#like I know it’s a good thing and I should be glad but I’m not glad

[popcornpoppypop]

Broken Smile

Summary: You are one of PTMC's best ER residents, but it's your day off. You head to Pittfest. Robby and Abbot have to pick up the pieces. Reader x platonic!Abbot and Robby

Warnings: Blood, Death, injury, vomit, trauma, Gore

A/N: This was a request from an anon, I hope this is what you were looking for. Please let me know if I missed any warnings.

“How in the hell did you manage to get a half-shift?” Samira asked you in disbelief.

“I know how to flatter the right people. It’s a gift.” You smiled, nonchalantly shrugging your shoulders.

“You better get me something or I’ll never forgive you for leaving me.” Samira scoffed as she typed at her computer.

“I’ll think about it.” You chuckled as you started to gather your things.

“Y/N will you do me a favor?” Robby waltzed up to the desk. “Just keep an eye out for Jake while you're there.” He asked, his shoulders tense.

“Yeah, of course. We were meeting up for one of the bands anyway.” You nodded, slinging your backpack on your shoulder. “I’m out of here, don’t call me if you need me.” You smiled and pranced out the door.

Pittfest was in full swing when you arrived. Everyone of age was mostly drunk or high as you made your way through the crowd. You had stopped at home to change, a pair of jean shorts and a black tank top. The sun was already blistering your skin, but it felt nice even if you knew it would hurt tomorrow. It was a rare good day, you thought to yourself.

“Jake!” You ran up to the teen, his arm hung around his girlfriend.

“Y/N! Hey! Leah, this is one of Robby’s coworkers. She’s one of the cool ones.” He laughed.

“I think you mean the coolest.” You corrected.

“Nice to meet you! Jake, we should call him and thank him.” Leah suggested. She seemed sweet, it was probably because you were there. She looked like she could cause mischief, you liked her.

Jake pulled out his phone, facetiming Robby. The music was blasting, you knew there was no way that old man heard a thing they were saying.

“Y/N made it too!” Jake moved the phone to put you in shot.

“Don’t worry boss, I’m making sure they keep room for Jesus!” you winked at Jake who started to blush.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite resident.” Robby chuckled.

The day went on easy. You had a beer, enjoyed the music, ate terrible fried food and watched Jake fall completely in love. It was sweet. They looked good together, you thought. You were glad he had a nice girl for his first love. Even if the odds of it lasting past college were slim to none.

You were at one of the food trucks fueling up on beer and fries for the rest of the evening when there were a few pops. They sounded like fireworks from where you were, until they were accompanied by screams.  A chill ran up your spine, palms sweating as you moved to investigate. More shots. Someone screamed that there was a shooter.

“Oh shit.” You felt yourself start to shake. Your first thought was get to Jake.

You ran through the crowd, trying to see where he was. You tried calling, he wasn’t answering. You stopped to help up a few people who had fallen, when you saw the blood-soaked grass. Something in your brain clicked, your training taking over. Fear mostly forgotten, something you knew was part of your brain trying to get you to survive.

You took off toward the first aid tent. You needed supplies, they wouldn’t have enough, but it was a place to start.

“I’m Dr. L/N, I need gloves and anything you can spare!” You shouted as you ran behind the table, gathering everything you could into a spare bag. You ran back out into the crowd, shots echoed overhead.

You worked to stabilize everyone you encountered, instructing other concertgoers to take them to safety as you ran from person to person.

“Hey! Here, I brought out all the food trucks first aid kits! Not much but it’s something!” You recognized one of the cooks as he came running up to you.

“Thank you so much, now get the hell out of here.” You barked.

“Oh hell yeah.” He smiled. He smiled at you. Then he wasn’t. His smile, replaced by a gaping wound. You felt warmth dripping down your face. You were confused for a moment. Something on your forehead stung. You raised your hand to the spot, pulling away to see blood. A bullet fragment grazed your forehead you thought. A fragment from the one that went through that kind man’s smile. The realization crashed down on you as you watched him crumple to the ground, lifeless. The air was knocked from your lungs, you couldn’t move. You wanted to run, vomit, scream, but none of it happened. You just stood there. Frozen.

“Help! Please!” The screams echoed, bouncing around your skull. You had to move. You had to help. You finally felt you could move your legs and ran to help the next person, wiping the blood and brain matter from your face.  Another shot echoed and you felt something burning your thigh, you fell to the ground.

A bullet was lodged in your left thigh. You felt the panic fill your throat. You tried to push it down, you had to asses and treat. The bullet hadn’t hit the femoral, it wasn’t in too deep. You’d be in pain but you’d survive. You gathered yourself to your feet and limped your way to the next patient.

This went on for hours. Scrambling to get to each patient, never having enough time to help everyone. People were screaming for you, grabbing at your body to get you to help them or someone they loved. You couldn’t move fast enough. You weren’t fast enough.

“Y/N!” You heard Jake’s voice, something in your chest broke. You felt the tears rolling down your cheeks but ignored them.

“You got shot!” You yelled looking over his leg.

“I’m fine! Leah, you gotta help Leah!” He cried. You looked at the girl, her face pale and the wound on her chest oozing blood from between Jake’s fingers where he was holding pressure.

“Okay, okay. I’ll try.” You said, your voice shaking. You took his hands away. She wasn’t going to make it. You knew she wouldn’t, but did your best to get her stable enough to make it to a truck.

“You need help getting out of here!?” A small group of men ran up to you.

“Get these two to PTMC as soon as you can, do not stop for anything!” You yelled as they gathered Leah up into their arms.

“Jake, keep pressure on her wound! Don’t stop!” You yelled as they took him away.

You ran around the fairgrounds, blood soaking through your jeans, the bullet was grinding into you thigh more and more. You sat down and dug through your bag of supplies, finding a pair of forceps. You had no medications, no lidocaine cream, just hand sanitizer to clean them. You took a deep breath and dug them into your thigh. White hot pain surged through your body, you screamed out as you dug the bullet from your thigh. Your hands were shaking as you lifted it to your eye level. It looked intact, no fragments. You put it in your pocket and did your best to wrap your leg.

You were out of gloves. Your hands were stained red. You kept going. You didn’t know how you kept going, but you did. The ground was soft and wet, each step forcing blood to puddle up from the grass. You pronounced too many people dead. You worked on teenagers and elderly, holding hands with them as they took their last breath. You tried to do cpr for every one of them. Even the ones you knew were a lost cause.

“Dr. L/N?” You heard a voice that was vaguely familiar from behind you. You were stood in the middle of the fairground, bodies surrounding you.

“Doc, they’re gone. There isn’t anyone else to save.” The voice said. You turned and saw one of the medics that frequented PTMC.

“Huh?” You mumbled.

“Doc, let’s get you checked out.”  They walked up to you slowly, as if you were a stray dog.

“I tried…” You mumbled.

“You’re okay. Let’s get you out of here.” They said, wrapping an arm around you. You didn’t remember the ride to the hospital. You didn’t remember the medics trying to clean your wounds only for you to flinch and push them away. You didn’t remember them asking if you wanted help out of the truck. You saw the ambulance bay doors and walked in like you did everyday.

The chaos was dying down; the ER was in the process of cleaning up from the mass casualties. There were still signs of what happened: gloves thrown on the floor, blood smeared across the tiles. You wandered in, your feet dragging as you looked around confused.

“Oh my god!” You heard Dana’s voice as she took in the sight of you. You looked like you’d walked through hell. Your clothes were covered in blood and dirt, your once white shoes now a dark burgundy. Even your hair was sticky with blood.

“Y/N!?” Dr. Abbot came running over to you, putting his hands on your face, examining your forehead.

“Get a gurney, now!” Robby barked. You stood still. Your whole body was shaking as the adrenaline started to leave.

“I tried to help…” Your voice was small. You looked around and saw the ER had come to a standstill at the sight of you. Everyone looking at you in horrified sympathy.

“You did, kid. You helped a hell of a lot of people.” Dr. Abbot said as he guided you onto the gurney. They wheeled you into a trauma bay, which you thought was too much.

“Where’s all the blood coming from?” You heard one of the nurses ask.

“It’s not mine. It’s not…they kept grabbing me to help.” You said, the tears starting to fall.

“Bullet graze to the forehead, looks like a bullet wound to the left anterior thigh.” Abbot rattled off.

“I took it out.” You mumbled.

“What?” Robby and Abbot looked up, shocked. You pulled the bullet from your pocket.

“I couldn’t keep going with it in, I took it out.” You said, dropping the bullet onto the tray next to you.

“Jesus Christ.” Robby gasped.

“Okay, let’s get her in line for head CT. Get her a fluid bolus to help with shock and get me a closure kit.” Abbot ordered.

“Is Jake okay?” You mumbled, grabbing onto Robby.

“Yeah, yeah. He’ll be okay.” You saw something break in him. “Said you helped him. Said you helped everyone.” He held your hand.

“Did Leah make it?” Your breath hitching in your chest, knowing the answer.

“We’re giving you some morphine for the pain, Kid. You might fall asleep, let yourself.” Abbot interrupted, shooting Robby a look.

“I should have gone with her. It would have been better, she would have made it.” The sobs took over your body.

“No, it wouldn’t have. You did everything you could for her. We did everything we could. There was no more anyone could have done.” Abbot’s voice was firm but gentle.

“I wasn’t fast enough! I couldn’t move fast enough! I should have saved them! I couldn’t Save them!” Your voice cracking, breaking everyone in the rooms heart. Robby turned away to hide the tears. Abbot clenched his fists and shook his head.

“Let’s get propofol on board. Kid, I’m going to sedate you for this. You need it.” Abbot said, clearing his throat.

“I wasn’t good enough! I failed! I failed them, I failed all of them!” You were in hysterics. Abbot held you down by the shoulders as Princess came in and administered the propofol with red, glassy eyes.

“Don’t fight it, Kid! Don’t fight it.” Abbot pleaded. Robby’s hand never left yours. You sobbed yourself into sedation. Finally, able to rest.

“What are we going to do with her?” Robby sighed.

“We take care of her. We make sure she’s safe from herself.” Abbot said as he worked to close the wound.

“She’ll need to be put on leave. There’s no way she can treat patients after this.” Robby shook his head.

“We’ll figure it out. I’m not letting this break her. She’s too good for that, she deserves better.” Abbot clenched his jaw.

Your head was pounding as you started to regain consciousness. The lights were too bright, sending shock waves through your skull as you tried to open your eyes. Your leg was throbbing in time with your heartbeat, it was irritating. All of your muscles were sore; you felt like you’d been steamrolled. Then the memories came flooding back. The blood, the mud, the screams.

“Easy, you’re okay.” You heard Robby’s voice. “You’re safe, you’re in the hospital.” He said, a hand on your shoulder.

“too bright.” You mumbled. Robby got up and turned the lights down.

“You have a concussion, but nothing serious.” He said sitting next to you.

“What time is it?” You robbed at your eyes.

“It’s a little after midnight.” Robby looked at his watch.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You said, your throat dry and spit thick in your mouth.

“We’re taking shifts. Abbot will be here in a bit, I’ll go sleep. You don’t need to worry about it.” He told her, leaning on the guard rails.

“When can I go home?”

“In a few hours. With a follow-up appointment with psych tomorrow.” He told her.

“I don’t want-”

“Not negotiable. You’re getting evaluated, it’s protocol after what you’ve been through. You’re also on medical leave for the next three weeks.” He said, knowing you were going to fight him.

“That’s a bit excessive. I can still do desk work with my leg.” You argued, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You need to heal more than that leg. We all do. But you saw things, did things, none of us had to. It’s going to stick to you for a while. We need to make sure that you’re okay before bringing you back in.” He offered you a tissue. You pushed it away.

“Sitting at home, with my thoughts isn’t going to heal anything.” You snapped.

“Neither is putting your head down and pushing yourself beyond your limits.”

“I just want to go home.” You said, bottom lip trembling.

“I know.” Robby sighed, squeezing shut his eyes in frustration. “You’re going to stay with Abbot for a week.” He knew you’d hate the idea.

“What? No! I can go home!” You shouted, tears streaming down your face. The door opened and in walked Abbot.

“You told her then.” He said as he sat across from you.

“I don’t need a babysitter! I’m fine!” you yelled.

“You aren’t. You aren’t fine. It’s okay to be not okay. But we aren’t letting you fall through the cracks. You will let us take care of you, it’s not a choice. You saw things, Kid, that you won’t be able to forget. The human brain is not equipped for the things you had to do today. It’s going to take time to figure out how to deal with all of this. If anyone here is qualified to tell you that it’s me.” Abbot said, putting a hand on your arm.

“I don’t want to be this…pathetic thing, everyone is going to look at me different.” You tried to stop the crying but failed.

“You aren’t pathetic. No one thinks that. If anything, everyone here looks at you and sees the strength that they don’t have.” Robby said.

“Kid, you’ll get through this. It’ll be a bitch, but you will. We aren’t going anywhere. Besides, I’m not that bad to live with.” Abbot shrugged.

“It’s asking too much.” You shook your head.

“Well, we weren’t asking so no, it’s not.” Abbot smirked.

“You deserve a chance to get better. That’s all we’re doing, giving you that chance.” Robby said.

You wanted to fight it. Something in you not able to accept such kindness after what you had just witnessed. But you didn’t. You kept quiet as they told you their plans and nodded along when they asked if you understood. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be okay, but at least you knew they’d be looking out for you. They’d catch you if you fell.   

[harunayuuka2060]

Solomon: You were gone for so long. I’m glad to see you’re okay.

Solomon: Hmm… But are you eating well? You look like you've lost weight. I should come over ASAP and cook you some of my special recipes. *chuckles*

Luke: Is that a threat?

Solomon: No?

MC: *laughs awkwardly* By the way, Solomon, how are things going?

Solomon: Not so good, haha. Ever since you disappeared, we've all been on edge. We tried not to dwell on negative thoughts, but somehow, we ended up becoming suspicious of each other, thinking we'd finally lost it.

MC: Solomon...

Solomon: Surprisingly, Luke going missing actually gave us a lead!

Luke: And you're so happy about it, huh? *pouts*

Solomon: *chuckles* Of course not. Anyway, I’ll have to end the conversation for now. I’ll study the coordinates to that world, and hopefully, I’ll be there by the next morning with Simeon.

MC: Wait, Solomon! Will that be a good idea? *obviously worried*

Solomon: *smiles* You know I’m an expert at infiltrating worlds. This is nothing to me.

MC: ...

MC: *feeling reassured* Okay. I'll wait for your arrival.

Grim: *is sulking in the corner*

MC: ...

MC: *turns to Ace* Did something happen?

Ace: He cried, lol. I think he's having some abandonment issues.

MC: Eh?

Deuce: Anyway, Ace said you had an emergency.

MC: Ah, yes. *smiles* Two of my friends—

Luke: *clears his throat*

MC: ...

Luke: "Spouses".

Ace and Deuce: ...

Ace: YOU'RE MARRIED?!

MC: I wouldn't really say that, but yes. I'm in a relationship.

Ace: Dang, bruh! I didn't expect that from you!

Luke: *frowns* What do you mean?

Ace: I mean, sure, they're cute. But that's just it.

Deuce: That's a boldfaced lie.

Ace: Dude, what?

Malleus: Is there an occasion I’m not aware of?

Lilia: Hm? Oh. Is it because the Prefect is busy decorating the Ramshackle Dorm?

Malleus: Yes. I wonder if they'll invite me.

Lilia: I can ask them.

Malleus: *smiles* Please do. I want to prepare something, just in case.

Lilia: Deuce told me that two of their husbands will arrive tomorrow.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: The child of man is married?

Lilia: Yes. Shocking, isn't it?

Malleus: ...

Malleus: I always assumed they were innocent to the world.

Lilia: *chuckles* But Malleus, haven’t they proven to you time and time again that they know things you don’t?

[kate-inthedarkness]

Hi! I love the eli x reader in her own band imagine can you write more w that concept? It can be about anything!!!

Love your writing ! <3

I’m glad you liked it so much!! I’m more than happy to write more about them ❤️

Hope you like it, lovely xxx

You can read Tuning Out here, which is the same AU, if you haven’t read it already xoxo

Little Things - Eli Hewson

Summary: You’ve always struggled with your period, but being on the road is making it feel ten times worse, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Elijah, who makes it his business to make you feel better…

Warnings: Just fluff!!!

A/N: I actually love writing about them so please send in more ideas for them if you lovely lot have any!! Enjoy xxx

The reverb hums off the rafters of the empty venue, the sound check dragging longer than it should. You’re sitting on a flight case with your head in your hands, elbow resting awkwardly on your knee, trying to look like you’re just tired—not like your insides are twisting into knots.

The rest of your band is tuning up, joking around with the techs and the rest of the inhaler lads, but your skin feels clammy, and your stomachs turning in a slow, sour churn.

You’re trying not to make it a thing. It’s just a bad day. Well, bad week. Happens every month as woman. Usually, you tough it out. But being on the road—limited sleep, sketchy food, shared bathrooms—it’s like your body’s staging a full-blown rebellion.

You feel a shift in the air before you hear his voice.

“Hey.”

Elijah. Of course it’s Elijah.

You glance up to see him crouch in front of you, brows pinched in concern. He’s in his usual tour attire. Blacks jeans, worn tee, hair messy from running his hands through it too much. “You okay, gorgeous?”

You managed a half-hearted nod, but you know it’s not convincing.

He leans in a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Jesus, you’re so pale. Did you eat?”

You shake your head, and his hand is suddenly brushing the side of your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone. “Talk to me. What’s going on, hm?”

You hesitate, then mutter, “It’s just my period. Bad cramps. Nausea. Messy. Usual horror story.”

Understanding flashes in his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You laugh softly, even though it hurts. “It’s not exactly sexy is it, babe.”

“Screw sexy,” he says, his tone gentle. “I care more about you not passing out mid-set.”

You blink against the stinging behind your eyes, overwhelmed by not just pain but by the softness in his voice.

“I’ve got some stuff on the bus,” he says, already rising to his feet. “Heating pad. Your favourite herbal tea. You sit tight, okay?”

“Eli—really, I’m fine—“

But he’s already gone.

Not even five minutes later, you’re curled up on one of the couches backstage, your hoodie balled against your stomach and a warm rice pack pressed into your side. Elijah’s sitting beside you, legs stretched out, his hand tangled in yours. He’s quiet, thumb tracing light circles over the back of your palm while some lo-fi track buzzes from a speaker someone left on.

“Remember that show in London,” he murmurs, “when I lost my voice mid-set and afterwards you literally did everything for me for the rest of the UK leg?”

You nod, eyes still closed.

“You took care of me then, and I was a pain in the arse. Let me return the favour.”

Your chest aches in that good way—the kind of ache that comes from being loved without conditions. You squeeze his hand.

“You’re annoying when you’re right,” you whisper.

He smiles, his nose brushing yours. “I’m always right.”

Then softer, against your temple. “But only about you.”

—————————————

The lights are blinding as your band takes the stage. You step up to the mic, swallowing hard against the wave of nausea that’s threatening to hit. Every beat of the drum feels like a pulse against your ribs, and you try to steady your breath, to will your body into cooperation.

It’s not easy—your muscles are stiff, your stomach a mess, but you’re the lead singer. You can’t just crumble or half-arse your performance. Not here, in front of the crowd. Not with Elijah and the rest of the lads standing side stage, watching you with the kind of quiet intensity that always makes your chest tighten with something between pride and pressure.

You throw yourself into the first verse of your opening song, pushing through, every word a little shaky as you grit your teeth against the cramps. But the adrenaline kicks in, and soon enough, the pain fades into the background of the crowds energy. You’ve been here before. You’ve done this before. You can do it again.

The stage lights flash—yellow and blue streaking across your band mates as you jump into the chorus, letting your voice soar. Your fingers ache against your guitar, but you refuse to slow down. You can feel Elijah’s gaze on you, even from the side, and it’s grounding. It gives you that extra burst of strength.

Halfway through the set, you catch a glimpse of him—Elijah leaning forward against the side stage barrier, a beer bottle in hand, watching you with wide eyes, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

There’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes the pain feel more bearable. It’s like he sees every struggle you’re pushing through, every inch of effort it’s taking to keep your body moving, and he’s still there, supporting you from the shadows.

As the final song fades out and the last chords ring through the venue, you take a breath and wipe a hand across your forehead, still feeling light-headed but somehow exhilarated. You’re trying not to lean too heavily on the mic stand as the band wraps things up, but the dizziness is creeping back in.

You exit the stage with the rest of the band, your legs feeling like the might buckle at any moment, and you barely make it to the green room before Elijah’s there, waiting, his arms open wide.

Before you can even speak, he’s pulling you into a tight hug, his hands cupping your back gently but firmly as if he can keep you steady.

“You were incredible,” he says, his voice low and soft in your ear.

You laugh weakly, still trying to catch your breath. “I felt like I was dying halfway through, but sure. Incredible.”

He pulls back slightly, looking you in the eyes with that trademark smirk of his. “I mean it. You were amazing. You powered through like a champ.”

You start to say something else, but the next thing you know, his lips are on yours, warm and urgent. You melt into it, all the tension from the show flooding out of you as you sink into the kiss. When he pulls back, you’re both grinning, your forehead resting against his.

“Seriously, Eli,” you murmur, still catching your breath. “I’m not sure I could’ve done it without you watching.”

His thumbs brushes over your bottom lip gently, his gaze softening. “You’re tougher than you think, love. But I’ll always be here. Trust me, I’ve always got your back.”

You lean into his touch, your heart swelling as the pain of the past few hours feels distant, like it was never there at all. You loved Elijah more than life itself, but somehow in this moment, your heart nearly aches you love him that much.

And without you even knowing, his heart feels the exact same way.

—————————————

The night air is cool against your skin as you walk side by side with Elijah toward your respective your buses. The buzzing of the venue fades into the background, leaving only the sound of your footsteps on the pavement, steady but reluctant.

It’s always like this after a show—those moments of calm before everything resets and you’re back to the grind. You’ve both been through it, but tonight, you can feel the weight of the day on your shoulders.

Elijah slips his hand into yours as you approach the split between the two buses, the divide growing larger with every step. You stop for a moment, both of you lingering in the half-light, not quite ready to say goodbye for the night yet.

“I don’t want to leave you alone tonight,” he says, his voice low. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, the gesture almost shy, like he’s unsure how much to say.

You tilt your head, offering a small smile despite the exhaustion. “I’ll be okay. We’re both gonna crash out anyways, right?”

He nods but doesn’t let go of your hand. His eyes lock with yours, and you can see the lingering pride and tenderness in his eyes—pride in you, and in the very openly spoken bond you share. A pause stretches between you, comfortable and warm, before he steps closer.

“Promise me you’ll take it easy tonight?” He murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. “No more pushing yourself so hard, yeah? I’ll help you with anything you need tomorrow.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words. “I promise. But only because you said so.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that vibrates through your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

You’re both standing there for a moment longer, just taking in the closeness, the soft warmth between you. The buzz of the tour bus engines hums in the distance, waiting for both of you to board and disappear into the routine of the road, but this moment—the one that’s just the two of you—feels like home.

“Hey,” he adds quietly, voice low and teasing, “I’ll be thinking about you. All night. You know that, right?”

You grin, heart skipping wildly. “I don’t doubt it.”

He leans in, brushing a kiss over your forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary before stepping back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Get some rest.”

“Same to you, baby. I love you.” You reply, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging you tightly.

“And I love you most, gorgeous.” He hugs you tighter in return, a light blush dusting his cheeks at your declaration of love he hears daily.

You break away from the hug, squeezing his hand one more time before he turns toward his bus.

With one last look over his shoulder, you both wave.

You watch him go inside, feeling that familiar ache of longing mix with the warmth of knowing he’ll be there again tomorrow. Then, turning toward your own bus, you take a deep breath and step inside, the silence of the night settling around you like a comforting blanket.

The world keeps spinning, the road stretches ahead, but tonight—you’ve got your person. Elijah will always be your person, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

[camsthisky]

Public displays of affection + batfam?

“—promised they’ll have the reports finished by Monday morning,” Bruce finishes saying to the shareholders sitting around the table just as the door slams open.

Bruce turns towards the door, eyebrows furrowed and lips thinned in disapproval, ready to reprimand his security guard for letting someone into an important meeting. Except—Bruce sees nothing but a blur of dark hair as he’s rammed into by another person, arms wrapping around his middle and holding tightly to the back of his suit jacket.

It’s lucky that Bruce had been standing up to present, otherwise he’s sure he and his chair would be on the floor.

It takes Bruce longer than he’d like to admit to realize that it’s his oldest holding onto Bruce like the world’s ending. Dick is shaking, his face buried into Bruce’s collar, and it’s so uncharacteristic that Bruce can’t help the alarm bells ringing in his head. His own arms finally move to surround his son while he looks over Dick’s shoulder to the security guard, Rosa, leaning against the door jamb. Her eyebrows are furrowed and there’s a pinched look on her face, that says more than anything.

Bruce’s security team did always have a soft spot for Dick especially. It came with how young Dick was when he came into Bruce’s life.

“Uh, Mr. Wayne?” one of the shareholders coughs awkwardly. They’re relatively new, considering Bruce’s kids always seem to be lurking and most of the shareholders have gotten used to being interrupted at least once a month.

Lucius stands up and clears his throat. “Seems like a family emergency. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning to finish this discussion.”

Bruce nods, tugging Dick towards the door. “Thanks, Lucius.”

It’s only once they’re in the elevator, security guard following along behind, that Bruce asks her, “What happened?”

Dick says nothing. Bruce expected it, considering Dick has yet to let go, even to walk.

Rosa’s pinched look is still there. She says, “I don’t know all of the details. Sorry, Mr. Wayne.”

“Did something happen in the building?”

Rosa shakes her head. “Not that I’m aware of. I was in the lobby. Dick ran in and headed to the stairs. Didn’t even stop to say hello to me or Maria.”

“He took the stairs up to the conference room?” Bruce blanches.

Rosa snorts and gives Bruce an annoyed look. He’s glad she’s comfortable enough for that. She’s been on his security team since before he even took over the company full time.

“You know I wouldn’t let him run like twenty flights of stairs. I dragged him over to the elevator and took him up to the shareholder meeting.”

They step out of the elevator on the top floor, Bruce’s office just a few steps away. Bruce’s secretary starts when she sees them, jumping to her feet.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, voice pitching nervously.

“Can you cancel my last meeting for today? Reschedule for tomorrow or the day after,” Bruce says.

“Of course,” his secretary says.

She hesitates, looking between the three of them. She’s relatively new, only hired about two years ago. She hasn’t had much interaction with Dick in general, but Bruce is sure she’s heard stories.

“I’ll take him into my office,” Bruce says, stopping her from trying to pry any further.

The security guard sighs. “I should get back downstairs. Keep me updated, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce nods, leading his son into his office and shutting the door.

“Dick?”

Dick shakes his head.

Bruce sighs. “C’mon, chum. Why don’t we settle on the couch?”

Dick says nothing, so Bruce takes initiative and sits down on the couch near the floor to ceiling windows, guiding Dick down to sit next to him. Dick shifts so he’s curled up into Bruce’s side.

Bruce doesn’t know where to go from here. Beside the rough patch when Bruce first took Dick in at eight, Dick had spent his childhood at the manor telling Bruce things. Even when the two of them argued, Dick didn’t really shut him out until he’d left Robin behind.

Bruce isn’t good with emotions in general, and despite being able to follow a criminal’s thought pattern and behavior, it always seems to be the people he’s closest to that Bruce has trouble understanding.

The change from Robin to Nightwing had changed Dick and Bruce’s dynamic immensely. Dick, no longer a kid, tended to go to his friends first. Bruce’s interactions with Dick were much more volatile. Tim stepping up as Robin had changed things again, back to something more positive, but Dick had never been as open as he’d been as a kid.

There were occasions, like now, where Dick’s flighty-nature got the best of him, and Bruce always felt so unprepared to have his son come to him when running away from something else. None of his other children tended to go to Bruce for comfort. Maybe it’s because they’d come into his life at an older age than Dick had.

Regardless, it hurt to see his son in such distress no matter the situation. He never knew how to fix it.

“Tell me how to help,” Bruce pleads.

Dick shakes his head again. He speaks for the first time since he’d glomped onto Bruce in the conference room. “I just need a hug.”

An obvious lie. It’s worse than just needing a hug, but Bruce can learn from his missteps with Dick. Questioning things further would just cause Dick to shut down and most likely retreat.

“Okay,” Bruce says, blowing out a breath, tugging Dick tighter into his side, wishing Dick was eight again, small enough to tuck under his bulletproof cape to protect him. He runs a hand through his son’s hair, and Dick’s shoulders shake.

“I’m sorry,” Dick says meekly. “Sorry.”

“You’re alright, chum,” Bruce promises. “I’m right here.”

“I know.”

[frequentlykit]

Helping Hand Pt3 - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

WC: 1.8k

Summary: Chris is torn about seeing Y/N again and looks to his members for help.

A/N: i'm sorry this has taken so long and please don't kill me for breaking this up but i wanted to get something out for you, i promise to update again soon

- kit <3

Part 1 Part 2

Though you hadn’t seen Chris since that night in the hotel, you had been texting with him pretty frequently. And more often than not it was him who texted first. Asking about your day, if you’d eaten, what your plans were or apologizing for not having time to hang out.

Your phone was almost knocked out of your hands as you slammed into someone else, also looking down at their phone, “Oh my god I’m so sorry I-”

“No, no, I’m sorry, my fault.” That voice… you knew that voice.

No way. No FREAKING way. This was not happening to you again. But sure enough, as you looked up, you locked eyes with Hyunjin.

“Jesus christ, you guys are everywhere. What is this?”

“Huh?” Hyunjin looked at you with his big brown eyes, confused.

“Uh, nothing, sorry. How are you, Hyunjin?”

He squints at you, “...good? Do I know you?”

You shake your head, “No… I’ve seen you though, I mean, not in a creepy way! I’m a fan.”

“Oh! You’re Stay?” He says with a small smile.

You nod.

“Well nice to meet you.” He smiles.

You laugh, shaking your head, “You too.”

“What?” He asks, again making that adorable confused face, like he’d been left out of a joke.

“Nothing, nothing.” You wave him off. “Where are you heading, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Convenience store, we’re out of my favorite ramyeon.”

“I am also heading that way,” You smile, quickly adding, “I swear I’m not just saying that to follow you around–”

Hyunjin laughs, “I believe you.”

CHRIS' POV

I never thought I could be friends with a fan, I always thought it would be too complicated. But I now realize that while I don’t think I could be friends with a fan, I could 100% have a friend who happened to be a fan. 

Or maybe more than a friend. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About the way she looked at me. About that kiss.

I hadn’t mentioned her to the kids, I didn't want to try and explain myself. Though I did debate thanking Hyunjin for telling me about that dumb spa. Which, while very nice, I spent most of my time there thinking about her. Then that phone call.

I could tell right away that something was wrong. Though I thought it might have been a wrong number, I was glad I trusted my gut.

Y/N hadn’t answered my message so I set down my phone on the desk. I was sitting in the studio with Jisung and Changbin, staring off into space as the two of them debated which of two beats they wanted to use for the song Jisung wrote.

“Hyung? Hey Hyung!”

I blink, turning my attention to Jisung who was waving dramatically in front of my face.

“What?” I shove his hand away.

“What is going on with you lately?”

“Nothing is going on.” I say, less than convincingly.

“Come on, Hyung.” Changbin chimes in, “You’ve been spacy since the break.”

“I have not!” 

“Hyuuuung!” Jisung whines, shaking my shoulders.

“Stop! Nothing is going on, I swear!” I say, standing up and stepping away from the pair of them.

“Is it a girl?” Changbin said, obviously teasing.

I tried not to make a face, tried to scoff and act like that was ridiculous, but based on the face that Changbin made, I didn’t do a very good job.

“Oh my god, I was kidding, is it a girl!?”

“No…”

“God, you’re a worse liar than Felix.” Jisung grins, “So who is it?”

“No one!”

“Is it Jihyo-noona? You’ve been spending more time with her lately.”

While that was true, I had gotten lunch with Jihyo three times in the past two weeks, it wasn't for the reason Jisung was thinking. She had been kind enough (pitied me enough) to let me pick her brain about dating as an idol, especially a fan, as well as how I should go about things with Y/N. I'd even text BamBam who was, while insightful, unhelpful.

“No, god, no. Who are you? Dispatch? You know we aren’t like that.”

“Who is it then!?” Jisung insists.

“No one… no one you know…”

“Oh so it’s someone you met?” Changbin grins.

“Okay, this is ridiculous. Can’t I keep my private life private?”

“It’s like he doesn’t know us.” Jisung looks at Changbin who nods.

“See, you can tell us and we won’t tell the others. Or you can try to keep your stupid little secret and we’ll get the others to pester you about it too.”

“Are you threatening me?” I squint at the pair.

“No,” Changbin grins, “I’m just telling you how it is.”

“Wow, Minho is rubbing off on you.” I shake my head.

“Hyung!” Jisung whines again.

“Okay, okay, fine. I met… a girl, while I was in Japan.”

“At the spa?” Changbin asks.

I shake my head, “On the plane ride over.”

“Were you sitting next to her? How did it start? What does she look like? Is she cute? Does she-”

Changbin covers Jisungs mouth, “How did it happen?”

“She… caught my attention and then offered me an empty seat next to her when the people I was sitting next to were falling asleep on me. We got to talking and it was nice to just be and talk to someone without expectations. I… I gave her my number when the plane landed and then I left.”

“That’s it, that’s the interaction that had you all wrapped up.”

“Well no…”

“Spill! I’m glued to my seat!” Jisung grins.

I sigh, “She called me two days later and asked for help when some drunk guys were creeping on her, I picked her up and took her back to her hotel. We talked for hours, I've never been so relaxed with someone outside the group, and then… I kissed her.”

“Hyung!”

“Don’t even start!” I point at them, “You would’ve too if she looked at you like that.”

“So what now?” Jisung asks.

“I’ve been texting with her and it’s good, I’ve wanted to meet up but we’ve been so busy and honestly… I’m a little scared.”

“Does she live here?” Changbin asks.

I nod, “She was on a work trip in Japan, she lives in Seoul.”

“So plan a date with her! You’ve had time to see Jihyo, you can make time for her.”

“What were you doing with Jihyo-noona?” Jisung asks, suddenly suspicious.

“Asking her how to go about seeing Y/N…” I mutter, looking down.

“Oh my god, you’re adorable.” Jisung grins. “I’ll bet you called BamBam too.”

“Shut up!”

“Hyung,” Changbin steals my attention, “Ask the girl out, I promise it’s not as complicated as you’re making it.”

“Where do I take her though?” I groan, sitting back down on the couch.

“What did Noona say?” Jisung asks.

“The basic stuff, park, restaurant, cafe, but honestly I’m more worried about getting photographed. I don’t want her to have to deal with that but if I pick somewhere too secluded she might be freaked out or uncomfortable and I don’t want to come across that way andsinceshe’safanthere’sthatpowerimbalanceandIalreadyfeelweirdaboutkissingherwhenIdideventhoughshesaidshewanteditbutIdon’t-”

“Chan!” Changbin calls, interrupting my word vomit. “Calm down.”

“Did you say she was a fan?” Jisung asks, ever observant.

“...yes.” I mumble.

YOUR POV

“Do you frequent this convenience store?” You ask as you and Hyunjin peruse the aisles.

“Not really,” he shrugs, taking a few bags of ramen from the shelf and putting them in his basket, “But Felix and I were hanging out nearby and I wanted to pick these up before we left.”

“Felix didn't want to join you?” You ask, grabbing some candy.

“He said he didn't want to walk all that way.”

“How far did you walk?” You ask, chuckling softly.

“Eh, a couple blocks.” He walks over to the counter and sets down his basket. “Here,” he reaches his hand out for the candy in yours.

“Oh, Hyunjin, you don't have to do that.” You say, shaking your head.

He slips the candy from your hands, “I want to. You've been so nice to talk to.”

“Well thank you,” you smile.

Your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket and you remember that you'd been texting Chris.

“Who are you texting? Your boyfriend?” Hyunjin teases, leaning his head over your shoulder.

“Uh…” You don't really know how to respond, or if he'd even believe you if you told him the truth.

“You don't have to answer, I'm just being nosy.” He smiles, handing back the candy you'd picked out.

CHRIS' POV

“Huh.” I chuckle as the texts from Y/N come through.

“What now?” Changbin asks.

“It's Y/N.” I answer.

“Ooo, what'd she say!” Jisung grabs my arm and leans over my shoulder to take a peek at my phone.

I shake him off, “She ran into Hyunjin.”

“For real?” Changbin laughs.

“How'd that happen?” Jisung asks.

“Don’t know yet, but apparently he bought her candy.” I shrug.

Changbin and Jisung looked at me for a moment and they were so quiet that I looked between the pair of them, “...what?”

“You’re jealous.” Jisung grins.

“What!?”

“You are!” Changbin adds, “Your shoulders got all tight when you said that.”

“I am not. Why would I be jealous?”

“Because he’s with her and you’re not.” Jisung pokes my side.

“Jisung, I swear to god-”

“Call him.” Changbin interrupts.

“Call who?” Jisung and I say together.

“Hyunjin.”

YOUR POV

“Uh, yeah, no, umm,” You aren’t sure how to start, making yourself busy by putting the candy in your bag. “Remember when I said ‘You guys are everywhere?’”

Hyunjin nods as the pair of you walk out of the convenience store.

“Well I said that because I met another member a few weeks ago.”

“Really?” Hyunjin laughs.

“Yeah, I-”

You’re cut off as Hyunjin’s phone starts to ring, he pulls it out and laughs again, “Speaking of other members.”

He answers, “Hey Channie-hyung… I’m just about to head back with Lix… uh…” He glances at you, covering the speaker of his phone, “I never caught your name.”

“Y/N.” You smile.

He nods, going back to the phone, “Yes I am… how in the world did you know that?”

“Hi Chris!” You call.

Hyunjin pulls the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker phone.

“Hi sweetheart.” His voice rings through the phone. “I figured this would be an easy way to ask, do you want to join the kids and I tonight? For hot pot?”

“Oh…” You say, shocked at the invitation.

“No pressure,” Chris is quick to add, “It was Changbin’s idea.”

You laugh, “I’m flattered.”

“You should!” Hyunjin said, looking excited.

“Okay.” You shrug with a smile, “Let’s do it.”

“Great! You can come back with Hyunjin and Felix if you want, unless you want to change or something since you just got off work.”

“I’d rather go home and shower but I can meet you guys at the restaurant.”

“That works for us, I’ll text it to you.” Chris responds.

“Can’t wait.”

Hyunjin ends the phone call, “Well, small world.”

You nod, “You have no idea.”

“Well I guess I will see you tonight.”

“See you then.”

He waves before crossing the street and walking around the corner. Just then a text from Chris came through.

A/N: i swear i will post again soon, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist. thanks for reading and don't forget to like and reblog (god i feel like a youtuber lol)

TAGLIST: @akindaflora @lezleeferguson-120

[the-peak-legend-of-first-gen]

We're still on cool temperature level in the new arc luckily BUT IM MISSING MY SHAYLAA

You got anything with Hudson? Uhh maybe reader who is kinda part of Allied since he was brought back to the hotel after the lost😗 and reader been with him since. Just fluff and not exactly established relationship, reader just subly pinning and he kinda had the idea. Just never pressed it. Ty ily <33

- Beloved Dood

Hello, my beloved Dood. I hope you enjoy this😇❤️

You had been fighting at the other end of Busan, and by the grace of God, it was over. A couple of injuries here, a few scrapes there—but nothing too serious. At least that’s what you thought, until your phone buzzed.

“Everything alright, Zack?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Things are under control now. An injured friend isn’t that bad, is it?” he said, sounding meek.

You instantly knew who he was talking about. Your heart dropped.

‘Okay… where are you guys?’

‘I’ll drop him off at the hotel. The others aren’t picking up, Daniel’s line is busy, so you’re the only one left. If you don’t mind, can you keep an eye on him?’

‘Sure, no problem. And what about you? Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m good. It looks like things escalated on a bigger scale. I’ll head over to where the others are.’

You ended the call and went straight to the hotel. Hudson arrived a little later—naturally, he had to be treated first. Your silly mind had imagined you’d be the one patching him up. You had daydreamed about it. But it was okay. You were just glad it wasn’t a life-threatening injury.

You saw him in the hotel lobby and waved. He was covered in bandages, a neck brace supporting him. From the looks of it, his injuries had been serious.

“How are you?” you asked, immediately regretting the question. What a stupid thing to say.

He looked at you with a nonchalant expression. “They were trash-talking my master. I know I’m not strong enough to go up against a 1st generation fighter, but I couldn’t hold back. The rest…” He trailed off, avoiding your eyes.

You wanted to take his hand and tell him that he did his best. That even his teacher would be proud. That you were proud. But it felt too raw, too sentimental. After all, you’d only known each other a short while.

So instead, you placed a hand gently on his shoulder and gave a small smile. The touch lingered longer than expected. Your eyes met briefly. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you quickly said, “Want to head to dinner? Or would you rather wait for the others?”

“Let’s wait, if you don’t mind. But you should eat—you haven’t eaten all day,” he said.

“It’s fine. But shouldn’t you be the one eating? You’ve got meds to take.”

He paused to consider it, but before he could respond, your stomach growled loudly.

He sighed, and your face turned crimson.

“It’s fine,” he said. “You know what? It’s best if both of us eat.”

You immediately turned and walked quickly toward the dining area, too embarrassed to say anything else.

He watched your retreating figure, noting how fast you were walking—just like you used to back at the fruit shop. His time there had been brief, but he’d noticed you coming by every day, buying something or another. He had tried his best to help you, noticing how your fingers trembled when he handed you the bag, how Sally would shoot you knowing glances, and how your gaze always lingered a little when it met his.

Even now, he was noticing things he probably shouldn’t. But he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. His first goal had always been to become strong—strong enough to protect Ansan, strong enough that no one could ever insult his teacher again, strong enough to protect yo—

Wait. What? There were plenty of women in Ansan. That wasn’t his goal. Not his priority.He brushed the thought away, only for it to resurface as you waved to him again from the dining area—this time to indicate that his favorite food was on the menu.

That smile of yours, at least, eased some of the bitterness stirring inside him.

[vodika-vibes]

For The Love Of A Selkie

Summary: Howzer knows there’s something super sketchy about his neighbor. The man is a drunkard with violent tendencies even when he’s sober, and he’s about 85% sure that he bought his wife. After all, she always looks so sad, all of the time.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x Selkie F!Reader

Word Count: 2534

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence, kidnapping, trafficking

A/N: So, I had an idea and needed to get it down. Which is how this fic was built. Sorry if it's not great, I'm recovering from the mother of all migraines.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

“Good morning, Captain.”

Howzer looks up from where he’s tying his sneakers as the familiar, almost musical, voice drifts over the hedge from the house next door.

“Good morning, sen’ika,” He offers the slight woman a kind smile, “You’re awake early.”

“Oh, well,” She glances away from him for a moment, “I wanted to water the plants before the sun gets too high.”

She has a new bruise on her cheek, Howzer notices. And he twists his lips, “Goddard got drunk again last night, I see.”

She laughs hollowly, “Believe it or not, he’s better drunk.”

“I just don’t understand why you don’t leave.” Howzer lowers his voice as he notices her anxious glance towards the house. The last thing he wants is to be the cause for her to get hurt even more.

Sorrow crosses her face, edging into despair, and Howzer feels about 10 inches tall. Her life is hard enough without him adding to it.

“There’s no where to go.” She finally says, after she takes a moment to wipe the grief from her face and replaces it with a fake smile.

“Your family—” Howzer trails off and shakes his head, “Never mind. Just know that you can come to me if he gets to be too bad.” She beams at him, and his heart skips a beat.

She’s dazzling.

Mesmerizing, even.

Her husband doesn’t deserve her.

Hell, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve her. But at least he’d treat her like she deserves to be treated.

“You’re kind, Howzer.” She says lightly, and he ignores the way that his name falling from her lips gives him goosebumps. “I’m glad you are. It would be all too easy for me to end up hating people—” She trails off with a sigh.

“I think most people are kind. You just...got unlucky.”

The smile she shoots him is a little odd, “More so than you might imagine.” One of the lights in her house flickers on, and her shoulders slump as if an unimaginable weight just landed on her shoulders, “Have a nice run, Captain.”

“Sure. I hope you have a nice morning—”

The screen door slams open, and Goddard glares down at his wife, “Useless woman! You haven’t made breakfast yet?”

“You hate eating breakfast—”

“I want it this morning, and get me a beer too.”

“I—yes. Of course.”

“A bit early for beer, don’t you think Goddard?” Howzer asks wryly, “It’s not even 6 am.”

He releases a booming laugh, “Well, you know what they say about it being 5:00 somewhere, right? You should join me!”

“If I show up for work drunk, I’ll have my ass handed to me.” Howzer counters wryly, “Have a good day, Goddard. I need to get going.”

“Sure! Sure! Sorry if the wife was bothering you!”

“Ah, I like hearing about her plants. Maker knows that I have a brown thumb after all.” Howzer offers the much older man a half wave, and then steps off his property and onto the sidewalk. “See you around, Goddard.”

“You too, Howzer!”

Howzer might hate the man, but he’s pretty good at being polite with people he can’t stand.

He exhales slowly, pops his earbuds in, and starts the music on his phone. And then, with one last glance towards Sen’ika’s house, he starts his run. He wishes there was more he could do for her.

But his hands are tied.

And then, several months later, Howzer finds himself invited to a cookout, held by Goddard. And, as much as he would have preferred to tell the man to take a long walk off a short pier, he goes anyway.

For one simple reason.

The bruises covering his poor Sen’ika have become more common. And he’s pretty sure he saw burns on her forearm the other morning.

“How do you like your steak, Howzer?” Goddard asks from where he’s standing in front of the grill, “Normally, I leave all the cooking to the wife. But grilling is a man’s job.”

He’s very drunk, already.

“Oh, I like mine cooked to medium,” Howzer replies as he slowly sips his soda, his gaze following Sen’ika as she carries food and drinks from inside the house to the buffet table outside the house.

She’s limping.

“Hey Goddard,”

“What?”

“How many people are you expecting? Your wife made a lot of food.”

“Oh, seven or eight other people said they would come.” He replies dismissively, “Though, I got texts a little bit ago saying that they weren’t actually going to come. So I hope you like leftovers.”

“I’ll never say no to free food.”

“Ha! I remember being 20 years old and saying the same thing.”

“I’m 25.”

“Same difference. You’re still a kid.”

“Your wife is younger than I am.” Howzer points out, flatly.

“Ah, she doesn’t count.” Goddard waves his hand dismissively again, “She’s not really human, after all.”

“...I’m going to need you to explain that.”

“She’s a Selkie.”

Howzer stares at the older man, blankly, for a moment, “Are you drunk?”

“Ah, just a little buzzed.”

“Selkie aren’t real. They’re a myth.”

“I thought that too. But nope, I managed to get my hands on her coat, and now we’re married for life.”

Howzer is quiet for a moment. This is so much worse than his poor Sen’ika being a mal-order bride. She’s, literally, a prisoner. “What’s stopping her from taking her coat and just leaving?”

“Ah, don’t you know that myths?” Goddard points his spatula at Howzer, “You gotta hide the coat so they can’t find it. And then you got yourself a perfect wife.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You can say that because you’ve never had to worry about finding a girlfriend.”

Howzer rolls his eyes, “So, where is it?”

“Hm?”

“Her coat. Where is it?”

“Why?”

Howzer ignores him, “It’s obviously not in your house, or else she would have taken it and run off already. And you wouldn’t keep it at work, too much risk of it getting lost. So...do you keep it on your boat?”

Goddard is silent for a long moment, “I think it’s time you left, Howzer.”

“Oh, but you invited me to dinner.” Howzer counters, his voice like ice, “I would hate to be rude and leave you with all of this wasted food.”

“Get off my land,” Goddard snaps, “And stay away from my wife!”

“You don’t own her, Goddard. I’ll do what I want.” Howzer stands and then pauses, “Also, if you don’t stop hurting her, no one is ever going to find your body.”

“Are you threatening me?!” Goddard demands as he draws himself to his full height.

Howzer flashes a smile that’s all teeth, “No. Of course not. I’m making you a promise.”

“Get!”

Howzer meeting his Sen’ika’s wide, frightened, eyes and offers her a small, reassuring, smile. And then he leaves.

As soon as he turns the corner of the house, he hears the sharp sound of skin against skin, and a cry of pain. “Get all this stuff back in the house, woman! And don’t you think, for one second, about ever speaking to that boy again. Or I’ll give you something to cry about—”

Howzer grimaces. He really didn’t mean to make life harder for her. And, as much as he wants to turn around and beat the absolute shit out of Goddard, he doesn’t. Instead he leaves their property and turns to head towards the marina.

The best way to hurt Goddard is to make sure Sen’ika gets her coat back.

Sure, he’ll miss her when she’s gone. But at least she’ll be alive.

Everything hurts.

Your loving husband has been on a tear since the dinner party the other night. You’re not sure what Howzer said to him, but whatever he said has pushed Goddard into being even crueler to you than he ever has been before.

You’re pretty sure that your bruises have bruises.

And the burns on your left forearm are never going to heal if he doesn’t stop with the fire and the hot metal.

A silent sigh falls from you as you crouch next to the orchids your mother-in-law bought you as a wedding present.

They’re dying.

Like you, they don’t belong here.

You want to go home. You’d give anything to feel your mothers arms around you, or to go swimming with your father, or to race with your siblings again.

But it’s your own fault. You never should have trusted Goddard.

You just didn’t know that humans could be so cruel.

Well, not all humans are cruel, you suppose.

A tiny smile lifts your lips as you remember the way that Howzer looks at you. They way his eyes soften when he sees you, and the way his voice gentles when he talks to you.

You wouldn’t mind being married to him.

But then, Howzer’s the kind of man you could give your coat to, and you wouldn’t have ever had to fear that he wouldn’t give it back.

You haven’t seen him in a couple of days, now that you think about it. You allow your gaze to drift to Howzer’s house, which has remained dark since the day of the dinner party.

You hope he’s alright.

You turn your attention back to the dying flower, and you lightly touch one of the petals. It won’t be long now before the flower dies completely. No amount of love and care will encourage it to live longer.

“I don’t think orchids are are native to this area.”

You muffle a startled yelp at the sudden voice behind you and as you turn around you fall back onto the ground.

Howzer is standing behind you.

He’s...filthy.

Covered in dirt and dust and nursing a series of bruises on his face that weren’t there a couple of days ago. Not to mention, there’s blood on his shirt.

He’s also still wearing the shorts and tee shirt that he had been wearing at the dinner party, and his sandals seem to have been lost somewhere. In fact, the only new thing is the bag tucked under his arm.

“Howzer? What...where have you been? Are you okay? You’re bleeding!”

“Hm? Oh this?” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, revealing a clean bandage around his side, “I was minorly stabbed.”

“You were stabbed?!” You scramble to your feet and reach out to touch the bandage, panic threatening to choke you, “Are you okay? What happened?” You fall silent when his free hand presses against your cheek.

“I’m alright.” You look up at him, your eyes wide. His face is soft, and he’s looking at you like—well, like how your father looks at your mother. Like he loves you. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You were stabbed—”

“It was worth it.”

“I—you—Howzer, that—” You find yourself at a loss for words. Surely nothing is so important to risk getting stabbed.

“I have something for you.”

“...what?” Now you’re even more confused. You can’t think of anything that you need that would require Howzer to get stabbed.

“Here. This is yours, isn’t it?” He offers you the package under his arm, “Sorry it took so long, there were quite a few that needed to be returned.”

“—what are you talking abo—” You stop mid-sentence as you open the cloth bag. Inside, neatly folded and carefully oiled, is your coat. You can feel a lump in your throat, and your eyes burn with tears. “—my coat. You found my coat.”

“Found and rescued.” Howzer gently wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, “It was a whole organization. Scummy men and women stealing coats of your people, and then locking them away where you all wouldn’t find them. There were almost 100 of them. I needed to recruit my brothers to help return them all.”

“Why?” Your voice is choked with tears, and you know you’re about to fall apart.

Howzer’s smile is warm and his other hand comes up to cradle your face, “No one should hold you here against your will.” His smile broadens, “You can go home, Sen’ika. No one can stop you now.”

“Howzer—”

“I’m going to miss you. But the knowledge that no one will ever hurt you again makes it all worthwhile.”

You stare at him. Really stare at him.

And then a laughing sob falls from your lips, and you surge forward and fling your arms around his neck. And crash your lips against his.

“Thank you,” You whisper against his lips, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You’re crying even as you speak against his lips. You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy, and so heartbroken, in your life.

His arms close around you, “You don’t have to thank me for being a decent person.” Howzer replies against your lips.

“Yes, I do.” You pull back and wipe your face with the palm of your hand, like a child. “I’m never coming back here. Ever.”

His smile becomes slightly wistful, “I don’t blame you—”

“But you’d better come visit.”

“I...what?”

“Tradition dictates that the person who gives us back our coats is proposing to us,” You say as you look up into his eyes, “Surely the others mentioned it too you.”

“They also said no one follows that tradition anymore, and they haven’t in centuries.” Howzer replies.

“But…” You pause, “What if I wanted to marry you?”

“I would say, “let me woo you, first.”,” He replies.

You curl your fingers in the material of his shirt, and think on his words, “Alright then.” You finally say, “I’ll let you date me, but that means you still have to come and visit. My family, all of the families, will want to meet the man who saved us.”

“Deal.” Howzer lightly bumps his forehead against yours, “You really want to marry me?”

“You look at me like how my father looks like my mother,” You reply, “I want that kind of love.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I suppose I haven’t been subtle.”

“Not at all. But humans generally aren’t.” You say reassuringly.

Howzer leans in and steals a kiss, “You should get going. I’m sure your parents miss you.”

“Yeah.” You hesitate, “Be careful. Goddard is more dangerous than he looks.”

A cruel little smile crosses his face, “Don’t you worry about that. All of the men and women who have kidnapped you, and the other Selkies, have been arrested for trafficking.”

You blink at him, stunned, “I—what does that mean?”

“It means, my beautiful Sen’ika, that you never have to worry about Goddard again. Because he’s never going to see the light of day.”

For the first time in years, it feels like a weight is lifted from your shoulders. “Will you walk me to the beach?”

“Anything for you.”

As you leave the property of the place that had been a prison for you, you look up at Howzer and grin at him, “Howzer,”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

And, for the first time since meeting him, you see a blush darken his face, “Yeah, yeah. I know.” He glances at you, “Me too.”

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[rad0nwrites]

All I See (Ghost x Soap)

CW: Canon Character Death, angst, swearing, Alternate Universe, military inaccuracies, processing grief, canon violence, probably OOC Simon? implied long term relationship, happy ending, Simon being a little emotionally stunted but goddamnit he’s trying

Word Count: 8.2k

First post here…. Kinda nervous… Hear me out, though: What if Soap hadn’t been killed instantly, and he got to say his last words? [Additionally, Simon goes through his own grieving process. Men need comfort too, goddamnit.]

This song gives me such Ghoap vibes, and I ran with it. Enjoy :)

Song: All I See by Nathan Jacques

Makarov was long gone.

The pistol shot still reverberated through his ears like a dented gong, his heart beat contributed percussion as the world stopped in its tracks to pause for a dying man. Heat expanded from his chest, and logically, Johnny knew that he was in trouble. He was in trouble, and he should really look and assess his wound. But yet, he couldn’t move. The sheer shock of what had occurred in mere seconds, calcifying him to the ground he lay on.

“Johnny!”

Half alive and dreaming to death on a mountain side

The body’s a funny thing when it reacts to trauma. One could ruminate over every single theoretical physical reaction to a situation, an injury, a conversation. And yet, fate pulls a string that couldn’t be accounted for. Fate pulls a result out of you that best suits the moment, dignified or not.

Johnny thought that fate would be a cruel mistress, pulling the string violently and without abandon. But as he lay on the ground, staring up at the stone ceilings of the train system, fate felt peaceful. Fate was a woman warm with invitation and a longing to come home. She was tugging on the string with a gentleness he wasn’t privy to know.

Not until Simon.

The Russian had aimed for his head. Aiming to snuff out the light that kept him alive. With quick thinking from both him and Price, Vladimir Makarov missed, and the bullet landed in his chest. Some bulletproof tac vest that was. He should have pulled the trigger in the helicopter when he had the chance. Protocol be damned.

“Ah fuck…” He wheezed out. The peace was replaced with what felt like fire under his skin, trying to work its way out through his tac vest. Shakily, Johnny shifted his head over to see Gaz and Price frantic, barking orders back and forth to finish diffusing the bombs that he had started. They were good men, Price and Gaz. Men willing to get their hands dirty and experience the dark so the world can stay in the light. The men that he’d consider family right next to his blood kin.

“Sergeant!” Ghost had eclipsed over Johnny, darkening him in shade from the fluorescent tunnel lights. Every move he made reignited fire in his chest, but to see his burly wraith above him made it worth the discomfort.

“Glad y’c-could join th’party, LT.” Soap chuckled weakly, each breath drawn in and out became heavy like a chore. Ghost was doing his best to assess the full extent of Johnny’s wound, stopping to glare at him through the mask before returning to the crimson-coated wound.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” Simon’s eyes were barely holding their neutrality as he racked his mind for some way to patch the wound, to stop the bleeding, to do something. Anything to keep his sergeant tethered to the concrete floor beneath him.

“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher. We need a Med Evac now!” Simon barked into his comm device, his eyes not leaving Johnny’s. The stupid git had the nerve to smile so brightly at him, despite his dimming eyes.

Oh, how beautiful the light after a thousand nights

And all I see is you in my wavering eyes

“Copy, 0-7. I’m sending someone out now. Be advised, Med Evac’s having a hard time getting through the injured civilians. I can’t give an accurate ETA. Who’s been injured?”

“It’s Soap. Shot point blank in the chest by Makarov through the tac vest. ‘M tryin’ to stabilize but I can’t remove the vest to assess the damage.” Johnny was in no state to move.

“Can you move him?”

“Negative. Not without knowin’ the full damage.”

“Copy. Do you have Makarov?”

Simon wanted to scream himself hoarse. The only thing, the only person he’s ever shown his soft underbelly for is dying before his very eyes, and they’re asking him about the mission.

It’s always the mission. Always the goal.

Cannon fodder for the greater good.

This is what he signed up for.

“Negative.” Price picked up where Simon left off, allowing the Lieutenant the space to focus. “Makarov is to the wind. But Soap’s down and we’re running out of options.” The image of Ghost kneeling over Soap as he sharply pulled emergency med kit supplies from his tac vest made John’s heart ache.

Just by the look of the Scot, it wouldn't be enough. But he knew his lieutenant. His lieutenant wouldn’t take no for an answer. His loyalty to his comrades, to the people he cares about, and dare he say loves, extended out like a fault line.

Despite his rough exterior, Simon Riley cared so deeply that it threatened to swallow him whole.

“Bleedin’ Jesus, I forgot tha’ I don’ like gettin’ shot at.” Johnny attempted a half joke through his teeth, sucking in air at every shift of his vest.

“The hazard pay’s gonna be worth it from tha’ hospital bed.” Simon’s dry response made Johnny smile, and Simon wished that he could close his eyes to continuing trying to dress the wound. His smiles were meant for successful missions and trips home. Sunday mornings and arguing over whose football team they’d be watching. Glances from across briefing tables and shitty jokes over comms. Not pallid complexions and dark train tunnels and superiors wanting results.

“I dinnae think ‘m gonna be gettin’ outta this one, LT—“ Simon shot him a harsh look as he pressed more gauze to the wound, but it was seeping out faster than he could keep up with.

“—Don’t say that.”

Johnny looked at Ghost as he replaced red gauze with more white gauze. The other SAS teams started offering him pieces of their own med kits. He looked at him with an intensity that made Simon’s skin crawl.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, Johnny. Med Evac’s on their way, and they’ll patch y’right up better than I can.” Simon couldn’t place if he was comforting Soap, or himself. “Never did well durin’ First Aid.” Johnny’s laugh came out in a wheeze.

“Ghost,” His hands never stopped. If they stopped, he loses. He loses Johnny, he loses himself, he’ll lose his whole purpose of being here. “Ghost, look a’ me.” He’s going to lose if he stops. He’ll lose, he’ll lose, he’ll lose, he’ll lose—

“Simon.” A calloused hand reached up and wrapped itself around the black and blood-stained glove, and Simon froze. “Simon, please look a’ me.”

Kyle cast a glance at the other SAS teams nearby. None of them seemed to know what to do with themselves. But it was obvious that they wanted to give the two men the space. His eyes then turned to Price, who looked like he, too, was going to teeter over the edge of guilt.

“You alright, sir?” Kyle spoke plainly, but at a volume that John could hear.

“I should ‘ave told ‘im to pull the trigger.” Price’s eyes never left the two men paused in an embrace that only a Renaissance painter could imagine. Kyle’s eyes followed, and he could only nod.

“Oi! You!” Kyle got the attention of the other SAS teams. “Find the Med Evac! They’re going to need guidance gettin’ down ‘ere!” He was met with scattered ‘Rog’’s and ‘Roger that’’s, more than likely thankful to be given something to do rather than watch a man die. The four of them were left alone in the tunnel, reaping what Vladimir Makarov had sown.

“Thank you.” If he hadn’t been paying attention, Kyle wouldn’t have heard the captain’s gratuity.

I wandered through the dark

Fierce and bright

If Simon didn’t move, he wouldn’t have to look Johnny in the eyes. The truth wouldn’t congeal, and he could stay firm in his delusion that both would make it out of the tunnel.

Soap’s grip tightened on his wrist. “Mo ghraidh, lemme ge’ a good look at ye.” Against his will, Simon’s head turned toward Johnny, and he could feel his heart seize.

Johnny didn’t look good at all. Pallid complexion and heavy breathing. He was sweating as he took in the man above him like he was an angel. Not a fallen one, but a true, tall-standing archangel. Tears were pooling in Johnny’s eyes as he smiled again.

“You have to get ‘im for me, Si.” Johnny’s breathing heaved in and out, in and out, in and out. “I dinnae ask for much in this world, but if I’m askin’ for somethin’, you and Gaz and Price? Find Makarov and you put him in th’ground.” Simon felt an uncomfortable burning in his eyes as his vision blurred.

He was crying.

When was the last time he cried? Probably when he was a young boy, begging for his father’s non-existent love.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny. Stop speakin’ like that.” His voice came out more gravely than he intended. “We’ll get ‘im. Together. You, me, all four of us. Hell, I’m sure Price would let y’take the first shot since he stopped the last one.”

This time, the laugh was shared between the same air. “Y’not leavin’ me, Sergeant.” The bricks were crumbling off the foundation of the stone tower. “Y’can’t leave yet.” The gauze was completely soaked through. He was running out. The tears absorbed themselves into the balaclava’s fabric. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair—

“Hey, hey,” Johnny’s hand moved from his wrist to his masked face. “Never in a million years would I see the Lieutenant Riley weep tears o’er little ol’ me.” Tears similarly fell from Johnny’s face, streaming down past his temples. “You’re gonna be fine, LT.”

“No, I won’t.” Simon’s mouth led faster than his brain. Simon’s anger, mixed with his despondency, made him sick. “Just once, I want something that’s mine. You’re supposed to stay and ’m supposed to be here with you.” Simon couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth. A younger, more volatile Simon would have thrown up at this display.

But he’s not a child anymore. He’s not stuck in the dark when he’s seen the sun in all its glory through the sergeant beneath him. Simon craves to be selfish for a quiet life, and it’s always been just out of reach.

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

“‘M so s-sorry, LT.” Soap failed to hide the hiccup in his voice. A part of him, very deep down, ached to see Simon so vulnerable. So open. So willing to show his soft, scarred underbelly.

"None of that, Johnny. We're gonna get you out of 'ere. Y'just need to stay awake-"

“-I was thinkin’ we’d retire after findin’ Makarov.”

Simon let out a shaky breath at the confession, compressing down the urge to scream and sob. Not here. Not now. “We’ve done enough fightin’. Enough t’fill th’both of us up until we’re sick with it.” Johnny’s thumb caressed the hard plastic of the skull. “We’d go t’Scotland. Find a home in the Highlands, ‘n fix it up ourselves.” Simon nodded as if they were going to go househunting tomorrow.

“Yeah? You think a Manc like me would fit in?” His voice betrayed him in the warble of his words. “Some fuckin’ sheep farmer? Sweater an’ all?” Johnny’s bright smile returned, and another brick crumbled.

“You’d fit in anywhere, LT. Reckon ye’d look like an image in a sweater.” Leave it to Johnny to flirt at the absolute worst moment there was.

“You’ll get t’see it. Because we’re goin’ to get you out of ‘ere.” Simon leaned over to his comm device. “Bravo 0-7 to Watcher. Laswell, where the fuck is the Med Evac?!” They were running out of time. Johnny’s hand slipped back onto the concrete floor as his breathing grew shallow. Johnny’s head lolled, forcing himself to stay awake. “Johnny, stay awake!”

“Watcher to 0-7, Med Evac’s trying to get to you as fast as they can. They’re swamped with injured. ETA is fifteen minutes.”

They don’t have fifteen minutes.

“Fuck’s sake! Is there anyone else they can send? Someone closer?” Price practically glowered as he argued for Simon. His man was dying, and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. Nothing that they already weren’t doing, anyway.

“John, you’re in the underground tunnels of the London Train System. It’s not an easy access. I’m working as fast as I can. Keep him stable.” Laswell’s voice cut out, and John sighed.

No matter how hard he thrashed in his head, he couldn’t move. He was scared that if he moved, he’d be the one to kill Soap by sheer proximity. After all, Soap was the one who came to his captain’s aid.

Even loyal dogs get put down.

“Oi! Johnny!” Simon slapped the side of Johnny’s face as his head bobbed to one side, his eyes threatening to close. “None o’ tha’ shit, Sargent. You keep your eyes open.” Soap’s eyes fluttered open, looking back at the grease-painted eyes through the skull mask.

“I dinnae have fifteen minutes, do I, LT?” He sounded so resigned in his question. Like he knew what the answer was, but he wasn’t going to speak it into existence.

“Y’do, Johnny. Y’do. You just need to hold on a bit longer.” Simon looked up at John, and there was no begging. There was no verbal plea.

John could see clearly as day, the stone tower named Simon Riley threatened to collapse. John couldn't bring himself to speak. Ghost looked at Kyle in similar desperation, and Kyle said nothing. He knew what Ghost refused to see. Kyle shifted to his tac vest and opened up his med kit, fishing out gauze and sterile pads, and looked over at the captain.

“Sir,” he held out his hand. “We have to try.” Robotically, John fished out the supplies and handed them to Kyle. The younger man took the items and carried them to Simon and Johnny. They had arrived too late, so he wanted to at least try to make up for it.

He’d be making up for it for the rest of his life, it seemed.

“Lieutenant,” Simon’s head snapped back up as Kyle approached. “Lieutenant, the gauze needs t’be changed.” Simon’s hands didn’t move from the dark gauze. It stopped being effective a while ago. “Lieutenant, please.”

“Simon, let go.” Johnny’s voice was a whisper. “It’s okay, mo chridhe.” Soap’s eyes flickered; the candlewick was close to burning out.

“I don’t want to let go!” His despair burned with the acrid flavor of rage. He didn’t know who he was talking to. Kyle’s hands hovered on top of Simon’s, ready to catch whatever came next.

“I know, mate.” Gaz nodded. Now wasn’t the time for his own despair to sink its teeth in. He’d address that later when they returned.

“Gaz—“

“Simon.”

That got his attention.

“Simon, move your hands so we can change the gauze. The Sergeant ordering his Lieutenant was a sight to behold. In any other situation, Simon would have ripped Kyle a new one. But now? He was just grateful for a friend.

Slowly, his hands moved with the soaked-through gauze, and Kyle came in and pressed with the fresh white cloth. “We’re gonna get you outta here, Soap.” He looked down at his comrade fighting to stay awake and not be swept under the current.

“Yer a good bloke, Gaz.” Johnny’s voice came out in a slur, and it made Kyle ache. “You tell Cap it wasn’t his fault.”

This is what they signed up for, but it didn’t hurt any less.

“I’m fuckin’ tired.” Johnny’s breaths elongated between each rise and fall. Time was running out. Kyle pressed harder, trying to buy Simon more time with his lover.

“Johnny, no. Stay awake, Sergeant.” Simon’s voice teetered on desperation. He could barely hear what was around him, only just registering Price saying something through the comms. Johnny’s hand moved, too weak to pull it up to touch Simon. His blood-soaked hand picked it up for him and squeezed tightly.

“You keep goin’ for me, Si. I need ye t’promise me tha’. Tha’ no matter wha’ happens, ye keep goin’ and you stay alive. Finish it. Finish Makarov and then fuckin' rest.”

Simon never believed he deserved to rest. He was crafted from crooked beams and wires built to withstand the weight of the world. He didn’t deserve rest.

How could he rest when his home’s been taken from him?

Though they got me in the end

You never left my sight

“Sure, Johnny,” Simon whispered. “I’ll need to find us a house in the Highlands. The sheep’ll be our neighbors.” Johnny’s laugh was weaker this time. But his smile, god, his smile was so bright.

“I love you, Simon Riley. I hope ye know tha’.” Of course, Simon knew. Simon consumed Johnny’s love like a hungry dog at his feet.

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It's not fair!

“I know. I know y’do.” I’d bathe in it if I could. Tears streamed in rivulets down Soap’s face, feeling like a weight lifted from his chest. The candle was going out now. The wax was gone and couldn’t sustain the wick.

In a slow wave, Johnny’s whole body went lax. First his breathing, then his hands, and then his eyes, when the tears stopped streaming, staring at the stone ceiling above.

And I'd let them rip my heart out again

If I could see you smile

Kyle moved first, letting up on the pressure of the gauze. He backed away slowly, giving his friend the distance he needed. Where was that damn Evac? Simon, however, remained still. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

Maybe if he stayed, Johnny would wake up. He’d wake up, and he’d be put on the Med Evac home. He’d be in a hospital where he’d be safe.

But Johnny wouldn’t wake up.

He wouldn’t wake up in bed. He’s coming home in a box.

Of all my demons, you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

Simon’s lungs started to rev and heave, trying to take more air. His body tried to make space for the hole that was ripped out of him and exposed to the open sun. His soft underbelly scored open like an autopsy.

He unclipped his helmet and let it drop to the floor with a clunk without thought. Next came the balaclava and skull mask, revealing the sandy blonde hair and greased over eyes, red with despair, with love and loss and grief. It’s not fair.

He dragged one hand over Johnny’s eyes, closing them to the harsh world above. Simon leaned forward, resting his forehead against Johnny’s tac vest, burying himself into the one piece of him that felt good. That felt worthy.

And he wept.

It was silent. Tears were streaming down in angry streaks. You’d have to be focusing on him to see the shakes of his shoulders every time his body forced out another cry.

The body’s a funny thing when it reacts to trauma.

You and I, crazy on quiet nights

Damn near run out of town

We were a love so loud

Gaz ushered in the medics when he screeched to a halt, seeing Ghost kneeling over Johnny. He noted the cast-off helmet and mask, turning around to the teams behind him.

“Everyone out.”

“Sergeant? We need to–” Gaz could have leveled the medic with his stare.

“No, you don’t. Not right now. We just lost a man. If anyone ‘ere is wounded, you tend to ‘em now over there.” He pointed down the tunnel on the other side of the platform. “We’ll get you when we have a moment. Now, out.” Gaz was not a large man by any Ghost standards, but he tried his damndest to block any lines of sight towards Simon.

He didn’t move until all of the teams were out of sight before he turned back to his team. Price had moved to Simon, kneeling on Johnny’s other side.

“Simon,” He spoke low, almost as if he was speaking to an angry dog. Or a child. “Simon, we have to get movin’.” Gloved hands gripped tighter around Johnny’s body with minuscule intakes of air. That meant that Simon would have to return home. Return to a flat that would be emptier than before.

A room full of things he’d have to sort through at some point. There would be no more soft early mornings, no more coffee brewing, and tea kettles boiling. Just an empty, quiet space. Simon felt so sick to his stomach, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Price reached his hand out slowly, placing it on the lieutenant’s shoulder. Simon made no move to shake it off as he kept his face buried in Johnny’s body.

The three men stood there in solidarity for a while before anyone spoke. The truth congealed into reality, and they were too tired to handle any of it.

“He said it wasn’t your fault.” Simon was the first to break the silence. His voice was hoarse with the strain of holding back his despairing anger. He straightened up back onto his knees with an empty stare. Hollow. “He wanted you t’know.”

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

Simon sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand. Looking at his captain, he was met with a man equally drowned in his guilt. Guilt and duty all under wraps in a boonie hat.

Price couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t have him fall apart at the seams. It was his fault. He was the one under Vladimir’s gun. Had he been fast enough, Soap wouldn’t have had to step in, and they’d all be walking out of here for a pint after debrief.

“They aren’t goin’ to provide a burial for ‘im, are they?” Ghost’s voice pulled John out of his head, and he sighed. He wished he could lie. He wished that he could say that they’d give him a state-sponsored funeral for the countless sacrifices he made for his country. But by the sound of it, Ghost already knew his answer.

“I wish I could tell you yes.” Was John’s only reply. Simon only nodded and reached for the mask. He slipped the balaclava over his head and adjusted it to fit over his face. Everything felt hollow. Robotic and stiff. Like a ghost.

“We should bring ‘im to the Highlands,” Simon spoke plainly. No inflection of emotions could be heard. Even in a state of numbness, Simon was still looking out for Johnny in his own way. The captain nodded.

“I can arrange that.”

“Lieutenant,” Kyle stated, standing at his post and watching for wandering medics. Ghost looked up at Kyle, and the respect for the younger soldier snaked itself into Simon’s bones. He’d be in that exact position if either of them were in his shoes.

“You want me to call the medics over?” ‘Your call.’ He spoke without words. Simon nodded, grabbing his helmet before standing.

“Watcher to Bravo, sitrep. Did the Med Evac reach Soap?” The question alone was such a mockery to him, it made Simon nauseous.

“Negative.” Price rose from the ground as he spoke to his comm device. “Several wounded,” He glanced down at Johnny’s sleeping frame. “One KIA”

A long pause was felt before Kate simply responded, “Copy.”

“Simon, let go.”

Simon Riley was not a good man. He was a selfish man who lived a life where everything was taken from him. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“It’s okay, mo chridhe.”

In a whirlwind of memory, I'm with you now

The minutes, days, and weeks after the London Train Tunnels were a haze. Debriefs were had, but Simon couldn’t remember what was said. Quiet arrangements for leave were made and pushed through by Kate herself.

The next day, the three men traveled to the Scottish Highlands. They found a cliff overlooking the sea, the sun overhead, and the crashing sea adding a symphony for Task Force 141. Johnny’s three-gun salute was performed by the seas of his home.

All of them spoke their short words. None of them were privy to long speeches or flowery language. They were men built from bullet casings and dog-like loyalty.

As Gaz poured the urn into the open air, the passing breeze took over for him, carrying Johnny away as if to say to the three of them,

“I can take him from here.” One less responsibility for the three of them to worry about.

“Who dares wins.”

Johnny went home, but not the home that Simon wanted.

So I lie fading under brilliant sky

Wake up, stare at the ceiling, wish the bed swallowed him whole. Day after day, week after week, month after month, Simon survived on the same routine. It’s why he thrived in the military. Stare at the ceiling until his vision swam, get up and perform basic hygiene so he wouldn’t reek, leave for PT.

Day in and day out, he burrowed himself into the walls of the base to avoid going to his flat off base. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t face going home. He hadn’t cried since the train tunnels either. The despair crystallized into sharp and volatile anger.

The linoleum base floors could have been made from of eggshells with how gingerly everyone was walking. New recruits, seasoned soldiers, office administrators, and even visiting teams from other militaries gave Simon Riley a wide berth when he stalked the halls.

Well, nearly everyone.

Following Johnny’s death, Simon became… difficult to work with. He became harsher towards anyone who looked at him. He ran recruits harder, and he observed with more scrutiny. Office admin resorted to frantic games of Rock-Paper-Scissors if, god forbid, they had to approach him about his reports.

He became a downright asshole. He avoided the therapist he was supposed to see, dodging calls to schedule appointments by throwing himself into work. He threw himself into work, indulged in the pubs more often than he should, landing himself with misery in the mornings after.

He volunteered for missions whenever he possibly could. The swelling ocean couldn’t consume him if he threw himself into a different hurricane.

And though the pain rages like fire

I'm dancing inside

“Seven months, Simon.” John was practically at his wits' end, tossing yet another stack of reports onto his desk. The captain had half a mind to drag the large man through the base by his ear, but thought better of it. Instead, he resorted to interrupting the sparring session Simon was overseeing.

“Seven months of complaints! I can’t go more than twenty-four hours without hearin’ from someone ‘bout you rippin’ the head of some admin worker! Or a recruit! Or you critiquin’ someone’s shootin’ form when they weren’t even askin’!” That was just the tip of the iceberg of timid reports that trickled in through his office. John was exhausted in the same way a father would be exhausted by his shithead teenage son. Simon stood awkwardly in the middle of his captain’s office, still and silent. He felt as if he moved, John would strike out like a cobra.

This is the one time Simon’s silence made John want to rip his hair out. He inhaled and exhaled through his teeth, taking a long drag of his cigar so he wouldn’t completely blow. “I know you’ve been dealin’ with Johnny’s death hard—“

“—I’m fine.” Simon’s words cut through the cigar-smoked air.

“Bollocks.” He drew out the word like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You talk with that therapist yet?” Cigar smoke flared through his nostrils like an angry bull.

“I don’t need a therapist,” Simon’s jaw cinched into a tight knot. The last thing he needed was some stranger telling him to explain his feelings when he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. It felt like a family reunion he wanted no part of. “I need another assignment.” John chuckled sardonically as he stamped the cigar in the ashtray.

“Jus’ so you can throw yourself into another gunfight and hope you get cut down?” You could hear a pin drop in the office. Even the fluorescent light bulbs stopped flickering, holding their breath for the exchange beneath them.

“Captain—“ Simon didn’t like how the words tasted. He didn’t like hearing what they sounded like in the open and not in his head.

“I’m not stupid, Simon.” John sighed, leaning up against the outdated desk. “Ever since we got back from London, I've seen it. The anger at anythin’ breathin’, fillin’ y’thoughts and mind with anything except the horrors y’face,” Simon needed to leave. John needed to stop talking.

“The hangovers, the risky behavior on assignments. I’ve been watchin’ it all. Frankly, I’m disappointed you’d think I’d be oblivious to any of you.” Price looked at him and made a motion with his head. “Mask off. We do this right or we don’t do it at all.”

His body acted before his brain could filter out the command, pulling the mask off in the tiny office. Simon looked tired. Tired in a way that couldn’t be explained by bad barracks beds or odd waking hours. He was tired down to the very marrow of his bones.

He missed Johnny. He missed his home. He was so angry and tired, and the only thing he knew was how to rip and shred.

“You’re not the only one who lost someone that day.” John continued, “Kyle lost someone that day. Kate lost a good man that day. We all did! Every night, I can’t stop thinking of all the ways I could have done better. Been better, so Johnny hadn’t had to step in.” The gunshot still reverberated in his ears. “It haunts me.” John looked up at Simon, not as a captain, but as a man who was as downtrodden as he was.

Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain. “I’m—“ God, he was uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable from the strenuous workout, he was uncomfortable from the hole in his chest where Johnny once resided. He was more than uncomfortable as he looked so small in front of the man he admired and respected the most out of anyone in his entire life.

He tried to find some angry, bitter remark he could unhinge at the jaw but nothing came out. Nothing came out that wouldn’t make him completely shut down. The captain held his hand out as a sign to stop..

“I need you alive, Simon.” The five words played on a loop, spinning around in his ears, in his head like a whirlpool. The Lieutenant braced for the impact of duty. The implication that he was needed for his service. Dead men can’t hold a gun like you can.

“I know y’miss him. I know y’cared for him, and I know y’loved him.” The harshness of John Price’s eyes smoothed into something softer, more sad. “But you’re here too, mate. You’re here with people who want you alive.” He stressed with a sharp intake of breath. John paused, pursing his lips into a tight line. Simon blinked, the realization doused him with ice water.

His captain was trying not to cry.

“I can’t fill out another death certificate.” His voice betrayed him in coming out small. John’s eyes and throat burned, straying away from Simon and looking elsewhere. “I can’t even describe to you how his mum wailed.” Price let out a shaky breath. “His dad tryin’ pick her up off the floor, and his sisters starin’ in confusion til’ they saw me.” He sniffed, clearing his throat and focusing back on Simon. “I need you alive because I can’t stand the thought of losing another good man.”

Good man. Good man. Good man.

Simon Riley was not a good man. He wrought horrors upon lands like a vengeful god, fueled by duty and obligation. But that didn’t stop him from choosing to be a decent man where it mattered. Simon Riley was a good man in a way that was weathered and ancient.

“At least you won’t have to break the news to any family o’ mine.” Smooth. Simon’s attempt at a half-assed joke made the John groan. At least Simon was still somewhere inside of the shell his man was turning into.

“I’m going to strangle you with the strings of my hat, you fuckin’ muppet.” John chuckled. There was an edge of frustration hidden underneath his voice. He sniffed, wiping his face. “I don’t want to be breakin’ any news to anyone. The only papers I’ll be signin’ are your retirement papers.” The tension eased in the room. The fluorescent lights started to flicker again.

“Right,” The captain grunted as he stood straight, moving around his desk. “I do hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he moved the chair out and sat down, looking up at his Lieutenant. “The other reason I brought you in ‘ere is that you’re bein’ benched.”

The record scratch was palpable.

“What?”

“You’re bein’ benched.” John stated so matter-of-factly, Simon waited for the punchline. “Simon, I can’t ignore all of these.” He gestured to the pile of papers beside him. “Paired alongside your behavior on assignments, y’need to get your head on straight.” Simon couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Are you fucking with me? This’s some sort of suicide watch, innit?” Simon’s voice rose, “Ghost can’t be left alone and now ‘e’s gotta be watched to make sure he won’t—“ John’s took a sharp left into his command tone.

“Why would I be fucking with you, Lieutenant? It was either this or discharge.” That shut Simon up. Discharge meant being alone with his thoughts. Discharge meant he’d be forced to see Johnny everywhere. In the smell of shitty pub beer, in the way artists would sit in a park for hours in their sketch books, in the roar of the ocean. He was everywhere, and Simon would be forced to look.

“Six months, Simon. That’s all I’m askin’.”

“Six months–” The lieutenant huffed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Maybe even shorter if the therapist thinks you’re ready. Long if you fuckin’ push it. Six months, y’meet with the therapist, you'll still stay on base trainin’ recruits, you’ll assist where needed. But, you’re not goin’ anywhere right now.”

“A bloody desk job. When Makarov is still–”

“And he’ll continue to be on the run if you’re dead too.”

Simon’s teeth gritted as he weighed his options. Expose himself to a light he doesn’t want to be seen in, or risk falling into the ocean and getting swallowed.

“Fine.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Six months.”

A good man. A good man. A good man.

Simon Riley was not a good man. But if he tried, he could be a decent one.

Cause baby I turned on the light

Yeah I turned on the light

Simon hired and fired a few therapists in the first month before one finally stuck. Most of the time, they shied away from his harsh tone and puffed chest. They didn’t want to get close enough to see that underneath was a man who was hurting, scared, and angry. A man who wanted help but couldn’t ask for it.

A good man. A good man. A good man.

The one that stuck, he took to pretty quickly. She was a veteran herself, and didn’t take any bullshit from him. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling ordeal of being walked around on a floor of eggshells.

He was making good progress. He was still Ghost on the base. He kept up the skills that made him the wraith he was. The lieutenant who took no shit during trainings, and held recruits to high standards. But the standards changed. The standards were no longer Johnny’s, but inspired by Johnny’s. Recruits could approach him, administrators didn’t have to recite final rites before going to him, and slowly but surely, complaints started to dwindle from Captain Price’s desk.

Behind the closed doors of his therapist’s office, Simon began to make peace with Johnny being everywhere he went. He embraced the warmth of the cafe interior. He stopped to watch the park painter apply their brush to the canvas. The smell of Johnny’s mother’s pies made a home in his bones when he visited the MacTavish family for holidays.

The MacTavish family, who had welcomed him in as one of their own, even if his better half wasn’t with him in person anymore. He was there in spirit and that’s what mattered.

Gaz would never let him live it down if he saw the moments he shared with the nieces and nephews. Uncle Ghost just didn’t have a ring to it like Uncle Simon did.

Simon Riley was on his way to being a decent man. He wouldn’t allow himself to be a good man until Vladimir Makarov was buried ten feet underground.

Of all my demons you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

Five months. It took five months before Simon’s therapist gave the green light for him to get back into the field. He still had a ways to go, but he wasn’t about to bite the hand that feeds if it meant he could take down Makarov. He could stomach nightmares and a cold bed for the sake of a larger goal.

“It’s good to have you back, mate!” Gaz shouted over the whirring of Nik’s helicopter. Not long after Simon had been cleared, Kate received intel regarding Makarov that finally could put him in the ground once and for all. All three men were wheels up before Kate could even end the call.

Ever so diligent to his brand, Simon gave Gaz a nod. But words didn’t need to be spoken to know his appreciation. He shifted in his gear, rolling out one shoulder and the other. He couldn’t get rid of a vibration deep inside the marrow of his bones. Something about it told him that the buzzing would go away when Vladimir Makarov no longer drew the same air as him. Johnny could rest once it was done. He could rest once it was done.

“Makarov is mine.” His voice crackled through the comms. The captain gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder, his eyes warm despite the frigid knowledge of where they were headed. John couldn’t help but be so proud of Simon.

“‘Course.” He replied. “Y’better let me at least get a potshot in.” Gaz’s chuckle picked up over the comms. Despite one missing, the pieces of Task Force 141 had fallen back into place, and things felt right.

“We’re approaching the drop point!” Nikolai shouted to the three of them. “I’ll be close by for air support!” The pilot turned over his shoulder and looked at all of them, specifically, Simon. “You finish this, and you finish this right.” Simon gave one single nod, adjusting the hold on his rifle.

“Roger that.”

Say you'll haunt my dreams, and I'll get sleeping

There was an unspoken beauty to warfare. You have to be born into it to understand its depths truly. Bullets whizzed by Task Force 141 as they pushed deeper into Makarov’s base, and there was not a single moment when Ghost stopped moving.

He switched from rifle to pistol to knife and back to rifle again with a fluidity that only dancers could mirror. The men worked in tandem with one another to achieve their final milestone. The finish line of this gruesome race.

“You have Execute Authority.”

Konni Group soldiers dropped like flies as Nikolai came in for air support, orchestrating maneuvers and giving the men the best shots possible.

Finish this right.

Deeper they pushed into the base, bullets provided a raucous chorus as they ricocheted off of concrete walls and metal railings. One by one, more soldiers dropped as Ghost, Captain Price, and Gaz marched forwards towards the upper control rooms.

They could see flames shoot up from behind the dirty windows as Makarov destroyed the evidence of his treachary. Price nodded at Gaz to the command center door.

“This man doesn’t leave this building alive, y’hear me?” Gaz only nodded before looking at Ghost, who strode past the both of them towards the metal door and kicked it open with one heavy boot on the door knob. Gaz couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. “After you, mate. Got your six.” Gaz followed next behind the Lieutenant, followed by the captain bringing up the rear. Smoke was starting to fill the room as boxes of documents and gasoline doused computers burned away. The melting plastic smell alone could make a grown man’s eyes water.

‘I was thinkin’ we’d retire after findin’ Makarov.’

Simon’s rifle was tucked tight in his shoulder. He wasn’t leaving this place until bullets were spent. He wasn’t leaving until he saw the dead proof of his promise fulfilled.

‘We’ve done enough fightin’.’

“It’s over, Vladimir!” Price shouted over the roar of flames and alarm bells. More Konni would be coming soon, and none of them had respirators with them. “You know how this ends.” John nodded to the two men to take one hall way and he motioned that he’d take the other. If they boxed him in, Ghost could get in the final shot.

‘Enough t’fill th’both of us up until we’re sick with it.’

“This isn’t the end, Captain Price.” Makarov’s smug tone echoed down the hallway when Gaz and Ghost stood, rifles drawn. He walked casually, as if he had all the time in the world as he bathed in plastic fumes and gasoline. “This is just the beginning.”

‘We’d go t’Scotland. Find a home in the Highlands, ‘n fix it up ourselves.’

One could ruminate over every single theoretical physical reaction to a situation, an injury, a conversation. And yet, fate pulls a string that couldn’t be seen. Fate pulls a result out of you that best suits the moment, dignified or not.

Makarov’s slimy focus turned to Ghost with a coy smirk. “Sorry about MacTavish. He–” The whiplash of his neck snapping back cut him off from finishing his monologue, body crumpling to the floor like a lax crash test dummy. Ghost kept his rifle drawn to his eye, aiming the sight to where the Russian’s heart was, and shot again. Ghost was tired. Simon was tired, and he wanted this to end.

The hallway of Vladimir Makarov’s base was quiet, saving for the distant noise of human beings and alarm bells. The air smelled more and more like burnt plastic.

Vladimir Makarov was dead. Truly and wholeheartedly dead.

Simon Riley could rest.

You were my light in a nightmare

My dreamèd love

The days following the successful mission blurred one right after the other. The Task Force received some very well earned leave. Albeit not long enough before the next risk to the world would rear its ugly hydra head.

The night before they would all part ways to head home, Simon sat outside on the base, looking up at the sky. The ink black space proved to be a beautiful canvas for the smattering pattern of stars. The balaclava was pulled just high enough over his nose to let a cigarette sit on his lips.

“Got a light?” A familiar sergeant’s voice came up from behind him. He lazily glanced over his shoulder to see Kyle dressed in his civvies sitting down next to him

“Smokin’s bad for you, Garrick. Didn’t they teach y’that in basic?” Simon pulled out his lighter and handed it to the man. Kyle let out a laugh before lighting his own cigarette.

“Think y’missed the same class I did, sir.” Their shared laugh ruminated in the warm open air. The silence grew comfortable as they both stared up at the night sky above them.

Time could have passed like pulled taffy or the snap of a rubber band, but it didn’t need to be rushed. They had a moment to simply exist. Two friends being reminded that they were human.

“I just wanted to say–”

“Thank you for–”

The two spoke over each at the same time, breaking the silence with another laugh and drag from their cigarettes. Simon gestured for Kyle to speak first.

“I just wanted to say,” Kyle breathed in the smoke in a steady stream. “I’m really proud of you, Simon.” Ash flittered from the end of the cigarette. “The work you were doin’ while bein’ benched? It didn’t go unnoticed.” Simon side-eyed Kyle mid-drag.

“You’ve been ‘round the Captain too much. Did y’come out ‘ere to get all sentimental on me?” Despite its coarseness, Simon’s tone was teasing.

“Mm,” Simon switched the cigarette from one hand to the other. “Thank you for…” God, he was bad at giving out compliments. “Thank you for what you did. In the train tunnels.” His head turned to Gaz fully. “It meant a lot.”

Simon didn’t know it, but this small interaction already meant the world to the sergeant. His care for his teammates ran steadfast. Where Simon’s loyalty extended like a fault line, Kyle’s took root and curled around like tree roots.

“Of course, mate.” Gaz’s brown eyes softened, meeting Simon’s eyes. “You’d do the same if we were in that position.” I’d do it in a heart beat. “We’re a team,” he shrugged, taking another drag off the near stub. “It’s what we do.”

Of all my demons, you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

A warm night breeze dipped and swerved through the base, brushing past Kyle and Simon as the stars continued to move overhead. Kyle cleared his throat and stamped out the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

“Y’ever think about ‘im?” He asked, quieter than he meant to.

“All the time.” Simon responded without a single hesitation.

“I’m not a religious man,” Kyle’s eyes traced a star pattern, connecting its dots in his own constellation. “But I like t’think he’s watchin’ over us.” Another warm breeze swept over the base, and Simon smiled gently.

“He is.”

Say you'll haunt my dreams, and I'll get sleeping

Time stops for no man. Leaves fall, winter comes, spring renews, year after year after year. The earth does not wait for Simon Riley to get younger.

Fate pulled her string and forced Simon into the retirement he tried to avoid. One timed-right shot to his knee damn near took him out during an assignment. After a year of physical therapy, all he had to deal with were the aches that came with the change of the weather, and a flareup or two. His cane stood nearby when the pain became a little unbearable.

The symphonic sea waves crashing against the cliff face filled the Lieutenant’s ears as he traversed down the path back to his small home, bundled in a thick canvas coat to block out the chilly air. It was a small cottage in the Highlands, overlooking the ocean. Quaint and quiet, and in desperate need of a makeover. But to Simon, it was perfect.

He waved off the stray sheep in the wildflower bed in his front yard, unlocking his door to a warm home. He stood there for a moment and couldn’t help but smile.

“We’ll find ourselves a cottage. Havin’ the sheep as neighbors.” Simon said out loud, to no one in particular. Johnny may not be here with him, but Johnny was around everywhere he went. The door shut with a click and Simon shucked off his coat, revealing a black sweater that clung to his large frame.

‘Reckon ye’d look like an image in a sweater’

The metal clink of four dog tags rattled on the chain as he moved, grabbing his cane. Simon leaned against it as he walked to the window that overlooked the sea.

“Guess you were right, MacTavish.” I miss you. “We did get the house in the Highlands.” I love you. “Don’t know if sweaters’re workin’ f’me though.” I think of you in everything around me.

You were my light in a nightmare.

The saying goes, 'Home is where the heart is.' But to Simon, that phrase was bullshit.

The heart is where the home is.

And the home resides in the dog tags on his chest. Two of which were not his own.

My dreaméd love

Translations:

Mo chridhe: My heart

Mo ghraidh: My love

Hope you enjoyed! :) Stream Nathan Jacques! He's incredible and underrated. (Photos are from Pinterest and the divider is made by yours truly)

[rheaxsethi]

“I think you’re more of a dangerous parts kind of guy. You’d get bored otherwise.” Her eyes gleamed as she gave him another smile. “Besides, I don’t think safety was ever part of your charm.” His laugh made her grin. It wasn’t just the sound—it was the way it cracked through the quiet armour he wore like a second skin. “Guilty, huh?” she teased, eyes narrowing like she was mentally filing it away. “Good to know you cheat at feelings. Noted.” Then, after a beat: “You’re lucky you’re charming.” His words about people not sticking around landed, but Rhea didn’t shy away. Her voice was low but playful, threaded with something gentler beneath it. “I stick,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Until I’m pushed out. Or lied to. Or treated like a mirror instead of a person. But I don’t scare that easy. Especially not from someone who’s clearly more bark than bite.” She slid a glance his way, teasing, then softened. “You make it hard to look away. Even when I probably should.”

When he agreed to stay, her smile bloomed slow and bright, the kind that made people do reckless things. “Look at you,” she said, nudging him. “Skipping work for me. I feel powerful.” Then, more quietly, “...but I’m glad you’re here.” Rhea fell into step beside him as they left that booth, her hand brushing against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary before she tucked it into the crook of her elbow. The festival buzzed around them—bright lights, bursts of laughter, the warm hum of summer night energy—but all she really noticed was him. The way he moved like he was always half-listening for trouble, the way his shoulders only just now began to relax.

They passed a vendor selling spiced candied nuts, and Rhea snagged a small pouch without asking, popping one into her mouth before offering him some. “No expectations, too much eye contact, and shared snacks? Honestly, this sounds like my version of romance.” She of course handed the vendor a couple bills before they stepped away, probably more than it cost but that didn't matter. She paused in front of a booth lit with string lights, colourful paper lanterns swaying in the breeze. Turning to face him fully, Rhea let her voice drop just a touch. “So, Duke. If I have you for the night… what else can I get you to do?”

The electric touch of her knee against his sent a rush through him that he hadn't felt in years. Her boldness about wrecking him resonated through his bones—she wasn't wrong, though he'd never admit how completely she'd stripped away his carefully constructed walls. The candlelight caught the curve of her smirk as she challenged him about running being the "safe move." "Smart move versus safe move? That's a question worth exploring," he said, watching her refill their glasses without asking. The casual intimacy of that gesture struck him harder than expected. "People who run might protect themselves, but they miss what makes life worth living. The dangerous parts are usually the most interesting." When she called him out for "slipping her actual feelings," he couldn't hold back a genuine laugh. "If that's cheating, then I'm guilty," he admitted. Her observation that this wasn't his typical evening routine made him pause. It had been years since anyone bothered looking past his reputation in Devil's Junction—yet here she sat, deliberately choosing to see beyond the surface.

Her knee remained pressed against his. It acted like an anchor in a city where connections were dangerous currency. When she spoke about people bailing when things got real, he nodded slowly. "Makes two of us who've seen that particular drama unfold. Can't remember the last time someone stuck around once they saw beneath the surface." The wine seemed richer now, deeper somehow. "No expectations and too much eye contact might be the most honest interaction I've had since leaving Chicago." He studied her face openly now, no longer pretending his interest was professional caution. The street beyond glowed with festival lights, music spilling through the open windows. When she mentioned their two-drink agreement with that playful lift of her brow, asking if she could steal more of his time, he found himself unwilling to let this moment end. "Well, look at that, are you actually wanting me to ditch work to hangout with you? Because if that's the goal, count me in." This probably the stupidest thing he'd done—wanting to hangout with a woman who could in essence, wreck everything he worked hard for, but he had to live a little, right?

[thatfriendlyanon]

i think part of my problem is i lived with my best friend for two years of my life and have been searching for the same feeling of joy & acceptance & support ever since

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Me wondering why my cat and i have spent pretty much all day in my winter bed blanket and pillow nest and kinda shivering when I’m outside of it, checks my weather app

Oh. That would do it

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[victory-cookies]

last day of work at the frozen food store tomorrow. kinda not sure how to feel

[alagaisia]

I don’t want to be at work today I want to be home working on the cabinet I’m building

[lesbiansanemi]

I don’t often think I’m upset at not having a good relationship with my parents but sometimes it really fucking hits me that I don’t have a good mom I don’t have a dad I’ll never experience having a good parent and someone I can lean on like that and I get… really upset

[vampirebutterflies]

listen ‘ere boy there is a voice in ur head telling u ur fine and you don’t need to go to therapy tomorrow and that voice is a f u c k i n g liar don’t listen to it boy don’t fuckin’ listen to that rat ass bastard it does NOT have ur best interests at heart