#as in i hardly get any time at home packed

[whereispearlescentmoon]

My thoughts on Billy are this:

Pearl has no named pet in Last Life. She had a wolf army but only two survived with her to the final fight, she didn’t react very much when they died, and she never named any of them. She used them to great effect for killing, however, which is a lesson she would bring with her into DL. She did utilize them to help Ren kill Cleo, which… cycles and all that. “We want to kill Cleo and then we can reconnect the three Gs” lives in my head rent free. The only other pet she has is her two axolotls, which she does not name and both of which Joel kills.

I don’t know that Pearl has ever really connected to an animal the way she connected to Tilly because she hasn’t been alone since Double Life. Tilly was her lifeline because she was all Pearl had. She was her soulmate because no one else wanted her. She was the only living being who Pearl could rely on. And both times losing her were devastating to Pearl. The first time, it kicked off the Scarlet Pearl arc, and the second time it spurred on her rampage towards Impulse and Bdubs, and Cleo and Martyn. She had her wolf pack because when you can’t count on allies to fight beside you, to protect you and want you to live, you have to be able to count on something.

This is in contrast to every series since, where Pearl has largely kept her animals tucked away in her base and where her pets have been more important in the way they help her interact with other players than anything.

The first thing Pearl says to Froggy is, “I found you! Hello! This is gonna be my friend of the season, in animal form”, because she wanted to be prepared in case she was alone again. And then said “You are my love. If you die, I don’t know what I would do,” because again, she was thinking about what happened after Tilly’s first death. She was preparing to need animal companionship in lieu of players, but then she found BigB.

Froggy stayed at the bottom of that pit trap for the rest of the series if I remember correctly, and Pearl hardly ever moved her from that one corner of the tower even before that. Why? Because she had BigB to bounce off of, and because, frankly, cats just aren’t as useful as wolves in Minecraft. You don’t get a cat for protection, unless you’re really that scared of creepers. Pearl wanted a companion from Froggy, not a warrior. She didn’t want to risk losing something dear again, so when Froggy falls into the pit trap that kills Pearl, that she herself set, she leaves her at the bottom.

Mailbox and Matchbox were closer to the kind of companionship she had with some of the wolves in DL, but certainly not Tilly level. And again, she didn’t want to risk losing them, which is why they stayed tucked under her base near the skeleton farm. It’s why her main concern when the wither and the warden were out was to get three things underground: Matchbox, Mailbox, and Bdubs. She didn’t want to lose any of them.

However, the most important thing about her wolves in SL, to me, is how they affected her interactions with other players. For one, they were the catalyst for the “Pupper Alliance” with Cleo. Pearl doesn’t play the social game, so she often takes alliances in situations of when you can materially help each other, rather than out of friendliness. Needing bones to tame wolves gave her a material reason to ally with Cleo. It also meant that we got yet another Cleo and Pearl betrayal when Cleo killed some of Pearl’s wolves later on. The other is something Pearl actually said in her episode today. She knows how powerful a wolf army is, it’s a large part of how she won Doible Life. Which is why when it came down the wire, because she had no intentions of winning, she left Matchbox and Mailbox at home and sat down her wolves so they wouldn’t hurt Gem. That was Scar’s kill, his fight with Gem. It’s probably the most literal example of her wolves taking a backseat to her companionship with other players.

In Real Life, she was just doing it as a joke and because she wanted to pet a Minecraft wolf in VR (which I respect so hard) and thus I have no analysis lol.

As for this season, it seems like Pearl’s theme this whole season has been “trying to live up to what people think I am, even though I’m not that anymore”. It’s why it’s kind of funny that she keeps trying to do the cool Scarlet Pearl killer thing and failing miserably. And it’s why when she comes across the wolf in episode one, she goes out of her way to not only tame it, but name it something so close to Tilly (yes I know she was likely also playing into the Tilly Milly thing). But just like with Froggy and just like with Matchbox and Mailbox, her main priority is keeping them safe, not with using them to win. She doesn’t want to win, she’s here to have fun!

Losing Billy isn’t devastating to Pearl because, unlike in DL or LimL, she doesn’t really need the wolves for emotional support, and unlike in LL, DL, or SL, she had no intention of making a dog army because she has no intention of placing high. Pearl has literally said she wants to see a top four of people who haven’t made top four before (and Impulse lol), which as the only person who’s ever made top four in all of her seasons (4th, 1st, 4th, 2nd), is a pretty big tell. She was trying to keep him safe by not moving him, but like she said to Joel, everything dies in the Life Series.

I would also like to point out, Pearl has only ever named two of her pets entirely on her own, Matchbox and Milly. Martyn named Tilly because she had accidentally trampled some wheat (tilling, get it?) She named Froggy after the frogs that BigB had said were his family, because Froggy was hers. Mailbox, if I’m remembering, was a Bdubs idea. Matchbox was only named because Pearl kept accidentally calling Mailbox Matchbox so she decided to just name one of her other wolves. Milly was a joke that Pearl came up with. And Billy was Cleo’s suggestion. To quote Pearl when she found Froggy, “I don’t know what I’m gonna call you yet. We’ll find out. You know usually we kinda figure these things out when we go talk to somebody,”

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

bitches be like "wish i was doing something of worth for society/my local community" while doing three time-intensive community jobs unpaid and walking around as a living leftist/queer symbol and occasionally leaving behind leftist stickers

it's me i'm bitches

[captainreecejames]

Can't Have a Good Thing || My ex is a footballer LS2 edition

[masterlist][my ex series masterlist]

summary you go from dating an american footballer to an american driver

pairings ex!christian pulisic x reader, logan sargeant x reader

warnings probably a little anti pulisic but i still love my baby

notes pictures are from pinterest so thank you to all those lovely users (as I wrote this my english teacher from 11th grade came into my job and it was not fun!)

May 2023 ynusername posted -------

liked by cmpulisic, reece and others

ynusername final chelsea game of the season, love you guys

chelseafc awww we love you too yn ❤️ by author

cmpulisic always love having you there ↳ ynusername wouldn't want to be anywhere else

username1 look at my girl dawg, chelsea is embarrassing her ↳ username2 please, christian didn't even play

reece once a blue always a blue ↳ username3 NAH WHY IS THIS SO CRYPTIC ↳ username4 you can't say shit like this then leave DUDE

username5 that chrisyn interaction screams for help ↳ username6 i wouldn't be surprised if they're not dating anymore but trying to keep up appearances ↳ username7 breakup statement incoming ↳ username8 can we get fabrizio to comment on wag breakups please!! ↳ username7 lol can you imagine a here we go! breakup is official! peak comedy

cesarazpilicueta 💙 ↳ ynusername love you too capitan!

July 2023 real life ---------

It’s been a rough few months in the house for the two of you. Christian’s time at Chelsea was most likely coming to an end, and you had just started a new project at work, so your time was filled with that. Nights spent making dinner and laughing together turned to plates left in the microwave and lights out early. Mornings started with short wake up kisses to hardly whispered goodbyes.

In fewer words, the relationship was falling apart. You barely knew what was going on in each others lives anymore, it’s no surprise when he tells you he’s leaving Chelsea.

Chris is still in Florida with his family, enjoying the last few days off before preseason. You had been with him for the 4th of July, but needed to fly back to London almost immediately for a new project and you’re exhausted. When he Facetimes you it’s almost 11:30 at night and your still sitting in your home office, but with how excited Chris is, he can’t tell that you’re operating on extremely low levels of energy. You want to be excited for him, but you can see the writing on the wall.

“Hey babe.” You know what’s coming, but it doesn’t make the shock any less. “I’ve got some big news.” He waits for you to say something, but all you do is blink and nod. “AC Milan are going to sign me.” He waits again for you to say something. “Did you hear me? I’m leaving Chelsea.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Your lack of enthusiasm confuses Christian.

“Then why aren’t you excited?”

Your apathy turns to frustration quickly and you shift in the chair. “Because, Christian, I’m not just going to blow up my life in London to follow you to a new city. I’ve got a job here and it’s going well. I don’t want to have to start all over again. Not to mention learning a whole new language. Have you considered how isolating that would be for me?”

“So what, I just rot at Chelsea because you don’t want to move?” He is now just as defensive as you, words biting at the holes that have formed in your relationship, making them grow.

“I didn’t say that!” You sit up even straighter, putting your phone down against the computer so it stands on it’s own.

“Well it sounds like you don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want to pack up my life and move to a new country where I don’t know anyone.”

You could see the fight leave his body as he came to the same realization you did. “What’s going to happen to us?”

“I think we’re done Chris.” You can feel your heart break that last little bit with the words you say. You love Christian, but with everything you’ve gone through, it’s not enough.

twitter ---------

September 2023 real life ------

In one hand you held your phone, looking down at the details of your train back to London, in the other a hot chocolate to warm you up in the brisk wind of Oxford. It’s how you missed the body in front of you and ended up falling straight on your ass because of it, hot chocolate splashing onto your shirt.

“Fucking hell,” you whispered, pulling your shirt away from your body so it didn’t burn.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” said an American accent. You groaned in your head, not wanting to deal with this. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.” They put a hand in your face, gesturing to help you up, which you took. 

“No, it was my fault, I was staring at my phone,” you told them as they pulled you up. He was strong, and also probably a little awkward as he was still holding your hand.

“Me too, so I really won’t let you take the blame.” His awkward smile was also cute, but you tried not to think that, it wouldn’t agree with your ‘no boys agenda.’ “Do you need another hot chocolate?” The cup was empty at your feet, making you wince. 

“Yeah, probably another shirt too.” It’s at that point that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, and he drops it.

“Let me get you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You’re still very early for the train, but travel anxiety is terrible and you want to leave soon.

“I insist.” Something about his smile and red cheeks makes you say yes to him, and you’re really not sure why. “I’m Logan, by the way.” He’s leading you back into the line of the cafe, smiling at you still.

“I’m YN,” you tell him.

ynusername posted ---------

liked by logansargeant, benchilwell, and others

ynusername exploring oxford finally

bsfinstagram babe you run into any quidditch players ↳ ynusername bitch you know i'm swearing off athletes

username7 damn why are you so beautiful

samkerr 💞 ↳ ynusername ugh bestie i love you

pulisick10 'SWEARING OFF ATHLETES?' Christian mate pulisic what did you do!?! ↳ username8 that is so fucking harsh though like pulisic really did a number on our girl here ↳ pulisick10 ben chilwell still in the likes tho ↳ username8 nah her and ben are friends, like ben was always close with christian and just cause he left doesn't mean that she can't be friends still ↳ username8 also she's still good friends with the women's team ↳ pulisick10 well that's cause the women are better ❤️ by ynusername and bsfinstagram ↳ username8 NOT HER LIKING THAT but also won't argue with that

logansargeant at least the weather was good ↳ ynusername youre right, thank you english sun who comes out once in a blue moon ↳ bsfinstagram I'm questioning things ↳ ynusername well you shouldn't

username11 she's sworn off athletes but has a formula 1 driver in her comments... ↳ username12 fake bitch ↳ username13 two people can be friends right? ↳ username12 she breaks up with christian because of the distance but is talking a driver like he isn't gone more than half the year, she's definitely fake for that ↳ username13 how do you know that's why they broke up ↳ username14 she doesn't she's just being a hater ❤️ by ynusername ↳ username11 damn all this fighting on my comment thread?

username12 not yn liking so many comments, do you read them ↳ ynusername gotta appreciate a good laugh ↳ username13 yn stalks her comments like a real one should

twitter ---------

yn's messages -----------

November 2023 yn's messages ------------

real life --------

Your hotel room is kind of a mess, with clothes thrown around and various pieces of paper on the floor. It’s not really a surprise to Logan, even though he hasn’t known you very long.

After a long day exploring New York City in fairly okay weather, the two of you are relaxing in your hotel room before dinner. “Can I ask you something?” Logan asks. He’s currently sitting in the desk chair, feet propped up on the desk and head hung back. 

“Go ahead.” You’re on your bed, laying like a starfish.

“Would you say yes to going on a date with me?” You sit up straight, staring at him with wide eyes as he doesn’t move.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“No, I’m asking if you’d say yes to me asking you on a date.” His clarification makes you narrow your eyes, but he still doesn’t move. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

That gets him moving, turning the chair to look at you. “So would you say yes or no?”

“I’d say no right now.”

“What about in a month?”

“In a month, when we’re both back in England, I’d probably say yes.”

“Cool,” he shrugs, going back to putting his feet on the desk. “Then I’ll ask you again in January.”

ynusername posted ---------

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon and others

ynusername look who came to visit

lilymhe booooo bring me next time ↳ ynusername you're welcome whenever, he invited himself ↳ logansargeant literally not true you asked me to come ↳ ynusername stop lying! i wanted thanksgiving but you have this job that makes you fly across the world to drive a stupid car or something

oscarpiastri look at him jumping for joy for you ↳ ynusername yeah well, what can i say, I'm a dream come true

bsfinstagram ahhhh just under 2 weeks until you come home!! ↳ ynusername I missed you so much ↳ bsfinstagram debrief over wine incoming!

username18 nope she is definitely dating this driver ↳ username19 it's so weird cause like if she really broke up with christian because of distance then isn't this just so much worse ↳ username20 i don't think they broke up just because of distance, things were probably weird for a couple of months before hand cause she wasn't going to as many mens games, she was definitely going to the women's games though.

timothyweah did you get a hotdog from the hotdog guy? ↳ ynusername yes... why? ↳ timothyweah cause they're good and i just want to make sure that you did ↳ ynusername okay timmy

chelseafcw don't stay too long we miss you ↳ ynusername aww, i miss you guys too

May 2024 ynusername posted--------

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

ynusername Miami you can be pretty but you're on my shit list

landonorris no whyyyyy ↳ ynusername idk might have something to do with my boyfriend dnfing at his home race. ↳ landonorris oh, okay ↳ ynusername but i guess congrats on your win ↳ landonorris thanks ynnnnn! ↳ oscarpiastri someone is still drunk

logansargeant ohhh he's handsome ↳ ynusername yeah and he's got a jealous ass girlfriend so beware ↳ logansargeant love you too babe

username23 finally confirmed that they're dating only seven months later

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 20 / epilogue)

masterlist

-

Black trees against a yellow sky at evening time. 

It’s late when you finally reach home. Dark enough to almost be night—a full day longer to return than it took to leave, but then you hadn’t ridden as hard coming back, too sore and sleep-deprived to manage the same pace. Even the meager sleep you got on the road was hardly sufficient.

Then the shape of your house appears on the horizon and you nearly break down in tears. The sight of it fills you with such relief that you nearly lose your balance, your head slumping forward. Too long. Days that felt like weeks, your body and mind weary from the long trek home. Against the gold of the horizon light, it appears like a boat arriving at port. 

You throw yourself off your horse and to the ground before John has even had a chance himself to dismount and come help you down. He stomps over when your foot nearly catches in the stirrup, nostrils flared and mustache twitching with his scowl. 

“Don’t go breaking your leg before I’ve even gotten you home,” he growls when he reaches you, fitting his hand around the nape of your neck and giving it a squeeze. You’d shiver, but your body is too exhausted for your libido to manage more than a half-hearted twitch. Instead you nod, head bobbing like a baby doll. 

John takes the horses to the stables while you clamber up the stairs on wobbly legs, headed straight for your bedroom, passing out the second your head touches the pillow. Your growling stomach will have to be addressed in the morning.

You aren’t conscious for when John comes up to join you, but you swear even in sleep you can sense his presence in the room. Certainly when he curls himself around you, the wall of warmth at your back briefly making your eyes flicker open before sleep claims you again and they slide shut. 

In the morning, you eat a big breakfast before letting John rub a liniment onto your inner thighs and bandage the cuts on your hands and face. The doctor he takes you to see after breakfast for the shoulder that Graves dislocated prescribes bed rest and light stretching for recovery and laudanum for any lingering pain. 

“What did you tell him?” you ask when the two of you head out for a light lunch in town before heading back home. 

“Told him you fell off a horse.” He shrugs. “Not that uncommon around here.”

All you can do is roll your eyes. 

Still, it’s as good an excuse as any. No one questions your story when you tell it to them over the following days, when your shoulder is still too tender for you to move it too vigorously. Only Kate lifts a brow knowingly, all but cornering you for the real story when you finally get a moment alone. 

“That sonuvabitch,” she hisses when you finally break and tell her what happened. 

“It’s fine,” you insist, shushing her. “John… Well, John handled it.”

She nods approvingly, then looks like she might say more before thinking the better of it. Silence falls between the two of you. 

“He—” you pause in the middle of your sentence, unsure of how exactly to say it. “It wasn’t so bad. Telling him, I mean.”

Kate must catch the slight inflection in your voice because she stares at you expectantly, waiting for you to say more. “…I’m happy to hear that.”

You inhale as if gathering your breath to say more, but nothing comes out. You know what it is you want to say, but it’s getting it out that’s the tricky bit. What you want to tell her is that your trust wasn’t misplaced in the end; all of your fears that the truth would shatter the affection and trust that had finally been shown to you after a lifetime of nothing were unfounded, proven ultimately wrong. 

“Was there something else you wanted to add?”

You chew your lower lip. 

“No. Nothing else,” you say in the end. There’ll be a time someday to tell her that her trust wouldn’t be misplaced with John or Kyle either; perhaps that day will come sooner than you expect, but for now it remains on the distant horizon. It’s not your place to lecture or admonish; your place in her life is to offer the same feeling of security and companionship as she’s offered you.  

Today, you loop your arm through hers and join her for lunch. 

In town, people greet you like you never left. Only one person asks you about the man you were walking with the previous day, and Kate covers for you when you stumble over your answer, throat constricting in your panic. There’s no suspicion in the question, but still you anticipate it because life has conditioned you to expect pain as a response to any action or inaction. 

You are surprised when pain doesn’t come this time. But still, you are wary.

When you get home, John fills the tub with hot water for you and lets you wash up on your own while he tends to the horses, the third now unofficially his. You lean your arms over the side of the tub and drift in and out of your daydreams, ears attuned only to the sound of his voice and the owls calling from the trees just beyond the house. Eyes fluttering shut until slipping deeper into the water kicks you back into wakefulness. 

“You falling asleep in there?” he asks when he stomps back inside, the door slamming shut behind him and nearly giving you a heart attack. 

“No,” you deny, discreetly wiping the rheum from the inner corners of your eyes. “Just resting my eyes.”

“Of course,” he snorts. Amused as ever by seemingly anything that comes out of your mouth.

A telegram comes in to the sheriff's office some weeks later asking about a missing bounty hunter, and though you pitch forward in your chair when John tells you this, he’s quick to remind you that as far as anyone else knows, Graves moved on after his first visit a month or so back. 

It takes time to reassure you, but slowly your hands unclench from the edge of your seat. 

Still, you make yourself scarce for a week after that. It takes some time for you to feel safe again. You spend those first few days after hearing about the telegram constantly looking over your shoulder, plagued by the worry that you’ll be found out. Sharing your worries with John doesn’t go a long way towards alleviating them because his confidence never wavers. It’s almost infuriating. 

“Would it kill you to just pretend?” you huff, cracking an egg into the skillet. 

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for him here. ‘Far as anyone knows, he made his way west a long time ago,” he says, dismissing your concerns while clipping his fingernails at the kitchen table. You scrunch up your nose when you glance over your shoulder.

“You better not think I’m sweeping those up.”

He barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head at the same time. 

True to his word, the front door stays shut. No one comes knocking looking for an errant bounty hunter. Perhaps that is a lesson that you can take away from all of this—that there is no reward for isolating oneself. Your safety has only ever been assured in community, in putting your trust in others and safeguarding their secrets in turn. Only love has ever held out its arms for you to fall into. 

And now the days pass like clouds in the sky. 

Tranquility hovers on the periphery of your life with every intention of calling out your name. It’s waiting for you with open arms. 

In the evenings, John takes you upstairs to the bedroom and pries you open enough to fit himself in. His mouth blazes a trail across your body, sucking your nipples until they’re beaded, wetting his beard with the essence of your pleasure, and bringing you to the brink of completion time and again before pushing you over. 

After a while, he leaves a piece of himself behind. 

Weeks pass and the seasons change. The changes you notice in your body are physical as well as emotional. At some point since coming home, you must have started to unwind. Shoulders loosening up, knots melting down your back. Is it just you, or does the air smell fresher too? 

You pin the laundry up on the clothesline and wait for your husband to come home. The sun sets earlier these days with autumn just around the corner. Already the leaves have begun to redden and brown, some breaking off from the branches altogether and floating to the ground where you know eventually they’ll rot and dissolve into the earth, starting the cycle of death and rebirth all over again. 

Winter is fast approaching and you know this one will be tough with a little one on the way. You’ve already started preparing for the winter months—canning and storing corn and potatoes and other root vegetables harvested from your garden, making preserves from the fruits of autumn—apples and pears sealed in jars of thick syrup—and filling the cellar with barrels of salted and cured meats. In town, you visit the seamstress for clothes of thicker material and leave with an armful of wool flannel petticoats, fur-trimmed bonnets, and corsets of a heavier cotton coutil. 

You rest a hand on your belly as you stare off into the distant mountains. Even the sky darkens earlier these days. When all of the laundry is pinned on the line, you pick up the wicker basket resting by your feet and bring it back inside, shuffling into the kitchen to get started on supper. 

There’s still much that needs to be done before winter arrives. Firewood to be chopped, furs and blankets to be hung on the walls, the fireplace to be swept, and more. Enough to keep you busy and your mind occupied when you aren’t bent over a book because that’s also your reality these days. The librarian in town now knows you by name and knows to set aside a few books a week for you to pick up when you pass by with Kate. 

You don’t think much of the knock at the door at first, absent-mindedly thinking that it must be a neighbor come to visit. Only when you open the door to an unfamiliar face do you pause. 

It’s a woman, not too dissimilar in looks from you. A bit taller, but otherwise if someone were to describe you from looks alone, they might be tempted to use the same words for either of you. She stands on your porch with a suitcase held by her side, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from the short trip from town. She dabs her forehead lightly with a handkerchief before pocketing it again.

“Hello there,” she greets, a bright smile on her face. “I’m looking for John Price. I was told he lives here?”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her nonplussed, not understanding why a strange woman might be at your door asking for your husband in such a familiar way. It takes a moment for it to sink in. Then the light goes on and your confusion shifts to disbelief with a twinge of rage. 

“We’re engaged to be married,” the other woman hurries to explain, taking a step closer, foot wedged in the door almost as if intending to barge right in. 

Her gall nearly makes you lose your temper. Months ago, you might’ve welcomed her arrival, eager to prove to John that you weren’t the woman that he mistook you for so that you could be on your merry way. But that time has long since passed. There isn’t anywhere else in the world you’d rather be than here. You’ve put roots down, entrenched yourself in every way.

Your lips pull into a hard line, face set in stone. “You must be mistaken. He’s already married.”

She blinks, uncomprehending. “That’s…—are you sure? We’ve been corresponding. I know I’m a few months late, but I was held up back in—”

You cut her off by sticking out your hand, topaz ring shining bright on your third finger. “I’m sure. But thank you for stopping by; I’ll let John know you send your apologies.”

And with that, you shove her foot out with yours and shut the door on her face. On another day, you’ll allow yourself to feel guilty for your rudeness; for now, this is your happy ending to enjoy. 

And savor it, you will.

[bokunoheros]

˚࿔ LOVE BUZZ | KINKTOBER 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

🪲 authors note :// to my 7 iida fans, I hope my kinktober posts of him will feed you well

topics discussed and warnings:// modern/no-powers au, smut, tenya works a 9-5, you work from home, apology sex, thigh riding, shower sex, very light bdsm undertones (mentions of tenya iida being a switch), established relationships (you two happen to be married), hand jobs, kissing, p in v, readers gender is not specified but i do use female anatomical terminology and reference reader as ‘wife,’ FLUFFFFFFFFF, slice of life a little, tenya is such husband material i love him so much, ‘rough’ sex

word count:// 2404 raunchy words

ᯓ heed the warnings laid before you, your media consumption is your responsibility! ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

every WORD under the cut will be R-RATED- SO, +18 only, respect my wishes regarding interactions.

𝜗𝜚 no beta, we die like men.

✎ᝰ His texts were always so formal with you.

“Eat without me. I’ll be late.”

“I’m very sorry, I promise I will make it up to you.”

“I won’t be any later than 8 pm. I’m sorry, I love you.”

Though disappointed, you weren’t surprised to be eating dinner at the table alone again. You worked from home, and your husband, Iida Tenya, worked away at a law firm. You sent him back a vague and honestly petty ‘love you too’ message as you ate dinner alone for the third time this week. You could never be mad at him, no, never. You’d only play it up just to get coddled by him, kissed and spoiled.

After you finished your portion of dinner, you packed up his and sat it in the fridge, before wandering into the living room to have your personal phone time. A few minutes passed and he texted you that he was coming home and would be there soon. You didn’t care to reply, just huffing as you read the message before continuing to scroll through your image feed.

Within 15 minutes he’s knocking at the front door. He usually would let himself in, which was odd at first but you figured he probably had his hands full of paperwork. You got up from the couch with a tired groan, following the echoed noise of knocking until you opened the door.

There your husband stood with a tired smile on his face, holding his briefcase with one hand and a nice bouquet in the other. Your originally cold and upset expression melted immediately, your lips parting with a soft ‘oh.’

“I’m sorry I’m late. Again.” Your husband sighed, adjusting the flowers in his hand. They were your favorite kind too, dotted about with other smaller flowers like baby's breath and eucalyptus branches.

“Tenya,” you pouted, stepping closer to take the arrangement from him, holding it gently in the palms of your hand. He stared down at you, studying your reaction. “I got done as quick as I could but, I figured I owed you something.”

You snorted, “You know you don’t have to,” your fingers brush over every petal, savoring the velvety feel of each one.

“You always say that.” Tenya chuckles, rubbing the side of his neck. He watches you chew on the inside of your cheek while you observe the flowers he’s bought you.

You glance up at him before hoisting yourself up on your tippy-toes to give him a gentle peck on the lips. “I’m not mad at you, I promise.” Tenya nods, but he still looks dissatisfied with himself for hardly being home and letting work consume him. You step out of the way so he can come inside, closing the door behind him and locking it. He slips off his shoes with a sigh, dropping his briefcase of paperwork to the floor with a clunk. You stride to the kitchen to find a vase to put your flowers in, and when you finally place them into their glad enclosure with a hum, you're startled by your husband wrapping his strong arms around your waist.

“Gah!” You yell, chuckling while he tightens his arms around your front. “Mm, sorry.” He purrs into your neck, his glasses scratching your skin briefly as he moves to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Want any dinner? I put it in the fridge for you.” You ask, leaning into his chest.

He shakes his head, “No, save it.”

“Are you sure?” You questioned him, rubbing his forearm with your hands. “You worked all day, did you eat lunch?”

Tenya chuckled into your shoulder, nuzzling his nose against what the collar of your tee shirt exposed. “I ate what you made me, it was delicious.” His arms tightened around you ever so slightly, “Forget about me, did you eat?”

You nod, raising one of your hands to brush into his hair. “Good,” he says, lifting his lips to your ear before he whispers: “Care for dessert?”

The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you can’t help but shiver at this obvious proposition. You smile faintly to yourself, pretending to act as if you didn’t catch his drift. “What did you have planned?”

Tenya’s voice vibrates in your ear, “Hmm, I dunno…” he trails off momentarily, his tongue swiping a line down your neck. “You.”

You sigh as his teeth brush against your flesh, rolling your neck to the side for him. “Why don’t you join me in the shower, hm?”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” you chortle, nails scratching his skin. He lets out a pleased sigh, “Get in without me, it’s my turn to do dishes.” A hand slides over your rear, squeezing the fatty flesh there before he pulls away from you. You roll your eyes at him, lovingly of course, before you head to your master bathroom.

You leave the door open as you start to undress, listening to the sounds of plates clinking together as your dear husband washes them. Once you’re fully undressed, you open the doors to your glass shower and start the water, stepping in when it’s the right temperature to steam up the glass.

You’re rinsing your face when your husband joins you, slipping behind with a soft ‘hello.’ You share the water for the moment, letting each other rinse off, and taking the time to massage one another’s back when you swap back and forth between the shower head. When you go to swap again, you turn to your husband and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you. Your lips mingle and his big hands find your fleshy hips, sighing into your mouth as he feels you up and down. Without his glasses the metal isn’t poking you in the face, and it makes it so much easier for you to slip your tongue as far as you can into his mouth. Tenya grips you tightly, pulling your hips flush to his. His semi-hard erection presses into your lower stomach and gives you butterflies.

“I love you,” he huffed into your mouth, licking his tongue along your bottom row of teeth. You hum in response, dragging your hands down his chest. He only lets you hum back as he moves you, pushing you flush against the tile. You shudder and gasp into his mouth when the cold ass tile hits your bare skin.

You recovered and snake one of your hands down to his cock, teasing his balls in your palm. Your husband breaks away from your lips and nuzzles into your cheek with a puff, his wet hair dripping onto your shoulders. You move to kiss his neck, licking up the water in his skin as you move your thigh between his legs, hoisting your foot onto the lip of the shower. He grunts as you force your leg between his, and he unconsciously grinds his hips into your thigh. Holding his arms above you to stabilize himself, he rocks back and forth while you continue to kiss at his neck and shoulders, using one hand to wrap around his dick and start a gentle pace.

“Mm, my God…” Tenya breathes, resting his forehead against the tile in front of him. You pump his cock until he’s fully erect in your hand, using your free hand to force him to ride your thigh. You chuckle into his skin, sucking a bright red mark into his collarbone. “M’You like that, baby?” You ask him, kissing his jaw tenderly.

He moans your name as you fist the top of his cock in your hand, “Mhf— Fuck, I do.” He grinds back and forth on your thigh, lazily rolling his hips while you jerk him off. Tenya isn’t one to curse, but when you two have sex the words roll off his tongue so naturally. You purr against his skin, squeezing his shaft as your other hand teases his rear, spreading him apart ever so slightly. He bites his lip to swallow a grumbling moan, balling his fists up.

He narrows his eyes, his demeanor changing as he starts to feel himself grow closer and closer to the brink— “Stop, mm’wanna cum in you.” he grunts, one of his big hands finds your throat, turning you to look up at him before he slams his lips against yours again. Your stomach flips and any objections are muffled by his puffy lips, his calloused fingers tightening around your jaw softly. You let go of his cock, straightening yourself back up and removing your leg from between his thighs. His hand moves to hold you steady by the nape of your neck, biting your lip as he kisses you. You moan softly into his mouth when you feel his over hand slide up your abdomen and to your left breast, groping the meat there.

He moves both his hands to your waist, turning you with him so that his back faces the tile wall while yours faces the glass doors. Tenya has to force you off of his lips to turn you around, facing you towards the doors. You pant as he presses you softly against the foggy glass, your cheek wiping the dew away. His hands land on your hips, his thick erection resting against the valley of your ass. He huffed behind you, his hands admiring every inch of your curves as you watched slack-jawed against the glass. Grinding against your ass, you hum, resting your palms on the glass while you push your hips back against his. Tenya leans down to kiss your shoulder blades with a gentle smile, muttering softly into your skin.

“Missed you so bad,” you moan at his words, moving your feet as he kicks your ankles open. The dominant hand on your hip moves over your navel before his skilled fingers find your cunt, using his index and middle finger to tease your clit. Your legs shake as he twirls his fingers in circles.

“Mm’Tenya, please—“ you mewl and he shifts his balance, straightening up his back. One hand leaves your hips to curl around his dick, angling himself for your cunt. Your husband uses his thumb to spread your lips, before he teases your clit with his cockhead. You shiver, pelvis twitching as he pushes himself against your puffy bud. He plays with his cock around your cunt, lathering himself in your arousal before he finally braces himself to enter you.

His thick cock slips in with little to no resistance, and you can’t help but hold your breath at the stretch. Your husband groans as he pushes himself in until your hips are flush together and his testicles tease your clit. His hands find purchase on your hips once more, keeping you steady as your knees quiver.

“Mmhhf…” you huff, pressing your forehead against the glass. He slowly pulls back, staring at how your pussy tries to suck him back in. “God, you always feel so good…” your husband mutters under his breath, keeping you spread with his thumbs. He pulls back until he’s barely inside of you before torturing you with another slow thrust, shoving himself balls deep again.

“D—Don’t tease me, Tenya…” your eyes flutter shut when his cockhead glides over that one fucking spot, “Fffuuck.”

He shushes you, gripping your hips tighter. “Just…” he trails off, biting his tongue. He pulls his hips back again, before thrusting back faster this time. He’s driving you fucking insane, but holy fucking shit does your husband have the cock of a god so you can’t complain. “Stay still, honey.”

His words roll off his damn tongue like molasses even though he’s starting to pick up the pace. His balls slap lightly against your clit as he keeps filling you with himself over and over. One hand leaves your hip to grip your shoulder, forcing you back on his cock as he starts to fuck you like a feral man. You spew moans from your mouth as he suddenly starts a rough pace. You move your face to rest your cheek against the glass, glancing back at him as he fucks you from behind.

Your sweet husband glances up at you with a smirk, slowing down just to spite you. Your eyes flutter shut with a pathetic moan, letting him manhandle you how he wants. He moves you closer to the glass so that your back is flush with his chest, doing this all while he is completely still inside you. You wince as your hard nipples slide against the cold glass doors, before his hands come to grope your tits.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters into your ear while he starts to speed his hips back up until he’s fucking barreling his cock into you, and the only thing you can to is cling to the glass like some fucking frog. Those big hands of his bite down hard into your tits, making you cry a painful moan. “Mm’my beautiful fucking wife—“ Tenya groans, and keeps fucking you into the glass until the panes shake, your eyes rolling back into your head before they flutter shut at his compliment. You can help but squeeze him tighter and tighter, your legs starting to shake as he fucks you closer to your orgasm.

“Tenya— mmfffhh, fuck—“ you mewl, “‘Gonna make mmm— cum—“ he suckles your neck at your words, nipping and biting at your skin as he keeps his pace, his dick brushing over right where you need him over and over. You tense, moans getting caught in your throat as you start to come around his cock, your knees buckling under yours and his weight. He lets go of your breasts and catches you, but he doesn’t stop his pace. You hold onto him, gritting your teeth as he bites into your shoulder as he comes, shooting all of his pent up arousal into you. Your husband gasps against your skin as he pushes himself as far as he can, making sure to coat every inch of your cunt with his semen.

“Hmm, Tenya.” You hummed with a pleased expression on your face. He hurries his face into your neck with a sigh, “Sorry, I might’ve been too…”

You shook your head before interrupting him, “No, I liked it.”

You sighed, “we're gonna have to shower again.” Tenya chuckled, “We’ve already wasted so much water.”

THANK YOU FOR READING! if you wish to see more of me, ₊⊹

my carrd // kofi (tip me!). // kinktober 2024

[back2bluesidex]

Darling, can I be your favorite? - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT, Infidelity au

Wordcount: 1.4k+

Summary: Your close friend bagged a hot boyfriend. And that said boyfriend is more interested in you than her.

Warnings: Infidelity, Jungkook cheats on his girlfriend with the reader, mild flirting, make out, protected sex, oral (f. receiving), morally wrong. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: been long since I have written an unhinged smut.

This is the third time you are meeting Jungkook. 

First time was when Nayeon introduced him as they started dating officially. 

You and Nayeon have known each other since you were in diapers. You can’t call her your best friend but she has been there for as long as you can remember. Even though you haven’t shared all of your miseries with her (she hasn’t either), you two have understood that the other one is having a tough time and have been there silently. 

So, it’s not wrong to say that you know her and how good of a human being she is. You guys are alike in more ways than you would like to admit. 

But when she introduced Jungkook as ‘the person she is seeing’, you were shocked to say the least. 

You don’t wanna be a bitch about it but Jungkook deserves better than her. He is everything a woman would want in a man. 

Jeon Jungkook is handsome, has a stable job as a graphics designer, has tattoos and piercings and is incredibly panty-dropping hot. He is respectful, sweet and doesn’t talk loudly. In other words, he is your ideal type of man. 

So, even when you were happy for your friend, you were a little bit jealous too. 

The second time was on Nayeon’s birthday.

She bragged about him all night to whoever decided to show up. You enjoyed the scene staying afar. 

The similarities between these two meets? Well, both of the times things were awkward. 

Especially because yours and Jungkook’s eyes met a lot more times than is socially acceptable. While you have hardly exchanged any words, you just knew things are going to be tense if you ever get to meet one-on-one. 

And that’s what is happening currently. 

“I- uh, hi.” you mutter awkwardly standing at the doorway of your friend’s home. 

“Hi, Y/N” your name rolls out of Jungkook’s tongue, sounding better than ever. The corner of his lips turn upwards into a charming smile and you suddenly feel jealous of Nayeon’s luck, yet again. 

“Is Nayeon home?” You try to take a look inside her apartment. In the meantime you feel Jungkook’s eyes boring into your skull and slowly dipping down, racking your figure.   

You want nothing more than to just hand the kimchi to your friend and run home. 

“No. She got called at work for some emergency. It’s just me.” Jungkook’s voice dips down a little and when you look at him, his eyes are full of mirth. 

“Oh. alright. I was actually visiting my mom and she packed some kimchi for Nayeon. Here.” you extend your hand for him to take the box. 

As he holds the small handle, his fingers overlap yours. You had to gulp once to resist the improper expression that was about to take over your face. 

“Thanks.” Jungkook whispers. 

“Not a big deal. I will take my leave now.” You turn your heels to leave the place only to be stopped by him. 

Jungkook’s hand wraps around your wrist a little too protectively, “why don’t you come in? Nayeon will be back in an hour or so.” 

His doe eyes turn bigger, as if he is pleading you to stay. 

Contemplating for a moment (and liking the way his hand feels on your skin), you voice, “should I?” 

“You know this place better than me.” Jungkook lets his remark sit in the tense air of the apartment. You chuckle at it while transferring the kimchi to Nayeon’s containers. 

“Yeah. I have been here for uncountable times already.” You add lightheartedly. Jungkook’s eyes stay focused on your figure as you work inside your friend’s kitchen so domestically.  

“But now that you have moved in, I will visit less. Don’t worry.” You speak again, finding him way too quiet. 

“What? No. I didn’t move in.” he chuckles, “We were just hanging out since it's the weekend but she got called.” 

“Oh. That’s bad.” 

“But I’m glad. Glad that you came.” again. Again that mischievous raspy voice that sends sparks through your body. 

You look up at Jungkook, finding him staring at you with a serious and somewhat dark expression. Not knowing what to do, you smile at him. 

“So.. are you seeing anyone currently?” He speaks with the same raspy voice. 

“Uh- no. not at this moment.” You reply, keeping the box of kimchi in the refrigerator. 

“That’s such a waste.” he says, taking tentative steps towards you. Eyes focusing on yours. 

“Waste? Of what?” you try to sound normal but your heart starts beating fast when Jungkook reaches close to you, gradually backing you up against the fridge. 

“Of this beautiful face. This- ” his eyes drop on your chest, “alluring body of yours.” 

“Jungkook-” 

“Honestly, I couldn’t take my eyes off you since the first day we met. I know it’s not morally right but I am a man after all. I DMed you on insta but you haven’t responded yet.” 

“Oh, I- I didn’t notice.” what the fuck! He dmmed you on insta??

“I was about to ghost your friend right after she introduced me to her friends but I stayed… because of you.” Jungkook’s mouth hovers right above your ear. His chest, now, touching yours. 

You lose your mind. All the sense of morals and rationals leave through the window of wants and needs. 

Your throat gets dry but you talk anyway, “why is that?” 

“Because I want you to be my favorite.” and then his lips are crashing into yours. You dive down into the feeling forgetting that you are making out with your friend’s boyfriend. 

“Fuck! How do you taste so good?” Jungkook moans into your cunt as he laps up every drop of arousal. 

“Jungko-” You groan in pleasure, finding it hard to keep your eyes open anymore. Your orgasm is only one step away. 

Jungkook presses the fat of his tongue on your clit as he forks two of his fingers inside your hole. Pressing down on one particular spot, he reaps out your orgasm from you. 

You let out a scream. 

“Shhh, baby. Do you want the neighbors to hear us even when the owner of the house is absent?” he teases you. 

But you are too gone to react to that.  

Jungkook sits on his knees on the bed, unbuckles his belt, pulls down his jeans and boxers at once and reveals his rock hard length. 

He pumps it twice using the lubrication of his spit before reaching for his discarded pants and fishing out a condom from it. 

When he is done with wrapping up his cock, he positions it on your already fucked out hole. 

“Can I enter?” he asks politely. 

Even though you know you will be overstimulated, you are greedy to have your friend’s hot boyfriend inside of you. So you nod a yes. 

And with that Jungkook enters you. 

He slides in smoothly at once. Giving you a little time to adjust, he starts moving. 

At first his pace is careful and mediocre but then it starts increasing bit by bit. One of Jungkook’s hands reaches for your throat, holding you there, not quite choking just yet. 

His other hand is busy playing with your clit to distract you from the inhumane pace he has adopted already. 

The bed starts creaking violently. Your moans know no bounds. Jungkook ain’t doing better as well. He keeps grunting and sprewling dirty shits in your ear. 

“I knew you would be a dirty slut the moment my eyes landed on you.” He says between the harsh thrusts. 

“Oh-fuc-junkoo-”

“Look at you, going dumb over your friend’s boyfriend’s dick, huh? Such a dirty cocksleeve!” his derogatory words bring out the best possible orgasm you have ever had. And you cum on his cock. 

“F-fuck! You cummed so much, you whore.” Jungkook groans cumming inside the condom himself. 

When you are done coming down from your high, shame comes crawling inside your mind. 

You just slept with your childhood friend’s boyfriend. You should just go and jump off a bridge or something. 

“This… This was completely wrong. We should have not. I - I am just fucking terrible.” You grab your hair out of shame lying naked in your friend’s bed. 

“Don’t worry. I was about to end things with her anyway.” He speaks casually, as if it’s no big deal to commit infidelity. 

Tossing the condom in the trash can (like he wants Nayeon to find out what he did) he says, “Shall we continue? Your place or mine?” 

You know you have fucked up a big time. 

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

[king-craftsman]

Gamer Bro

The office was tense as the news of possible layoffs started circulating around. Mark sighed as he sat back down in his seat, he played around with his phone for a short time but ended up throwing it back on his desk. He sat around, switching between nervously tapping his fingers on his desk or biting his nails as he glanced back intermittently at the door of his manager. Things didn’t get any better when he saw his annoying coworker, Jason, his attire barely “formal” and heading towards him with a big grin.

“You okay Mark? What’s going on?” asked Jason, Mark rolled his eyes, he couldn’t even tell if he came back from his lunch break or if he just turned up to work and the last thing he needed was to deal with some obnoxious jock. 

“I’m fine, just worried about all the layoffs going around,” answered Mark, it took everything in him not to glare as he saw Jason grin.

“Aw man that sucks, well you look like you need to relax,” suggested Jason. “I recently started this server for me and a few friends, just to talk and play stuff together. Why don’t you join?” Mark wanted to say something, but he just found himself nodding. It wasn’t like he had much to do after work anyway and he did get a new console but hardly found any excuse to use it as opposed to trying to focus on doing more work from home. “Cool! So what do you play on?”

Mark had a feeling the next hour was going to be hell to get through.

Later on after work, he found himself thankful that he still had a job, but wanting to kick himself for agreeing to play with Jason today. He didn’t even take the time to change out of his clothes, still dressed in his office shirt and suit pants as he sat down and switched on his console, toying around with his console and getting used to the controller once again. He cringed slightly as he saw Jason’s invite appear on screen and he put on the headset before joining, hearing Jason’s voice.

“Hey there bro, how are you doing?” came Jason’s voice, Mark saw that there were a couple others that joined the lobby.

“I’m doing okay Jason, thanks,” replied Mark. 

“Hey Jason, who’s this?” came a voice almost as obnoxious sounding as Jason’s. Mark wondered why these people sounded the same and as he tried to introduce himself, he was interrupted.

“Oh hey Scott! This is Mark, he’s a friend from work. Yeah, I recently started going gym with him and thought he should hang out with us here,” said Jason. Mark immediately furrowed his brows. He was a pretty healthy guy but he had never gone to the gym or with Jason. “Isn’t that right Mark? 

“Uhh…” Mark started, for some reason he found the right words hard to come by as he suddenly grunted at the feeling of his own shirt starting to feel too tight. His own hand began unbuttoning his office shirt, fanning himself as Mark’s torso began to grow more muscular, beginning to spill out of the shirt and causing some of the last buttons to tear themselves off. Mark blinked, unable to process what was happening and feeling like he was in some sort of dream as he looked down at his torso. 

His chest pushed out, his upper chest suddenly developing pecs that bounced as they fell forward after their surge of growth, both his nipples enlarging as blonde hairs began to replace his own darker chest hair. The hairs travelled down forming a treasure trail as Mark felt his lower chest suddenly begin to house a set of picturesque six pack abs. 

“You okay there Mark?” asked Scott, as a final tear came about as the last of Mark’s office shirt tore away to allow his much larger body to be free as his back started to stretch as he sat up, causing him to grow taller by every second. 

“Yeah uhh I just feel-” 

“Oh I’m sure he’s fine, probably just stretching. We even went to the gym today, working on biceps,” interrupted Jason. Each part of his torso seemingly bloated as Jason went on and on about their gym routine and Mark simply shrugged his shoulders as his arms were the next to expand, widening as his hands grew to get a firmer grip on the more familiar feeling controller. It felt as if coming home from work or gym to spend time playing with Jason was the norm as Mark’s growing fingers wrapped around the controller and he only just noticed he was mindlessly playing a game with Jason and his buddies. “How are you feeling Mark?”

I feel weird, Mark wanted to say.

“I’m good man,” replied Mark as he felt one hand coming to his crotch, adjusting it as his bulge began growing in his own pants, beginning to feel his calves and thighs threaten to burst his pants. 

“Yeah we’ve been working on his quadriceps and stuff too,” assured Jason, Mark kicked off his shoes, almost drooling as his eyes were glazed over and playing the game with no real focus and no attention to his changing body. As his feet began to grow, Mark began to feel all his focus and passion to work and the office shrinking. He found himself still adjusting on his seat as his legs continued to grow more muscular as he scratched at his blonde facial hair that continued to grow and spread around his chiselled jaw. “Mark do you wanna meet at the gym later?” 

As Mark stifled a groan from the feeling of his larger throbbing crotch, he felt his changing face. His nose shrank. his eyes blinked and became blue, no longer needing his glasses which he tossed away and his neck thickened to allow a deeper voice to sound out of his thinner and smaller lips. 

“Yeah bro that’d be great,” said Mark. He almost sounded exactly like Jason and his friend Scott now as he looked down at himself. “Give me a minute.” The dedicated office worker was now a more relaxed gym bro and as he stepped away to go change into some clothes when he realised he was almost naked except from some tight fitting underwear.

Nonetheless Mark decided not to wear too much, he enjoyed feeling and being able to look down to see his muscular body, and he couldn’t believe it when he thought that he couldn't wait to go to the gym to hang out with his bro. 

Click here to read more stories of transformation and hypnosis, all available here.

[ramonathinks]

your dad always mentioning his best friend — you’re always hearing stories about him yet he’s never around. you only ever seen the back of his head in photos, and honestly you can barely even remember his name.

so when you’re back from university during the summer and your dad says in passing that his best friend is finally coming down to see him, you don’t think to much of it. just finally glad you’re able to meet the man who your dad is always raving about.

but being back home and away from school, you finally feel a bit more free. you invite a few friends out to a local club, waiting to look cute and just get some drinks.

you weren’t expecting a handsome stranger to be so taken with you. he buys you a drink, he offers you a dance, you can feel just how hard he is against your backside but he doesn’t care. “i want to be a gentleman and not fuck you in the bathroom…” as he speaks the dress you’re wearing is pulled up your hips, the club dimly lit and you can only feel his strong hands trailing up and down your thighs. “but i can hardly hold on any longer. you’re such a beautiful woman, you know that?”

“so i must ask if i can take you to where im saying tonight?” his fingers circle around your panty clothed clit and you squirm, nodding.

the hotel he stays at is only a block away, the walk is almost unbearable with his hot gaze and his hand on the small of your back.

a good look under the bedroom light and you get even wetter, his older handsome face under your dress when he sits you on the bed.

he’s sloppy with it. wetness coating your thighs as he slurps up the wetness you let out. he plays with your clit using his mouth to suck and lick trails up, drawing circles all over. muttering: “sticky little thing.” you try not to squirm to move but you reach down to tug at his hair as he shakes his hand to get more of your juices to coat his face. your thighs shake but he stops: “want you cumin’ on my cock, got that pretty?”

his cock splits you open, you arch your back and move back, he just laughs: “you can take it, cmon.” and even whispers more dirty things in your ear: “cmon baby, this pussy is weeping, don’t you want her to stop crying?”

you stay up all night as he makes you take him over and over again until he can fit himself all the way in. the long drags of his thick cock overwhelming you, your toes curl and when a tear falls from your eyes he makes sure to lick it up, you can’t believe this man is so filthy.

when the morning time comes you hear him on the phone, muttering or rather trying to be a gentleman to let you sleep in. he leaves you a bit of money with a note saying not to think of it as anything, he owes you for making you stay up all night.

you don’t expect to see him again. especially at home, hugging your dear old dad. you don’t expect him to look at you with the same amount as want and need as last night as you shake his hand.

even when breakfast is over, he helps you wash the dishes, saying he wants to get to know you better or so he tells your dad — his best friend. but instead he’s talking to you: “what are we going to do, hm? we can’t tell him, your dad would kill me.”

“my dad would kill both of us. you’re his best friend—”

“and you’re his precious daughter.” his eyes darken as he looks you over, even with you just wearing a tee shirt and jeans he still was packing a hard on. “he can forgive you, he won’t forgive me. im the adult here.”

“im twenty three, im an adult!” you try to argue.

“half my age, i shouldn’t have been been so careless.” he mutters, thinking to himself. “reckless. let’s just make that a one time thing, okay? look at me.”

your body burns in embarrassment as you look up at him, biting your lip and twirling your hair. you liked the way he looked at you, soft warming and inviting eyes.

he says it’s a one time thing until he’s putting his number in your phone. he says it’s a one time thing until he’s fucking you a few times before he leaves. he says it’s a one time thing until he’s taking you on dinners. he says it’s a one time thing even when he’s three months deep into the summer.

he says it’s a one time thing the entirety of his stay and when you’re back on campus, getting ready to sign a lease to a lonely apartment. you realize it’s not a one time thing when he’s pulling up and quickly telling the landlords nevermind for you and he’s giving you keys to a shared place.

“just don’t tell your dad, okay?” he winks.

SHIU KONG, TOJI, MIGUEL, GHOST, KÖNIG

BANNERS BY @/cafekitsune

[novemberheart]

{overview} you make a disturbing discovery while in John’s office

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, short chapter, slight angst

Chapter 23 <- Chapter 24 -> Chapter 25

While you had never been happier, a part of you was ready to return to base. You missed your friends and the routine that came along with it. You wouldn't miss your pack being sent to the odds and ends of the world, but you knew they were more than capable.

You and the betas drove back to base, while the alphas flew. Vernie didn't have all her shots to be able to fly. Luckily, the betas would never turn down a road trip.

“This is your new home,” you cheered softly. The familiar smell of the flat tickling your brain. The puppy decided to take great interest in the cords near the TV.

“Gonna have to puppy-proof,” Simon huffed, grabbing the squirming creature off the floor. You expected him to pass her to you, instead, he sat down on the couch placing her in his lap. You cleaned up around your room, dusting things and finishing the loads of laundry from vacation. “You’re happy,” Simon stated, looking over his shoulder at you.

“It’s nice to be back. Not going to be happy about any of you leaving though,” You mumbled the last part, flopping down on the couch next to him. Vernie crawled over to you.

“I’d hope not,” Simon grunted, causing you to roll your eyes.

There was hardly a day to get back into the swing of things. The boys being pulled for trainings and meetings. You quickly regretted saying you were happy to be back.

“Five more minutes,” you whined, Kyle’s phone alarm lighting up the room. The sun hadn't even started to come up yet.

“Alright,” Kyle agreed quickly. He put his phone on snooze, worming back under the covers with you. You both jolted awake ten minutes later to pounding at the door. “Fuck,” Kyle cursed stumbling out of bed. You giggled, the door opening to reveal a pissed-off John.

“How the hell are you supposed to train others when you can't even manage yourself?” He snapped. He pushed his way into the room, bumping into Kyle who was changing into his uniform. He bent down pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Good morning, pretty girl,” his voice was startlingly different- yet you had gotten used to that. You wrapped your arms around his neck, making sure to rub as much of your scent on him as you could.

“Good morning, alpha.”

In John’s eyes you were too sultry for your own good. “I’ll come back and get you for lunch,” he pressed another kiss against you, grabbing Kyle by the scruff, knowing if the beta had the opportunity to kiss you goodbye he would never get to training.

“God, I missed you!” Anais grinned wickedly, wrapping her arms tightly around you. Even Jane seemed happy to see you. Anais had signed all three of you up for badminton, which ended with all of you trying to get the badminton birdie out of Vernie’s mouth.

Regardless, it was fun.

“I’m hungry,” Anais sighed, even as she chewed on her bag of trail mix. “Lunch?” She questioned eyeing both of you.

“I can't. I have lunch with my alpha,” You explained stretching out on the grass.

“Oh, that's right. It’s Wednesday,” she sighed. “Need us to drop you off before we head out?” She asked, moving to a stand.

“That would be great,” you perked up. Vernie was exhausted at this point- not being the most high-energy pup in the first place. “Hey, they are having a movie night in the park Friday. We should do that,” You suggested, causing Anais to light up.

“Just as long as it’s not a scary movie this time,” Jane huffed, making the two of you chuckle. They dropped you off outside the office building, and you made quick work getting to John’s office. You couldn't be caught hanging around by yourself. You knocked at the door not hearing a response. You tugged out your key card, waiting for the small light to flicker green.

“This is John’s office,” you explained to Vernie. Even though she couldn't hear you, you could tell she liked it when you talked to her. You locked the door behind you, setting the pup down on the floor, making yourself at home on the leather couch. John’s office was classically handsome just like him. Well as nice as it could be with what he had to work with. You pulled out your phone, shooting him a text of your whereabouts. Vernie digging in the trash can caught your attention.

“Out of there Vern,” you scolded gently, grabbing her around her middle. She had a folder in her mouth she just wouldn't let go. “Vernie,” you chided again, pulling it out of her jaws as much as you could without hurting her. You finally succeeded, ready to throw it back into the trash when the label caught your eye.

OHH

You knew what that stood for. Omega Holding House. A wave of uneasiness crashed over you. You shook yourself out of your thoughts. It was probably just leftover paperwork from you. You tossed it back in the trash standing back on your feet, bringing you and Vernie back to the couch.

You couldn't relax. Those three letters remained even when you closed your eyes- taunting you. You stood up slowly, creeping back by the trash can, and pulling the folder back out. You pursed your lips trying to manage your breathing. You placed it on his desk, opening it like something would jump out at you.

Something did. A cover letter, typed and signed by Kate Laswell.

Possible Omegas for Task Force 141

It had been typed in bold, obnoxiously large letters like it was the greatest achievement one could have. ‘Possible’ the words pounded in your head repeatedly making it throb. You flipped to the next page. It was a profile of an omega, the first thing that caught your eye was the large red X through it. Must be John's writing. You flipped to the next page. Another profile- another X through it. You weren't quite sure why they had got rejected. Nothing in their biography seemed like a red flag and they were all pretty. The next page- another X.

You whined when you flipped to your page. The large red X staring up at you. It was rejection to the highest degree. Kate had even wrote a special note on yours.

Pay close attention to this one. She's a good girl.

John had written a note himself, addressing Laswell.

Not happening

You knew he probably didn't mean you specifically, and that he was referring to having an omega as a whole, but it hurt. The type of pain that made you sink to the floor. They type of pain that made your lungs feel like they were collapsing. The type of pain that comes from falling in love with someone only to have them shut the door in your face.

You flipped to the next page because what did you have to lose?

A lot apparently.

There was no red X. There was no marking on the page at all. You flipped to the next page- the last page- a red X. It was just her page without an X.

She was the one he had wanted. Who knows? Maybe all of them wanted her. You could practically see them in this office digging through each paper, judging every imperfection on each profile- including yours. She had no imperfections. She was beautiful, purebred, and came from a long line of military alphas. She was the shining star of her omega-holding house. Never once getting in trouble, always being an active participant, showing signs of being a strong, traditional omega, and her heat cycles were always regular. The opposite of you in nearly every way. The more you read the more hurt you got. You closed the file, trying to calm your sobs enough so you didn't pass out. Vernie was at your feet pawing up your ankle. You scooped her up into your arms, making your way back home.

People stared at you. You could only imagine the rumors. You were undoubtedly the most dramatic omega on base- at least the one that caused the most trouble. Your tears made people stay away from you and you were able to get all the way home without a hitch. You shut your bedroom door, throwing yourself on your bed sobbing. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You regretted everything. You regretted agreeing to come here, you regretted warming up to each of them so quickly, you regretted sleeping with John.

John.

The name made you sob harder.

It wasn’t fair.

Would you ever be someone's first choice?

I hated writing thisssssssss😩but we can't live in peace for too long! See you in two days for Chapter 25!!!

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Confidence

I had decided it was finally time for a change. A few years after college and sitting all day at the office had taken its toll. Twink death was here, but I wanted to have a chance at a few more wild nights before I hit my thirties. So, on a buddy’s recommendation I called up Dr. Webb. He had been touted to me as one of the best in his industry, able to help with all kinds of health and wellness. In my consultation, we discussed my goals. I talked about my concerns around aging and some of the weight I had put on. He probed a bit about my health and family medical history. He was so calm and gentle. It was so easy to talk with him I may have even disclosed more than I wanted to about my college days and conquests. At the end, he leaned back and read over his notes:

“If I am being honest, I am not sure what you are too concerned with. You may not be your youngest, but I wouldn’t say you are deviating too much from a health body at your age.”

“But Doc, I don’t want to just slide into my thirties. I want to get out there like I did just a few years ago.”

“There is nothing wrong with aging my boy. It’s scary for us all but we aren’t stopping the clock any time soon.”

“I don’t want to stop the clock. I just want to feel confident in my body again.”

He stroked his beard and thought for a moment, “Now that is maybe something I can work with.” The rest of the visit was boring. But by the time I left his office, I had a pack vitamin supplements, a list of recommended exercises, and a follow up appointment in a few weeks.

Over the next couple days or so, I diligently took the supplements, followed the exercise routine, and logged my daily progress. It was strange, I didn’t really see a difference, but did start to feel a bit better. The biggest change I think I felt though was a kind of hormonal rebalance. I think doc mentioned it. My sleep was slowly becoming more regular, mood swings improved, and my flexibility was improving as I followed my exercise routine. However, I think it was also starting to create a fixation. I would just need to see my progress, check if I was improving. Whenever I got a small chance I would just stare at myself and focus on my curves. Were they any smaller?

I mentioned it to Dr. Webb at our next meeting. He laughed it off, said it was nothing unusual. But he did send me home with some meditation files to help me relax and center my mind. Help me let go of my worries and all that. And I will confirm they were effective. I popped on the first tape that night, listening to breathing exercises and ambient white noise. Woke up an hour later feeling refreshed. I don’t think I thought about my body much that night. In fact, I hardly thought about anything. My mind felt so clear.

It continued like that for a week I think. To be honest, the days started blurring together a bit. The routine was really sinking in, abs became an almost unconscious part of my day. At some point though, I don’t know when, I did start to notice a change as I would finish the tapes. I would always come to hard as wood. My appetite for sex was off the charts, quickly becoming a nuisance to take care of myself, several times a day. I even had to take a break at work one day. That is, until one day I saw myself in the mirror.

I was getting ready for the day, and suddenly something in me shifted. I stopped pulling down my tee and stared at myself in the mirror.

Damn, had I always been this hot?

Something about the way my jeans hugged into my sides and the thick matted carpet stretching across my stomach felt new and exciting. My mind said it should have felt off, but staring at my gut and feeling its weight ripple as I rubbed it up and down, I was entranced.

‘I felt big, strong, and masculine’, a voice echoed in mind, and I couldn’t agree more. Instantly my plans for the day were shot. I needed to get out there and find someone to share this body with. I couldn’t keep it all to myself. I popped my top off and went on the prowl for a piece of ass to demolish. A few quick photos and I had some nameless twink on his way over for an afternoon delight. Within moments of his arrival, I felt a shift in energy between us. I was used to a kind of back and forth, pull and push as people met and flirted. This was all pull. It started slowly, as he sat next to me on the couch. Then, he placed his hand on my thigh and gently rubbed. I was soon no longer talking to him, I was giving him commands:

“Scoot closer to me.” He scooted.

“Rub my belly a bit, don’t be shy.” He hesitated for just a moment before gliding his hand over my furry belly.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He nodded limply. He was fixated on other things

‘A man gets what he wants,’ rang the voice in my head. And my patience was running thin.

The commands flowed from my mouth quickly:

“Take off my shirt”

“Take off your shirt”

“Lay on me a bit”

“Don’t mind the smell, I’m wrapping my arm around you.”

He quickly followed commands, even started taking huffs of my musky pits as he curled into my arms. I didn’t tell him to do that yet, but I felt so in control as this man was getting hard practically in my lap. It was time.

“Pull out my cock.”

“Put your head right there.”

“Open wide.”

“Suck, boy.”

It was just so easy to get him to comply. He was like putty in my hands. He just bent to my authority as I guided his willing throat, mouth, and tongue through the best blow job of my life. By the time I was ready to move on, a damp spot had formed through his shorts at the tip of his throbbing cock. It bobbed in the air a bit as I turned him around and pulled down his shorts. I took a moment to press myself against him, let him feel the power of my body.

“Bend over.” And he went down on all fours.

By the time my next appointment came up, I already had a small selection of boys willing to come over when I needed them. They were so small, I was almost worried I would break them in half. But it felt so freeing to discover this side of myself. Nothing could beat a twink sitting on my dick, begging for me to cum in him. I reported back to the Doc that I didn’t think I needed his services anymore. He said that he couldn’t agree more, and that even he was shocked at how much progress I made in such a short period of time.

“Now would you kindly put your shorts back on? They did not need to come off for this examination.”

“No,” I replied, “gotta take care of some business first. You want to show me that cute ass of yours.”

“I don’t think so, I…”

“Please doctor, with a body like this? I’m confident you’ll find your work satisfying.”

[werecreature-addicted]

i cannot handle a poly relationship for the life of me in reality but fictionally…

poly monster relationship with a human, just a single person with like a minimum of four (4) monster partners who people think are in charge due to being big and scary, but are so devoted to their human and basically worship them

even in bed when they take turn destroying their holes, having two inside of them while one destroys their mouth (or having more then one at once inside), wearing them down to a boneless pile of sweaty meat and fluids and they lose the ability to walk or talk and they get pumped full over and over and over, knowing their partners won’t stop until they are satisfied

then going back to pampering the human with aftercare and cuddles once they finished

I feel the same way. in real life? not for me. but the idea of having 4-6 monster lovers that all share you. I really like the idea of them all being different monsters too.

A mermaid/ siren whom you have a sort of long-distance relationship with, only being able to see you when you have enough vacation time to make it out to the beach, otherwise you mostly only get to talk to her with a magic shell she gave you that acts like a phone.

Two or three werewolves that run in a pack close to your home and all fight each other to impress you, whether with feet of strength or with enjoyable dates. You hardly get individual time with any one werewolf. The other werewolf/wolves are too jealous to leave you alone for long, and their pack mates are like family. it's not third-wheeling if everyone's having fun.

A vampire who takes up your nights, he likes Urban exploring, he takes you to older run-down buildings, long since abandoned. If he knows, he'll tell you what these places used to be, and any memories he might have there. He's a bit of a romantic and spends the daytime writing you poems and sending old-fashioned love letters. He scents the paper and everything.

Last but certainly not least, a nature spirit who lives in your backyard keeping up a lovely garden. Even if you never asked them to. Fruits and vegetables never seem to go bad when they're nearby, and they enjoy cooking with you. Telling you which spices would go best with your meal off the top of their head. they also have tentacle-like vines that they can bend to their will.

All of these monsters would like to be your one and only, but they're satisfied with whatever time they get. And of course, fucking you braindead every chance they get. Mermaid girlfriend who can go down on you for hours, hell she doesn't need to come up for air. Werewolf gang bang! WEREWOLF GANG BANG! Vampire fucking you in an abandoned hospital making you scream until the locals are spreading ghost stories. and a Nature fairy using vines and plants to make you cum until you pass out in a soft bed of grass. all of these options are right at your fingertips, all you have to do is ask.

[moonstruckme]

our girl with the emt!marauders is constantly in pain lol. how would you feel maybe writing about one of the boys getting hurt for a change? she gets called to take whoever home! it can be funny cuz it’s usually her ass who needs saving. (only if it’s tickling that writin itch)

Thanks for requesting babe!

cw: back injury

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 708 words

Sirius is already hobbling out of the front door when you pull up at the curb, James hovering beside him like he’s about to keel over and Remus walking behind them both with a worried indent between his brows. 

“Hey.” Sympathy bends your voice as James opens the door for him. Sirius grimaces, slowly lowering himself into the passenger seat. “Wow, I didn’t expect it to be this bad. You can’t straighten up at all?” 

“Nope,” James answers for him. He comes around to your side of the car and leans through the open window for a kiss. “He’s strained a muscle in his lower back. Only thing to do right now is rest and ice it.” 

Remus passes Sirius his seatbelt before he can reach for it himself. “Try to keep still,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss across his temple before looking at you. “Please try to drive extra carefully so he doesn’t hurt himself, love. And don’t let him do anything at home.” 

“This has got to be the first time I’ve been asked not to help out around the house,” Sirius teases. “I’d like to use my current privileges to extend this dish-doing ban indefinitely, please.” 

You find yourself in agreement. Is Remus really worried about Sirius rushing home to do chores? Just last week you had to show him where you keep the broom. You’ve lived together for over a year. 

Your dubiousness must show on your face, because James laughs and says, “He’s already injured himself worse by trying to put the moves on Remus.” 

“Hardly my fault,” Sirius says dismissively. “He’s very tall, have you noticed? I don’t have the proper equipment for mountain climbing.” 

You snort, and he grins, a true show of resilience by a soldier down. 

“I won’t let him do anything,” you tell Remus solemnly. 

“Thanks, lovie.” James plants another kiss on your cheek, rounding the car to lead Remus back inside. “Rest and ice,” he reminds you. “Keep an eye on him!” 

“I twinge something in my back and suddenly it’s like I’m not even allowed to speak for myself,” Sirius gripes.

You laugh, putting the car into gear. “Welcome to my world.” 

You take Remus’ cautioning very seriously, drifting into all your stops and easing slowly around each turn. The drive takes about twice as long as it usually would, but there are no incidents. When you get home, you do your best to give Sirius the princess treatment the boys always give you when you’re injured or ailing; you insist on opening his door for him and helping him inside, you set up a mountain of pillows to support the ice pack behind his back, and you put the remote in his hand so he can choose something to watch while you make the both of you lunch. 

“I feel very lame,” Sirius says as you come back with sandwiches and drinks. It’s a repetition of the same complaint you heard every time you started to slow down for a turn or glanced over to check on him during the drive here. “But I will say, this luxury service is starting to make up for things.” 

“Really?” You grin at him. “You’re not experiencing any urges to get out the vacuum or lift heavy things?” 

“Oddly enough, no.” 

“Crazy.” You take a bite of your sandwich, cozying up on the other side of the couch to watch the film he’s chosen. 

“You know,” Sirius drawls, “I realize I’m making this all look very easy, but I wouldn’t reject a cuddle.” 

You turn, and your boyfriend is looking over at you with a raised brow. You smile sheepishly. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He scoffs. “Sweetheart, if I’m too injured to cuddle, they may as well put me down. C’mere.” 

You scoot to the other side of the couch, curling into your boyfriend’s side but covertly leaning your weight against the back cushion instead. 

“Better.” Sirius kisses the top of your head firmly. 

“We probably shouldn’t tell Rem and Jamie about this.” 

“Oh no. When they get home, the story is that I was miserable being laid up all day and didn’t enjoy it at all. God forbid I have to do it again tomorrow.”

[slimmestofshady]

Bad Habits Kill You

Summary: The 90s in Detroit wasn’t exactly easy to live in with two kids and a boyfriend who redeveloped a bad habit.

Warnings: Drug Addiction, relapse, toxic relationship, abusive on both sides, accusations of cheating but no actual cheating, swearing, mention of smut, mention of drug dealing, breast feeding, robbery

6 calls, 13 text messages later and you found yourself driving home with your 3 year old daughter strapped in the carseat, livid that Marshall hadn’t picked up the phone. Working two jobs and trying to live life comfortably was becoming difficult as you felt like you were the only one here trying to keep the family afloat. This had been the fifth time this week you had to leave early and pick her up due to your boyfriend not showing up. Two write ups later with the check engine light on the car, hardly any gas in it and needing an oil change that you couldn’t afford you unbuckled her, carrying Ellie inside only to hear your newborn screaming once again.

Scoffing, you pushed open the broken screen door, the object squeaking when it was pressed back only to find Marshall’s blonde head fast asleep on the couch, a bowl of weed sitting right out on the rickety table next to Sara’s play pen.

“Mommy, why is daddy always tired? He never eats with us either.” You knew what this was, rehab hadn’t been working and it wasn’t just the sleeping pills he was taking. What were you supposed to say to her?

“Daddy’s just been very busy, why don’t you go play with your toys? Okay?” You smooched her on her delicate little head, ruffling her hair. A child at that young of age shouldn’t even have to ask those questions or ask why other kids have more than you did. Even in a relationship it felt like you were a single mother just trying to make ends meet. 

Picking up Sara from her crib you kneed him lightly in his side in irritation, causing him to moan and groan, mumbling something about being cold in the process. You kneed him again to which he turned around and shouted in his groggy state, his baby blues eyes dilated with dark circles shading his white skin.

“What?!” His temper was not in the slightest controlled, only pushing you farther past your limit of being civil or concerned for his well being.

“You were supposed to pick Ellie up, and do you hear that? That’s your other daughter crying to be taken care of which I can see you’re doing a great job at.” He clenched his jaw, folding his hands together, rubbing them. He got up, closing the distance between the both of you pointing an accusing finger directly in your face.

“I know how to be a fucking parent Y/N. Besides you’re one to talk, did Andre fuck you yet cause he been blowin up the phone all god damn day.” Taking Sara to her room, you rolled your eyes from having the same argument every fucking day while laying her in the crib, but he followed.

“At least he offers to watch the kids, more than you’ve ever fucking done! Tell me how many pills did you fucking pop today and don’t lie to me because I can see you’re clearly stoned. Fucking blanked out and shit.” You closed the door once you layed her down, refusing to argue with him in front of the kids but that didn’t mean they didn’t hear.

His hand wrapped around you arm pulling you back until you were pushed against the wall of the tiny hallway, giving you no personal space as he spat his venomous words.

The tensions was rising, only fueling your immense anger. This was the same old song and dance as every other fucking day. Why didn’t you leave? Well it’s easier said than done when you loved someone.

“I’m not fucking stoned babe I’ve been working on a new song and just fell asleep. Besides I don’t see you bringing any money so where you been if it ain’t work?” He pulled out a red piece of paper in his pocket with the words “EVICTION NOTICE”. Snatching the paper out of his hands, you noticed they only were giving you a week to pack your shit and get out due to being nearly three months behind on rent.

Scoffing you shoved the paper at his chest, trying to walk away but he didn’t let you shoving you back against the wall again.

“Marsh, don’t start your fucking shit okay?! I’ve been working my ass off but god forbid I work a full fucking shift because your ass has to be sat on this fucking couch, smoking dope and taking your fucking sleeping pills and xanax!” As he started cussing you out, you didn’t think before slapping him harshly across the face when he accused you of cheating once more based off the basis of no money coming in yet you’re always “at work.”

“What the fuck y/n! You don’t want to play this fucking game with me aight?!” Right before you could spit fire back, Ellie walked out of her room crying, causing you both to stop. She was just a child and didn’t ask or sign up for any of this. A sympathetic look of sorrow washed over Marshall and yourself the tension dwindling ever so slightly when you saw her teary, beading eyes, her cheeks reddened from the hostile situation.

With open arms, he picked her up cradling her against his chest as his hands rubbed her back gently.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. Mommy and I will stop arguing okay?” You crossed your arms, huffing from this constant fighting but seeing how quick he was when he was awake to console her, and ensure those crybaby tears stopped was heart warming. He had the potential to be such a good dad if he would just set the drugs aside but maybe that was too much to ask.

“My-my tv is gone, all-all my stuff is gone!” With frantic eyes, you both pushed open the door to see the room a wreck, and multiple items missing. Some of her blankets on her bed, her stuffed animals gone, even her piggy bank that had nearly $500 in it. It had taken over a year to save it, in hopes of starting a fund for her when she was 18, and now it was just gone. 

You couldn’t hold back the tears, feeling like everything was just crumbling down. They flowed freely down your cheeks, Marshall noticing and trying to pull you in to his side with his other arm but you waved him off, walking into the bedroom and closing the door. How much more of this could you take? There were shootings at least once a week, you were barely able to afford food, living off food stamps that barely covered shit. Whenever it seemed to be going great or a little better than before, everything would just turn to shit.

As you slumped down onto the bed, you couldn't help but notice the bathroom light still open, the shattered mirror from the night before slightly ajar.

Pushing yourself off the bed, you walked into the room with a dreadful feeling, hoping you weren't right. Taking a deep breath, you opened the object only to find the 3 pill bottles completely empty with their lids off, how much shit did he fucking take.

There was a knock at the door pulling you from your thoughts, but when you heard his voice asking if he could come in your blood boiled. When you didn't respond he pushed the door open, Sara no longer in his hands. When he saw you had found the empty bottles, he had a guilty look on his face but not remorseful.

There was a dead silence as you stood with your arms crossed shooting daggers his way.

"Tell me again that you're not fucking using. I'm not fucking stupid. How do you expect me to become closer with you when you can't even own your shit! This is getting old, and I don't know how much longer I can do this!" A switch like the atomic bomb flipped inside of him and he wasn't thinking before he pushed you on the mattress as you pounded against his chest, but you were never a match compared to his strength.

He folded his hands around the warmth of your neck, shaking you in place but not squeezing hard enough to cut off circulation.

"You don't know what it's like! Who the fuck are you to judge me huh? We're livin in this broke down piece of shit fuckin trailer, I'm tryin to fuckin write songs and start a good life for us, while you bring some dude around our fuckin kids when I'm not home, actin like you perfect, you ain't perfect either!" The tears welled in your eyes in a mix of emotions. He was right neither of you were but how did you get to this point. You had a plan, a good one, but everything kept getting taken away from you. It was like playing ring around the rosey but always falling down. You stared into his ocean eyes while sniffling when he finally released your neck.

"Fuck!" He screamed with profound irritation. You were both tired of fighting nearly every day, it was draining but the love was still there even if it was minuscule at times.

"Can you tell me truthfully I'm not being replaced by your fuckin' boss at work?" His eyes settled for a moment, just needing to know the truth.

"Marshall there is nothing there, nothing has happened. I'm just trying to find someone to watch the kids and I clearly have to even when I'm not home." A sorrowful look of hurt and guilt crossed over his face. You weren't wrong that he wasn't trustworthy to his own god damn kids and he wasn't wrong that you should've at least asked him about Andrei watching the kids. He was a private man, he didn't like strangers around the house let alone his kids.

As your breathing steadied, Marshall buried his head in the crook of your neck, allowing a singular tear to slip from his eye and land on your skin. He wanted to be better a father, a better boyfriend but it was so difficult during times like these.

"You need to get help baby..." A choked sob escaped you. You hated seeing him like this, he was better than this.

He had gone five months sober and when you noticed the signs he was using again you hadn't asked again after how irritable he was with you the first time, until today at least.

This wasn’t all on him though, the relationship issues anyway.

in his own head he felt there was no going forward, there was no escaping the impending, disastrous thoughts in his mind. The drugs soothed those intrusive thoughts, how could he lose himself inside his own head if he was asleep?

“I know, I know…” You both layed there for a moment in each others company. Neither of you calling the cops about the break in since they never seemed to actually do anything given where you lived.

“Maybe we should take the kids out for dinner or something, get Ellie’s mind off her things being gone.”

“Well how much do we got in the account?” You shook your head, sitting up and waving your hands up in the air with defeat.

“Not enough. I think altogether for the month we have around $120.” Fuck. He couldn’t do shit for his kids but somehow had enough money to get drugs? His mind twirled, the stress and realizing his priorities weren’t straight pressing an immense weight on his shoulders.

A thought crossed his mind of what if he started to sell only using every now and then? That would surely bring in money, especially around this neighborhood and keep you afloat for the time being but he didn’t say it.

He also had to worry about the kids. He refused to let them be homeless.

“Let’s take them we’ll figure it out. We aigh’t now?”

“Only if you promise me you’ll get help. I’m here to support you, okay?” Your hand caressed down his cheek as you stared into his baby blue hues, he nuzzled into your touch nodding before helping you out of bed.

Ellie was sat coloring with the crayons she still had on the living room floor wrapped in a blanket. That was another thing you were behind on, the fucking heat bill but that was a concern for another day. Luckly the electric and water seemed to still be on for the time being.

Marshall swooped her up in his arms peppering her face with loving kisses while ruffling her hair. He was always so good with her, such a caring dad and the sight made your heart melt. Moments like these made the fights seem almost pointless.

“Are you and mommy done fighting?” Her voice was so sweet and innocent, her small fist clenching and grasping at Marshall’s white shirt. The small gesture warning his heart. He just wanted his daughter to be happy.

“Yes baby. Daddy loves mommy we just have a lot going on, adult stuff you don’t need to worry about. Let’s get you and sissy some dinner, okay?” She nodded against him, perking up when he mentioned McDonald’s. It wasn’t the healthiest but it was affordable and it made her happy and that was all that mattered right now.

Passing her to you, Marshall went out to the car throwing a raggedy, old gray sweatshirt on before lighting a cigarette as he started the car. It took him about three times for the car to turn over, rickety old piece of shit, he was just grateful the heat was working for his angels. Checking the glove box, he ensured his gun was still there while a car passed by slowly, music blaring. He was skeptical of everyone and everything in this neighborhood, especially when something like today happens for the fifth time this year.

Pushing the door open, Marshall rushed to your aide to help Ellie down the stairs, avoiding the section with a nail sticking out of the wood while you carried Sara in your arms.

“Should we get gas?” You shrugged, nodding and informing him you still had work and Ellie had daycare to attend.

“How much we’re paying for that again?”

“Nearly $100 a month.” He hasn’t realized how expensive it was, scoffing and mentioning how the government expects people to live off minimum wage jobs and take care of their children.

Dinner seemed to be going smoothly, Ellie was making friends and playing in the play pin section of the restaurant while you and Marshall sat with Sara near the window in a close distance, sharing a milkshake while laughing over the memories of the past.

“Be careful sweetie!” Marshall yelled after Ellie noticing how close she was to slipping a falling off a plastic cube. She nodded to her dad, going back to her activity.

He couldn’t help but glance down at your tits, they’d gotten so big from the swelling of breast feeding. One of the things he loved that happened when you were pregnant. He bit down on his bottom lip intrigued, making a comment about how even after giving birth he still would take you right here right now over this table had their been no kids around.

Smacking him playfully with your cup, you giggled. It was about time she needed to be fed but before you could excuse yourself to the restroom, Ellie came up to have a drink break, not wasting a minute before she blurted out,

“Mommy, when is Andre coming over again? He likes to color with me and he talks about you a lot…” You we’re at a standstill for words, being left speechless by your toddler. Marshall’s jaw clenched, his hand forming a fist as he held his composure. He simply said, “Believe me now? Hows that for truth?” Ellie yanked on her dads sleeve, asking for a refill on her drink giving you the perfect way out of the situation.

“I’m going to feed Sara, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.

“Yeah, aight. You do that.” Arriving home, the car ride was mostly silent. Marshall laid Ellie down in your bed as she fell asleep in the car, too worried about her being in her own room and the same for Sara moving her crib for the night near the back corner of your room where the light wouldn’t be in her face but she’d still be close.

While you were still in the living room changing laundry, he stumbled into the back of the closet, reaching for a small box that was hidden under a flap in the carpet, popping a pill or two in his mouth, rinsing them down with water from the sink.

He closed the door lightly to not wake either of your kids, walking out into the living room and not hiding that he was not in a good mood, slouching down into the couch.

“So when the fuck did you plan on telling me that he been coming over into my fucking house with my fucking kids? You didn’t even ask me.” You sighed, knowing that resurfacing the topic if anything to with Andre would end badly, especially after the comment Ellie made.

“It was only one time babe, you were out with your friends, I was working late, Nate was out of town. I didn’t exactly have a choice. Those things Ellie said, I understand you are upset but until we can find someone else I don’t know what you expect me to do or what we’re going to do come next week.” Closing the dryer, you accompanied him on the couch, not looking for a fight but a resolution, but he loved to fight.

“I don’t want some strange, douchebag guy that wants to sleep with my girl around my kids Y/N. Plain and simple. Don’t worry about next week I’ll figure it out.” The way he ended the sentence meant there was no room for any other decisions. He wouldn’t allow it and quite frankly he was ready to choke this bitch out and arrange a little meetup in an ally to beat the shit out of him “And I don’t want a boyfriend who is high all the damn time yet here we are. Your bad habit isn’t just killing you, it’s killing us.” Yeah maybe you were right but maybe his trust issues got in the way of that cause as far as he was concerned if he saw Andre or even heard about him being here again he was gonna call up some of his buddied and make him a dead man.

This constant back and forth bullshit was getting you nowhere and frustrating the every living fuck out of him.

“I promise you I’ll go into rehab again once we get this shit figured out. But you gotta promise he ain’t coming around our kids anymore, and tell him to get rid of this fuckin number.”

“ And I will okay? No more Andre. I promise.” He nodded still not believing this guy was going to leave you alone but for now he wanted to relax, the pills already taking effect and making him drowsy he just hoped you couldn’t tell. Trying to avert attention from himself, his hands grasped your thighs pulling you into his lap and caressing your ass cheeks making you giggle.

“What’re you doing?”

“What I cant feel my girl up? C’mon the kids are asleep. We could get in a round or two.” That would be nice and a big stress relief, you could already feel his large bulge growing beneath you, causing your pussy to throb in anticipation while you rolled your hips down against him before pulling your shirt off, revealing your breasts.

“What’re you waiting for then?” You leaned in closely to his ear, lips just brushing over the bottom lobe and biting playfully.

“Fuck me.”

[peachesofteal]

Sometimes I think about Dr. Riley sitting in his office, fidgeting with a pen staring out of the window, waiting for something... someone. There's a storm coming.

I still think about Dr Riley.

I think about him having a very inappropriate relationship with his patient, Clover. Clover who got her nickname because her special ops team thought she was sooo lucky… until she wasn’t. Until she made a mistake, miscalculated, and got two of her teammates killed. Clover, who had to look Captain Garrick in the eyes as he told her to take indefinite leave until she got her head on straight.

Clover can’t think or eat or sleep without hear the high pitch whine of a drone in her ear. Public places make her skin crawl. She can hardly function. Manages to feed herself and slink down to her building’s gym in the middle of the night, when no one else is there. She runs herself ragged, to the point of exhaustion, and only then can she manage sleep.

The train is late.

The tardiness makes everyone on the platform uneasy. They shift and grimace, fingers fidgeting, eyes roaming.

It’s grey down here. Grey up there, too. A city blanketed in rain, thick cottony fog obscuring streets and buildings, rolling through day, washing it into night without giving the sun it’s singular chance.

It’s grey everywhere. Grey in your bones, in your head. Grey cotton stuffed between your ears to stop the bleeding.

You try to let the anxieties of the delay drift past you, like a warm breeze, but it feels like a winter’s wind instead. Icy. Vicious. Cutting to the bone.

You’re a dog at the end of a chain. Ready. Waiting for the signal. Captain’s orders.

Relax. You’re at home. Waiting for the call. Going to finish therapy, so you can finally get out of here.

The yellow line of the boundary lays straight in front of you. You count the cracks in the concrete and wonder what would happen if you took a step off the edge.

Just one.

A single step.

Would these people try to save you? Would they scream and run? Would they watch you die, body exploded into bits by a train that couldn’t stop? How long would it take you ID you? Who would they call?

It’s not that you want to die. You’re more… curious about it now. Morbidly so. Wondering when it will happen, if death is following you around, waiting to collect his due.

You steady with a long breath, attention focused on the wall across the tracks, counting each tile. Your eyes are still sharp, as sharp as ever, and you focus in on each one individually, judging the distance, imagining a scope in your line of sight, smooth trigger under your finger.

There’s a collective sigh across the platform when the train squeaks to a halt, and you intentionally board last, watching the backs and profiles of everyone else. Back packs, long jackets, anxious faces are all catalogued and sorted, filtered and stacked into neat little piles.

You tug at a piece of skin around your nail, trying to tear it down to the cuticle. The delay has made you uneasy, nervous. Not at all like you used to be. Not at all like your old self.

This will be it this time, you coach, train car pulling away and rocketing into darkness. You’ll get it this time. It’s almost over.

“Hi, sorry I have an appointment at ten, with…” you check your calendar. “Dr. Riley? I know I’m late…” the woman at the desk smiles. It’s clinical, just like every other time. You don’t think she likes you much, you’re not like her. Not like any of them.

“That’s alright, it’s just this way.” She leads you through a maze of hallways, coming to a stop at one dark, wooden door. “Dr. Riley? Your ten o’clock is here.”

It opens to the biggest man you’ve ever seen, clad in jeans and a black hoodie. Is this… is this the shrink?

He says your name. When you don’t answer, he says it again, a little louder. His Manchester accent is full of grit, a mouth full of rocks, but there’s something warm in it too, something spinning you in a soft cocoon of yarn.

“H-hi.” He extends his hand, a massive palm, dwarfing yours.

“I’m Dr. Riley, come in. Thanks, Laura.” He bids the receptionist goodbye, and clicks the door shut behind her, turning with a motion to the couch. “Take a seat. I was just about to call you.”

“I’m sorry, the train was delayed and-“ He holds up his hand, a motion to stop.

“You made it, that’s what matters.” Your hands shake, and you clutch them in your lap. It’s a side effect, they tell you. It’s supposed to go away, but you’ve stopped counting the days.

He’s not what you expected. Your last doctor in this building was an old man who wore a dress shirt and slacks. Dr. Riley looks like he’s in his forties. He’s built out like a solider, broad shoulders and broad chest filling out his casual clothes, glasses reflecting his focused gaze. There are scars on his face, faded white streaks on his upper lip, cheek and jaw. His nose has been broken and repaired, and there’s a patch of his eyebrow missing, like it’s been burned away. He’s part shadow, part marble, full lips, sandy brown hair, chiseled jaw, ocean eyes.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” He begins, glancing at the laptop screen.

“I need to pass my psych eval, sir.” You focus on the question, and not the lone drone rattle rolling through your skull.

“There’s no rank in this office.” Oh, duh. “Why do you need to pass an eval?”

“I’m ready to return to my job. Just need to pass this last step.” Sir. You bite the honorific off just in time.

“If you can’t pass a psych eval, I’d say the conclusion is you’re not ready.” Your spine straightens at the authority in his voice. “And you’re not here for an eval.” Wait, what?

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re not here for an evaluation, you’re here for therapy.”

“N-no, sir- ah, Dr. Riley,” his lips tilt, a fraction, and your knees press together involuntarily. “I’ve already had therapy.” He ignores your protest.

“You’ve failed three evaluations in the last two months. You can’t just keep throwing it all the wall, hoping it will stick. You need care.” The room pitches, and you’re trapped on a tilt-a-whirl, locked into a too loud, too bright carnival ride, sirens and screams screeching in the distance.

He says your name again.

“Sorry.” The tablet folds into a laptop, balanced on a broad knee.

“Tell me about them.”

“About…”

“The psych evals. Failing three in such a short time window is a feat.” You blanche. You hate that word, fail. It stings. It’s an affront to you, you who doesn’t fail. You who was the top of her class, first selected, first pick. Your captain depends on you, your team counts on you, to not fail. At anything. Ever.

“I… I struggled with them.” There are photos on the wall, framed medals and degrees. A picture of a German shepherd, and a hanging house plant of some kind, spritely and green, leaves and vines twisting from its perch.

“Let’s start today talking about why you’re struggling with them, then.”

“I don’t know why. If I did, I wouldn’t be here.” You’re peevish, and he raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I’m just… stressed. My team-“

“is operating in the field without you.”

“Yes.”

“And it’s causing you stress.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” What is this?

“Why is it causing you stress? Do you not trust them to operate successfully without you?”

“No… I do.”

“What about your captain? Do you not trust him to lead them?”

“Of course I do.” Your fingers tighten on the chair. “I do. But they’re down a man, and they can’t be down for too long.”

“I’m sure your team cares more about you getting the care need, over rushing back into engagement too soon.”

“I know, but I’m ready.”

“You’re not. And I know your captain, Garrick? He wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your wellbeing.” How does he know cap?

“You know captain Garrick?” Dr. Riley smiles.

“I do. And like I said, he wouldn’t want you passed through if you weren’t ready.” He’s got you pinned, metaphorically. Back against the mat, shoulders immobilized. You can’t crawl your way free, can’t fight or twist out of his grip. “Do you want to talk about why you’re on leave?”

“No! No, I… don’t need to.” You complain. “I’ve had eight counseling sessions in the last two months.”

“They’ve clearly helped.” He drawls, glancing at you over the laptop. The eye contact rakes a shiver down your spine, and you find your feet.

“I don’t want to talk about it again, sir.” You whisper it to the ground, silently begging he won’t make you.

“There’s no rank here.” He reminds, voice soft and understanding. “But I’m your clinician now, and I won’t sign off on you taking another psychological evaluation until I’m confident you’re healthy enough to return to work.”

“Can I ask…” you taper off, but he nods to encourage you. “Can I ask why I’ve suddenly been switched to a new doctor?”

“You failed an eval three times. The practice decided you needed a different approach to care.” There’s a pause, and the laptop shuts. His hands settle across his thighs. “Let’s talk about what they call you.”

“Sir?” His lips press together but deigns to remind you a third time about rank.

“Clover.” Oh.

“Yeah, that’s what my team calls me. Only my mum uses my real name anymore.” You joke, and he smiles in a small way, gaze unreadable, bearing down onto you from above.

“Is there meaning behind it?”

“I used to be considered good luck.”

“Used to be?” You blink. Used to be. Like you used to be someone else.

“I guess… my luck ran out.” He nods thoughtfully.

“Why do you think that?” Because you fucked up? You got your friends killed? Because you got into a jam you couldn’t get out of? Because you were tortured into an unrecognizable piece of human pulp?

“I… I don’t know.”

“You do.” He states matter of fact, leveling you easily. You gape.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You mutter, looking towards your knees.

“How about mirrors?”

“What?”

“How do you feel about mirrors?” The question sets you aback. It’s never been asked, not in your previous sessions, not by anyone. No one knows about the mirrors in your flat, covered by shirts and sheets and dish towels. Turned away, forced into corners. The bathroom vanity obscured by a long white bedsheet; your reflection hidden at every turn.

“I… I don’t like them.” The honesty on your tongue tastes good, but it burns.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I don’t like to look at myself, now.” The laptop reopens, and he types in silence for a long moment. The quiet settles around the two of you, ticking of a second hand clicking away in your ear.

“I’m going to give you some homework.” Homework?

“What kind of homework?”

“I want you to look in a mirror.” You draw a sharp breath. “When you’re at home, and you’re alone, I want you to really look at yourself, see yourself, for as long as you can. If it’s only a few seconds, it’s only a few seconds. There’s no time requirement. The only thing you have to do… is look.”

“Dr. Riley…” you laugh nervously, and he meets your eyes with a serious expression.

“Only for a few seconds. Can you do that?” No.

“I can… I can try.” You can do whatever he wants, if it will get him to pass you on the eval. If it will get you out of here.

“Good.” The watch on his wrist glints in the afternoon sun. “I’ll give you my number. Text me when your homework is done.”

“Okay.” That’s it? He stands, and you look away, unable to focus on anything but the edge of the table, brown wood slatted together and worn with age.

“You can run away now.” He murmurs, standing between you and the door. “This was good, Clover. I know it’s not easy. You did well today.” Words catch in your throat, caustic and rough. Still, you try to get them out.

“T-thanks.”

You try to do your homework that night.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror in your pajamas, one hand on a hem, waiting to pull free and reveal your reflection.

You can do this. You can. Just do it.

The tug never comes.

You stare at the white sheet until your eyes start to cross.

Better luck tomorrow.

You hold steady in your routines. Eating. Walking. Stretching. Strength. You do yoga in the evenings, weights in the mornings. You spend too much time in your building’s gym, mindlessly pounding out miles on the treadmill, headphones blaring at full volume. You do it all robotically.

You’re outside of your body. Out of your mind.

But you could still pull a trigger.

Sometimes, when you can stand it, you take your walks outside, bypassing those who linger on sidewalks, cutting through parks and alleys. Fresh air and sunlight are supposed to help, but you don’t think it does any good. The rot is still there, curled up in your bones, blackened and sticky, festering like an infection. It’s a monster inside your body, a monster you now share your life with, cutting away pieces, long after being freed from the cell.

You eat. You walk. You try to look in the mirror.

With three days before your next session with Dr. Riley, you still haven’t managed to complete your homework. You try, in the hall, in your bedroom, again and again in the bathroom, but it never happens, you can’t quite get yourself to cross the bridge.

Failure.

Dr. Riley is waiting for you in the lobby on the day of your next appointment.

“Hi Clover.” He smiles, and it’s genuine, warm, almost wrapping around your shoulders.

“Hi, Dr. Riley.”

“How was your week?” You lag him, letting him guide you to the office, where the yellow lights are dim and darkened, casting shadow across the brown couch where you take your seat.

“It was fine.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, really. I’ve been at the gym a lot, trying to keep myself in shape for when I go back.”

“Exercise is good as long as you’re not overdoing it. Do you do anything else?”

“Um, I take walks outside.” His leg shifts, ankle on knee, and then his hand folds over his thigh. Something akin to interest brightens in your heart but is desperately snuffed out. He’s your therapist. “I walk in the park a lot.”

“Oh yeah? Which?”

“The one off of eighth.”

“I walk there too, nice park. Lots of trails.” You try to imagine him in joggers, taking a stroll. “I’m going to guess; you didn’t do your homework?” Heat unfurls across your face.

“I tried, but…”

“That’s okay. I thought we could try today, if you feel up to it.” Here? Now? Your eyes go wide. You look around.

“I don’t see a mirror.”

“There’s one on wheels down the hall, the occupational therapists use it all the time. Can I bring it in?” Your stomach twists up, nausea tossing your lunch from side to side.

“I uh… I don’t know.”

“You can do it. I know you can.” You hedge, unsure. Can you? Will you?

You can try.

“Okay.”

“Alright, close your eyes. I’ll be right back.” The door opens and shuts, and then opens again, wheels rolling close. You clench your eyes closed so tight it nearly hurts.

Warm fingers grab yours.

“It’s over here.” He murmurs, leading your blind steps away from the couch, coming to a stop… somewhere. “Whenever you’re ready.” You can’t feel him anymore, but you know he’s there, at your back. There’s a faint ruffle of air through your hair, against your neck. “Take a deep breath.”

You focus on the pace of your lungs, the expansion, the give and take of your ribcage.

“I can’t.” You whisper. You’re floating in space, unable to pull the trigger.

A kind hand on your shoulder brings you back.

“You can do it. Try.” The encouragement, the belief is a vine in your heart. Alive and green, it sows roots as deep as it can manage, clinging to fibrous flesh and hollowing you out. It catches on valves and ventricles, spiraling forward in a complicated web like an anchor.

You see him first, in the mirror. Stare straight back at him, falling into his gaze, vibrating in his hold like a child’s wind-up toy.

“Not me. You.” He says gently, and when you can, you bear it.

You almost gasp. It’s been two months since you’ve seen your own face, your complexion, your nose and your eyes and your chin. You’re long healed, bones set perfectly, everything right as rain. You look normal. You look fine. It’s the most shocking thing, to see yourself looking healthy, pieced back together, nearly whole. Your lower lip trembles with effort to hold yourself at bay, to keep yourself from breaking apart, drifting back towards the moon.

“That’s it. Great job, Clover.” His hand still rests on your shoulder, but you shake with a violence now, a torrent of emotion, threatening to cut you off at the knees. “It’s okay.” He whispers.

When you can’t stand it any longer, you close your eyes.

“How did you know?” You’re resettled on the couch, hands tucked under your thighs.

“Know what?”

“That I hadn’t looked in a mirror… since…”

“I know a thing or two, about coming back different. I know how it feels when you don’t want to see yourself.” You glance at the medals on the wall, primly tacked to a plush pillow, encased in glass, and wonder.

“Did you work with captain Garrick?”

“We were in a task force together, before I retired early to do this.” He smiles, easy and light, but there’s something guarded in it, something sharp, shark’s teeth aiming for docile flesh. It purrs, and makes you want to pull back more layers. Gives you something else to focus on, something else to fall into, but it’s gone before you can really study him.

“Oh.” It’s all you can say as he types something on the laptop, and then puts it away.

“That’s all for today. I’ll see you next week then?”

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 9)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

If you’d lived any closer to other people, you’d be ashamed of the state that you arrive home in. Both you and John had stumbled out of the river and put on your clothes hastily, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your wet skin, difficult to put back on without drying off. He hadn’t brought a flannel or towel to dry yourself with after your swim—perhaps thought you’d dry in the sun. Even if there had been one, you can’t imagine you’d have the patience.

You move in quick bursts, pants pulled up your legs, blouse buttoned with trembling fingers, feet straight into your bottoms, your socks stuffed in your pockets. John moves with similar purpose, quick to dress and usher you over to Buttercup with a hand flat on your back, pushing you with the force you remember him using all those weeks ago on your way to the courthouse. 

Neither one of you says a word. Words feel far away and clunky. Rough in a way they’ve never felt. Improper too, to turn to your husband under the light of a clear day and whisper, I want you to make love to me. Say to him, I need to be as close to you as physically possible, I need you to soothe this ache in me, in front of God and all of His creatures wandering through the woods. 

You wonder if you look as disheveled as you feel. 

The ride home passes by in a blur. Perhaps the sunlight catches your eye through the treetops and pries the memory from your head, the passive observer in you usurped by the soft animal of your flesh. It feels John’s strong hand on your hip and purrs. It coaxes you to rub your backside up against him, startled when his fingers tighten around your hip and he holds you there against his erection, groaning softly. 

“Keep that up ‘n we won’t make it home, darlin’,” John warns, voice growling in your ear. Your blood sizzles, vision going white. 

You feel coltish when he helps you dismount, legs shaking beneath you as you watch him take Buttercup back to the stables. He makes quick work about it, long legs carrying him swiftly from the house to the stables. It’s different observing him now because the thought that rises to the top of your mind now, like the fat on the cream, sweet and plump, is, that’s my husband. My husband is going to deflower me. My husband is going to take me to bed and strip me down to nothing and spread my legs—

The thought evaporates when you notice him shut the stable doors and head back towards you. Again, he walks with such purpose that you can only stare at the movement of his hips. 

Time stops when he puts a hand to your cheek and bends low, drawing you into another kiss as deep and languid as the one back in the river. His tongue curls around yours, plying you open until you have no choice but to relinquish everything to him. Your tongue, your docility, your mind. Everything parts to let him inside.

“Look at you,” John murmurs against your lips. “Sweet little thing. Can barely keep yourself upright. Let’s get you to bed.”

He ushers you up the stairs with haste. The staircase feels longer than usual, more of an effort to get up each step. In the bedroom, he locks the door like he did that first night, but this time your heart flutters instead of trembling.  

It’s hardly been any time at all since you saw him naked in the river, but the sight of his bronzed flesh and hirsute chest when he strips his shirt off leaves you breathless. He’s the kind of man that you would studiously avoid looking at if you were to pass him on the street. Too strapping of a man to waste your yearning heart on. Too much of a blow if he were to pass his eyes over you and find you wanting. 

But to know that he wants you as bad as he does is almost too much as well. 

John leans back against the pillows with you cradled in his arms, your pants long since stripped from your legs. Your blouse is still on, but barely, rucked up over the soft swell of your belly. Only a single button holding it in place, even the thread on that button loose and fraying. A hand cups your breast, the other folded over your hand resting on your belly, your fingers threaded together.

“God, you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he sighs. Your core tightens at that and he breathes a laugh when he feels the muscle of your stomach flex under his hand. “Could hardly believe it the first time I laid my eyes on you. I was spittin’ mad, left waitin’ and wantin’ all those weeks, but then you walked in and…Christ, I just knew.”

“Knew what?” you ask, ignoring the ache in your chest at the mention of the girl he’d been waiting for. 

“Knew I would’ve waited my whole life if it meant I’d get you.”

What does it mean that everything in you quivers at that? On the threshold of breaking. Your husband’s fingers plucking your nipple and then soothing the hurt by swirling his thumb around your areola. He’s worn your resistance down to the quick. You curl the hand on your belly into a fist and his fingers curl with yours.

“Been such a sweet thing for me too,” John says into your ear, dragging his hand from your breast down your stomach and over your hip, curling around the inside of your thigh and pulling it open. He can see everything now, the dewy petals of your sex spreading wide for his perusal, no longer hidden beneath a shift or dress. “Fuck, darlin’…look at that gorgeous little slice of heaven.”

“Oh Lord—” you say, heat crawling up your neck.

John huffs, rubbing his palm up and down your thigh, closer and closer with every stroke. Your sex pulses with each glancing stroke, your breath coming out in ragged pants. “Made me work for it, didn’t ya?”

“I did no—I barely did a thing.”

“Yeah, you did, pretty girl,” he says, dismissing your words, and then his fingers are there, splitting your lips wide, middle finger dragging down the seam like he did on the porch swing all those nights ago. Any rebuttal you might’ve had vanishes in a blink, heart beating staccato. “Could’ve taken it that first night. I wanted to—almost did. But I wanted you sweet and simpering.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, beard burning the skin there. “And what are you now, darlin’?”

“S-sweet and simp-simpering,” you whisper, stuttering when his finger glides over your opening and finds you soaked. So slick that his finger sinks right in up to the second knuckle.

Your knee falls open even more. 

He smiles against your neck before kissing up to your temple. “That’s right, honey. Knew you had it in you.”

“Oh—it’s…it’s…” you gasp when he gives you another, two fingers plunging into you, shallow pumps that hardly get you where you need to go.

“There we go, darlin’. Ain’t that nice? Need ya to be nice ‘n soft for me—don’t wanna hurt ya.”

He’s far from hurting you, but still your stomach twists up. 

“I need—I need—p-please, John, give it to me.”

“And wha’s that?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Give you what, honey?”

You’re tempted to grab his hand and bring his fingers up to your clit, but you can’t quite muster up the nerve. Instead you huff, brows puckering in frustration. You try to draw your knees up to your chest and gasp when he pulls his fingers out of you and wrenches your knee back down to the mattress, pinning it there. 

“None of that,” John scolds, his wet fingers curling around the inside of your knee. “You have to ask for things, darlin’. Use your words.”

Your core clenches at his words. The little bit of stretching that he did leaves you feeling empty without his fingers, slickness dripping down the inside of your thighs. 

“I need to…” you say, thoughts slipping from you. All you want is for John to plunge his fingers back into your sex and take you to your peak, but the words get lost as they travel down your tongue. “It’s not enough.”

“Just my fingers, you mean?” The same ones he digs into your leg until the flesh bulges around his fingers. 

“No,” you whine. You try to drag the hand intertwined with his on your belly down to your sex, but he resists, keeping your hand pinned in place. He holds firm when you struggle, chuckling at the whine that slips past your lips. 

“Poor girl. Needy little thing, aren’t ya? Not stretched enough yet though, darlin’—I’m a lot bigger than a couple fingers.” You choke at that, scandalized. “I’ll give your clit a little lovin’ though.”

He takes his hand off your knee and brings it up so he can spit in his hand. You flinch when you hear the glob of spit hit his palm, and then his hand is back between your legs, wet palm grinding into your sensitive button when his fingers push back into your hole. Single-minded now, trying to coax your orgasm out of you. Forcing a third finger into your hole and shushing you dismissively when you howl and try to squirm away.

The voice in your head demeaning you for acting so lewd is drowned out by your own cries when you come on John’s fingers. It disappears entirely when John kisses your temple and thanks you for giving him your release. Like it’s a gift you’ve given him.  

Your hands flutter over his shoulders when he gets you on your back and fits his hands into the creases of your knees to guide your thighs open. He must like what he sees because his eyelids droop when he stares down at the slick folds between your legs, heavy with lust. 

“Lord, that’s pretty,” John says, petting your clit with his thumb and smiling when you squirm. 

You breathe in quick, shallow breaths, hopelessly beyond composing yourself. Perhaps once or twice you might have allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to lie with a man. You’ve heard other women giggle amongst themselves about it, about men going cross-eyed, rubicund cheeked, heaving bellies and thighs slapping against the girl’s rear—a handful of thrusts and then finally some peace and quiet when he passed out on the other side of the bed. 

You’re familiar with the mechanics, if only in theory. The expectation of disappointment; that you’d only have to grin and bear it. Think of England. 

John, of course, does not conform to those expectations.

“You take my hand, darlin’,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his and pressing it down to the bed. “Give me a squeeze if it’s too much.”

Your mouth is too dry, mind too scattered to form a response. All you can do is stare up at him.

“Hey.” With his other hand, he gives you a light tap on the cheek. It doesn’t even sting, but it makes you blink. “You still with me?”

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. Your heart jumps when he reaches down to take his shaft in hand and notch the head against your sopping entrance.

Everything collapses down to the feeling of him pressing forward, an insistent siege that doesn’t let up because when you squeeze his hand reflexively, it comes with a, yes, yes, please, falling unbidden from your lips. It feels foreign at first, bigger than the fingers he pressed into you before. Claustrophobic, suffocating. With his arms braced on either side of your head, John eclipses everything else from view.

When it gets too much, you squeeze his hand and dig your nails in, hissing at the stretch. It hurts, and the more you tense, the tighter you get. John winces when you clench around him.

“Easy does it,” he says, squeezing your hand back. He dips his head to drop a soft kiss on your lips, coaxing them open. When you think of the men that languish in opium dens, you imagine that it must feel something like John Price’s tongue licking into your mouth. 

“It hurts,” you mumble when he pulls away.

“I know, honey. Being so brave for me though.” You whine when he sinks in another inch, flexing your toes up in the air. “My brave girl—that’s it…just a lil more, darlin’.”

“There’s more?” you blurt out, and he laughs, the sound coursing through you, shaking you with him. 

Effervescent bubbling joy swells in your chest, so crystal clear for a moment. The man above you almost glows, so radiant that you reach a hand up to cup his face, entranced. 

There’s nothing like him in the world. No one else like him. Steel underneath silk, the very roughness and essence of man that you’ve always known tempered by a softness that makes you physically ache. And in spite of self-doubt and common sense, he looks down at you with the same reverence. Knowing nothing about you. Knowing only something essential about you, the part divested of history, past or future. Whoever you are at your core, he wants it. He’s taken it as his own. 

Then he pushes that last inch into your cunt and you go breathless. 

“There we go, darlin’,” John grits out, and you can see the sweat beading on his temples now. “Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of that.”

Your hand feels clammy in his, a thin layer of sweat building on the nape of your neck and along your back as well. He helps you cinch your legs around his waist more comfortably, and you lock your ankles at the small of his back, but still it feels too much. Stretched to your limits. You can hardly swallow, never mind open your mouth to speak. 

John praises you the whole time in hushed whispers, squeezing your hand in his and petting your face with the other. Fingers slide past your cheek and tangle in your hair, a thumb tracing the shell of your ear. He drops wet, sucking kisses down your neck and over your clavicle, licking up the hollow of your throat. Your skin must taste salty with sweat, but still he lavishes you with kisses. 

“Can you take a bit more, darlin’?” he asks. “Still hurt?”

“It—it’s tight,” you rasp, wiggling your hips. You’re hardly able to move though, pinned in place by his bulk. 

“C’mon, arms around me,” he tells you, waiting until your hands are tangled together behind his neck. “We’ll take it real slow, okay?”

You squeak with the first thrust, not expecting the feeling of his cock pulling out of you before pushing back in. He rocks into you slowly though, letting you grow used to the feeling of him inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours the whole time. Dark blue warmed by the sunlight.

My husband’s inside me, you think, a bit hysterically. The same man that you thought might lock you up and throw away the keys now has you on your back in his bed—your bed—making a space for himself in your body. 

The discomfort takes most of the pleasure away at first. All you can focus on is the way your flesh has to stretch to accommodate him with every thrust, the breath forced out of you. Lips screwed up, teeth digging into your bottom lip painfully to hold back the soft grunts building up in your chest. 

“You alright?” John asks in a pulverized voice. You’ve never heard him quite like that.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m f-fine.”

You don’t sound fine. The sound he lets out lets you know what he thinks of your response. He takes greater care for a time after that, each stroke deliberate, a slow, smooth glide. You feel ragdoll-like in his arms, like a poppet for him to play with; a well-cared for thing. A treasured thing that he rocks into and peppers with kisses, across your eyelids and forehead. 

The bedroom echoes with the sound of your panting breaths and John’s deep, guttural groans every time he sinks into your sex, the lewd, wet squelch of your cunt growing louder as his hips pick up speed. You can see the second you lose him when his eyes go flinty, staring past you. His hands fist into the bedsheets, knuckles going white. 

“Jesus—” he grunts, driving into you hard enough to send you shuttling up the bed. You squeal at that, digging your nails into his back. “Yeah, hold me like that, honey.”

Your breasts bounce with every thrust. John’s eyes flit between them and your eyes before snapping back up to meet your gaze, barely tearing his eyes away long enough to blink. 

Your skin feels hot, tight. Worse when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth like back in the river and suckles. Crude, wet sounds fill the air; sucks that turn sloppy. He kisses between your breasts before latching on to your other nipple. 

He murmurs praises into your skin, breath going choppy. Little susurrations. My wife. Brave, pretty girl. Taking it so well. Tiny little thing.  

When a couple tears leak down your cheek and it starts to build beneath your skin, hot tongues of fire licking up in you, John’s lips pull into a flat line. He can smell it on you. See it in the way your eyes lose focus, glossy and wet. He grabs your face with one hand, pinching until your lips purse. 

“Look at me when you come,” John growls, fingers digging into your cheeks and forcing you to meet his gaze. “You look at your husband when he makes you come.”

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. His fingers pinch where they hold your cheeks. This close to his end, his strength gets away from him; you can feel the attempt to be gentle, but it gets lost in his frenzied need to pump his spend into your belly. His biceps bulge beside your head, a vein near his temple throbbing. 

“You w-won’t let me go? You won’t leave me?” you ask desperately. You don't know why you need to hear him say it, but you’re afraid you’ll die without it. 

“Mine until the end of fuckin’ time, you hear me?” He pinches your cheeks until your mouth falls open, then leans down to lick into your mouth. “You’re gonna let me put a baby in you, wife, and you’re never gonna fuckin’ leave me.”

You come when his mouth brushes over yours, the intimacy overwhelming. Your thighs tighten around his waist, trying to get as close to him as possible, nails raking down his back. If you could climb into his skin, you would. 

John reaches his peak noisily, his thick spend filling your cunt and his tongue filling your mouth. You can feel it inside of you, spurting against your womb, and even the thought of that makes you shiver. He made a house for a wife and children, and he has the former now. Only the latter is missing. 

His hands and mouth are everywhere on you. Petting along your flank, stroking down your side. Sucking softly at your lower lip while he pumps the last of his essence into you. You feel wrung dry, every limb aching and sore. It’ll be worse come morning. For now, exhaustion settles over you like a blanket.

When he pulls out, you can’t help the sound that comes out of you, like a sob trapped in your chest. 

“Oh Lord, I’m a mess,” you whisper, leaning up on your elbows and glancing down between your legs with morbid curiosity. 

Embarrassment at the sight of John’s come leaking onto the bed sheets nearly makes you curl up into a ball. It’s filmy and sticky when you try to gather it up with your fingers. You wipe it on the bed sheets when you realize that now you just have a mess on your hands. 

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he gets off, wet, flaccid cock swinging between his legs. Again, you can’t help but stare despite the way your stomach twists. 

“Sit up,” he orders, and you do without thinking. “Can’t go to bed like this.”

John washes you with a warm cloth, dunking it in the porcelain basin on the bedside table whenever it gets too cold. You’d protest the gentle treatment, but it’s nice to be waited on for a change. You can see why some would grow used to it. The only time you lose your cool is when he drags the washcloth gently between your legs. 

“You could just give me the cloth,” you snip, horribly embarrassed. “I’ve washed myself once or twice, you know.”

For all your spitting and hissing, he only laughs. 

He takes care of the wet spot beneath you as well, lifting you up and sitting you down on the wooden chair before changing the sheets. 

“I can—I can wash those in the morning,” you chime from the chair in the corner of the room, ankles crossing and uncrossing nervously. You wince when you feel a glob of his spend drip out of you. 

John’s mustache twitches with a barely contained smile. “We’ll worry about that in the morning, bug.” 

It’s hard to just let things go. Two weeks in his care can barely begin to equate to the decade plus you spent fending for yourself. There are still days you spend looking over your shoulder, waiting for your past to catch up with you. Waiting for this life to evaporate like smoke. You can’t relinquish all of your control just yet, not when that possibility still looms on the horizon. No matter how much you want. 

You don’t think he knows what’s doing. Not truly. 

John can’t know what he’s become to you. That he is fixed, that he is binding you to a present that you never saw as sure. It wavers in front of you like the fickle light of a candle, and suspended above it, you stare at the douter, waiting for it to come down and snuff the flame out.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Where Soul Meets Body - Ghost x Reader

Ao3 Link

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

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

WC: 18k

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

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

"I don't have one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Told you so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Isn't this illegal?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course, Daisy Lockmon right?"

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

"Yeah?"

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

"Congratulations then. Daisy is a sweet girl."

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good."

"Simon?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And my dad?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not true."

"I think it is."

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

"Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then lets go."

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A pleasure to meet you Sergeant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t want to lose.”

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

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

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

“I guess Gator is much better than Dirt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They gave him a hard time too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you Ghost?

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

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

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

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

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

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

”What are you? My aunt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Need to know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”What?”

”Forget about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Did I do something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Fuck I said that out loud didn’t I?”

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

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

”I love you so much Simon Riley.”

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