Seeing you with your hands on your hips is quite funny, and he can’t even remember your name. Just knows you’re sweet and well-respected. All the things he will never be.

“Don’t need it.” He says, and you give up on conversation. Shoving it against his chest again, you storm off to first lesson. It’s some arithmetic class you wished you could’ve opted out of, but alas.

And who walks in? The boy with the scarf! Oh my, God. Oh, my God! You physically coil back into your seat when you see him search the room for his desk, before slipping into the one beside you. Your scarf is poking from his jacket. Your scarf. He’s wearing it! Well, hiding it. But a win is a win.

You peak onto his desk, learning his name wordlessly.

Simon Riley.

Short and sweet.

“Got a pencil, luv?” He nearly knocks you out of your seat with how abruptly he’s spoken. Shit, when did the teacher start talking?

“You’ve come to school without a pencil?” You asked, reaching into your bag for one nonetheless. You hand him a sparkly pink mechanical pencil, and he looks at you like you’ve got two heads. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” you teased him, all too proud of yourself.

Oh, doesn’t he know it, sweetheart.

“Some station’ry you’ve got,” he chuffs, but your chest almost physically puffs when he starts writing in his scratchy handwriting with the frilly pencil nonetheless.

You grumble under your breath, mocking his voice and sticking out your tongue. Appropriate rebellion, you think. He smiles for a split second, his home life forgotten. How do you have this effect on him? With the scarf and the stupid ass, girly ass pencil? Has he actually gone mad? Would be the most likely explanation.

You catch glimpses of him during the lesson, and the scent of him. It’s strong, musky, and mature. A grown man’s cologne. You wonder where it’s from. Smells expensive. But with every glimpse you catch, you can’t help but notice his lips. They’re chapped beyond oblivion and you’re wondering how he’s not chewing them till he draws blood.

You forget paying attention to the lecture entirely, and start rummaging through your purse. You find it! Aha! Your blueberry flavored “healing” lip balm.

“Here,” you all but slam it on his desk. He snorts at you and doesn’t give the tube a second glance. You don’t give him a chance to before you’re forcibly applying the lip balm for him, a rough grip on his chin and another tightly holding the lip balm. “Better?” You ask, and he’s again looking at you like you have two heads, but at least his lips are shiny.

And the second term of Year 11 continues like that. You offering him small things to help him cope with the Manchurian winter and him begrudgingly accepting.

The last day of the second term roles around, the winter snow and harsh winds bygones. And you still haven’t seen your scarf. Hm.

Simon sits down in his desk, the desk you two have shared, the desk you two have bonded over and fought over just as much. He is a bit dejected today, but he’s been looking a bit better. His arms are fuller and his face is a normal color this time of year. He begins speaking without even glancing your way.

“Been workin’ ad’a butcher shop.” He says, as if this has been the secret to the universe all along.

“Is’at the answer to the ‘omework from ‘ast night?” You tease, just getting under his skin. He’s ready to give up on this whole being honest and being vulnerable thing.

Ready to give up on telling you that you were the highlight of his year, as much as you two fought. That he prays he’ll classes again with you come Year 12, and that you helped him get over all the grief he’d been harboring. That as much as he didn’t understand you in your entirety, he adored you. That as much as it was a hurdle to allow himself to get to know you, he’s enjoyed it all. And he’s glad he jumped that hurdle and not that ledge. Because where would you be without him? He allows himself the one cocky thought.

“‘N’ I thought I’d told her she waddn’t in’ited but she’s comin’ anyhow and I’ve ‘iven up try’n to convince ‘er not to.” Oh? You were speaking? You were actively telling him something?

“Sounds like a piece’a work.” He chuffs and you nod in inordinate agreement, believing that he was listening.

“Anyway, wot’s ‘is ‘bout you workin’ in’a butcher shop?” She looped the conversation back to him. Fuck. What did he have planned to say? Why’d he throw away those damn flashcards he’d made?

“Been makin’ some money, yeah?” He starts slowly.

“Lucky prick,” she chuckles softly.

“Nah, ‘ot the point, luv.”

“Oh?”

“Got you sum’n.” He says, and she’s shocked. Did she really mean this much to him? She’s caught up in her emotions, before she feels it in her hand.

A fucking granola bar.

Simon is chuckling heartily, and she’s thrown the damn thing back in his face.

“Not funny, Si.” And he stops laughing.

Did you just give him a nickname? Oh, honey. If only you knew what you had now.

This poor sod, on a leash that you didn’t even attach him to. And he’s shortened it, too, for your courtesy. Don’t worry about him running, off, luv.

“My boss ‘ave me some cuts.” His voice slices confusion in half. “You got any plans ‘or dinner ‘onight?”

What?!

“I. . . dinner?”

“Yeah, you never ‘eard of it?” He teases. Because he’s so positively hilarious.

“‘Re you askin’ me’a come over for dinner?” She says, a bit louder this time.

“Not if you’re gettin’ your knickers in’a twist ‘bout it.” He looks at you like you have two heads. Jesus, is there something you didn’t see in the mirror this morning?

“No! I. . . I’ll check with my parents but that’s probably fine. Eh, wot time?”

“Seven?”

“Seven.”

“Seven.”

next part

[5secondsofmoxley]

Screwed // Part 2

Read Part 1 here

Pairings: Jay White X fem reader, El Phantasmo (Riley) x fem reader

Warnings: language, implied sexual content, angst!!!, violence. No use of Y/N, or any descriptors for the narrator. I try to leave it as open to interpretation as possible for you the reader to imagine whoever you’d like. I tried to keep it gender neutral as well, but I did end up saying the narrator is a woman for storyline purposes.

I could kill him. A week. He had let a whole week go by. Riley hadn’t told Jay yet. He apparently was going to tell him that first day, but when he finally came face to face with Jay, he panicked. He promised me he just wanted to collect himself and his thoughts to figure out how to start the hard conversation. Riley told me he would talk to Jay tomorrow. And then six more tomorrows came and went. Now, here we are a week later, and I swear when Jay does finally find out, someone is going to have to bury both Riley and I because I’ll be dead from guilt if Jay doesn’t kill me first.

It was hard to be around Jay the first couple days after. I was struggling to act normal, and Jay could tell something was up with me. He’s a straight up, no bullshit kind of guy. But thankfully, Jay’s respectful enough to not push me on the subject since I clearly wasn’t ready to talk about it. By the third day, I had managed to swallow the guilt and act like nothing had happened. I could still see the curiosity in his eyes, but he was waiting for me to bring up the subject. And I was waiting for Riley to get the balls to talk to Jay.

I knew the more time that passed, the more angry Jay would be when he finally knew. It was bad enough that it happened, but the fact that neither Riley, nor myself, spoke to him about it will just make it worse. By the second day I had considered just telling Jay myself. And when I said that to Riley, he swore up and down that he would. Now, I feel like I let it go too long for me to talk to him.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the ring?” The accent I’d come to love, and dread, broke me from my thoughts.

Giving myself a once over in the mirror, I caught his eye in the reflection. Confused, I asked, “yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

“Aren’t you missing something?”

I studied my outfit. Tonight I’d chosen to wear one of my own Bullet Club shirts. I’d cut it to be a crop top, and to show off some cleavage. I paired the black shirt with white jean shorts, fish nets, and my trusty doc martens. For a moment, I questioned if I had forgotten a bra or panties and somehow Jay knew. I squinted at myself before Jay laid his jacket over my shoulders.

“If you’re not going to wear my shirt, you have to have some other thing of mine.”

“In my defense, you usually give me your jacket after we make our entrance.”

“Usually you’re wearing one of my shirts to begin with.” His hands wrapped around my waist to spin me around, blatantly looking me up and down. “Though I do admit, your new shirt is cool and the way you cut it up,” he cut himself off to smirk at me.

I smirked back before giving him a gentle shove away. “No one else is going to wear my shirts so I gotta get these babies selling somehow.”

“Don’t worry, once the fans get the view I’m getting right now, they’ll sell out.” Jay winked at me, and I couldn’t contain my eye roll.

As I turned away from him to head towards my bag, I caught Riley’s stare. The emotions were clear as day on his face: the envy, the sadness, and the guilt. I gave him a small smile before quickly checking the time.

“All right boys, time to go.”

———

Jay was pissed. The club had lost tonight. Tama and Tanga had lost their tag match, Jay lost his G1 match, and Kenta had lost his singles match. On top of the losses, I had taken a nasty bump during the tag match that definitely could’ve been avoided had I not chosen the wrong time to get involved.

I was standing with Jay as he was filming his after match thoughts. He was irate, yelling about the refs being against Bullet Club as usual. My head was pounding, and all I wanted was to change and head back to the hotel for the night.

I wasn’t paying attention to anything Jay was screaming about, until I heard my name. “Get her some fucking ice! Can’t you see she’s fucking hurting?”

A young lion rushed forward to hand Jay a bag of ice, and Jay was quick to rip it from his hands and shove the boy back. “Not for me you fucking, dumbass. Her!” Jay turned to me, putting the ice to my head before continuing on his rant.

Thankfully, Jay finished up not long after. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and practically dragged me away, yelling how this was still the Jay-1 Climax and he would turn things around. Once we were far enough that we were out of sights of the cameras, he dropped his voice. “Well, tonight was fucking shit.” He glanced at me before continuing. “You’re an idiot too.”

I glared at him, ripping myself away from his arm. “I was trying to help.”

“Yeah and how’d that work out for you?”

“Fuck you, Jay. I’m not in the mood for your fucking bitch fit.” And that’s how we walked into the locker room. Yelling at each other like a married couple. None of the guys looked up at us as this was usual for us on nights where the club took one too many losses.

I was shoving my things into my bag as Jay was going on and on about how everyone fucked up tonight. Usually, I’d just sit calmly and let him get his rage out before we’d all decide what we were doing for the night. But like I told Jay, I’m not in the mood. So the minute I was sure I had everything packed, without even bothering to change, I grabbed my shit and headed for the door.

Unfortunately for me, Jay being Jay, decided to block my way by leaning against my exit to freedom. “And just where in the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“As I said Jay, I’m not in the mood.” I exasperated.

“Oh, well I’m sorry. You’re not in the mood.” Jay said sarcastically, putting his hand to his chest.

“Seriously,” I snapped. “My head is fucking pounding. Losses happen. For once in your fucking life, get over it. You know better than anyone that the club will bounce back from this. So get out of my way so I can go back to the hotel and sleep this shit off.”

Jay stared blankly at me for a moment. If my head wasn’t throbbing so bad, I’d probably be a little nervous. Jay wasn’t the kind of guy that hides his emotions. And I couldn’t read him at the moment. Yeah, definitely a scary thought when you don’t know what Jay White is thinking.

“You should get checked out.” He said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. Now that, I wasn’t expecting. And of course he could tell he took me by surprise.

“If your head is hurting that bad, you should get checked for a concussion.”

If my back wasn’t to the guys, I’d see them all sitting on the edge of their seats. This was very out of character for Jay. Not the caring about my wellbeing, he always checks on me when something happens. But him stopping one of his yelling fits, that’s odd.

I sighed. “I’m fine. It’s not a concussion. Just a bad fall and your yelling isn’t helping.” And now out of character for me, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and ask him to move. “Now, can I please get out of here?”

“And you know it’s not a concussion how? Are you a doctor now?” Jay was poking a bear he did not want to fight right now. When I’m irritated, the last thing anyone should do is press my buttons. Of course, I say this as if I’m not talking to the king of pressing the big red ‘DO NOT PRESS’ button that everyone has.

“I’ve had my fair share of concussions. I just need to sleep it off. I already asked you nicely, I’m not going to a second time. Get out of my way, Jay.”

See, the mistake I made here was giving him my usual attitude when we’re arguing. I should’ve brought out the crocodile tears and maybe he would’ve pitied me enough to let me leave. But that would’ve been too out of character for me. I can’t help that sometimes Jay can bring out the worst in me.

So Jay in his Jay fashion, smirked at me. That big obnoxious ‘I’m about to push you to your absolute fucking limit’ smirk. Thank god, before Jay could piss me off anymore than he already has, Fale spoke up.

“Alright, enough you two. Everyone get your shit, we’re going for drinks. On me. We all need it.” The big man gave everyone a look to show there was no arguing with him. But I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try the puppy dog eyes on him. Benefits of being the only girl in the group, and Fale secretly being a giant teddy bear.

“Fale, I’m,” he’s quick to cut me off though.

“No, we’re going out. You included. You’re in the club, are you not?” He got me there. He always knew how to sucker me into going out with them. Even when I absolutely didn’t want to.

I sighed in defeat. “Fine, but I’m not driving. I’ll be waiting outside.”

Turning back to the door, I caught the blue eyes that were still smirking back at me as if he won the argument we didn’t even get to finish. I didn’t say a word to him. I just stared blankly at him as I motioned with a wave of my hand for him to move. Thankfully, he did without argument. As I scooted by him, I had no choice but to brush against him as he’d barely stepped a foot away from the door. He took advantage as he placed a hand on my shoulder to halt me in my tracks, leaning in to press his lips to my ear.

“This isn’t over though, darling. You and I will finish this later.” Jay whispered in my ear. And if I wasn’t already still heated from the argument, I was sure as hell hot and bothered now.

I was quick to take my leave now given the chance. I knew the guys were going to take at least twenty minutes for all of them to shower, change and pack up. I was relishing in the thought of the short lived peace and quiet I was about to have before things were to get crazy as they usually do on nights we go out. I could only hope nothing as bad as last week happens again.

I got not even five minutes of my quiet time before there were footsteps approaching me. My first thought was that it’d be Fale, since he was the one that suggested the outing and would be the most eager to get going. But to my surprise, and maybe a little dismay, it was Riley.

Regardless of both of us trying, things had been weird. Truthfully, I blamed it on us having this dirty little secret. I’d like to hope and believe that had we come clean and told Jay right away, we could’ve moved past this and been back to our normal selves. Instead, any time we were alone we were either arguing about telling Jay, or in an awkward silence. Neither of which I felt like dealing with right now.

“I’m going to tell him tonight.” Now that, I was not expecting. What is with these two men and shocking me tonight?

I turned to him, giving him my full attention. “And what in your right mind makes you think tonight, of all nights, is the best time to tell him?”

Riley ignored me. “You’re telling me you’ve been pestering me about telling him and now that I want to, you don’t want me to?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to tell him. I’ve wanted to tell him for the past week! But he’s already pissed after all the matches tonight. Why would you think it’s a good idea to tell him when he’s already mad?” I crossed my arms over my chest, and tapped my foot impatiently. I couldn’t believe the audacity of this boy.

“Well, for one, I’m actually hoping his anger will be more directed to those issues than this. And second, once Fale gets a couple drinks in him, he’ll loosen up and will handle it better.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“You know I’m right. Once he has a few drinks in him, his anger will dissipate. You and him will go to your normal flirting. He’ll get into a good mood. Then I’ll take him outside for some air and break the news. Problem solved.”

“You’re an absolute moron. That is quite possibly the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard. You know the second you tell him what happened, all the anger will return, and will be multiplied by all the shit tonight and the alcohol added into the mix.”

“So you don’t want me to tell him?” For a second, I questioned if this was his actual plan. Force me to decide not to tell him so he doesn’t feel guilty about keeping it a secret for another day.

I groaned, massaging my temples in hopes of alleviating my ever growing headache. “Riley, he’s already pissed. As much as I’ve wanted to tell him for the past week, I really think tonight is not the best night.”

“Tell me what?” And there it was. Shit hitting the fan. Apparently, it was possible for this night to be worse than last week.

Jay stopped dead in his tracks. His bag was hanging loosely by his side, almost hitting the ground from how slack his grip was. His eyes snapped back and forth between me and Riley. He didn’t let a minute pass before he asked again. “Tell me what?” I could see and hear the frustration in him growing again.

Thankfully, there was some distance between Riley and I. Otherwise, I’m sure Jay would’ve been able to make an assumption about what was going on. He’s a smart guy. I can’t imagine he hasn’t noticed that Riley and I have been off this past week. Not teasing each other the way we normally do. Going almost out of our way to not sit near each other.

Jay took a deep breath before dropping his bag onto the ground. He waved his hands between the two of us as the anger swept over his face. “If one of you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on.”

I glanced at Riley, who looked like he was shitting bricks. In that brief second, I decided he wouldn’t be able to tell Jay. Not when he was caught so off guard and Jay was already irate. I think Riley genuinely believed that he could catch Jay at a ‘good’ time and Jay wouldn’t absolutely rip him to shreds.

To my surprise again, Riley beat me to the punch. Though, I wish he had thought more before he just blurted out, “We slept together.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I was sure my heart stopped beating. If I thought my heart fell to my ass when Riley told me he had a crush on me, I was sure my heart fell out of my ass as Jay stared the two of us down.

I expected a big blowout. For Jay to go beat red in the face, steam to come out of his ears and him to scream at us until we were both deaf. But he didn’t say a word. And a quiet Jay was much scarier than a yelling Jay.

I didn’t dare take my eyes off Jay. I wanted to catch the first signs of whatever reaction would come from him. Of course, I’m expecting him to be seething with rage. And I should’ve expected his reaction, but he still managed to catch me off guard. Because in the blink of an eye, he closed the gap between himself and Riley, giving Riley a hard right hand to the jaw that knocked him to the ground. He didn’t hesitate to get on top of Riley and start pummeling him.

“Jay!” I yelled at him. Riley did his best to block his face, but Jay, who I could only imagine was seeing red, managed to still land the punches.

Jay was yelling at Riley so loud and fast, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. It may as well have been gibberish for all I cared. He was so incoherent, I wondered if even he knew what he was saying.

I was used to having to break up fights between the boys. But never as physical as this. Nowhere near. The closest I had ever seen was Tama and Jay butting heads and going chest to chest. But even then I managed to squeeze in between the two to separate them. And by the next day, they had both cooled down and moved on. I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky this time.

Springing into action, I wrapped both hands around Jay’s right bicep, successfully stopping his next punch to Riley. Riley was busted open. He hadn’t even attempted to throw a hit back at Jay. He just laid there and took whatever hit Jay got past his attempts at blocking.

Jay’s head whipped up to look at me. He ripped his arm out of my grip, stepping over Riley to go chest to chest with me. Forcing me to step back, but never letting me get any space between us. Now, I knew Jay would never do anything to hurt me. But the look on his face. He’s been angry with me before. Like I said, when he gets into his bitch fits, we tend to argue. But his anger has never really been caused by me. Like him, I would push his buttons to further his anger. But I had never, that I could recall, been a direct cause of all of his anger. I’m ashamed to admit that I was scared.

“And you! Are you fucking kidding me? My best fucking friend? You fucking know how I feel about you!” I didn’t get a chance to respond, before Riley jumped up and pushed Jay out of my face.

Jay was heaving. I could tell he was about to have another go at Riley, so I was quick to put myself in between the two of them. Jay glanced down at me for a second, before snapping his attention to Riley. Riley tried to move me out of the way gently, but I shook him off, not letting either of them get a step closer to each other.

“Don’t yell at her like that! Jay, it was a fucking mistake, alright? We were both drunk.” Riley screamed at Jay.

Jay scoffed in return. “Oh yeah, it was a real fucking mistake when you’ve wanted to fuck for her as long as I’ve known you. You were just waiting for your chance to make your move.”

I looked to Riley and could see the emotions running over his face. I knew he was about to say something that would only piss Jay off further. I tried to cut in, to put in my two cents but Riley spoke over me.

“Real rich coming from the guy who’s had plenty of fucking opportunities to make a move but didn’t! Maybe if you weren’t such a pussy, it would’ve been your name she was screaming last week.”

Jay ran his hands through his hair as he panted. He took two steps forward but I was quick to put out my hands to stop him from getting any closer to Riley. He pressed his chest against my palms, though he didn’t push any further.

“Well, unlike you, I was trying to be a good friend and respect your feelings but clearly shit like that doesn’t matter to you!”

“Oh please, you never respected how I felt about her. You flirted with her from the moment you met her! And don’t give me the bullshit that that’s just how you are. The minute she was introduced into Bullet Club onscreen, you pranced her around like she’s your fucking property. You made her wear anything with your fucking name on it, and kept your arms around her like they were attached to her.”

“I’m the fucking leader! It’s only natural that the only girl in the group belongs to the one running the fucking show.”

“Hey!” I cut them both off. “I don’t belong to anyone. You of all people know the last thing I ever wanted when I joined was to be seen as just your girl.”

“And yet,” he smirked at me, “you wore whatever I gave you without any argument. No matter how much you claim you didn’t want to just be my piece of ass, that’s exactly what you are. And you enjoy it too! I could ask you to get on your knees for me and you would, no hesitation. Just like you did for Riley.”

The slap echoed throughout the almost empty parking lot. His head snapped to the side, and he slowly turned his glare back to me. Over his shoulder, I could see the rest of the guys making their way over to us. It was clear they had walked out just in time to catch me slap Jay. They hadn’t realized how serious the situation was, until they got closer and saw the tension, and the aftermath on Riley’s face.

“What the hell is going on?” I wasn’t sure who asked, my focus was zeroed in on Jay. Jay’s eyes were flickering back and forth between me and Riley.

I was so furious with him. And speechless. I couldn’t muster up anything to say to him. I was so upset, I felt like I might cry any second. And I wouldn’t know if the tears would’ve been from sadness, or frustration.

“I would tell you both to go fuck yourselves, but clearly you’d rather do each other.” And just like that, Jay turned away. He grabbed his bag off the ground, and walked off.

Part of me wanted to chase after him. To beg his forgiveness. To tell him how sorry I was. How I never meant to sleep with Riley and it was all a drunken mistake. Part of me wanted to yell at him. For speaking so lowly of me. As if I meant nothing to him.

We all watched Jay walk off. No one made a move to follow him, all knowing better than to face more of his wrath. I was frozen in shame. Not only, did I certainly not want Jay to find out like that, but I definitely didn’t want the guys to know what had went down. I felt like a slut. And for a moment, I wondered if all this time, I had been acting like one.

“Hey,” a hand laid gently on my shoulder. The last person I wanted touching me right now.

All of the rage I was feeling right now: from Jay’s reaction, for myself for stupidly getting into this shitshow, and for Riley being the other half of the issue, I directed towards the person that was trying to comfort me.

I ripped my shoulder out of his grip, swinging around to face him. Riley stepped back in surprise. Not sure if it was from my reaction, or from the anger on my face.

“Don’t. Fucking do not. I don’t want to hear it right now, Riley.”

“You can’t seriously be mad at me after what Jay said.”

“We wouldn’t be in this fucking situation if it wasn’t for you, Riley! You yourself told me you had enough fucking clear thought going through your head that night to consider stopping it and you didn’t! And even if I look past that, and I blame it on the alcohol, you promised me you were going to tell him! And you fucking didn’t! You let a whole week go by and decided the night that he’s already fucking irate was the best night to tell him, and you tell me your stupid fucking plan as if Jay couldn’t walk out here at any given moment. And let’s not even talk about the fact that had you fucking been a man and told your best friend that it was okay for him to go after the girl you had a crush on since, as you told me, you can’t control your feelings, this,” I motioned between the two of us. “Would’ve never fucking happened! All this time, Jay and I could’ve fucking been together but regardless of what you think, he did fucking respect the fact that you had feelings first and he never let us get any further than kissing. You can’t even begin to understand the emotional turmoil I have put myself through questioning whether or not I was fucking crazy thinking Jay liked me. But you had to be fucking selfish and delusional holding on to some false fucking hope that you would live in your fucking fantasy world and get the girl in the end. Well newsflash, Riley, that was never going to happen!”

My heart was beating out of my chest. I swore if you listened close enough, you could hear it thumping. Had I not been absolutely blinded by rage, I would’ve felt unbelievably guilty watching Riley’s face drop in the most heartbroken expression I’d ever seen.

He was quick to wipe it away though. He swept his hands over his face before giving me a blank stare. “You know what, you’re right.” He paused for a moment, but I didn’t let my guard down. “I never stood a chance against Jay because you and him are made for each other. You both will go to whatever lengths you need to make the people around you feel the pain you’re feeling so you don’t have to feel alone in it.” And then Riley walked off, just like Jay had.

I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I was so overwhelmed with so many emotions, I was frozen in place. I didn’t know where to begin to process what I was feeling. All I could do, was turn to the rest of the group and ask, “Can you drop me at the hotel, please?”

______________________

Author’s Note: As I’ve been writing this mini series, I’ve realized how I could absolutely cook someone in an argument if I didn’t have crippling anxiety that makes me immediately want to cry when any confrontation happens 😂

Part 3 will be out in a few days. I’m thinking I may hold off till Wednesday to post it. Thankfully it is written. I just have to finish up Part 4. Part 4 will be the final part but it feels like a bonus chapter? Only because the way Part 3 ends I could stop, but there are some things left open I need to give closure to.

Tag List (just for this mini series): @madhatterbri @cowboywritersworld @smallestsnarkestgirl

If you’d liked to be tagged in all future Jay fics, let me know! :)

[ghcstao3]

You’re the only fic writer that I go to on tumblr because your characterisation of ghost and soap is just too good and not out of character. I don’t read fics on tumblr at all as some of them usually makes the character too OOC and it completely ruins the mood for me to read but not your works. Thank you so much :)

I was wondering if you can maybe write Ghost and Tommy? There’s just not enough works about them! If that’s okay with you! It can be anything you’d like, even ghostsoap

Another question, I just want to know if there’s any more characters that you might write in the future other then the characters for MW, such as COD ghosts?

thank you, that really means so much <3 I know sometimes with the more fun posts it’s going to be a bit ooc, so I always worry about characterization when I post actual writing :’) so that really makes me happy to hear

unfortunately I don’t think I’d write any CoD characters outside of MW (at least for the time being) only because I’m not familiar enough with other series that I’d feel confident enough to their write characters. but that’s not to say it won’t ever happen! just not for the foreseeable future :)

and i can absolutely write ghost and tommy!! I agree that there is a severe lack of works So here is some best man ghost :)

-

“I can’t do this, Simon.”

For approximately the twelfth time in an hour, Tommy has decided that he can’t do this. And for just as many times, Simon is telling him, you can do this.

This, of course, meaning his wedding.

Now, it isn’t like Simon doesn’t understand Tommy’s fears about everything, about going through with it—but that certainly doesn’t mean he intends on giving into his brother’s insistence and letting him ruin this wonderful thing he has. Tommy has worked far too hard to let his self-doubt spoil his efforts’ worth.

“Beth isn’t—she doesn’t deserve me! Why should she get married to someone like me?”

Simon has to resist from rolling his eyes. He feels as if they’ve been running circles around this conversation all morning.

He shakes his head instead as he moves to interrupt Tommy’s incessant pacing. He eases his brother’s fingers from the poor scrunched fabric of his tie that he’d been fidgeting with.

“No one gets to decide what Beth deserves except her,” Simon tells him sagely. “She wouldn’t have agreed to this if she didn’t want to marry you, Tommy.”

Tommy’s gaze falls to the floor, jaw working in that anxious manner he’s never been quite able to kick. “I know, but—I don’t know if—“

“Tom.”

Simon straightens the collar of his brother’s dress shirt. Tommy’s eyes flick sharply up to his, wide and scared and strangely young. Simon sighs and smooths the sleeves of his jacket before stepping back to assess.

“Beth has seen you through thick and thin,” Simon says quietly, mustering up that calm, smooth tone he always used when they’d been working Tommy through rehab. “If she didn’t want to stay, she’d have made that clear by now. You know her. You love her, and you are going to marry her.”

Tommy shuffles his feet, swallowing harshly as he nervously wipes his palms on his trousers. “What if—“

Simon levels Tommy a glare that has him clamping his mouth shut.

Earnest, Simon continues, “You are going to go out there, Thomas Riley, and you are going to make her the happiest woman alive. Understand that?”

Slowly, Tommy nods.

“Good,” Simon says. A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Because if you don’t, I’m sure Beth will wring your neck before I even get a chance.”

Tommy lets out a weak laugh, nodding more assertively this time. “She would, yeah,” he concurs, a glint of fondness in his eyes. “Alright. Alright. I’m doing this. For Beth.”

Simon snorts and flicks Tommy’s forehead. “For yourself, too, dickhead. Now, c’mon—can’t be a very good groom from out here, can you?”

Finally, finally Simon is able to lead Tommy out to the altar for the last minute preparations before the ceremony was to begin.

And what a beautiful ceremony it is.

Simon couldn’t have been more glad to have talked Tommy out of his spiralling. He’s not sure Tommy would’ve been able to live with the regret it would have left him with, and Simon isn’t so sure he could live with seeing that, either.

He’s glad, that for once, a happy memory was able to be made for the Riley family.

[thevampiremarie]

Heartless, Chapter 7

🔞 Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, SMUT

-

Ghost hasn't touched you in a while, so you ask him to teach you how to shoot. Tags under the read more.

-

Smut tags: EXTENSIVE SAFE HANDLING/USAGE OF GUNS AT A SHOOTING RANGE, description of guns and gun safety, gun kink, exhibitionism, more degradation, more praise, love for titties, semi-public sex, s/m, biting, possessive Ghost. Brought to you by my deep love and affection for the OG Ghost skin.

Ghost hasn’t touched you since your flare-up. Not literally. He’s been… stupidly nice, his hand never leaves the small of your back when you walk together, and sometimes, he even pushes doors open for you.

But things haven’t gone past kissing, which you do a lot of nowadays, more than before. He’s constantly kissing you, soft brushes of lips on your forehead, gentle bites at the pulse in your neck; if he’s feeling frisky, he’ll tangle his tongue with yours.

That’s it.

He withdraws if you try to pull his shirt up or take your pants off. And it’s driving you fucking crazy.

It’s not all bad. Ghost changes his mask in front of you now instead of ducking into the bathroom, and he leaves the door open when he brushes his teeth.

You catch glimpses of his face, jaw, and eyebrows like wisps of fog. They'll slip out of your grasp if you hold on too tight or demand too much. He’s turned you into a Victorian gentleman, at his feet for the smallest bit of bare skin.

But what you want almost more than to see Ghost’s face again is for him to fuck you. It’s been weeks. Literal weeks.

You’ve tried prancing around your apartment in nothing but your skimpiest lingerie, lace and tulle and embroidered silk.

You drop things in front of him and bend down to retrieve them. You draw your kisses out as long as possible, as indulgent and possessive as possible.

Go, Ghost. Give us nothing.

You thought that maybe he wasn’t attracted to you anymore. That he saw you in pain and need, and that killed any desire he had, like some weird Madonna-Whore complex.

But one day, while rolling on a pair of delicate thigh highs, you felt eyes heavy on your skin.

You looked up to find him standing at the sink, watching your reflection in the mirror, his gaze feverish, like that little slip of elastic cinching into your plush thigh was about to make him crawl.

That made you realize that your stupid husband is only treating you like glass because he doesn’t know any better, out of some deeply misguided sense of chivalry.

Today, you have a plan. A really, really good plan. One he can’t wriggle out of so effortlessly.

He looks more handsome than he has any right to look in his camo pants and dinky wraparound combat sunglasses, and when he crosses his arms, your mouth goes dry at the sight of his broad, muscular back in that gray jacket.

You’re determined to get him.

“Ghost, I have a question. Well, it’s more like a favor,” You ask as you dab on some lipstick, mouth open in a perfect ‘o.’

He’s on his way out, but Ghost stops and turns in his tracks just for you. “Hm?”

In the mirror, you see him adjust his sunglasses, and your instincts tell you he’s either looking at your lips or your ass in your miniskirt. Or both.

You tamp down on the smile tugging at your mouth before he grows suspicious. “Do you think you could… teach me how to shoot? If you have time today. I never learned how, and I trust you,” You add in a soft, fragile voice.

Then you bend over the sink just a touch more and arch your back. As you calculated, Ghost is too taken in by your tantalizingly short hem to notice how off your voice sounds.

He clears his throat, light reflecting off his glasses as he shakes his head. “Yeah. Alright. Let’s go,” He says flatly.

You keep some distance as you walk past him into the hallway. You know, just to keep Ghost on his toes.

“Awesome! Oh my god, thank you. I’m so excited,” You tell him as you rest your arm in his, intentionally pulling tighter so your tits in this push-up bra brush his bicep.

Ghost doesn’t pull away, but he does stiffen as he walks you through the base. “Better cool it. Don’t get frisky ‘round loaded firearms,” He cautions.

Damnit, he won’t even look at you. And you know you’re very pretty right now - this is his favorite shade of lipstick on you, and you’re wearing more mascara than a waitress at Hooters.

Ugh. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be good, I promise.” You won’t give up so easily.

He stops in front of a soldier manning a counter cut into what looks like a big ol’ wire cage. Past the cage, you see a massive metal wall with locked shelves.

The private salutes your husband as soon as he sees him. “Lt. Riley. How can I help you?” He asks, clearly used to Ghost’s presence. The man’s eyes flicker towards you curiously, but Ghost leans forward and quietly raps his knuckles on the cage.

The private looks away with a blank, bloodless face.

Ghost nods approvingly. “Checkin’ out a Glock 17. And some ammo,” He says, handing his DODID over so the other man can type his information into the computer.

After Ghost gets his card back, the man stands and unlocks one of the shelves by punching in a code. “How many rounds?” The private asks as he sets out a black hard plastic case.

“30.”

Three unmarked white boxes join the case. “There you go, sir.” Another salute, this one sharper and more respectful, then Ghost signals for you to go ahead of him.

You follow the signs towards the shooting range with your Uniformed Services ID card displayed prominently between your fingers. Both your husband and Soap have drummed the importance of this card into your head, and you hesitate to even walk around without holding it somewhere visible.

Ghost joins you after a minute to swipe his ID at the shooting range, effortlessly carrying the case and the ammo with one strong arm.

You see someone take off their ear protection. As the man turns, you recognize his profile.

“Sergeant Garrick,” Ghost calls out. To a stranger, he would seem just as cold and withdrawn as he was checking out his pistol.

You know better. His shoulders grow less tense, his stride easier, and his head dips in greeting.

When Gaz reaches out a fist, Ghost taps it with the back of his knuckles. “Lieutenant. Surprised to see you’ve let her out. You doin’ alright, sweetheart?” The sergeant asks, clearly having been apprised of your health.

“Thanks, Gaz. I’m feeling a lot better. Ghost has been a gentleman,” You assure him with a smile. This most recent flare was horrid but mercifully short. You were only out of commission for a few days.

And he was, in fact, nothing short of a gentleman the whole time. You doubt Ghost left your side for one second unless necessary, even when you were asleep and wouldn’t have known.

Your husband appraises you from the corner of his eye for a second. “Clear out,” He says as he interrupts Gaz’s follow-up inquiry into whether you need anything.

“Why? Are you… oh.” His gaze falls to the Glock-branded case in Ghost’s hand. “Are you teaching her how to shoot?”

“I asked him to.”

Gaz chuckles. “Good luck, mate. I’ll keep the others away for a few hours,” He says before sending a two-fingered salute your way.

You wait until the sergeant is through the doors to speak. “Why do you shoot alone?” You’re not complaining; it looks like Lady Luck is smiling down on you.

“Don’ like people gawking at me.” Ghost picks a lane off the side where he can conveniently see the exit, then sets the case flat on the little side table.

The target he picks is the standard white paper with a vaguely humanoid shape colored in black. White numbered concentric circles mark the points you can pick up, depending on where you hit.

The dead center of the target’s chest is worth 10 points.

Ghost opens the case with a soft click. The pistol he chose for you is just like the guns you see in the movies and on TV, a straightforward, standard handgun in a dark gunmetal gray.

It looks gorgeous in his large gloved hands, like he was always meant to carry one. He holds it as an extension of his body, and you decide to ask him later to show you the other firearms in his collection. He must have a rifle or some shit, something he uses to sweep through his enemies like a reaper’s scythe.

That sounds so hot.

Ghost first sets out the empty magazines, then removes the pistol from its case. “Basic gun safety. Treat every gun like a loaded weapon, even if you know it’s not.”

“Always keep it pointed away from you or anyone else.”

On the left-hand side of the gun, he shows you a tiny rectangle just below the trigger. “This button releases the magazine. Then you slide it back in, usually loaded,” Ghost tells you as he demonstrates it, slotting the empty magazine into the base until it clicks, then popping it out.

You step closer, ostensibly, so you can scrutinize the demonstration better. “What about, um, a safety? Is that what that’s called?” You ask as you lean in and tuck your hair over your ear, drawing Ghost’s attention momentarily to the long line of your bare throat.

He nods. “Yes. That’s what that’s called. This pistol don’t got one, so you need to be careful the whole time. Alright, doll?” His hands never leave the gun, not even for a second, and he aims it very, very, deliberately away from you.

But you feel Ghost bump his hip against yours before opening his posture, allowing you to nestle yourself near his chest.

“Mmhm,” You acknowledge.

His sunglasses make it impossible for you to see where he’s looking. A gleam of the harsh overhead LED lights on the dark lenses catches your attention; Ghost’s gaze is fixed on the pistol now, where it wasn’t a minute earlier.

With one finger, Ghost releases a tiny lever towards the top of the gun, then rests his hand on the back of the barrel. “This is the slide. Pull that back; that’s the chamber.” He holds it up so you can see the empty space that goes down all the way to the bottom of the gun, a space that the magazine would typically fill. “That’s where the… where the round goes before you pull the trigger.”

He pauses. “You do know what a trigger is, right?”

“Sleep with one eye fucking open tonight,” You threaten as you try to step on his toes. He’s wearing his steel-toed boots, so you get about as far as awkwardly balancing on his shoes.

Ghost sets the gun down on the table, then wraps his free hand around your jaw, forcing your mouth open with his fingers pressing into your cheeks. “Hey. What’d I say? Firearms. Live ammo. Shut it,” He cautions, his voice low and gravelly.

Oh. So you are getting somewhere.

You let your tongue loll out, a small teasing flash of pink flesh glistening with saliva. Ghost grunts as he snatches his hand back like you might bite it.

He touches the small of your back, making it clear that he won’t indulge your foolishness any further. “First thing. Always. Make the gun safe, make sure it’s unloaded. Pop the magazine out. Pull back the slide so there ain’t a round in the chamber. Keep the slide open.”

You’re trying to concentrate. Really, you are. His hands' hypnotic, smooth motions as he handles the pistol are… distracting.

He’s still cautious and as safe as can be, but the confidence- You’d almost guess Ghost is trying to show off, and it works because he is just that good.

He has to clear his throat a few times before you look up at his face, hidden behind the balaclava and the glasses. “Repeat the important shit back to me,” Ghost orders with a smirk you can hear through the cloth.

You make yourself the very picture of obedience and mindfulness, hands tucked behind your back to show your seriousness.

“Treat every gun like it’s loaded. Don’t point it at anyone. Make it safe, magazine out, slide back, keep the slide open,” You say. Coincidentally, your tits get pushed forward when you position yourself like this.

“Good girl.” Ghost looks back at the gun like a priest averting his eyes for fear of sinful thoughts. One step forward, three steps back.

Now, he gestures to the black metal magazine. “It holds ten rounds, so you get ten shots before you have to reload,” He informs you as he taps one of the ammo boxes.

It would be overkill if you started twirling your hair, so you settle for tilting your head and making your eyes all round and fluttery. “Do I have to, like, make it… um, make it stick the bullet in the chamber myself?”

His stupid little chuckle tells you that your performance is believable. “Semi-automatic. You fire one bullet when you pull the trigger, but it reloads automatically,” Ghost says indulgently.

“Okay, got it.” You smile back at him.

“Go on an’ assemble it, just like I showed ya.”

Right. Right.

You try to recall the order he laid out for you.

The pistol feels menacing in your hands, even though you know it’s currently as safe as any gun can possibly be. You almost drop the magazine a few times; the metal is slippier than anticipated.

“Magazine, in. Slide… cocked. Heh. Ready to fire, minus the bullets.” You hold it with pride but carefully point it down range.

Ghost touches your back again, and this time, he lets his hand linger. “Ah, we’ll make a soldier out of you yet,” He whispers into your ear.

“Disassemble it.”

“Boom,” You say as you lay the pistol down.

Instead of moving you to the side, Ghost crowds forward to reach around your arms.

“Attagirl.”

Like this, he could rest his chin on your head if he wanted to.

His broad chest is so warm, and you feel his harness snag on your shirt as he grabs one of the empty magazines. “‘M gonna load this magazine for you. You focus on firin’,” Ghost tells you, his voice a rumbling, soothing comfort on your nerves.

He slots ten rounds into the magazine, which cleans out one of the three boxes.

Then he tips your chin towards him, his glove rough and chafing on your sensitive skin.

“Doll. Hey. Listen to me. Once this magazine goes in, this pistol is loaded and dangerous. Dangerous. I don’t want you getting yourself shot, so for the love of God, pay attention to where you’re pointing the fuckin’ thing.”

You look into his sunglasses, as black as night, and you know that the minute you fuck around too much, Ghost will bodily remove you from the scene for your own good.

“I will pay attention.”

You wish you could see his face. He’d never agree, especially not in public, so you know better than to ask. But…

Even the sight of his deep, rich brown eyes would be enough. You go back and forth with yourself for a few seconds; he might be willing to take the glasses off, but if he wanted to show his eyes, he wouldn’t have put them on in the first place.

After a minute, Ghost releases your chin. “Assemble it. I’ll be right here,” He encourages, dropping his hands to your waist.

When loaded, the magazine is much heavier, and you take great precautions to avoid dropping it.

Click. You feel the gun's weight in your hand and understand why he’s so cautious about something so small. It can do some hefty damage.

Ghost held this like it weighed nothing at all.

The slide is satisfyingly loud when it slams into place. “There you go,” You say, hands trembling just a little as you hold the pistol up for his inspection.

He takes it from you before you can put your fingers in the wrong place or, God forbid, accidentally discharge it, and you exhale softly with relief.

Now, Ghost steps up to the firing lane. “Make sure you have a comfortable grip. None of the gymnastics and shit you see on the telly. Fire with both hands on the gun. Both. Shoulders and feet square,” He tells you, limbs moving in time with his words so you have something to emulate.

You watch him straighten his spine; his head tilts a little, and his breathing slows. “Line up your sights. Squeeze the trigger.”

His shot rips a neat hole in the target’s chest. Ten points to Ghost.

“Gonna recoil. Every gun does. Let it happen, don’t tense up. You’ll make things worse.”

Finally, he lowers the pistol.

“Ready to try?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” You’re not that ready. Ghost is watching you like a fucking hawk, and your palms grow slick with sweat.

God, what if you do it wrong? What if he thinks you don’t know shit?

Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grabs a set of ear muffs you didn’t realize he’d slung around his neck and hands them to you.

You slip them on, tighten the headband so they fit you, then wipe your hands off on your skirt.

When he passes you the pistol, he never aims it away from the target.

‘Shoulders and feet square’ is a harder direction to follow than it sounds. You know you must always look where your firearm is aimed, but then how do you check if your feet are square?

You shuffle around for a moment, and you think it’s fine if you just lower your arms for a second-

Ghost sighs. “No, don’t- don’t hold it like that. Fuckin’- here,” He grumbles as he uses his boots to nudge your feet into the right position.

Then he gets behind you again with his large hands braced under your elbows. “That’s your stance.”

You inhale. “I’m scared.” Your exhale comes out shaky and fucked-up, but thankfully, your grip doesn’t falter.

“…Mm. I’m right here,” Ghost reassures you, pressing you protectively to his chest.

Some of your nerves ebb away, and you try to imitate his example. Straight back, confident aim.

“See? You can do it, love.”

“Thank you. Okay. Sights aligned…” Then you pull the trigger.

You get, like, maybe one point at most. Your guy has a hole in an area that a satirical British comedy troupe might generously call a ‘flesh wound.’ The target will need stitches in its’ left hand.

“Nice aim. You really killed him dead.”

“Shut up.”

Ghost takes the gun back. “Here.” That was rude of him. Did nobody teach him how to share and ask politely?

He fires. Then fires again. “Dead on.” Two perfect headshots. “Don’t worry, don’t expect you to pick it up so quickly,” Ghost says as if he isn’t fucking preening. He’s probably even gleeful under the shit covering his face. Not like you would know, you grouch to yourself.

Ghost presses the pistol into your hands. “Give it another few tries.”

You clear your throat, determined to do a little better this time.

You get your sights lined up, everything’s good, and you feel good about this one. “Eep.” Except the gun kicks back, taking you by surprise, so you try to make it stop moving, and your shot hits the target’s ankle.

Ghost’s laugh would be more attractive if it weren’t at your expense. “Recoil. Told ya. Loosen up,” He chuckles, briefly tapping the top of your head with his mask-covered chin.

“It’s harder than it looks.” Your complaint falls on deaf ears; he simply indicates that you do, in fact, have to keep practicing with him.

Just when you go to take your next shot, Ghost rests his hands on your hips and steps close enough that you can feel his pants, almost scaring you out of your skin.

“Babe, you’re literally being so rude right now.”

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.” Please, how is he making this your fault?

You stick this bullet in the target’s other ankle.

“Take it easy. We got plenty more ammo. You can’t be good at everything.”

Actually, yes, you can.

Enough with the fucking reindeer games.

This time, you bring your heel down on his boot hard enough that he steps back in surprise before you tear the ear protection off with one hand.

“Fuck you,” You snap before returning to the target.

You’ve done this, like, a million times; your dad taught you to shoot when you were ten.

You rest the butt of the Glock on your left palm, your right pointer finger naturally curls on the trigger.

You slide your right foot back a little and get more comfortable. His instructions are too rigid for your taste.

You incline your head, your brow furrows in concentration, and-

Four perfect shots. The slide sticks open after the last one because you’ve finished the magazine, just as you knew you would.

Two in the ten-point ring in the target’s chest, joining Ghost’s first shot.

One next to his headshot.

The last bullet hits the target’s groin for good measure.

You pop the empty magazine out without missing a beat, tuck it into the case, and then present the unloaded gun with a slow, theatrical turn.

Since he’s too busy standing there, with a distortion in the painted-on skull mask as the only clue his mouth is open with shock, you press the gun into the case yourself.

Mindful of his repeated emphasis on safety and your lived experience of shooting empty beer bottles in an abandoned quarry as a teenager, you go so far as to lock it on his behalf.

That clicking sound spurs him into action.

You find yourself more or less shoved against the wall, head tilted back and breathless as Ghost towers over you, taking full advantage of how… inhuman he seems.

“Goddamn. Looks like you didn’t need me to teach you after all. You conniving little bitch,” He growls, impressed against his will.

He runs a gloved finger along the line of your jaw, you bite your lower lip, and Ghost shoves his knee between your legs so you can’t dance away even if you want to.

At least he’s able to appreciate your effort now. “Nope. I just wanted your attention.” You’re shameless, grinning like you won a blue ribbon at the county fair, and when he cups your warm cheek, your bright gaze engraves your victory on his mask with the precision of a knife.

His long-suffering exhale is not a sound of release - it’s a provocation, a warning shot.

Then Ghost wraps a piece of your hair between his fingers; its fragility is the only thing keeping his restraint intact. “I know. You’ve been begging for my attention for some time, haven’t you?”

You were right. He was not cosplaying a monk. You’re always right.

When your lips twist into a pout, Ghost straight-up snarls. “What? Thought I didn’t notice?” He taunts, lowering his face closer to yours.

He releases your hair to slip his hand under the hem of your shirt, resting his coarse glove against your soft, curved belly.

“Those sexy fuckin’ panties, this short skirt. The goddamn… garter belt with the little stockings?” Ghost’s breathing deepens, the pace of it picks up, and his fingers dig into your skin. He’s riled up and angry that you’ve done that to him, and those two emotions feed off each other like wildfires and gasoline.

You can see it in his powerful, well-built frame, and any second now, he’ll take the tension out on you.

He smells like gunpowder. He smells like petrichor, that intoxicating, electric zing that hangs in the air before a storm.

His hand slides around your waist to push your body towards him, forcing you on your toes. “Acting like a horny, needy slag.” Ghost spits out each word with venom so he can almost lovingly watch your pupils dilate and lips open in a silent moan.

“Well, doll, congratulations. You’ve got my attention.”

When you slide your arms around his neck, he doesn’t stop you. “What was I supposed to do? You were ignoring me,” You whine. Your voice is a breathless, fluttery thing, your head won’t stop spinning, and your bra chafes your sensitive, hardening nipples.

You can’t decide if you want to drop to your knees in worship or tear him out of his jacket.

He removes his hand from your body to rest his forehead on his palm. “Use your words, maybe? Not luring me out to the firing range so you can grind that pretty arse against me.”

“But that would be less fun,” You point out. You know, to be helpful. It seems like you have to do all the work around here.

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“You like it, though.”

That’s his final straw. Ghost closes his fingers around your throat, tight enough to choke, as he drags your skirt around your waist.

As far as you can tell, his gaze is still fixed on you, on the flush crawling up your cleavage. “Anyone could walk in right now and-“ His fingers inch up your thigh, slow, so slow that you start shifting around, so he hurries the fuck up.

Ghost kicks your feet wider for better access. “And see you like this. Spread open for me…” Then his hand brushes over the roundness of your bare hip. Completely bare. “Fuck. You’re-“ He cuts himself off with a groan.

“Not wearing underwear, yeah.” It would just get in the way if things worked out as planned. And look - they did.

Now that your cunt is bared to his concealed gaze, your hips tilt away, trying to hide your arousal.

Ghost doesn’t like that. He pins your hips to the wall with one firm hand. “God, you’re dripping,” He murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

When he holds his other hand up to your lips, you keep your eyes fixed on his mask as you pull his glove off with your teeth.

The glove falls from your mouth when he takes his fingers and slots them between your folds. Not quite pressing in, just teasing your sensitive flesh, fucking playing with the slick coating your skin. He brushes your engorged clit, then moves on before you feel anything beyond the tiniest jolt.

You bite back a wail when the hand on your hip tightens, pressing hard enough to bruise.

“Is that what you want? You want them all to see you getting fucked, to see me using you like a fuckin’ toy?” Ghost punctuates that by dragging his mask down to suck his scarred fingers clean of your arousal, and you see his lips shine and-

Then he bends down to kiss you, savagely, brutally, all teeth and the salt taste of you coating his mouth like expensive wine. When Ghost pulls back, a string of saliva stretches between your mouths.

His fingers touch your temple softly.

What is he seeing? What does he think when he watches you blush like a schoolgirl? Is he pleased? 

Without Ghost’s eyes, you feel small and utterly helpless in the face of his glasses' curved, almost alien gaze.

You tilt your head back as you catch your breath. “Well, that can only happen if you fuck me.” You’ve won. You’ve fucking won.

“If there’s even a single drop of your mess on my boots, I’ll make you lick them clean,” Ghost threatens as he kisses your forehead. The innocence in the gesture is as menacing as the bare hand he fists into your hair.

He’s playing with his food.

“Kinky.”

Ghost wraps more of your hair around his fingers. “You know what you’re askin’ for ain’t gonna be nice? No takin’ it easy,” He warns you, shaking your head back and forth ever so slightly with his better grip.

“You just watched me empty the clip into that poor piece of paper, and you think I want easy? Or nice?” You laugh, even as he tugs harder, and your eyes roll back.

You get your answer when Ghost exposes your neck and sucks a dark, possessive bruise over your pulse.

Now that he doesn’t have to worry about keeping the mask up, he’s relentless. Starved. His mouth wanders across your skin, sucking and licking and biting, it hurts like cigarette burns, and you whine, fight, push for more.

His tongue traces your collarbone, his teeth bite another bruise into the crook of your neck.

You’re so covered in sweat and spit that it takes him a few tries to draw more of your skin into his mouth.

That’s Ghost’s cue to shove the neckline of your shirt down, exposing your heaving tits still encased by your lacy bra.

He doesn’t move for a couple of seconds. Not only to take in the view, and you know he’s enjoying it, but because there’s something…

Debauched and profane about your poor skirt tugged up and your shirt sliding off your arms, and you’re trying to get him to take the rest of your clothes off, “Ghost, I’m begging you-“

Fresh arousal trickles from your core, then down the insides of your thighs. It’s like there are live wires under your skin, burning you from the inside out, and you can’t think, or stand up straight, or reason.

He puts you out of your desperate, horny misery by pulling your bra straps down your shoulders, freeing your breasts from their underwire prison.

You watch him discard his sunglasses over his shoulder without giving a shit if they break. He’s too busy bending down to take one nipple between his teeth to care.

Ghost fucking moans into your skin, his other hand paws at your hips, your ass; he just can’t touch enough of you at once.

“Fuck, I need to feel you,” He gasps when he lifts his head long enough to breathe. Your nipple feels sore even at the slightest brush of air, sensitive from his kisses and tongue lathing over and over the aroused bud until your skin is dark red and glossy with saliva.

You’ve banged your head against the wall at least twice at this point, too overcome with pleasure and heat and white-hot pain to notice. “Oh my fucking god-“ You keen as he slips his hand between your legs once more, only to find your aching cunt so wet that you’re dripping down to your calf.

He slides two thick fingers into you, and the stretch doesn’t pinch in the slightest. As soon as he starts moving his fingers and working his thumb furiously on your clit, you’re screaming and sobbing into the empty firing range.

It’s quick and fast and brutal, he switches to your neglected nipple, and your cunt seizes around his fingers when he bites down. “Gorgeous fuckin’ tits,” He growls, the sound vibrating through your overstimulated skin.

Your hands scrabble on his shoulders for stability because your legs will give out any second now. You can’t focus on anything because his mouth leaves red marks along the curve of your sensitive breast, and it feels too fucking good.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing to your tits but you feel each lick and nip deep in your pussy, just as good as when his fingers deftly find your g-spot.

He stills for a moment, causing you to whine and smack his shoulders to get him where you want him, curses and insults tumbling from your lips.

Ghost bares his large, frightening teeth until your tantrum fades and your hips move of their own accord.

You chase the high, eyes screwed shut and your nails carving a bloody furrow into the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s it. Good girl. Fuck my hand,” He rasps, curling his fingers so you can wring the most pleasure out of him.

Then he kisses your exposed hip, forcefully driving his fingers into you again when your thighs tremble and your muscles shudder. “Shit, fuckfuckfuck, Ghost, a- aah-“ You chant, mouth open because you can’t get enough air, and everything tastes like salt and musk, and you feel something painfully hot pulse within you.

His other hand grabs your breast to grind his gloved fingers into your already-bruised and reddened flesh, dozens of broken capillaries sprinkled between his love bites.

Fuck. Fuck. Ghost releases you, then swats lightly at your nipples. “Think you can come like this? Right now?” He orders, bringing his hand down again on one breast, then the other.

It burns, he strikes the hickies, and he’s not even slapping your tits that hard, but the pain blossoms like lightning down your spine, and-

He circles your clit one more time, and you’re fucking gone. “Ghost!” You gasp as you come, shaking like a leaf. Your back arches, you’re wailing and twitching around his merciless fingers, each wave more devastating than the last.

It reduces you to a handful of primal nervous impulses in his grasp. Every fucking time your sensitive, helpless cunt sucks him in deeper, you cry out. He has to abandon tormenting your nipples to hold you up, one arm clutched tight around your jerking hips.

Ghost kisses your sweaty forehead, then fucks his fingers into you one more time to milk the dying throes of your orgasm.  “Attagirl,” He whispers into your hair, then smiles at your final, exhausted whimper.

Once you’re back in your body and not floating on cloud nine, you reach for his bared face and trace the edges of his eye black. To your surprise, Ghost permits the exploration. You don’t mess it up too much, cognizant of his effort, but it’s fascinating that he’d let you.

His eyes are mostly black, all blown-out pupils and want. He stands, then interrupts your wandering fingers with a deep, drawn-out kiss, no teeth because your mouth is already bruised. You feel him sigh, the tiniest hint of a moan, when your tongue traces his bottom lip.

“Think they heard you all the way in Manchester?” Ghost jokes as he moves away.

He refuses to let go of your ass even once you find your balance. “If you wanted me to be quiet, all you had to do was-“ You tell him, drawing out your words for his inevitable protest.

His cocky smirk is so profoundly, unfairly attractive - you never stood a chance. “I like knowing you’re enjoyin’ yourself.” You tug him back towards your lips with hands curled in his jacket hood so you can kiss him breathless.

His remaining glove rustles as he takes it off. “Are… are you okay?” Ghost asks, cupping your face with both large hands.

There’s concern written all over his face, and when you notice his gaze flick down to your midsection, checking if your posture shows any sign of pain, your heart twists violently in your chest.

Briefly, you consider making some snarky remark, turning his worry into teasing. But his worried brown eyes find yours, and you can’t bring yourself to be so mean. “I’m fine,” You reassure.

Ghost searches your face for a minute before finally nodding.

“And if you ask me that again, I’m going to bite you, and not in a fun way.” 

The little bashful upturn of his mouth sends another horrible wrench through you. “Sorry.” You don’t like it when Ghost apologizes to you like that, like he’s afraid being near you is too much.

It’s not.

You’re not sure how to tell him this, so you lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his cheek and hope he gets it.

He relishes in that simple, affectionate kiss, you can tell by his fingers curling tighter into your hips. Perhaps you’ll do that more often, then.

Ghost tucks some loose hair behind your ear. “I wanted to do it right. Do right by you.”

You know what he means. Hearing it from his mouth completely reframes the past couple of weeks. Instead of fixating on how his hands would brush your hands away, you remember the cups of hot tea he brought you regularly and how Ghost would never let you get out of bed without help.

He waits pensively for your response, like what you say next could break him. “I thought that maybe you didn’t like me anymore,” You confess in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Ghost’s gaze turns from vulnerable to fierce faster than pulling a trigger. He doesn’t even need the mask; a cold, dark shadow falls over his scarred, beautiful face. This is not a man touching you. This is a demon grabbing your waist and pulling you towards him.

“Didn’t like-“ He can’t even repeat what you said without shaking his head in disbelief.

Ghost leans down to get level with your face. “Remember what happened the last time you said dumb shit? ‘M not afraid to turn your ass blue and black if you keep this up.” You jerk forward with a moan when he smacks one butt cheek as a reminder, just hard enough to sting.

“You are fuckin’ exquisite,” He tells you with the same tone he probably uses to threaten bodily harm on someone, the same insidious, frightening surety.

Ghost runs one hand down your ruined, bite-covered chest, losing his train of thought for a moment to watch your tits bounce when he plays with them.

Then he shakes it off so he can kiss you as he drags his hands over your hips, your thighs, one clutches the small of your back, and you’re as close as you can get with all his clothes in the way.

“Sexy as fuck, bloody brilliant, such a good, eager whore for me.” You see a flash of his white teeth when he laughs, a low sound that spills with amusement.

His hands spin you around and push you towards the shot-up target until you’re bent over the railing separating the firing booth from the rest of the lane.

Once you brace your arms on the metal barricade, Ghost grinds his hips against your body. “Yeah, I like you. You could call it that,” He hisses.

“Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Your mouth runs before you can stop it.

“…That was awful.”

Then you’re laughing, cackling so hard that your stomach hurts. “I know right? Hah! I had to,” You chortle, hiccuping in delight.

You hear him sigh. “Don’t make that joke again.”

You take a second to evaluate your position. First, you adjust your grip on the metal so it will be a little comfier. “Why? Gonna use it on me?” You arch your back and look over your shoulder with a smile…

Ghost throws his head back at the sight you make. “You are fuckin’ evil, d’ya know that?” He mutters, then reaches for your body like he can’t even pretend to resist.

You feel him flip your skirt up over your back. “Aww, baby. That’s so sweet!” You tease.

“Gonna fuck you ‘till you stop callin’ me that.” At first, you think he will prep you like usual. But instead of stretching your pussy out with his fingers, Ghost simply works your clit until you’re wet again.

Oh shit. He spits into his palm, and you hear the slick sounds of him running his hand over his cock.

“Never- ah-“ You moan as Ghost eases the head of his dick into your folds. He hisses through his teeth as soon as your muscles clamp down, your body unsure whether to drag him in deeper or push him out.

Tears gather in your eyes as he slowly, slowly, slowly thrusts in. “Take it. C’mon. Fucking take it,” He commands through deep, desperate pants.

No. You can’t. You can’t. The stretch is- it’s more than you’ve ever felt before; your poor pussy aches as it flutters helplessly around the massive fucking cock rearranging your insides.

Your eyes roll back when he thrusts another inch further. “Ghost, please- I…” He pulls out, pushes in, your elbows can’t hold you up any longer, so you go boneless against the metal cutting into your arms. 

You don’t notice the hair covering your eyes, not when your heart beats so loud your pussy contracts with each pulse. “You’re so…” You cry out, trying so hard to do as he says, but his cock is just, it’s, it’s ruining you.

“Pretty girl. Gorgeous. Beautiful.”

Ghost curses as he readjusts, unintentionally sliding the tip of his cock past your g-spot, leaving you bowed over with white knuckles through a sharp bolt of pleasure that burns.

Finally, he gets his arm around you so he can play with your clit in slow, even motions, something stable and gentle for you to focus on. “You- you’re not gonna fit…” Your words come out garbled and stuttered, and it’s a miracle he understands you all.

He makes a deep, choked-up sound as he drives himself almost to the hilt. “Well, that’s too fuckin’ bad.” Carefully, Ghost increases the pressure on your clit, his fingers slipping a few times from all the wetness trickling out of your horribly-stretched cunt.

You push back without realizing it until, finally, he can slide all the way in. “There we go, that’s a good girl…” He purrs, lazily rolling his hips in a gentle rhythm. Right now, anything faster or harder would break you.

Deliriously, you wonder if he’s in your belly now. “Oh- oh my god, Ghost, I can’t-

“Feels good?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, your cock, you’re so big, ohmygod,” You chant as he grips your pelvis and fucks you deeper, aiming for the most sensitive places in your core.

One of his hands slides into your hair and forces your head up. “Look. Look,” Ghost gasps into your ear. “See that? Immaculate fuckin’ aim.” You can barely focus on the target, not when you’re trembling so hard underneath him.

Your stomach tightens and tightens, and you’re moaning his name like it’s a prayer. “Fuck, squeeze me again.” Your muscles contract around his cock like a vise, not quite an orgasm, but almost.

Pain tingles in your scalp when he tightens the fist in your hair. “You’re deadly, sweetheart. And a fuckin’ stunner. My wife is perfect. Her body is perfect.”

At this point, you’re lax and incoherent, and the only other thing holding you up is the railing he’s fucking you on. It makes a slamming, cracking noise with each thrust.

“Tell me you’re perfect.”

Right now, Ghost could order you to do literally anything, and you would try; he feels just that good.

“I- I’m perfect,” You wail.

Fuck. Fuck. He’s grunting behind you, pounding into your ruined, aching core like he’s as close, as desperate for release as you are. “Good girl. This cunt was made for me, Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He releases your hair to wrap an arm around your waist and help you arch your back.

“Tell me you’re a crack shot.” You can feel something shoot up your spine, some great force writhing and pulsating in your guts, so powerful and pleasurable that every muscle in your body screams for release.

“I’m a crack shot.”

Ghost’s brutal rhythm begins to falter. “Tell me I’m fuckin’ obsessed with you,” He pleads in a deep, rumbling whine.

“You’re obsessed with me, fuck, fuck, I’m coming-“

Your orgasm rolls through you like a crack of lightning, bright white lights bursting behind your closed eyelids. It rips the breath from your lungs, you forget how to use your vocal cords, and your wetness covers his pants and your thighs.

Your overstimulated pussy quivers on his still-thrusting cock, on and on, each pulse as pained as it is rapturous. You’re gonna die, you think deliriously, he’s gonna fucking kill you, as Ghost fucks you through the spasms with a vengeance.

When you think you’ll pass out, the tension unspools, and your muscles lock for the last time. Then you feel him come. Warm ropes of spend fill you until you can’t take anymore, then it spills out of your swollen folds to trickle down your legs.

Ghost pulls out to watch more of his cum flow out of you before helping you upright and kissing the back of your sweat-soaked neck. “…Fuckin’ hell,” He murmurs into your skin, leaving smears of black makeup where he nuzzled into your throat.

You push at his shoulders until he lets you turn around. Then you draw him down for more kisses. “I think you might have to carry me out of here,” You whisper into his lips.

The sound of his chuckle is so infinitely precious. You wish you could preserve it, like pressing flowers between the pages of a book so that you can remember it later.

“I can do that.”

-

Tagging (please let me know if you want off the list by shooting me a message):

@abbiesxox @thedevillovesflowers @averyyreads @lialacleaf @backupgal @kitty-satan1 @androgynoushellscape @strvqtt @pinkwigonmytv @almightywdm @discowizard88 @castielsangelsx @jaymicrosoft @rengokulover96 @copiasratscheese @fluffysmiko @d3athtr4psworld @idesofarch @teenagegever2k22 @badame0224 @toilet-paper-headbands @itsrosebabe @bangirl134 @silverianni @nezukos-number1fan @deadpoetsandhoney @crowsjourney @vanevafu @xxghostyx @rafaelacallinybbay @akaotv @chibijusstuff @wasteland-babe @anubiseqq @lilpothoscuttings @soapyghost @maliceex59 @valdemarismynonbinarylove @confuseddipshit @sanfransolomitatm

[tloujm]

Part XXXVIII: Ellie’s Chapter 

Author's Notes: I should be more organized as a writer because, especially after taking a long hiatus, the timeline of things can get hazy for me. Like what time of year the chapter is in for describing the setting or like Ellie's age. I originally wanted Ellie to come onto the scene in this story as younger than in the video game since this story wasn't canonical from the start. I wanted the open, extroverted personality that we saw in teenage Ellie from TLOU I to come after she got fully comfortable with the Millers, so essentially I planned for her to grow into teenagehood in Jackson. To maintain continuity, I believe she should be about 13 yrs old at this point which I believe aligns with the DLC that includes her and Riley's story.

Summary: Ellie bonds with you and Joel and later finds herself on a nighttime adventure

Genre: Fluff

Ship: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Ellie loved the space that you and Joel gave her. The three of you spent a lot of time together since her moving in. Even if you all weren’t doing something together, she really enjoyed just being in the same general space as you two. You grew to notice, outside of the hectic environment of the daycare, how clever and independent she was. Giving her this freedom allowed Ellie to open up more, giving you and Joel a glimpse into the kind of person she was before the trauma she faced prior to Jackson. 

Joel came home from a patrol meeting that Tommy tried to convince him was unnecessary to attend. The first thing he laid eyes on when entering the house was Ellie. Surprisingly, it did not take long for him to get used to her living with them. What surprised him was how easy it was to adjust to being outnumbered for the first time in decades. He couldn’t help but attribute that feeling of ease to flashbacks of his own daughter. It would flood him with emotions starting with warmth, then confusion then anger. Joel would try to stop himself from feeling too much before it got past the first phase. He didn’t want to end up lashing out and inflicting emotions onto her that she did not deserve. He figured one day he’d tell her everything about Sarah when the time was right. 

“Hey, Ellie.” Joel greeted her in passing. When she hadn’t responded by the time his shoes were off and jacket hung up, he was taken aback. “Whatcha doin’ over there, Ellie?” Still, there was no answer. His eyes finally stumbled upon you, reading a book in the corner of the living room. “Hey, darlin’.” “Hi!” You responded. Since the night your love life was reignited, you began missing him profusely. You were kind of embarrassed at how you waited for him to acknowledge you and otherwise paid no mind as to why Ellie was not answering him until he asked.  “What’s up with her?” Ellie’s back was to Joel. She was sitting at a desk facing the window. Only her leg was bouncing. Outside of that, she did not move.  You say nonchalantly, “She has her earbuds in. We went to the trading post this morning and she traded for a new cassette tape.” Joel grumbled as he walked up to give you a kiss. “She shouldn’t have ‘em—” “It’s not a big deal. She's smart, Joel.” “I know she's smart, but what if she’s all by herself in her room and someone tries to break in while she has the headphones on?” “She’s safe. I’m here all the time now.” “I know, but still, darlin’...I’m not sayin’ she can’t have ‘em, but just keep one in. I don’t want her to be caught off guard. Why’d you have to give ‘em to her anyway?” “Because she loves music. It’s helped her feel calm and she doesn’t want to bother us with the sound when she’s inside the house. Also, if you forgot, we have a baby on the way, so I’d call it a win-win.” She tried to lighten the mood but noticed the familiar scowl of overprotection was still there. “She won’t get too comfortable with them. She’s too smart for that.” Joel put his hands on his hip as his eyes bounced between the two of you. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He grumbled before walking up to the chair she was sitting in to kick the leg. 

“Oh!” Ellie exclaimed. “Didn’t mean to scare you; I tried callin’ you back there.” “Oh. What is it?” He shrugged and said nonchalantly. “Just wanted to say hi.”  “Hi, Joel.” After a moment of getting settled back into the house, he chose the armchair right next to yours. Before he could pull out his own book to get lost in, you gave Ellie an encouraging look. She spoke up. “Hey, um…do you wanna hear a joke?” “Why not.” He responded, trying to play it coom and hide his true enthusiam. “Do you know what’s not right?” “Left?” He answered with almost no hesitation. “Clearly, you’ve heard that one before.” “I ain’t new to the game, kiddo. I used to be known to crack a joke or two in my day.” He said proudly.  “When?” You asked. “Could’ve fooled me.” Ellie mumbled under her breath in the same sarcastic tone as you. “Yeah, I think you’re confusing yourself with Tommy.” You added. "He's the funny Miller brother." “Hey, hey, now. You don’t remember that clock joke I told you that made you fall back in love with me?” Joel smirked while you blushed. "Yeah but didn't Tommy tell you that one?" You chuckled. “Whoa, wait. You two weren’t always together?” “No.” You simply stated. “It’s complicated.” Joel added, seeing how Ellie looked expectantly at him. “Well, what happened?” Ellie asked with the widest eyes you’d seen on her since climbing the dinosaur statue. Joel coughed and readjusted himself in the chair. “It’s uhh…It's a long story. And not one for kids either.” To that day, he never regretted how things went down because he got what he wanted, which was to protect and have you, but that didn’t make him any less self aware as to how others who weren’t there would perceive him, especially a child. He didn’t want Ellie to think poorly of him or, more importantly, feel like she was unsafe around him. “I may not be an adult, but I’m not a kid either. I’ll understand.”  “Ellie, he’s right but we’ll tell you the story one day soon enough.” “Promise?” Before you could answer, Joel spoke up. “What’s important is that we’re together now and it’s staying that way.” Joel reached over and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over it. You smiled. “Can you at least tell me the clock joke that made you make-up anyway?” Ellie curiously asked. You looked expectantly at Joel to recite it. He sighed, still in the mood to move on from the dark memory of being broken up. “What is the downside to eatin’ a clock?” “Hmmm….what?”

“It’s time consuming.” You finished before he could. Joel looked at you in awe for remembering. It was something little but it meant a lot to him. He could still feel the pit in his stomach from how nervous he was to even talk to you that day.  Ellie chuckled. “That’s a good one actually.” “I thought it was corny but luckily for him I like corny.” You teased. “Ha ha, you know you loved it.” Joel mumbled sarcastically. “Got another joke in that brain of yours?” “I actually got it from this joke book a girl named Riley from school gave me. You know, I just saw a joke in there that I think would help you two stay together. It’s educational.” “Oh, Lord.” Joel sighed. “What is the leading cause of divorce in long-term marriages?” “Now, Ellie—” Joel began. “What’s the leading cause?” You asked for the answer.  “A stale-mate.” “That’s not educational, that’s awful.” Joel said. “You’re awful.” Ellie jokingly said under her breath. “Do you even understand what that means?” “Not really; doesn’t matter.” Having not lightened Joel’s mood like she’d hoped, Ellie quickly moved on to another page in the book. “Let me see…Oh! You wanna hear a joke about pizza?” “Sure.” “Nevermind, it’ll be too cheesy.” She busted out laughing almost before she could finish because she knew how bad it was. He let out a short chuckle “Terrible. Remind me to thank this Riley for giving you such a gift.”  “Well, here’s another…A book just fell onto my head. I only have myself to blame.” “I don’t get it.” He said.

“Oh wait! I said it wrong.” She chuckled. “Hold on, let me say it again.” She cleared her throat. “A book just fell onto my head. I only have my-shelf to blame.” You smirked at how playfully irritated Joel was looking by now. “You have any question/answer jokes in there like the first one you told me?” Joel practically begged. “Ok, here’s another one…what did the confederate soldiers use to eat off of?” “I don’t know. What?” “Civil ware” “Uh huh.” “Ok then, what did they use to drink with?” Joel just glared at her at this point, waiting for the answer. “Dixie cups.” Your eyes bounced back and forth between the two, waiting for a laugh or anything. Ellie seemed to have enough stubbornness in her to stare him down. “C’mon, Joel. You don’t think that’s funny? I thought you’d be able to relate?” “Why? ‘Cause I’m from the south?” “No..well I guess yeah, but mostly because you’re old.” “Oh shit.” You giggled as inconspicuously as you could, to which Joel responded with his famous glare. “Believe it or not, the Civil War was well before my time.” He grumbled. “I know, I know.” You could tell Ellie got a kick out of getting Joel’s uptight self riled up almost as much as you. 

The three of you spend the rest of the night in the living room talking and cracking jokes. At one point, you became suddenly conscious as to what was going on around you; everyone getting along as if they’d always been family. It felt so natural. Ellie wasn’t always this open; it was still a journey for her to surpass her past traumas and be a regular kid again but you could see her try. You learned that underneath it all, there was a sassy, sarcastic side to her. You learned that that was how she liked to process her reality.

Eventually, Joel stepped out to find a dvd at the library for an impromptu movie night while you and Ellie sliced potatoes for homemade chips. She settled onto the floor while you and Joel snuggled on the couch. She complained that Joel was hogging the bowl of chips. Joel complained that she was getting too many crumbs on the floor. You hadn’t realized how sloppily you were eating until Joel picked a chip that had fallen onto your bump and popped it into his mouth. 

Joel stretched his muscles as the credits rolled. “Think she’s asleep?” You reached over to get a better angle at her steady form. “I think so?” “Ellie.” He whispered loudly. He was tempted to throw a couch pillow at her to see if she was trying to fake him out like Sarah would do sometimes to get out of doing something, but she wasn’t her and he didn’t want to risk actually waking her up. “Guess so.” “Can’t believe she slept through all that action at the end.” You moved to get up but he stopped you. “Lemme get this dvd out of here ‘fore I forget about it.” Against his wishes, you hoisted yourself up, empty bowl in hand and walked toward the window.  “It’s snowing out.” “You didn’t need to get up.” “I would need to eventually get to bed.” “Is it really snowing out?” He walked over to you and peered out. “It’s comin’ down out there.” 

He sighed before turning his gaze to Ellie. Walking over, he bent down to wrap her arms around his neck. She leaned instinctively into him. He groaned, feeling it in his back as he picked her up. He thought against braving the cold to put her to bed in the garage. Instead, he carried her upstairs and laid her onto the couch in his craft room. You brought in some pillows and blankets as he watched her peacefully sleep by the doorway. He thought about what her background story was again, knowing her childhood was nowhere near as normal as Sarah’s. 

*******

Ellie jumped up at the sound of faint growling near her ear. Adrenaline kicked in, waking her out of her dream. Barely gathering her barings, Ellie worried if her worst fear was coming true. She’d been in the thick of it before, but had hoped it was all behind her since they let her into the settlement. The almost daily worry that she’d get bitten while she was wandering the country took a toll. What such luck that she’d get bit after living under the protection of the legendary Miller family. 

She went for the knife that he suggested she keep under her pillow when he gave her a tour of her new room. You were apprehensive about giving her a weapon because her trauma wasn’t yet fully resolved. She appreciated that he trusted her with one; he only agreed to it because she wasn’t sleeping inside the house itself. With the blade switched out in one hand, she felt around her neck with the other for any blood or bite marks as her eyes adjusted to the little light peeking through the windows. 

“Riley?” “Ow!" Ellie punched her arm. “What the hell! I thought I was bitten.” “I know, it was kind of funny.” “No it wasn’t. You don’t know what it’s like out there. You’ve only grown up here.” “Look, I’m sorry. I guess you’re right.” Riley’s eyes wandered down to the blade still out in Ellie’s hand. “But you’re not gonna kill me over it, are you?” “ 'course not…” Ellie shook her head as she put the knife back, still trying to root herself in reality. “Are we cool?” Riley asked genuinely. “Yeah…What are you doing here anyway?” “I want to go on an adventure. Want to come with?” “Riley, it's almost morning and I have school, then Joel is giving me riding lessons right after.” She watched as Riley walked around her room looking for something. “Did you hear me?” She tossed something Ellie’s way, barely catching it. “Just put some pants on and your coat and lets go. I promise it won’t take long. I just…I couldn't get to sleep tonight.” Ellie sighed “You promise? I don’t want to get in trouble with (Y/N) or Joel.” “When have I ever got you in trouble?” Riley asked halfway through the door. Ellie had to admit that whenever the two of them did anything together, they’d never gotten caught. But she'd also never snook out before. Riley wanted her to while she lived at the daycare, but sharing a room with so many other kids made it impossible for her to even try. 

In Jackson, there was never a curfew, but it was expected for people under a certain age to be inside after dark. The only places that really had people at all were the guard towers and The Watering Hole. Not wanting this to get back to Joel, she made sure to stay out of sight and dip into the shadows, pulling Riley with her, if anyone was walking by. 

“Where are we going anyway?” Ellie asked. “Nowhere in particular. I just wanted to take a walk until I got tired. I generally do this by myself but wanted company tonight.” “Where’s the adventure in that?” “I had to make it sound enticing to you. Besides, we might just discover something not meant for our eyes and it'd be cool to have a secret just between us, wouldn't it?” “Yeah, I suppose. You can’t sleep at night often?” Riley shook her head. “No, but let's talk about something else.” “Like what?” Ellie asked.  “Where did you come from?” “I'm pretty sure I was born in a quarantine zone in former Utah” “I didn’t know there were any QZs left on the west coast.” “There aren’t any now. That was the last one. They got ambushed by a group of rebels from the inside. They didn’t want to replace FEDRA’s control; they just wanted to end it. The whole QZ turned into a war zone and everyone scattered. I didn’t know where to go.” “You were by yourself?” Riley asked in disbelief. Ellie nodded her head. “I don’t remember my parents. I only have a picture of my mom, but never met her. Maybe she died in childbirth. No one ever really told me anything. Me and the rest of the orphans were raised in military school.” “You were being trained to be a soldier?” Ellie nodded again. “Our main enemy were the Fireflies and a couple of smaller factions on the west coast. I didn’t know why we were meant to be fighting them, but FEDRA gave me a bed and prioritized us when food was rationed, so who was I to complain?” “My mom was a firefly.” Riley confessed. “What?” Ellie gazed at her for the first time in a while during their walk. “Obviously, she’s not anymore. She knows Joel’s brother, Tommy, too.” “Wait, what?” Ellie exclaimed, feeling like her world was getting smaller and smaller all of a sudden.

“My mom, Tommy and a handful of them left the fireflies because…well my mom told me that their beliefs were no longer the same and didn’t want to kill all willy nilly anymore; But that’s why they left the QZ to join them in the first place. By then, I was real little and the only kid apart of this runaway group. I barely remember that time of my life. I remember Tommy playing with me sometimes, probably trying to keep me calm or whatever. Apparently, he heard about Maria’s settlement through the grapevine. It was much smaller than it is now. He thought it would be a safe and unassuming enough place to raise a kid, so we made the trek there. Maria and her dad let us in. He fell in love with Maria and my mom fell in love with my dad, who had already settled there, and the rest is history.  “Wow. To think if things hadn’t changed and we’d stayed where we were—” Ellie began.

“We would be enemies.” Riley finished. They walked in silence for a few beats. “I’m glad we live in this universe where we’re not.” Ellie smiled and playfully nudged her shoulder. “You know,” Riley began to lighten the mood. “There’s this rumor that there is an unguarded gate on the east end of the settlement. First, they were short staffed of watch guards volunteers and then had to basically draft people to do it. It was the least active of all the directions because it faces the mountains, so people got bored and stopped showing up for their shifts. It's supposed to be kept locked, but we should be able to find a way past it. Rumor has it, your new mom—” “She’s not…I mean…I don’t know.” Ellie struggled. She didn’t know how she wanted to see (Y/N). Most days, you felt like an older sister and others you came off as more maternal, two things she had never experienced in her 12 years of life.  “Sorry. My dad has always felt like my dad, but I guess that's different because I was so little and remember almost nothing before him. Well according to the rumor, (Y/N) was able to sneak out through the east gate a few years back because it wasn't guarded then either.” “Nuh uh. Why would she need to sneak out? She could just tell them to open the main gate and leave whenever she wanted to.”

Riley shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to get away from Joel. He looks so intimidating. I’m sorry but I'll take Tommy over him any day.” “Looks can be deceiving; I learned that the hard way out there. Joel really isn’t all that bad.” Ellie shut down her claims by defending him, but her thoughts still lingered on why you would sneak out of an unoppressive settlement. She almost confided in Riley concerning what she learned earlier that day about your and Joel's breakup. “Well, It's all just hearsay. Who knows if that even really happened.” “What else do you know about her?” “I’ll tell you what I know if you go out with me.” Riley bargained. “Out there? Beyond the walls?” “We won’t go far. We’ll be back well before the sun comes up and no one will know that we were gone. That’s if the rumors were right and that we can make it past.” “You promise we'll be back soon?” Riley held out her pinky. “I promise.”

“What are you doing?” “Its called a pinky promise. My mom taught me this and we do it all the time, at least when she wants to make sure I won’t get into any trouble.” She chuckled. “It basically means that the promise is real and true.” Ellie understood but still stood there not knowing what to do. “Look,” She felt Riley gently grab her hand. “Stick your pinky out like me and we lock them together just…like…this. Then we both say ‘pinky promise’ to seal the deal.” “Ok. Pinky promise.”

Ellie and Riley bounced around from point to point like ninjas, deftly evading any lingering grownups, until they made it to the east gate. They cautiously scoped out the area for any on duty guards. Riley said “I told you so” after they both confirmed it was clear. There were only two ways out: to climb up and over the wall with a rope or pick the lock to the heavy metal door on the side. Neither one of the girls knew how to pick a lock, but after a good 5 or so minutes of trying and almost giving up, they succeeded. 

For the most part, they kept quiet, not wanting to attract any runners or clickers. Along the way, they picked up some bricks and a lead pipe for protection. Ellie had never left the walls of Jackson since she arrived over a year ago. While being outside the walls brought back memories and emotions, she kept them at bay to stay alert. She knew that she was more experienced than Riley and wouldn’t know what she’d do if she got hurt. 

“Hey Ellie, help me lift this.” Riley was crouched down near a steel I-beam. It was clear that she wanted to move it to use it as a makeshift bridge as they were met with a shallow but wide sink hole.  “Okay…” She wasn’t too enthused but gave it a try. It was heavier than they both thought and lifting it shifted all of the rubble on top. Following creaks and rumbles, it started to come crashing down. Scaring them, the two girls ran away to a safe distance. “I say let’s find another way.” “I agree.” Ellie replied.

They kept walking around until they found an abandoned building with a door barricaded from the inside and a busted out window up high. Riley volunteered to go through and find Ellie a way in. Once Ellie boosted her up, Riley yelled that she made it through fine. While scoping out the area to make sure infected weren't around, Ellie heard some scuffling as if something large and heavy was being dragged against the floor, then silence. She called out to Riley but not even crickets could be heard as it was too cold outside for them.

Ellie tried the door and this time it gave way. Walking inside, she was immediately greeted by a large green creature with a creepy grin on its face. It didn’t scare her in the least. There is nothing scarier than a bloater, she thought. As soon as she took a step further inside, Riley popped out of the shadows with a killer clown mask on and growled powerfully. 

Ellie playfully punched Riley in the arm for scaring her a second time that night. She had never seen a place like that before and questioned its purpose. Why were there so many plastic things made to look scary sitting on shelves? Riley pointed out a mask that Ellie attributed as half wolf, half man. There were drawings of spider webs on the walls and shelves behind actual cobwebs. Not all of the masks were scary, however. She found one of a green bird with a backwards hat on that she adored the silliness of. The two of them stayed a while and looked around, pocketing whatever little thing was of interest. 

“Come look at this.” Riley beckoned her over.  “‘Skele-seer: ask Skele-seer a question and shake for your fortune.’ Okay…” Ellie did as she was told. “Are we going to die today?” “Really?”  “Wouldn’t you want to know?” “Well what does it say?” “Um….” Ellie looked at the eyeballs on the skull and thought the answer would be revealed there, but alas. “Nothing.” “You gotta turn it over, genius.” Riley replied. “Oh! Well, it says ‘dreadfully unlikely’.” “Phew! What a relief.” They both laughed.  “Will I ever get good at riding a horse?” Ellie whispered to the skull then shook it vehemently. “‘I feel it in my bones’. Joel will be happy to hear that. Okay…let’s see…Am I ever getting boobs or what? ‘The spirits are quiet.’ Ugh, of course they are. Thank you so much, spirits.” “Hey, do you hear that?” Riley abruptly began walking toward another door. “Wait, Riley, I think we should head back. We're probably pushing our luck if we go any further.” She pivoted back to face Ellie. “You sure?” “Are you getting tired yet?” “I suppose by the time we make it back I will be.” She nudged her. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The two girls began back tracking their steps. It wasn’t long before a pit grew in Ellie’s stomach. Without a word, she signaled Riley to stop and listen. The screeches of Runners could be heard in the distance. Ellie saw the panic in her eyes but commended her on not acting out on it. Stealth was the name of the game as the two of them didn’t have ideal weapons. 

Unfortunately, the ledge of some scaffolding they were climbing up crumbled. Not only did the crash knock the wind out of them, but it attracted a fair sized group of infected. Riley was the first one up and immediately pulled Ellie onto her feet. With every ounce of energy that the adrenaline could give them, they ran. Ellie could feel her heart beating through her chest and wondered if Riley felt the same. Of course she is, she thought to herself, we’re about to die; the Skeleseer lied. 

After a little while of zigging and zagging through the night, Ellie realized that they’d lost them. That hadn’t stopped their legs from continuing on until they hit the east gate. Ellie and Riley felt like their bodies were about to explode now that, on the other side of the heavy metal door, they could rest. Ellie fell to her knees, huffing and puffing until the adrenaline began to subside. Riley slid her back against the now locked door, then rolled over to lay flat on the cold, hard ground.

Riley broke the silence. “You okay?” “Yeah…” Ellie replied, still out of breath. She decided to lay flat next to her. “You?” “Yeah, oh my God.” Riley laughed. “That was wild.” “You wanted an adventure.” “I’ll always remember this night.” She turned to look at her friend. “Thank you for coming out with me. I wouldn’t’ve without you.” “You definitely shouldn’t have done something like that without me.” Ellie turned to face her in return. She could see most of her face now that the dark sky was beginning to brighten. “You’ve been out there alone, though.” “I had no choice. I had nobody.” Riley slid out her hand. “I know, but...you have me now. I’ll always be here.” Ellie’s smile reached her eyes. “Pinky promise?” Sliding out her own hand, she stuck out her pinky. Riley locked her own in place and they stayed like that. “Pinky promise.” 

Once her body cooled down and the cold ground began to bother her, Ellie scooched over closer and closer to the girl that helped her escape the Runners. They held each other's gaze for a solid minute before chuckling again. Sounds of the jovial moment were broken by Ellie closing the gap between their lips. 

“Sorry.” Ellie said immediately after pulling back. Despite the apology, she couldn’t help the little grin that twitched at the corner of her mouth. Even if friendship would be all they’d have, she was proud of herself for going for it.  “For what?” Riley smiled even bigger.

Ellie could only count on one hand how many people in her life she felt comfortable around and was the happiest she’d been in a really long time to know that Riley was still one of them. 

[olliewrites-stuff]

Stay.

“Stay!”

Her desperate whisper echoed through the room like a church bell. Alice’s hands remained balled at her sides as she stared at the wine stain on the carpet, wishing the floor would swallow her whole.

The anger dissipated, but the tension increased tenfold, as her partner turned to stare at her incredulously. Their hand remained on the peeling doorknob as the sound of soft breathing filled the now silent room.

“I’m sorry, what?” they questioned, disbelief clouding their voice.

“You know what I mean, Riley,” Alice responded, still refusing to make eye contact.

Alice winced at Riley’s dry laugh, devoid of humour, that followed.

“Ah, no actually, Alice. I don’t know what you mean. You never talk to me about anything! You haven’t touched me in months, you’ve shut me down every time I’ve tried to make time for us, and we haven’t held a conversation longer than 3 minutes in weeks!”

Riley’s tone made Alice look up from the floor. She winced at the pain and heartbreak she saw reflected in the tired eyes. Alice resumed her pathetic study of the carpet as the guilt that had been contained in her stomach flooded to fill the rest of her body. ‘Riley doesn’t deserve any of this,’ she thought.

At Alice’s continued silence, Riley scoffed, “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” After a brief pause and a heavy sigh, they spoke again, “I love you so much, Alice. All of you. I would do anything for you.” With a deep breath, they continued, “But relationships work both ways, and I’ve run out of excuses to defend you when my family questions your love for me. I’ve run out of excuses to convince myself that you love me. I deserve to be loved, Alice. We both deserve to be loved. It kills me to be walking away from you, but my love obviously isn’t enough, so it has to be done.”

Riley’s voice cracked at the end, and Alice felt the remains of her heart shatter with the syllables. This was it. She’d done it. She’d pushed away the one person who loved her unconditionally, and who made her smile when thinking of the future. Alice opened her mouth - desperate to respond - when Riley cut her off.

“Please, don’t beg me to stay just for the sake of it. Because if you ask me, I will stay, even though I know you don’t love me, and that my love isn’t enough for you. Please don’t make me doom us like that. You’ve made it clear that you want me gone, anyway. I’m trying to make this easier for you.”

Alice could not have stopped the steady stream of tears that dripped down her face if she’d tried. When Riley turned back around to face the door and twisted the handle softly, Alice felt her heart stop beating.

“STAY!” she sobbed wetly, running towards Riley and burying her face in the back of their denim jacket. “Stay, please stay. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. Riley, I love you. I love you so much it hurts,” Alice felt Riley’s back stiffen beneath her.

“Please don’t say that, Alice, not when you don’t mean it,” Riley’s pained whisper just made Alice cry harder as she wrapped her arms tightly around their torso.

“I’m not just saying it for the sake of it, Riley. I mean it. I love you. I love you so much. And I’m so sorry for everything, I’m sorry for making you feel like your love wasn’t enough.” Alice didn’t know how much of her rambling could actually be understood through her sobs, but she continued desperately. “I’ve been so scared lately, so scared of how happy you make me, because that means that it’ll hurt so much more when you inevitably leave me. I let my insecurities get the best of me, and I was so stupid.”

During her outburst, Riley had turned around to face her. They gently reached towards her face and wiped away her tears with a finger. When Alice opened her eyes, she stared directly into Riley’s wet, wide, blue eyes.

“I love you, Riley. I’ve been a shit girlfriend, and I’m so sorry for that. I’m so sorry for pushing you away and making you feel like I don’t love you. The choice to leave or stay is up to you; I don’t deserve your love or your time. But I need you to know that I do love you, more than anything else. Your love has always been enough for me. I’m just never worthy of it.”

At Riley’s silence, Alice wiped her face and stepped away, curling into herself in preparation for the pain of watching them leave.

“... that is so fucked up, Alice,” Riley’s voice was soft, and Alice flinched at their words.

“I know, and I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking stupid and I don’t deserve you and - “

“If this is going to work, we need to go to couple’s counseling. And I think it might be useful for you to start seeing your psychologist again. How you’ve treated me recently is not okay, and we’ll need to work on being open and honest with each other,” Riley’s voice was soothing. Alice froze as she processed their words in her head.

“‘If this is going to work’? You mean you’ll…” Alice whipped her head up to stare at Riley’s face. She stared open-mouthed as a small smile appeared on their lips and they walked closer, kissing the top of her head gently.

“Stay,” Riley finished for her. “I’ll stay.”

© O.M.A

[bolton-buried]

Sure would be a shame if someone hacked our Harry’s computer and posted the video he was taking as his plans went awry.

Oh wait.

-An Angel

[Video attached.]

[Video ID:

A stretch of sidewalk. It’s raining, but whoever is holding the camera seems to be under an umbrella.

Harry, off screen, speaks in his Georgian drawl.

“Alright can ya walk me through what we’re actually doing here? Because from where I’m standin’ this looks all risk and no reward.”

“I told you. We’re going to a large house on the outskirts of the city, home to a Flesh avatar who’s throwing a party of some sort. She happens to have in her possession a Spirally Leitner, which she’s hanging onto to keep it under lock and key because the Spiral and Flesh counter each other in certain aspects or something.”

“Yeah I got that part. Why do we want that book. Sounds like it ain’t nothing but trouble.”

Harold shifts the camera to face Harry, who is fiddling with his cuffs and collar on his suit.

“I told you that too. The Spiral also happens to be an opposing force to the Web—specifically in the Ang—Isaac’s whole deal. The certainty of a predetermined future against the unpredictable nature of the universe. It’s like I’m talking to a wall sometimes. I want to be able to counter whatever he’ll have going on, and every single Spiral avatar I know also serves the Web, so this is the next best thing.”

“And the dog is here because…?”

“First off, that’s my dad. And I can’t get him to leave.”

There’s a bark offscreen. The camera pans to show a large animal. Can this be called a dog? Not really. It’s faintly canine, but beyond that, this creature is nothing natural in this world.

A woman stands on the other side of the dog, wearing a plain dress. Spots of grey are visible on her dark skin, and a pair of gloves are on her hands.

“You’re not getting me to leave either, Harold.”

Harold sounds resigned. “I know.”

Cut to:

The handle of Harold’s umbrella raps against a door in the back of what seems to be a gym. A woman opens the door, her suit jacket open in the front and her shirt unbuttoned to her navel, revealing an intricate tattoo. It showed what would have been her organs, in approximate positions, as if her skin was peeled back from it. Don’t look too closely unless you want to see her heart beat.

“Howdy! I’m Andi. It’s nice to see you all made it. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

She walks them into the room, where a table is set up. She gives the names in rapid succession, pointing at the other guests.

“Riley, Grace, Miranda Lukas, Jamie, and Jean.”

Respectively, she points at a short man wearing glasses and a sweater vest who stares straight into the camera, a smiling, older woman in a sundress with more grey than black in her hair, a lanky redhead with an unruly ponytail and hair peeking from under his black button down, a masked person with darker red curls, and a person who the film seems to glitch out around, but is just stable enough to make out the most gaudy three-piece suit ever seen.

“Everyone, these are Grace’s friends. Harold, Harry, and Charlotte.”

Judging by Harold’s scoff, she’d pointed at the wrong Harolds.

Cut to:

Charlotte is talking with Grace, who is telling her about how her boyfriend was supposed to be coming to this dinner, but canceled last minute. Andi, from across the table, chimes in.

“Oh, I’m sure that we’ll have your boyfriend for dinner one of these days.”

Harold whips about the camera in response to a growl from his other side. Nic is snarling at Miranda, who growls back louder. Harry cuts in before Harold can tell them to cut it out.

“Hey. Hunters. Y’all can take this shit outside. I’m hungry.”

“And here I thought you were Harry!” Jean laughs. The camera still doesn’t pick them up very well, but the eyes of Riley seated next to them come through clear as day, still staring straight at the camera.

Harold reaches out a hand to stroke the fur around Nic’s ears, whispering.

“Remember why we’re here. See if you can sniff out any Leitners.”

It catches Miranda’s ear, so he speaks as Nic runs off.

“Sorry, did you say Leitners?”

“Er…” Harold makes a split second decision. “Yes. Are you familiar?”

“Familiar? I worked at that damn library. Which one do you need?”

To have worked at the library, Miranda must be much older than he looks. But Harold doesn’t know enough about the books’ history to make that connection.

“It’s one of the Alice books. By Carrol.”

“It’s Through the Looking Glass. I remember hunting it down. Why do you think Andi has it? I’m not sure she can read.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow. Harold evidently gives him a glare, because he backs off.

“Good authority, whatever. I’m not smelling any Spiral past Joan. Good luck.”

Cut to:

Harold’s hand pulls a book off of a shelf. A plain turquoise cover that doesn’t show what it is. But a gold plate on the front is familiar enough that he knows he got it right.

“Found you.”

“Found who?”

It’s Andi’s voice. The camera pivots to show her standing in the doorway. A growling sound comes from beside Harold.

“So. You came to rob me behind my back? Where’s your fighting spirit?”

The last two words become a shout, and then from the corners of darkness, things began to emerge. Things with too many arms or not enough legs. Things with mouths and teeth and tongues. The camera falls to the ground, landing face down and showing only the briefest flash of Charlotte and Harry standing behind.

The rain increases in intensity and the growls get louder.

“The window, guys!”

It’s Charlotte’s voice, reaching over the din of the creatures groans and beating of flesh. One of them does something akin to a scream as the growling becomes at once muffled and more violent.

“Yeah,” the accent is unmistakably Harry’s. “I’ll be right out the window once I get all these fucking shits off o’me. Great idea.”

“Not helping.” Harold reprimands.

Then there’s a scream. It’s impossible to tell if it’s Harry or Harold.

“My fucking arm! Fucking ‘ell am I tearin’ you a new damn—!”

Harry. Harold speaks as the sound of boots hitting meat is heard.

“How are they so fast?”

A bark.

“All three of you get back!” That’s Charlotte. She kicks the camera, giving it a view of her pulling off her glove. “Window. Now. Give the angel hell for me.”

She smiles as the camera is picked up, then pulls a ring off her finger. The room, Charlotte, and all of Andi’s creatures were engulfed in flames.

Video ends.]

[fragmcntedsouls]

“Triggered or not, that feeling” Oliver’s paused, shaking his head with a sharp expulsion of breath “it doesn’t go away. Just gives you more hell to deal with because afterwards every damn sense is on board.” The curse that hung over them was just that - whether you were triggered or not, it made no real difference to the heaviness of the feeling. The only real difference being after having taken a life, you’d have to deal with the unrelenting guilt. “You just - gotta find ways of managing it. Not indulging or coping, the only real way out is to manage. Find your triggers and deal with em’.”

Shrugging, Oliver retorted “you’ll see” but his words a little more ominous than intended. Whilst he couldn’t fix the feeling, he could at least help with it the only way he knew how.

Briggs’ expression hadn’t taken Oliver aback and he knew that he was far from Riley’s favorite topic, so he took no offence. He ruminated over the hybrids response, before scratching his thumb across his brow “that’s one of the nicer name’s she's called over the years, but yeah.”

An amused breath carried between them and Oliver nodded, “figured as much” before holding both hands up and exposing his palms towards the other “i’m not lookin’ for an in, just tryna help. Think of it as an assurance so your dumb ass doesn’t go leadin’ her down the same path.” 

Continuing now to lead the way through the woodland and motioning for Briggs to watch his step, Oliver vowed not to rise to the hybrids comment but that didn’t prevent him from taunting “you can try, but i'm a hell of a lot better at this than you are, kid. Besides, you've got a sloppy right hook."

Whilst it might have seemed as though he'd taken Brigg's on an endless hike, his journey did serve a purpose and eventually they stumbled upon their destination. Ahead of them was a literal scrapyard and littered across it was broken bottles and tin cans that had been used by the Crescents to shoot at.

Oliver gestured for Briggs to stay put whilst he illuminated the yard and with a fizz of electricity, the rusty lights lit up their surroundings. From the inside of his jacket, Oliver plucked a cigarette and placed it between his lips, meanwhile heading over towards an old trailer to retrieve two golf clubs from it. The trailer was just as beaten up as its surroundings, but it served its purpose for storing clubs and most importantly, liquor. The wolf held out one of the clubs for Briggs to retrieve and with his hand now free, he mumbled around his cigarette "have at it."

With those words, Oliver swung the club down onto the wingmirror of an old jeep, the force detaching the mirror from the body and sending shards of glass flying through the air as he stood back to admire his work. "Go nuts."

He knew. In his own way, he knew triggering would solve nothing. It was trading one suffering for another, but in moments like this, it seemed the better suffering. He was plenty familiar with physical pain and broken bones, so maybe the turn wouldn't be as bad as it was made to sound. That was a thought he could barely complete before knowing that wasn't true either. The plight of the werewolf: choose your own suffering. An insatiable desire to kill or unimaginable pain every month.

"That's not what it feels like," Briggs muttered in a defeated tone, the wash of exhaustion swooping in as the adrenaline started to come down again. Still, he wasn't telling the older wolf something he didn't know. "No matter what I do, it just comes back." Like an enemy he had to carry with him, like Atlas with the world on his shoulders.

He tensed at the hand on one of those heavy-laden shoulders, but he didn't push again. The answers to how to survive this seemed to be held here, and he needed something to cling to: a hope, a relief of some kind that would last. "How?"

A nod given he'd see whatever he had to show him, he paused when Riley's name was mentioned. His brow furrowed in disbelief, as if to say I would know that, but the clarification was answer enough. "Ah, the Check-in." That made perfect sense, now he did know who this was. "Briggs," he still offered his name in return, "her best friend. Full-time. And not a source of information for you."

Following along, he murmured, "is it you?" Kicking Riley's half-brother's ass probably would make him feel a lot better, even though he was sure that wasn't what Oliver had meant.

[m4ctavish]

ghost — short stack.

masterlist.

pairing : simon “ghost” riley/gn! reader

desc : everyone needs someone to lean on, and in this case, ghost leans on his partners head.

a/n : HAVE YOU SEEN HOW TALL THIS MAN IS??

simon “ghost” riley :

simon himself is incredibly tall, standing at about 6’4” flat footed. fucking mountain of a man

i’m assuming “short/small” in this instance is about 5” to 5’5/5’6”, so that makes for a pretty intimidating height difference. say you’re about 5’0”, that’d put you at about elbow height with him. 5’5” would put you at maybe shoulder level— still short enough for him to look down at you

genuinely, height doesn’t make a difference to him other than when the two of you are conversing or anything of that sort, he has to look down and you have to look up.

usually prefers to keep a hand on your shoulder rather than leaning an arm on your head but that’s not to say he hasn’t done it before.

just because you’re short (and/or dainty) doesn’t meant that you can’t show him what for. you ever seen a 6’4” man being chastised by his short stack of a partner? what a sight to be hold. rest easy knowing that soap would not let him live it down. (“damn Lt. , that was rough.” “that’s enough.”)

while i did say that height makes no difference to him, i’m sure he’d give you some snark about your height, talking about how his neck hurts from constantly looking down. just be sure to give him some right back— fight fire with fire, y’know? (“think i’ve got a kink in my neck.” “yeah, whys that?” “probably from constantly searching for you on the ground.” “shove it, riley.”)

if you need help getting something from a shelf or ledge you can’t reach, he’ll grab it for you without saying anything. if he’s feeling particularly annoying, he may just hold it out of your reach. (“having some trouble?”)

forehead kisses— either that or he kisses the top of your head. (probably wouldn’t happen very often but it’s special any time they do.) say he’s leaving for a bit and you don’t know when you’ll see him next, he’ll pull you close and press a kiss to the top of your head before mumbling a quiet “love ya.”

we’ve seen a few times that ghost owns a few jackets and/or sweaters, so if you’re looking for an oversized sweater or jacket to wear, he’s your man. he likes seeing you in his clothes, whether it’s one of his shirts, jackets, pullovers, etc. (“jacket looks oddly familiar.” “you think so?” “thief.”)

y’know what’d be hilarious? is you and ghost having one of those mock sparring sessions, mostly just testing out new techniques, breaking in some new gear and you just absolutely knocking him on his ass.

i also can’t help but imagine him holding his s/o out under the arms like a wet cat or something LMFAO

[angelasscribbles]

Savage Love Chapter 13: Rooftop

 Series: Savage Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋

Warnings: sexual depiction

Song Inspiration: One Day by Imagine Dragons

Word Count: 3,154

My other stuff: Master List.

I made sure no one was following me as I slipped down the west hallway and climbed up a little used staircase to the roof.

I arrived on the palace rooftop just in time to watch night fall across the sky, swallowing the reds and blues as a black velvet curtain studded with sparkling diamonds took their place.

“Riley, over here!” I tore my eyes away from the sunset to find Liam smiling at me, gesturing toward a thick, wool blanket spread on the ground. There was large picnic basket on one side and bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne in it.

“What’s all this?” I asked him as our hands clasped and I leaned forward to drop a quick kiss on his cheek.

“I thought you might like some dessert. I have chocolate covered strawberries in here, freshly baked baklava, and some chocolate mousse. I wasn’t sure what you would prefer. Here, sit.”

I sat as I breathed in the night air, “Liam, it’s beautiful up here at night.” The stars glittered brightly above us, and though I knew it wasn’t true, they looked close enough to touch, as if I could reach my hand out and scoop them from the sky.

“It is.” He responded. I glanced at him to find his eyes locked on me. I shivered partly due to the night air, partly to the intensity I saw in his eyes.

“Are you cold?” He asked me.

“It’s a little chilly.”

“Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across my shoulders.

“Thanks, but aren’t you going to be cold now?”

“No. My shirt has long sleeves, this dress you’re in doesn’t even have sleeves. Not that it needs them, I mean, you don’t- ah, you look good in anything…everything…” He paused and looked away as a flush crept across his face.

“Are you ok?”

He looked back at me sheepishly, “You have a way of knocking me off balance, that’s all.”

I arched an eyebrow at him, “Sorry?”

He laughed, “Don’t be sorry. It’s a good thing. Would you like some champagne?”

“Sure.”

He produced two elegant long stemmed champagne flutes from the basket and filled them, handing me one. His fingers brushed mine as I took it. There was an undeniable spark every time we touched.

“To the Via Imperii.” He said.

“What?” I laughed.

“I know they’re the bad guys, but if not for them, I’d still be fruitlessly looking for you.” He tipped his glass toward me, and I tapped it with my own.

“Would you?” I asked as I raised the flute to my mouth to drink.

“Yes.” He scooted closer to me, “The night we spent together in New York was magical and not just because of the sex, which was fucking amazing by the way, but because of you! A total stranger said they wanted to see the statue of liberty and you went out of your way to make that happen, just to make me smile, no other motive.”

“What other motive would there be?”

“Trust me, when people know who I am, or rather, what my position is, the motive is always to curry favor.” He sat his glass down then took mine and sat it next to his. “But you’re not like that, even now. You know who I am, but you don’t treat me any differently than you did in New York.”

“I’m used to being around royalty, Liam, it’s not that big of a deal to me.”

“Even so. There are ladies here from other royal families and you see how they fawn all over Leo and they don’t even know him. They want to marry him to advance their own social position.”

I frowned, “Yeah. I’m definitely the opposite of that. I literally ran away from home to avoid being married off to some prince or duke in the interest of  making alliances.”

He took my hands in his and searched my face, his face scrunched in concern, “Your parents would have forced you to marry someone against your will?”

“Well…no, but the pressure to find a suitable match can be pretty intense.”

He nodded, “Yes, I’m aware. I’m not even the heir, I’m the spare and the pressure is phenomenal. I can’t imagine how Leo feels.”

“Speaking of Leo…do you think he’s been acting weird lately?”

“What do you mean?”        

“I don’t know what I mean. When did he start having you sit in on meetings with him?”

“I’ve always done it to some extent, but the last few days he’s had me following him everywhere. Frankly, it’s exhausting.”

“Hm.”

“Why? What are you thinking?”

“I…I’m not sure and it’s probably nothing. Let’s not talk about Leo right now. You were telling me how you would have kept searching for me?” I teased.

“Forever, to the ends of the earth.” He breathed out ardently.

I started to laugh, but his expression was so serious as his eyes ran across my face that it caught in my throat. Unlike Drake with his often inscrutable mien, Liam wore every thought and emotion on his face. At least with me he did. It was kind of endearing.

“How are you like this?” Slipped out before I could censor myself.

“Like what?”

“Most men in your position are arrogant, entitled, self-absorbed, narcissistic-“

His laugh was pure and clear and there was no artifice in it. “Tell me how you really feel!”

His laugh made me happy, and without thinking, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He became serious in an instant as his arms wrapped around me and he returned the kiss. My entire body relaxed into it, he was a really good kisser, but it wasn’t just that. The sparks that flew between us were powerful, potent and it was hard to think straight when his body was pressed against mine.

So, I didn’t. Think, that is. I let my body run on pure instinct and my instincts were all over him. I ran a hand through his hair as I deepened the kiss. He moaned softly against my lips. I pulled back from his mouth only to attack the side of his neck. I inhaled deeply, the musky scent of him causing my heart rate to speed up and sending a shockwave of heat plunging straight to my center. I bit gently at his earlobe before running my tongue around the shell. I felt him shudder as I scraped my teeth down the side of his neck before latching on and sucking the delicate skin there into my mouth. Loud whimpers broke out of him as he tugged me tighter against him.

I pulled back and giggled, “Sorry, that’s going to leave a mark.”

“Leave marks. Leave all the marks you want, I like it.” He instructed as he pulled my head down on the other side of his neck. He did seem to like it, a lot, so I complied. Who was I to deny him? When I was done, he was marked from the front of his throat, around both sides, and trailing up one side to the area behind his ear.

I moved back a little and surveyed my handiwork with satisfaction. “Yeah, that’s definitely going to show.”

“Good.”

“People are going to ask questions.”

“I don’t care. When they start to fade, will you mark me again?” He asked.

“If that’s what you want.” I laughed.

He was serious when he told me, “It is. I want your marks on me. I’m yours, Riley, and I don’t care who knows it.”

“Liam, I-“

“Don’t worry, I know I can’t tell anyone because you’re undercover and all that.”

That wasn’t really my biggest concern. I knew Liam wasn’t going to do anything to blow my cover or compromise the investigation. It was the I’m yours comment that concerned me. While I can’t deny that it sent a thrill through me, I felt like maybe I needed to reiterate that this wasn’t going anywhere.

My protests were cut off when his mouth connected with my neck, the warmth of his tongue, the gentle scrape of his teeth and the feel of his hands as they began to explore my body conspired to make me forget what I was supposed to be protesting.  

He pushed his jacket off my shoulders, and I shivered, but not from the cold, as his mouth dipped down to suck at the soft flesh exposed by the low cut of my dress. He cupped a breast in each hand and his thumbs ran across the hard points of my nipples as they pushed against the thin fabric covering them. My head fell back as my hands grabbed his, pushing it into my chest. My body arched up to meet him as little sounds of pleasure bubbled to the surface and broke forth from my mouth.

My sounds of arousal provoked some arousal of his own. His lips moved back up to mine as his hands went behind me to fumble with my zipper. By the time he managed to pull it down, I had his shirt unbuttoned. His mouth was still on mine as he helped the dress slide down my body.

I pulled him down on top of me as I eased back onto the blanket. His lips glided across my face, neck and shoulders before finding my breasts again, his tongue gliding and flicking across my erect nipples. Every lick, every suck, every gentle nip sent sparks twisting through me, tiny shockwaves of pleasure pulsing along every neural path in my body.

“Liam.” I breathed as I pushed up against his body while pulling him back up by his hair. My hands went to his pants, helping him out of them.

His eyes locked on mine as he entered me. I stared back into deep pools of onyx, almost as dark as the night around us, making me certain that drowning in them would make death worth it. His body moved on top of mine, each thrust a new wave of ecstasy washing over me, building slowly in pace and intensity as I lost myself in tactile sensuality. Then he hit just the right spot deep inside me, just the right way and I crashed over the edge, taking him with me as my legs wrapped around him, my nails dug into him, and my teeth sank into his chest.

He cried out my name as he pulsed inside of me, burying himself as deep as possible as he collapsed on top of me, his breath in my ear, his sweat drenched chest slick as it rested against me. I drew my nails lightly down his back, delighted by the shivers I provoked.

He maintained his position between my legs as he laid gentle kisses along my hairline, jaw and neck, his hot breath a sharp contrast to the chill of the night around us.

I gazed up at the stars, bright pinpricks of light dotting the sky all around us as I luxuriated in the sensation of his mouth on my skin, the intoxicating scent of him and feel of his hair as my fingers ran through it, soft, silky, smooth. I sighed as a sense of peace and contentment stole over me.

Liam shattered that sense of peace and contentment when he gazed down at me and said, “Riley, I think I lo-“

“No!” My fingers flew to his lips in a panic, pressing against them, “Please, don’t say it! I told you, I’m only here until we take down the Via Imperii, then I’ll be moving on to whatever assignment comes next.”

He was quite for a moment, considering that, then he lifted his eyes back to mine and asked, “But you know where I am now, you could visit-“

“What kind of a relationship would that be? Not seeing each other for weeks, months at a time? You might not even know where I’m at for huge stretches of time.” I said as I pushed him off me and sat up, reaching for my dress.

“I’m ok with that.” He stood, pulling his pants back on as he watched me.

“How could you be ok with that?” I asked as I stood to slip back into my dress.                                   

Liam hurried over so he could pull the zipper up for me, “Riley, you’re worth the wait.”

I smiled sadly as I turned to face him, shaking my head, “I wouldn’t ask you to do that, sit around and wait on me. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

His face broke out in that Christmas morning grin, I looked at him as confusion swirled through my chest. I was delivering bad news, why did he look like he’d just won the lottery? “You care about my feelings?” He asked as he buttoned his shirt.

What was he so happy about? Of course I didn’t want to hurt him, he was sweet, caring, genuine and I’m not a monster. “Yes, Liam. You’re a good person. You don’t deserve to be hurt.”

The grin only intensified, “You care about my feelings because you care about me!” He practically crowed with delight.

“I mean….yes…” I responded carefully, “You’re my friend, I don’t want to see you get hurt. Even by me.” Especially by me.

He picked his jacket up off the ground and draped it across my shoulders again. “You’re not as cold hearted as you like to project, Riley.”

“Liam, we’re just friends.” I told him as I resumed sitting on the blanket and snuggled into the warmth of his jacket.

He waggled his eyebrows at me playfully as he sat beside me, “Friends with benefits?”

“Obviously.” I laughed.

“Mmm.” He gave me an appraising look.

“What?”

He turned back to the picnic basket and started unpacking it. “I mean…you say we’re just friends, but we’ve been on two dates now.” He gave me a teasing grin, but I knew he meant it. He was still determined to turn this into a relationship.

He held out the baklava and I shook my head, pointing to the chocolate mousse instead. I grunted in consternation as I took it, “Liam, I mean it! I don’t do relationships!”

He gave me an elaborate shrug, “I don’t care what we call it. It doesn’t have to be a relationship. How about…a situationship?”

“A…what?” I couldn’t help it; I threw my head back and laughed. He was good at making me laugh.

“A situationship. This,” He gestured back and forth between us, “this situation we find ourselves in…it’s a situationship.”

I snorted, loudly, “Sorry!” I said as I choked on my laughter.

“Don’t be sorry, I love your laugh, snorting and all. I like that I can make you laugh that hard.” He piled a paper plate with baklava and we sat in a comfortable silence for a while as we ate.

“Mmm, this is really good!” I told him, “To die for!”

“That good, really?”

“Yes!” I assured him, nodding vigorously, “You want to try some?” I held a spoonful out to him, and he leaned forward with a mischievous grin. He licked the mousse off the spoon pretty damn seductively. If he was trying to get my attention, he had it. “Damn.”

He sat back with a smug smile. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I think you can pretty much ask me whatever you want right now.”

“If you weren’t an undercover agent, would you date me?”

I considered that as I scraped my spoon along the inside of the glass. Finally, I nodded as I took the last bite, then I answered him, “Any woman would be lucky to date you, Liam. You’re hilarious and you’re smart, kind, considerate, hot as hell, a good kisser, I mean…. Sure, if I wasn’t me….if I didn’t do what I do for a living and I was a stable, normal person then yes, I would date you.”

He nodded thoughtfully like I’d just confirmed something he already knew. “Do you have friends?”

“What?”

“I know you have family. Do you visit them?”

“Yeah. When I can.”

“Do you have friends you visit?”

“A few I suppose.”

“So, we’ve established that you like me, that you consider me a friend, that you’d date me if you did the dating thing, I make you laugh…”

“Ok…” I watched him suspiciously, “What’s your point?”

“What’s to stop you from coming to visit me, after this is all over? If we’re just friends and you visit your friends, and we have fun when we’re together….” He spread his hands out in front of him, “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you want more than that, Liam, and I can’t give it to you.”

“I do want more than that, Riley. But I’ll take what I can get. So, I think you should come visit.”

“Maybe…”

“It’s ok, I get it. You’re afraid if you do, you’ll fall in love with me, I understand. I’ve been told I’m pretty irresistible.” He teased as he packed up the picnic basket.

I laughed, “Ok, fine. I suppose I could come visit, occasionally. It’d be nice to see you again. And Leo and Drake.”

“Drake, yeah.” He shot me a sidelong glance.

“If I came to visit, I’d want to see Drake too. Does that bother you?”

He didn’t even think about it, “No. I don’t care what you do with him. I just don’t want you to stop doing this with me.”

“That’s very enlightened of you.”

He shrugged again, “I lo- I like you, Riley, a lot. I’m not trying to own you, control you or stake a claim to you. I just want to keep spending time with you, I like talking to you. I feel a connection with you, like we’ve known each other forever somehow. I know I can tell you anything and I hope you feel the same way about me.”

He looked away. It was dark, but I’d bet money he was blushing. I reached over and took his hand, “I do. I’m glad you trust me, Liam. And I like spending time with and talking to you too.”

His eyes found mine as he said, “I know I could make you happy, Riley, if you ever decide to let me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said, “We should probably get inside; it’s getting windy up here.”

“Of course!” He jumped to his feet so that he could help me to mine. He quickly folded the blanket, placing it into the picnic basket before asking, “May I escort you to your room?”

I smiled up at him, “I was hoping you’d escort me to yours.”

His Christmas morning smile was back in place as he scooped the basket off the ground then offered me his arm, “I would absolutely love to!”

[paperrretro]

straw.

Pairing: Adam Banks x Reader

Word Count: 1,945 words

Warnings: Mild swearing, classism

Request: can we get some more adam banks x reader? maybe some angst with adam being on varsity and reader being on jv

“[Y/n].” Banksy runs after you, voice desperate. “Come on.”

“Go away.”

Despite your poor mood, he persists, and you hear the squeak of his shoes against the ground as he catches up. He puts his hand on your shoulder and says your name again. Had it been any other week, you would have been on cloud nine – but right now, it’s nothing but unwelcome.

You shrug him off. “Don’t touch me,” you snap.

You’re not even looking at him, but you know that Banksy’s face falls at your words, softened eyes, downcast gaze and all. An uneasy, unpleasant feeling curls in your chest at the thought. You try to ignore it. The feeling stays right where it is as you open your locker with a little more force than necessary.

No, no, no. He should be the one feeling guilty, you think sourly as Banksy – no, Banks – lingers nearby. When will he think for himself instead of just following whatever crap the nearest cake-eater has to say? He knew you and the other Ducks couldn’t afford the stupid bill. He knew.

And yet, you had still defended him. You had told Charlie that Banks must’ve not known about the prank, that he would show up sooner or later to help after realizing what Varsity had done. (He didn’t.) You had tried to keep him and Charlie from killing each other on the ice that morning.

And now Charlie’s gone, and Fulton’s gone, and the Ducks are dead, and you’re just tired.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I saw it on your face after Riley’s girlfriend tripped me in the cafeteria,” you mutter, closing your locker door. He continues to follow you as you walk down the hall. Crap, you have Algebra 1 with him – why – “Too bad you didn’t do anything else.”

His unhappiness is almost palpable. “I tried to, but Riley –”

You whirl around. Banks stops short, jaw tight and eyebrows pinched with worry.

“I know what Riley did.” Your stare is chilly. “Y’know, I’ve been defending you ever since you got on Varsity. Because you’re my friend. And all that’s gotten me is trouble with Orion, Charlie and Fulton leaving, and the entire school laughing at me during lunch.” A familiar lump in your throat threatens to form; you swallow it and take in a deep breath. You are not going to start blubbering like a wuss in the middle of the hallway. “I’m tired of trying to play both sides. So please stop making excuses.”

Banks opens his mouth, then closes it. The bell rings.

With a sigh, you turn around and start walking again, faster this time. Banks trails behind without a word.

—

In the Varsity locker room, post-game swaggering mixes with the damp smell of sweat and spray-on deodorant. Everything and everyone are louder than usual; the Eden Hall Warriors have just won against the Garland Griffins, a longtime rival, boosting already swollen egos to new heights. Nobody has the sense to be gloomy after such a clear victory.

Well, almost nobody.

Adam scrubs at his wet hair with a towel, staring vacantly at the bright red jacket hanging in front of him. It was a good game. He’d even scored one of the goals. Coach was pleased with him; Riley and Scooter had thumped him on the back and said he’d done well. His dad hadn’t been able to make it to the game, but Adam knows that he’ll be happy with the win too. It was a great game.

But he doesn’t feel like it was.

“Yeah, the board’s withdrawing their scholarships tomorrow. My dad said they’ll be gone by next semester. Hopefully, they’ll drop out before then.”

Attention piqued, Adam glances behind him. Riley, already fully dressed, leans against his locker as he talks to Cole. His voice is loud. Cole laughs, like he always does when Riley thinks he’s being clever.

“God, did you see how they played today? It was pathetic.”

“But they won.”

Riley snorts. “Please. A one-point difference doesn’t count.” He shifts, and Adam quickly turns his head before he’s caught eavesdropping. “Sloppy defense, no captain – those scholarships are a joke.”

Cole laughs again, and some of the others join in. Adam keeps his head down. This is how it usually went. J.V. plays, Varsity trashes them, Varsity plays, Varsity trashes the team they played against and J.V. He hasn’t gotten involved in any of it himself. Just listening makes him feel guilty.

A long exhale leaves Riley’s nose. “It’s what the school gets for letting people like that in, y’know – they just expect all of us to keep giving them handouts without giving anything back.” He raises his voice even more. “I mean, look at us! We won the state championship last year and still have to pay tuition –”

Agreements bounce around the room like hockey pucks.

“Yeah!”

“I know, right? It’s so stupid …”

Adam clenches the towel around his neck, knuckles white. You’re right. Maybe it’s not enough to just feel guilty.

He turns around.

“Oh, by the way, Banks,” Riley says suddenly, facing him at the same time. Adam jolts; the Varsity captain grins at him. “You know I don’t mean you, right? To be honest, you’d probably make it without the scholarship.”

Adam’s knee-jerk reaction is to shrug and be polite. Thanks. And he nearly does it. But then he thinks about your words, and all the times he’d been polite this year, and how Hans is gone, and how Charlie hasn’t been at school for almost a week. His heart starts to pound in his chest.

Riley raises an eyebrow at him, still waiting.

I’m tired of trying to play both sides.

“They earned the scholarships,” Adam finally says, looking his upperclassman straight in the eye. He tries not to sound uncertain, because he isn’t, but the way Riley’s smile fades makes him a little nervous. And a little more self-assured. “We all did, so cut it out.”

The room quiets for just a few moments. Riley’s gaze quickly flits around to his teammates before landing on him again; Adam moves his feet slightly but otherwise stands his ground. It feels like he’s making a choice.

(It’s the right one.)

Eventually, Riley rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should play with them, then,” he says.

He brushes past Adam and exits the locker room. Cole quickly follows, bumping Adam more harshly than Riley had, and soon the rest of the team resumes their chattering and trash talking as they finish cleaning up.

Adam chews on his bottom lip, pulling off his towel and hanging it up. To be honest, he’s glad that Riley had gotten annoyed. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

A few guys glance in his direction as he leaves the locker room, but no one says goodbye. Adam barely notices. Steeling himself, he heads down the hallway to look for you and the rest of his friends.

I’m not a Warrior, he thinks. I’m a Duck.

—

“Hit me with another one. I am killing this.”

“Okay.” You shuffle through the flashcards again. “What important inventions did the Sumerians make?”

“Shoot.” You slowly begin to turn the card around, but Russ holds his hand out to stop you, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, wait. I got this. A … writing system, a numbering system, the plow for farming, and hydraulic engineering. And … some other stuff too.”

“The turning wheel and textile mills,” Julie supplies.

“Yeah, those.”

Grinning, you lean back and put the card back into the stack. Across the table, Fulton looks just a little bit sick.

“I don’t know any of this,” he mutters.

You grimace. “… Maybe you need a different way to study?”

“The test is tomorrow,” Russ says sympathetically.

“Oh. Right.” You reshuffle the cards again, just to keep your hands busy, while Russ shares his filled-in study guide with Fulton. Julie elbows you gently. It takes a second nudge for you to realize that it’s on purpose. “What?”

“Banksy’s coming this way.”

You stop shuffling.

After just a few moments, Banksy stops a few feet away from your little group. His hair is still damp from the showers, and his shirt is a nice, leafy green. He’s not wearing his Warriors jacket.

You meet eyes briefly, then he glances around at the others in the lounge.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you studying for World History?”

“Yep. And killin’ it,” Russ replies.

(“It’s killin’ me,” Fulton mumbles.)

Julie pats the empty lounge chair next to the couch that she and you are sitting on. “Wanna join?”

A small smile spreads onto Banksy’s face, and he nods. “Sure. Well, first, I, uh …” He looks at you again. “[Y/n], can I talk to you for a minute? In the hallway?”

Across from you, Russ lets out a quiet ‘ooh’ and casts you a smug glance. Your cheeks start to burn.

“Okay.”

Looking down at your cards, you realize that talking to Banksy doesn’t make you angry or even irritated. Actually, it hasn’t for several days now. And that’s really part and parcel of your trouble this year – you can never stay mad at Banksy for very long, not when he’s always … well, him.

Standing up, you make your way, side-by-side with him, into the hallway.

“So … what’s up?” you ask, tucking your hands into your pockets.

“I’m gonna join the Ducks again.”

Your jaw drops. Banksy just continues to stare at you, completely serious, and you shake your head and squint at him.

“Wait, for real?”

His expression almost becomes defensive. “Well, yeah.”

“But I thought you loved playing on Varsity. With all the, like, opportunity and stuff.” Although you’re still confused, you can’t fight the grin threatening to bloom. “You deserve the spot, you know. They’re a lot better than us.”

“We can get better. The Ducks. And”—Banksy shuffles in place—“playing on Varsity’s been fun on the ice, but – I dunno, I like playing with you guys better. I like our team. How it works.”

“How we’re all decent people?” you joke. He laughs under his breath, and your heart flutters. Just a teeny bit. “Okay, then. I’m definitely not gonna fight you on it. But you could’ve just gone and told all of us that in there.” You tilt your head towards the lounge.

It’s probably (definitely) your imagination, but you could swear that the tips of his ears turn a little red. “I just … I wanted to tell you first,” he says, softer.

“Oh.”

“And, uh, I also wanted to say thanks for standing up for me, and that I’m sorry for all the times I just sat there when people were messing with you.” Averting his gaze for just a moment, he shrugs awkwardly. “Guess what I’m saying is … I’ll try harder off the ice.”

You regard him carefully, though you already know what you’re going to say.

“Apology accepted.” Banksy’s face brightens, and it makes you want to scream into a pillow. You like him way, way too much. “Shake on it?”

Banksy nods, holding his hand out. You grab it, not too eagerly, curl your fingers around his and shake. Then you have to let go. It’d be weird otherwise. Obviously.

Holding your hands behind your back, you clear your throat. “Let’s go back?”

“Yeah.”

Upon reentering the lounge, you find that the rest of your friends have crowded into the corner that you, Julie, Russ, and Fulton have been using. They all grin at you, and you think that it’s because you and Banksy are smiling too.

Things are going to get better. You can feel it.