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waves-against-a-cliff · 5 months

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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.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #mw2 smut #ghost smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader smut #simon x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley call of duty #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley cod

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mydearlybeloathed · 11 months

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𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: even as you grow older, you'll always be his baby sister

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: strawhats x sanjissister!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lowercase intentional, cursing, allusions to insecurities

𝐚/𝐧: this is basically just sanji curing my childhood wish for a big brother. i have more ideas about how sanji would be at his wits end with a reckless little sister so look out for those hehe

i imagine sanji is two years older than you, but it never felt like it. you and him were never apart for too long, more by obligation than choice.

so it was no surprise when sanji dragged confused little you with him as he hid from the pirates invading the ship, only outing your hiding place in the name of saving his food from oregano.

you'd hurried after him, of course; that's all you knew to do at such a young age.

and when zeff had sanji up against the wall, being so young meant you also knew only one thing to do in this situation: you bit zeff, latching your teeth around his arm and drawing blood from his broken skin.

zeff howled and very nearly threw you into the wall as well, before his eyes zeroed in on you, this little girl with wild eyes and a mighty strong jaw. he only jerked you off him, then, staring from you to sanji then back to you. "wha—? what kind of little gremlin just bites a man?!" your eyes were steely. "I'm not a gremlin." then, "bitch." though it was clear you didn't understand what it meant, probably catching it from the other chefs of the now sieged ship. gritting his teeth, zeff continued on his shouting. it made you and sanji angry, and zeff marveled at how your expressions were twin–like, despite your difference in appearance. then, the ship had wrecked, and it all went downhill from there.

sanji always made sure you’d eaten more than him on that damn rock, even when you fought him and scratched him as he forced a morsel of bread into your mouth.

he'd held your hand as you cried the first ten days, and he had mourned when on the eleventh, your eyes took on a dead sort of sheen, like you were now a decade older in the head.

it was unnerving, really.

sanji learned a lot on that rock. like what it meant to be the responsible one, or at least more responsible than you.

sanji just wanted you to listen, but it seemed like all his words went in one ear and out the other. you wouldn't eat despite all his begging, only staring at him with that horridly blank stare and pushing the food back toward him. tears started to form at the corners of his eyes as he held up the very last piece of bread. "please," he begged. "please just eat it." you shook you head, forcing the tears to stream down his cheeks. that broke through your indifference, your frown deepening as you inched closer to him. "we'll half it," you offered, taking his shaking hand and guiding him to split the bread, taking one half and waiting for him to calm down before you ate in silence. you really did feel older than him, and he didn't like it. only when that night fell did he realize you were simply a very, very good actor. your whimpers were like thunder in his ears as he sprang up from a featherlight sleep, his eyes locking on your quivering form just a hair's breadth away. "y/n?" he whispered, shaking your shoulder. you spooked awake, and in the reflection of moonlight he saw glinting tears traced down your face. "nightmare?" your nod and sniffle tore him up inside, and in seconds he was hugging you to his chest, telling you stories till he was sure you were at least sleeping better than him. "someday," he said, "we'll find a place where we'll never go hungry. where every flavor and ingredient can be found. the all blue. i'll take us there, and we'll never starve again." you were asleep by the time he started plotting to raid zeff's side of the rock in the morning. it had been sanji who guarded you from seeing the stump left of zeff's leg, ignoring you when you asked him to explain what was happening.

growing up on the baratie was an experience, for sure.

your only company were the crooks who worked in the kitchen alongside you and sanji, and you found them amusing company indeed.

especially when they started teaching you how to be a remarkable little con-artist. once in your late teens, it wasn't long before you'd abandoned your work in the kitchen to wait tables.

not only were the tips amazing to pocket away, but your charming smile and whimsical attitude made you a master of sympathy.

there isn't a customer you can't placate, a fight you can't break up; sanji would never admit it, but you'd save him from one too many brawls with just a single simper.

it was easy to hold that over his head, but for some reason, sanji never let it keep him from completely wrecking your social life.

to say sanji is protective of you is the understatement of the century; you'd be the first to attest to that.

it was growing to be annoying and just plain inconvenient, if you're being honest.

was it too much to ask for some time to yourself... with the company of a horny teenage boy... in your quarters... alone?

"sanji!" you hissed, face bright red as your brother dragged you and this young sailor boy--you hadn't caught his name--out of a broom cupboard, his grip on the boy's collar deathly. throwing the boy aside, sanji stormed back up to him. "did you touch my sister? you think you can just take advantage of her like tha'?" you ran your hands over your face and rushed to separate sanji, shaking in anger, from the boy, shaking in his boots. "stop! he wasn't takin' advantage of me, sanji. hell, i started it!" "y-yeah!" the sailor boy piped in, cowering behind you. "she was all over me and—" "shut up," you and sanji said in tandem, shooting the boy matching glares that sent the poor sailor darting for his crew's ship.

as the years dragged on, you and sanji couldn't deny that the idea of remaining on the baratie all your lives would be... well... sad.

you wanted more for yourselves—you specifically wanted to get sanji away from zeff's constant criticism, no matter how well–meaning it was.

but the years really were dragging, and could you ever really bare to leave the man you'd nearly called father on several occasions? could you leave the shit-hole restaurant that raised you in it's wooden arms?

probably not. you'd probably die washing dishes (snore) and burning water (whoops) and charming the pants off grumpy old men (yuck).

that is, it always seemed that way until a grand vessel with a goat for a masthead docked at the baratie.

the day had been it's usual level of boring, until two customers decided to have a little row which heated up with every word shot back at each other.

you, having a good track record, rushed forth to prevent the fight just itching to break out. but today was not your lucky day.

"gentlemen," you grinned. stepping between the two men, you held up your hands and settled each of them with batted eyes and a soft expression. "what's this about, hmm?" sanji loitered at a nearby table, refilling drinks with one eye on you. he was ripely kicked out of the kitchen, snug in his waiter's jacket. one of them huffed, "he's at my table!" "i don't see your name on it!" the other snapped. your patience wanned, your thoughts screaming man-child. "i'm sure we can work something out. just please, don't start anything in the restaurant." the first man seemed to consider you, his eyes dragging up and down your form, but any progress you might have made was destroyed by the next second. "i ain't movin', girl. he can go shit 'imself in the corner." that was how you winded up directly between them, your hands pushing against either chest to keep them separated, your heartrate accelerating as they pressed in on you as if you weren't even there. grunting, you called out, "brother?" in seconds, sanji had a grip on your sleeve in one hand and a fistful of the first man's collar in the other. he jerked you away from them and swiftly shoved the men away from each other. "sister," he said in turn, cracking his neck as the men continued to not learn their lesson. "take these rolls to table four, yeah?" you didn't need to be told twice, swiping the tray of bread from his arm and beelining for a booth housing a motley crew of people. behind you, grunts and winces and crashing could be heard, followed by the thick silence of your brother's victory. you set the tray down on the table, shooting a tight lipped smile up at the guests. a boy wearing a peculiar straw hat locked you in place with his bright eyes and wondered aloud, "he's a great fighter." "yep," you quipped. "a real hero. any drinks for the handsome crew?"

it turned out the boy with the straw hat was crazy: he intended to become king of the pirates.

you admired his tenacity, of course, but really? he had a death wish.

still, the more you spoke to luffy and the more you observed his character, being king of the pirates didn't seem so crazy. he had guts, that was for sure.

as crazy as it sounded, you started to believe he could do it.

so it was really no surprise you said yes when luffy asked you to join his crew.

he had already asked sanji the day before—before luffy's swordsman friend got obliterated by a warlord of the sea.

you didn't know him, but when you rushed onto the going merry after zeff an sanji, and you saw the bloodied man lying there, you could barely move a muscle.

you were never good around the air of death, and it was all around roronoa zoro, lingering like a knock you expected but never came. so you couldn't move, not even when they moved zoro to a bed, out of sight. not when zeff and sanji retreated back to the baratie.

you snapped back to life at the sound of luffy's voice, finding him leaning down to be directly eye level with you. he was still speaking, and it felt sort of like being under water, till finally, you surfaced. "sorry what?" "are you okay?" he asked, brows knit. you pondered your response while looking anywhere but his face. "yeah, sorry. i... i don't like feeling helpless, i guess." you vaguely gestured to where zoro's limp body had laid upon the nearby table. "being out of control makes me wig out." luffy tilted his head. "why're you out of control?" "because," you nearly laughed. "your friend is dying." immediately, you regretted your word choice, hating how the light fizzled from his eyes. "he's not dying," luffy snapped back. "he was injured and now he's healing. why does everyone insist he's dying?" you shuffled on your feet. "right, sorry." when you met his eyes again, there wasn't any frustration like you assumed there would be. instead, he settled you with a curious look. "you don't have to keep apologizing." luffy was an odd type of pirate, you thought with a forced little grin. "then how will people know i'm sorry?" he smiled. "fair point." taking a hold of your sleeve, luffy started to drag you deeper into the going merry, leading you right to where zoro was laid. his grip on you loosened as he passed into the room, but you stayed cemented in the doorway. nami was there, sullen looking. you watched as nami berated luffy and stormed away, shoulder checking you on the way out, leaving luffy smileless. that didn't sit well with you. walking up beside him, you took a kneel just as he did, and turned your eyes on zoro's pallid face. "hello," you murmured. silence was your reply. "i'm y/n. you don't know me... your friends care a lot about you. it'd be... sad, if you died." luffy stiffened at your side. "which you won't! i've heard of you. no way the demon pirate hunter will let—let a scratch get him..." as your rambling died down, luffy slowly shifted to look at you, all serious for a moment. unnerved, you chuckled nervously. "what?" a tiny grin worked its way onto his lips, a glimmer in his eyes. "will you join my crew?" you nearly laughed. "luffy, you don't want me." "yeah. i do. why else would i ask?" "i'm useless." "you're kind," he said, shutting you up as a flush bloomed in your cheeks. "not everyone can say that."

a long story short, you joined luffy's crew of strawhats right along sanji.

your parting from the baratie had been watery, to say the least. whilst sanji shouted curses at zeff and stormed out to luffy's ship, you stood shaky as zeff huffed, his eyes roaming toward you.

you very nearly tripped head over foot in your sprint to wrap him in a hug. he was the only father you'd ever had, really. leaving him was bittersweet.

the going merry was a very nice place to call home, in your opinion.

you were a jack of all trades amidst the crew, choosing to do odd jobs around the ship. most days, you found yourself asking around with a little list in your journal, taking note of everyone’s grocery needs and even keeping track of the ship’s supply inventory.

not only that, but you found your crewmates tended to lack the sense to take care of themselves in a timely manner.

that is, none of them could be faster than your attentive eye, and no one was safe from your protective inclinations.

nami was attentive, but she tended to disassociate, and when she did it was very hard to get her back. she would go on for hours, working herself to the brink of exhaustion, not accepting even a sip of water. (she couldn't stop you, however, from forcing a cup of ice water down her throat. even she was intimidated by your determination to hydrate her).

then there was zoro, who absolutely refused to allow anyone to help him dress his wounds; and since he wasn't the best at it, you often stared at his haphazard bandages with fear of infection. he brushed you off enough times to invoke your wrath upon him. (zoro quit refusing after the first three times you ambushed him, wrapping your arm around his neck and blocking his airway).

you always listened to usopp's stories, but oftentimes you grew tired of the repetitive and clearly fake tall tales. you wanted to know his real stories, and you told him so. he'd laughed awkwardly and replied that he wasn't interesting enough for that. (he was fairly surprised at your insistence, and was warmed at your fascination with the silly story of how he met kaya).

luffy, your captain, was a walking migraine most days. he was smart, but just as brave, and jumped to action faster than you could process. it left you stressed beyond what you could handle, and this alone was enough to make luffy more cautious. (he never wanted to make you unhappy, so you'd inadvertently given him some of your common sense).

finally, sanji, who you'd been dealing with all your life. you knew all his tells, whether it was baking macarons when he was upset or going eerily silent for far too long. you always knew what he needed, and when he needed it. (more often than not all he needed was a compliment, and not just from some doe–eyed woman at a bar; a word of sentiment from his baby sister could drag him out of any stupor).

overtime, the crew took to calling you their boatswain. after all, you fit the job description, and you took the title with pride.

as time flew by with the strawhats, you began to listen to the dreams and aspirations of the others, and began to wonder what exactly you wanted out of life. the all blue was sanji’s dream… so what was yours?

the going merry was docked at a friendly port for the next few days, meaning the crew was free to explore and roam the city as they pleased. you, however, remained behind that very first night.

as far as you knew, the others had decided upon a bar for the night’s celebration. The quiet dwelling over the ship was calming, and from your sweat crisscrossed on the afterdeck you had a wide view of the stars.

your notebook rested on your belly, pen tight between your fingers, thoughts moving a million miles an hour. there hadn’t been time to get shopping done that day, so you would rouse the ship early the next morning and assign them to fetch groceries in pairs of two—just to be safe.

and though the heavy thinking could wait till the morning, you were stuck in a spiral of inventory and lists. it was… exhausting, and offered little to no fulfillment. still, it was what you did to help.

A familiar patter of boots broke your reverie, and you peeked up to find sanji coming to loom over you, his hands shoved in his pockets. his suit jacket was draped over one shoulder and his hair was a mess—he wasn’t drunk though, which was a very good sign.

silently, he disposed of his jacket and laid down beside you, resting his hands behind his head. for a split second, you got a glimpse of the damn rock imbeedded in your memory for all time, and how sanji used to make up stories about the stars.

since then, you’d come to know their true stories. you knew every constellation by name, having memorized them upon the baratie and spoken to them every lonely night. the stars had been your friends in your youth, and though your conversations with them were few and far between now, they always shined for you. so as far as you knew, you were never alone.

sanji raised an arm and pointed in a random direction. “bet you can’t name that one.”

a grin worked its way up your face. “how much?”

he turned his head, eyes boring into you. “if you can’t, you tell me what’s on your mind.”

“that’s hardly fair.”

“take it or leave it.”

you huffed, but complied, glaring up at the sky. “cassiopeia. cursed to remain in the stars for claiming her daughter was more beautiful than the nerieds.” you kissed your teeth. “hardly a punishment. i’d love to be in the stars.”

there was a weight behind your words; a truth so deep you had to take a long breath to recover. wetting your lips, you asked your brother, “do you think, someday, i could study them?”

“why someday?”

“well, you need supplies. tools. there’s only so much our eyes can tell from down here.”

“tools,” he murmured. “so, you want to study the stars?”

the words flooded from your lips. “i want to know everything about them. i want to know why they shine, how far they are, what’s beyond them… can we get there?” you sighed into a smile. “there are some cities that have observatories dedicated to astronomy, but you’ve got to be some kind of noble scholar to get in.”

sanji listened, and he listened well. He laid by your side and listened to you tell him about the stars till nami and zoro came lugging a drunk usopp between them, luffy taking the lead. he remained in thought for most of the night, and sought out nami to ask about expenditures, and then set out to find luffy.

it was safe to say you weren’t quite as upset at sanji and luffy for disappearing all evening when they returned at sunset, some beri short, with a gift in hand.

you stood slack jawed as they revealed a beautiful telescope, the metal polished and bright and shining. how they had managed to sneak it past you and set it up on the afterdeck was beyond you, but you hardly cared to ask.

you threw your arms around your brother, whispering your thank yous, and quickly turned to tackle your captain in a hug just as tight. the night to follow was marked by your awed sighs and the excited way you told the crew about ursa major and ursa minor, then about castor and pollux, and so on till you could barely keep your eyes open.

and sanji would never say it out loud, but he admired you. you turned out pretty damn good despite having him as your big brother. someday, you’d reach the stars. he knew that for certain. he could only hope you’d come visit once or twice.

“g’night,” he muttered to the crew as he stood, making his way over to where you’d drifted off against a barrel. he scooped you up in his arms and was veyr careful to not wake you as he made his way to your and nami’s quarters.

sanji rested you down and moved to take off your boots and pull the blanket over you, and he found himself frozen all of a sudden. lips pursed, he patted your hair, and turned to go. at the door, he paused and looked back. you slept so soundly for once, something he was so very glad for. he wasn’t blind to how you’d been overworking yourself.

perhaps he would talk to you about that in the morning, but for now, he simply smiled. “good night, sister. love you.”

and whispered back to him, just in time for him to hear: “g’night, sanj. i love you.”

2K notes · View notes

cherryheairt · 7 days

Text

Dragon Dreamer pt. XIII

cw: Some blood, gore mentions? Wounds.

tags: @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @thelastemzy @pedro-pascal-love @hueanhdang @purple-1995 @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97 @mandeepandee1997 @reyndaisy @saintkittykat @theadharablack @alexandra-001 @itsaslaminak

Cregan spent much time with Daenys in her chambers, standing vigil in her desolate state. When he asked for a bowl of water and a maester, Cregan was surprised to see a young woman walk in with some supplies in her nimble hands.

The woman, who introduced herself as Alys, simply set her belongings on the nightstand next to the bed and took a seat next to Cregan. She wordlessly worked for a few minutes, feeling over Daenys for any breaks, dislocations, burns, and so on.

When the Maester had declared Daenys to be in fine physical health, she stood gracefully from her little stool. Hesitating, she lingered a hand over the burnt sleeve of Daenys' dress before taking her leave.

Cregan almost felt like he should have hidden such things from outsiders, but he deemed Alys to be a secretive and private woman. Hopefully, she would keep such a discovery to herself, if her loyalties truly lied with the Blacks.

Cregan was quick to scoot his chair forward, closer to the bed. Gently, he brushed blood-hardened strands of hair from his bethrothed's face. The color was monochrome in its covering, leaving only peeks of pale skin behind the blood. It left a hot, smokey scent behind on her, similar to the way Morningstar smelled after burning her prey. Except Daenys wasn't prey, she was as much predator as her dragon. Cregan knew this well, she had fought two mighty dragons and lived to tell the tell. She didn't look the part now, curled up on cream sheets, but he knew she was.

The water was still warm when he took the cloth in his hand and wrung it out. With the damp cloth, he carefully wiped at any exposed blood from her skin. Her hair would have to be washed in a bath basin, either by herself or her maid, Cregan couldn't do so in the confines of the bed.

While he worked, he hummed a tune that had become familiar to him over his time with Daenys. Whether she knew it or not, she often hummed the same song that he had caught her singing to her dragon. A High Valyrion song, with words unknown to him, but no less beautiful. On her horse, when she braided her hair, when she checked or set up traps: all were times that she unconsciously droned on to it. Cregan found it stuck in his mind, even when he was meant to be deep in focus. Writing letters, reading over bannermen's ravens, even meeting with the important councilmen and Castle Black's Commander. Every time, he found his mind drifting to the silver woman. The one he found a reason to fight for in.

After minutes passed with only his deep hums in the air and soft strokes of the Warden's gentle touch, he was able to be content with his work. "Daenys," he whispered, sitting the rag down and grabbing her hand. She was not sleeping, hadn't been the whole time judging by her breathing patterns.

"The blood will stain your hair. I'll have the maid draw a bath." He murmured into her ear, kissing her cheek before walking out of the room to summon the girl that had been taking care of the Princess.

Surprisingly, Cregan almost found himself flinching when he opened the doors to see the mousy young girl already standing in front of them. She did flinch, however, at the door's abrupt opening. She perked up, ready for the Lord's instruction.

"Bring some hot water in for a bath, please. She needs some good oils and soaps for her hair, it will be hard to wash out."

The maid nodded, bowing swiftly and scurrying off down the hall to boil water. If it were Winterfell, the process could be done much quicker with their pipes of hot spring water running directly through the walls of the Great Keep. He reminded himself to take her to the hot springs in the Wolfswood someday, where he was sure she would enjoy the scalding hot water more than he ever could.

Turning back to the bed, he sat beside her again as he waited. The maid worked quickly, dumping pales into the copper basin with the speed of a much more experienced laborer. When she left for the last one, Cregan moved to exit the room for the ladies to handle the bath.

A hand tugging at his sleeve prevented him from moving any further. Though the tug was faint, he still felt it enough to know Daenys wanted his attention. Leaning down, Cregan asked, "what is it, my Lady?"

She lifted her head, only enough to face Cregan instead of the pillows and blankets surrounding her. "Stay with me." Daenys muttered out.

Cregan glanced between her and the door, watching the maid come in and pour the last bit of hot water into the tub. She waited, hands clutching the bucket, for the Lord to leave. He shook his head, gesturing for the young woman to leave once more. "I will ensure she is taken care of." He told her.

Confused, the girl shifted on her feet for a moment before hesitantly nodding and walking to the door. "I will prepare a dress for the Princess." She told Cregan, who nodded in response. Finally, he crouched down next to Daenys, who still held his sleeve in a two-finger grasp.

He grabbed her hand in both of his, softly kissing it for a prolonged moment. Violet eyes stared up at him as he did, neither saying a word for a few moments.

"To stay with you, whilst you bathe?" He asked, needed confirmation. She nodded, still unexpressive but now in much better condition than he received her in. He nodded, digging him arms under her and lifting her in a princess-carry. He hesitated a moment, mentally battling between letting her into the basin fully clothed or helping her undress and get into the water. The former meant she would still have to be in her blood-covered burnt dress, while the ladder meant him dishonoring his intended before they wed. His first time seeing her bare was on complete accident. He wished for any time after to be her choice alone.

He shifted her in his arms briefly, allowing her head to rest on the crook of his neck. "Can I help you out of your dress?" He decided, leaving the shift on underneath would be cover for her privacy and relief for the heavier dress. Daenys hummed into his neck.

Carefully, he set her on the bed sitting up. He unlaced the back of her once light blue dress (taking an embarrassingly long time) and slipped it down to her torso, Daenys standing to aid him. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving only the remaining shift on her person. Although she was standing, Cregan took it upon himself to pick her up into his arms again. A soft gasp left Daenys, not expecting to be lifted once more. He stifled a laugh at the sound, elated to see her reacting to her surroundings more.

Slowly, he dipped her into the scalding hot water. She had little response to it, which he dained to be the Targaryen resistance to heat. Perhaps all of her kin shared such a trait. A detail useless to the public, so it was unintentionally a secret.

The white shift floated around her like a cloud as she hugged her knees to her chest. Resting her chin on her knees, she allowed Cregan to pour cups of water over her head, softly guiding any water away from her face as he did. The soaps, which had been quietly brought in along with a new shift on the bed, were scrubbed just as gently into her hair, bringing it to its former state of silkiness. Around her, the hair stuck to her stick and floated on the water, seemingly a lot longer in its wet state than its dry one. When Cregan rinsed out the soap from her hair, he allowed it time to dry before he messaged a scented oil into her scalp and hair tips. He messaged her scalp with a tenderness he was unused to. When it came to his own hair, he had little care and used heavy hands to get the work done with speed and precision. There was little time to spare in the North, when his duties called him at the break of dawn til the late evening. The gentleness came easily with Daenys, however, and Cregan found himself thoughtlessly caring for the Princess every second she was near him.

With a soaped sponge in hand, he was able to scrub any ash and blood left on her. The bath water tinted pink with the remaining blood, though Daenys didn't seem to care. Only able to get whatever skin was left exposed by the shift, his work was done fast.

As soon as he finished, Daenys laid her head back to rest on the basin's rim. She met his eyes, which gleamed in the afternoon's light. A hand reached out to him, beckoning for his own to hold. He obliged, of course, easily. He laced their fingers together, leaning down to kiss the scar on her forearm. The raised bite marks tingled at the delicate touch.

"My grandmother is dead." She managed.

Cregan stilled, furrowing his straight brows. "The Princess Rhaenys?"

Daenys nodded. She looked to the window straight ahead, avoiding his worried gaze. "I saw Cole's army marching on Rook's Rest, last night. I knew a dragon would be sent by my mother to guard Ser Staunton's keep. It was an ambush."

He nodded thoughtfully, sitting up straight in his stool. "Who was sent?"

She scoffed out a bitter laugh. "Who else do they have to send but the kinslayer? Aegon, too, came with Sunfyre. We beat Aegon quickly, it was Vhagar who killed Rhaenys."

"They sent their King to fight in the war?" Cregan asked, bemused at the information. Kings rarely fought battles themselves, only overlooked from the safety of their castles. It was the smart option, to keep the figurehead of a cause alive and well.

"Mayhaps. Or he was drunk and thought himself righteous for teaming up against the Red Queen." She bit out. "Either way, he will not see battle again. His own brother...Aemond burned him and his dragon. I do not know if he is even alive."

For once, she prayed for Aegon's safety. If Aemond were to be named King in stead of his elder brother's death, Seven Hells would reign down on the entire realm.

Cregan wouldn't even fathom burning his own brother, no matter what bad blood got between them. For Aemond to do such a thing—after killing two members of his family already—showed how truly heartless the young man was. Though, undoubtedly the most dangerous enemy the Greens had. With Vhagar's formidability and Aemond's sharp mind for stategy, it would be hard to find weak spots within the false crown.

"I could have saved her." Her words interrupted his thinking, perking up. "I had Meleys in the grasp of Morningstar's claws. I reached out to her—but she wouldn't take my hand." Daenys murmured, still avoiding his eyes.

Cregan took her face gently in his free hand, facing her towards him again. "Daenys, you mustn't blame yourself for that. The Princess lived a long life. She went into that battle knowing she might not return. I'm sure she would be content knowing that her granddaughter is safe."

His words rang true in her heart. Of course, Rhaenys had lived upwards of sixty years during her life. Had children and grandchildren. A husband. Despite the prospect of being Queen being ripped from her unfairly, she still lived a good life. More than most Targaryens did.

"You have seen battle and won. As long as you live, it is a victory for the realm, for your mother. For me." He stated, reassuring her.

"I have seen battle and fled. We have lost our most experienced dragon, as well as the Queen's most loyal and trustworthy advisor. Rhaenys kept the peace in the Black Council. They hardly listen to Rhaenyra, though she is their queen. With Daemon gone, they think themselves worthy to hold the realm in their hands."

Cregan could sympathize greatly with Daenys, having been no stranger to undermining older men. "We will be there for Her Grace. Daemon and Rhaenys might be gone, but we will be there to stand in their place."

She nodded after a second of simply staring into his grey eyes. A million words lie on the tip of her tongue, almost breaching and spewing nonsensical ramblings just to keep his attention on her.

Daenys sighed heavily, bringing their interlocked hands to her face, resting her cheek upon Cregan's large hand. "I am sorry. For not coming to you this morning. I knew that you would have advised me not to, and perhaps I would have listened." The outcome wouldn't have changed whether she did or did not go, it seemed. Morningstar would be uninjured, and Daenys wouldn't have witnessed her grandmother's demise, but simply read about it in a raven's letter.

Cregan was quiet for a few beats, simply studying Daenys' face. He reminded the swell of anger and hurt in his chest that very morning, the same mixed feelings that tormented him for hours while Daenys was missing. He had no way of knowing where she was or if she was alive, only being told by Simon Strong and Davos fucking Blackwood of her asking about Rook's Rest. She had told this strange young man of her destination, but had not even said goodbye to her own bethrothed. He was hurt, and confused. All feelings of bitterness washed away when the sight of Morningstar came into view again, lower in the skies than she should be.

The red staining her scales had been his first cause of panic. It was not often that Cregan Stark lost his cool, as he had to be collected and steadfast in his position as Warden of the North. But this wretched day had caused him a panic like no other. Seeing Daenys, covered in blood, landing right in front of Harrenhall's gates had stirred Cregan to action. She looked dead slumped over the dragon saddle like that, but he knew if she truly was, then Morningstar would not have returned to Harrenhall.

"I will forgive you. If," He paused, sternly meeting her violet eyes. "You promise to leave this purgatory with me on the morrow."

Shocked at his ask, Daenys was lost for words. Was that it?

"We have stayed in this place long enough. We sit idle and vulnerable and out of touch with any recent news. I have entertained our stay here for you, but I cannot any longer." He told her.

Daenys swallowed, almost nervous at his tone. He commanded it like a true Stark, tired of feeling useless in the near-abandoned halls of Harrenhall. In truth, perhaps they were. Daenys had planned on making use of herself in median between Daemon and the Riverland lords, but had not truly done anything of note. Though Daemon was insufferable and inflicted by the torments of his own mind here, he was still getting his buisness done in his own time.

Another good reason to leave was to never see Daemon's face again. Perhaps he would be doomed to these halls, becoming another one of its ghosts. It was a fate unbecoming of him, but one he deserved for his treachery today. Daenys knew that if Caraxes had joined the fight at Rook's Rest, then Vhagar would be beat. Three dragons against one. The histories would call it unfair, but Daenys would call it justice.

Finally, she barely nodded. "We will leave to Dragonstone tomorrow." She promised Cregan.

He nodded firmly. "Good." His expression lightened from its intense conterance as he softly thumbed the apple of Daenys' cheek.

She shifted her position, sitting up in the now cold water. For a moment, her eyes lingered on his pink lips, debating her actions. She leaned in, eyes flickering between his lips and eyes. Cregan sat very still, allowing Daenys to choose what she would do. At the last moment, she turned slightly to place a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth, feeling nerves fluttering in her stomach at the closeness.

The corner of his mouth perked up at the delicate kiss, Cregan using much of his refined willpower to not turn his head ever so slightly and meet her lips with his own. Instead, he allowed her to lean back in the basin, water swishing around her at the movement. They stared at one another for a long moment, basking in the comfort of each other. "Would you stay with me, tonight?" She asked him.

"I would uproot the Heart Tree from mine own Godswood before I refused you, my girl." Cregan said, kissing the spot between her brows briefly.

Daenys grinned, humming thoughtfully. "If that is so, then you wouldn't mind helping me out of this ice bath?"

Cregan felt the water, feeling it had only reached a lukewarm temperature, a pleasant condition for him. Snorting, he nodded at her dramatics and helped her out of the water, the sound of dripping water from her shift echoing across the room. Cregan nodded towards the dress and shift placed on the bed. "I will get you supper while you dress." He said.

It was only a few minutes that he was gone, the maid slipping back into Daenys' chambers to quickly tie her laces of the powder pink dress for her while the room was free. She did not question the view of the Princess in the bath with the honorable Lord Stark right next to her tub, simply hummed along idly as she nimbly tied the corset.

Daenys thanked her just as Cregan stepped in, holding two plates. The maid slipped out behind him, her job done for the day. The sight of Cregan, even still dressed up in his usual attire, bringing meals to her chambers felt awfully domestic to her. She oft took lunch and breakfast in her own chambers at Dragonstone, when she felt like eating or was even present in the castle. Dinners were shared most days between the entire family, a small tradition that she enjoyed because it guaranteed quality time with her loved ones.

Soon, Cregan would be the only one she had living with her in the North. They would share all meals together, or none if he were busy with Lordly duties. Daenys wasn't sure how she would fit into Winterfell's routine, especially since Cregan had been leading as its head completely alone for the past five years. Since he was six and ten years of age, he had led Winterfell with only his council to guide his decisions, and even then rarely leaned on them to show that he was capable. There was rarely a day when he was free of responsibility or worry. Daenys hoped that she could share his burdens at the very least and earn the people of Winterfell's grace at the most.

They sat together at the little table in her chambers, enjoying the hearty meal of potatoes, carrots, and a meat Daenys could not care to place. A warm silence dragged over the afternoon, no conversation needed between the Princess and lord.

When they finished eating, Daenys cleaned her hands in the water basin on her vanity. The rag lying next to it reminded her, "Cregan, how did Morningstar look when she landed?"

Cregan turned to her, wiping his own face down. "Red. I did not pay much attention to anything bit you, but her scales were stained red."

She nodded, biting the skin of her cheek and shifting on her feet. "I can not do anything for her without the dragon keepers, but I can clean Sunfrye's blood from her."

Cregan followed her from the chambers, carrying the basin for her. On the way, she asked for more rags to be brought outside to the entrance for her dragon. And buckets of water, while they were fetching the cloth. Outside, the sun was still high enough for plenty of daylight to work in. Caraxes and Daemon were next to Morningstar, where Daemon was assessing the white dragon. Immediately, Daenys seethed at the sight of her stepfather. How dare he show up now, hours after she needed him? After his aunt has died?

Daemon faced her when he heard the grass shifting behind him. Wrinkles formed on his forehead, brows both raised and furrowed in a mixture of emotions. "What has happened to Morningstar?" He asked, moving his hand off her scales. She was tempted to take Ice from Cregan's shoulder and slice the hand that dared to lie on her dragon.

"Exactly what I told you would happen if we did not fly together to Rook's Rest, Daemon." Daenys told him, clenching her jaw.

He straightened, placing a resting hand on Dark Sister. Realization settled onto his face, guilt overtaking his concern. "You were—What happened at Rook's Rest?" He fixed his words. She knew. She knew that he had thought her to be a mere hallucination, as he had called her when he held that steel sword to her throat.

She walked past him, in front of Morningstar, almost protectively. "You would know if you listened to me."

"Daughter—" He started, but was cut off by a sneer from Daenys.

"You've earned no right to call me that. Leave, like you've grown so adept with doing. You have important Kingly duties to attend to, with the Brackens."

Cregan stepped past the King consort to meet Daenys' side, earning a wayward glance from Daemon. "He is still here. Why has he not gone to Dragonstone yet?" He asked, speaking to Daenys as if Cregan were not in front of him.

"Lord Stark is to be my husband. He stays by my side." Daenys stated firmly. She felt Cregan's heavy stare on her, but willfully ignored it.

"By who's order? Rhaenyra did not send you to the North to bring back a husband, she sent you to bring back an army."

"It is none of your concern whom I return with. It is the Queen's." She turned away, refusing to humor his tantrums any longer. Morningstar rumbled, twisting her neck around to cover Cregan and Daenys from outsider's sight. When Daemon stepped forward, the dragoness gave a sharp warning growl. He paused, knowing that even his rapport with the dragon wouldn't get him any luck when Daenys had closed him off already. Huffed, he strided back to Caraxes, leaving quickly like he had originally intended. It was only another minute before the maid shouted for help at the entrance, refusing to test her own luck going anywhere near the bloodied beast. Cregan took the pail of water and rags from her gratefully, dismissing her afterwards.

Daenys dipped a rag into the pail, not squeezing any of the water out as she dragged it over Morningstar's snout. She earned only a cuff at the cold water, but no complaints as blood was cleaned from her nostrils and around her eyes and ear holes. It took good scrubbing since the blood had dried during the flight and hours since Daenys disappeared into the castle. Finally, Cregan and Daenys worked together to swiftly return Morningstar's face to its usual pristine color. The wound was next, something that Daenys had never dealt with before. It was the dragon keepers' job to feed and heal the dragons, and they had not needed healing for a long time.

Daenys turned to Cregan, "I cannot guarantee that she will not lash out in pain. Wait for me on the stairs." It was an order, though she did not wish it to sound like one. Dragon keepers were not even safe from a hostile dragon's wrath, though they had been trained generationally for the sole job. Cregan hesitated before he nodded.

"I will fetch you a tea while I'm gone." Before he left back inside.

Daenys wrung the new rag out carefully, assessing where the deepest and shallowest scratches were. Around the shallow ones first, she carefully wiped blood from around it. Then, after only receiving a glare from Morningstar, she moved on to the deeper ones. Even the area around it was irritated, the penetrated and lost scales a deep pain for the she-dragon. She whined and growled as Daenys worked around them, earning her soothing coos from the Targaryen.

Once her scales were cleaned, Daenys tipped the rest of the water over the wounds themselves. Morningstar grew restless, almost shaking Daenys away from her and nipping at the air around her. With all adrenaline gone, the dragon could feel all the pain that she had been able to ignore during battle. Once the bucket was empty, Daenys dropped it to her feet and moved to Morningstar's eyeline. She connected her forehead with the area in front of her slitted purple eye, murmuring apologies to her over and over. "Once we fly home, I will get you proper care, sweet Tubis." Morningstar trilled lowly in response, lifting her head once Cregan stopped behind them both.

Daenys turned to him, feeling Morningstar lift herself to stand and find herself a place to rest for the evening. "I brought you a tea. She said it was lavender and chamomile." He said, handing her a cup of darkened warm liquid.

Daenys thanked him, locking arms with him before being guided back inside. Alys waited for them at the top of the steps.

"Alys," Daenys smiled, greeting the witch pleasantly. Aly's striking blue eyes never left her, though a smile all the same graced her fine features.

"I hope you can find rest with the blend I made. It always helps me sleep better after a day like this." The woman told Daenys, holding a little brown owl on her arm. Daenys was surprised to see such an animal obeying her, but supposed that was hypocritical considering she had command of a dragon since birth.

"I think it will find me well. Thank you for making it." Daenys paused before she went past the woman. Alys turned, black hair flowing over her shoulder, an almost expecting look on her face.

"About Daemon," She started. "Have you spoken to him?"

"A few times, yes. When he is in need of council or sleep." Alys nodded.

Daenys hummed thoughtfully. "I see. Perhaps, if you are willing, you might provide some...encouraging words for the King Consort?" She glanced to the cup in her hand and then back to the blue eyes of Alys.

The older woman smirked, huffing a short laugh. "I see no trouble with it, Princess. Consider it done."

Daenys shared an understanding nod with the witchy woman, going on her way towards the chamber hallway with Cregan. She knew not the exact ways of witches, but knew that they always provided. She did not wish to tell Daemon of Rhaenys' death, but for him to experience it for himself. Perhaps then, he would see it reason enough to return to his place at Dragonstone.

"What was that about?" Cregan asked, glancing over his shoulder at the woman.

"Nothing important, just a favor." Daenys reassured, patting Cregan's arm. He nodded slowly, not quite catching on but trusting the Princess' choices.

They discreetly entered Daenys' room, though they had little reason to with Daemon gone and the rest of the residents of Harrenhall being wholely uninterested in risqué affairs. She finished off her tea with a heaviness to her eyelids, making a note to ask Alys of the blend's full recipe before going through her routine. They changed into night gowns quickly, settling down into Daenys' fresh sheets. The sun had set over the horizon, leaving the room only lit by the door's torches. In the dim light, Daenys could only make out Cregan's figure and whatever parts of his face the light touched. Though his back faced the doors, she was able to see most of it.

🗡

Daenys nosed her way to the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent like it was the most comforting thing in the realm. Perhaps it was, in the moment. Cregan set his chin atop of her head, the baby hairs on top tickling his nose briefly before he adjusted. An arm laid firmly around the small of her waist, resting on her back and rubbing in small circles. They both fell asleep fast.

🗡

A whispering stirred her from sleep, lifting her head from Cregan's chest curiously. It was too faint to fully make out, coming from beyond her chamber doors. Slowly, to not wakr Cregan, she lifted the covers and stood from the bed.

"Daenys..." The voice whispered, louder this time. It was a young boy's voice, one that tugged at the back of her memory.

She pressed an ear to the door, hoping for sounds of shuffling feet or breathing. Nothing. Slowly, she creaked open the door to see a disappearing form walk behind the hallway wall. She followed after it despite her gut feeling telling her not to.

Fast walking, her shift flowed around her as if she were the ghost of Harrenhall herself. Only catching glimpses of the boy, she started to run after him. Finally, she met him outside in the Weirwood tree clearing. His back was toward her, and he doned a red tunic and black cape. Brown curls lay on top of his head, unruly and untamable. Stilling, she held her breath. Lucerys.

Lucerys turned to face her, and she flinched at the sight. Almost gagged in distress and horror, the sight unlike anything she had seen before. He was soaking wet, with blood covering nearly his entire body. His eye was missing as if it had been torn out with a jagged and rusted knife. An arm, too, torn from his body and the massive wound reaching toward his shoulder and torso. It was unclear as to which body parts had been taken, under his tunic and cape, but very clear that the boy had suffered great pain.

"Luke." She whispered, choking back a sob.

"You saw me." He said, voice cold and distant. "You saw Vhagar chase me down in the skies, and did not even come for me."

Daenys nodded quickly, admitting fully to her shame. "I know. It is my deepest regret. If I had known it was the truth, I wouldn't have spared a second to reach you, my boy." She stepped forward.

His brow only furrowed, sneering at his sister with a furious look in his brown eye. "He took my eye. Aemond took my eye in Lord Baratheon's hall, and still killed me after I repayed my debt." His voice was taut with both anger and pain.

Tears fell from Daenys' eyes, "I am sorry, Luke."

"You don't get to be sorry." He quipped.

"Did you see how I died?" Lucerys asked.

Daenys could only shake her head, not trusting her voice.

"I did not die immediately, but Arrax did. Vhagar bit his head off and my arm. I was stuck in her mouth—I dont know how long it was. It felt like forever. When she finally spat me out, it was the sea that took me, not her."

She shook her head, mumbling incoherent apologies to her little brother. "I did not mean for this."

He took a step foward, nodding back over his shoulder. Behind him, a few paces back, was Rhaenys and Jaehaerys. Their sight was equally as grusome. Rhaenys held the young Prince in her arms as he held his own head up on his neck. Jaggged cut marks marred his pale neck, and blood dripped down to his nightgown. Rhaenys, covered only in black ash and dragon blood, stood tall with her head held high the same way it did when she fell to her death. Daenys had to force herself to look at the three of them together.

"Maybe not. Maybe you couldn't have reached me." Luke admitted. "But you could have reached them. You were only a minute away from preventing Daemon from speaking to Blood. You held grandmother in Morningstar's claws!"

Daenys fell to her knees, covering her ears and shutting her eyes tight. "I know, I know..." She repeated over and over until her voice was nearly lost, dry and hoarse.

He stood menacingly above her, a complete contrast from the demeanor he held when alive. He was always the sweet child out of all of Rhaenyra's children. Jace was an image of their mother, steady and intelligent. Daenys was withdrawn and in the shadows. Joffrey was always at someone's feet, begging to play or see his dragon Tyraxes. Luke was effortlessly kind and compassionate, though perhaps the most wary of his bastard heritage. He hated eyes on him, much like his sister, and did not take criticism in stride like Jacaerys could.

Sweet, innocent Lucerys who died too young to even discover the world or make a name for himself like any Prince should. Now, the ghost of his soul had come to torment Daenys.

Would he have thought the same things this Lucerys did? Surely, he must. Otherwise, the words would not be said.

Rhaenys and Jaehaerys had stepped forward, circling Daenys in a whirring wind of shouts and cries. The sound of sawing. The sound of a great splat hitting hard floor. The sound of screams being drowned out by water. No matter how hard he hands pressed, Daenys could not prevent the sounds from reaching her ears.

Another voice joined the frey, a deeper and steadier one than the others. It was loud enough to drown them all out. Heavy hands were placed gently on her arm and back, rubbing soothing circles and steadying her to her feet. "It's alright, my girl. 'Tis but another dream."

Daenys dug her nails into her palms, facing Cregan with bleary eyes. "No. Not this time." She said weakly.

Though Cregan was left confused by the vague refusal, he still clutched the girl close to him and petted her hair down from its ruffled state. "Shall we go back to bed? It is chilly out." It was not, but the thought warmed her heart.

"Take me to our room." Far away from this clearing. After tomorrow, she would not return to Harrenhall unless absolutely necessary.

short 'between main events' chapter, I couldn't find any time to write this week was so so busy 🥲

Nonsexual intimacy is the shit

rip Targaryens, you would love purple shampoo

I debated leaving the blood to stain her hair for a cool ombre look, but I feel like I would forget about it and not describe it ever again after this chapter, so she returns to her silver hair 🙂‍↕️

Saw a tiktok comment on an Alys and Daemon edit that the reason Alys was crying randomly was because she knew what would be her fate after Daemon left her alone in Harrenhall. 😭 Don't know how accurate that theory is, but it does make a lot of sense. We must save Alys from Aemond at all costs.

Also, to clarify, Alys did not put anything in her tea it was simply tea. I see the sudden vision that she had, like Daemon had, to be a sleep-aid side effect that made Harrenhall get to her mind easier. Kind of like getting nightmares after taking melatonin or sleep paralysis after taking benedryl. Daemon's felt more targeted, like they were sent to him to guide him on the right path and guilt him for his shitty behavior.

#dragondreamer #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark #hotd #hotd season 2 #targaryen oc

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