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yeyinde · 2 years ago

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riptide | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

"Thought we lost you." His voice is a crackle; sap popping as it burns in the fire. The log charring in the kindling. There was a battle in his head; artillery fire in the gaps of his eyes. "Thought we— fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it." His knuckles graze the mark in your temple, gentle around the tight, irritated flesh—it's proof that you lived, that despite the tragedy of the betrayal from the man you counted on the most, you survived. You made it. You won His touch is featherlight. But his eyes– His eyes are heavy with the promise of nothing but ruin.

(it's like holding a lit cigarette to your pulse.)

part ii of in undertow

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; gendered reader; f!reader; female anatomy; near death experiences, MAJOR spoilers for the game (seriously, if you haven’t played it are saving it for later, or you haven’t finished, maybe don’t read this yet); PINING; cigarettes after sex was listened to on repreat during the making of this; also, i had “THAT’LL DO!” and “AHUEVO” on a loop, y’all. blame that.

notes: whenever someone asks what “doing the most” means, feel free to point them to this. it’s 16K. fullstop. it was only supposed to be smut. this ended up more plot than porn. but i so wanted the pining; the ambiguity, the danger, the drama. (i mean, this has none of that, but i wanted it.)

i told my very Welsh dad i was in love with an English man, and he said how could you do this to me? and that is pretty much all you need to know about Welsh culture.

Porthmadog hasn't changed much at all since you last washed up on the sandy shores, one hand gripping the strap of your off-duty duffle bag, and the other clenched around your passport. Wound tight. Ready to flee. A constant state of fight or flight.

The air is heady with the scent of the sea. Algae. Seaweed. Salt. Your lungs burn with the thickness of it. The sulphur sits in your throat, sticking to your larynx. It clicks when you swallow, refusing to budge. It curls behind your teeth when you suck the air in through parted, salt-chapped lips; the taste lingers in that strange microcosm of being both achingly nostalgic, and woefully foreign in the same breath.

The streets, too, live there: a realm of vague memories flashing by as your feet tap against the cobblestone. Boots heavy with exhaustion, and jet lag.

You're not ready to face it. Not yet.

Head bowed, you stare at the quasi-familiar cracks on the sandstone, and wonder how everyone else is fairing right now. An hour after takeoff. Soap would have been dropped off, wouldn't he? Safe and sound in Edinburgh.

You're both luckier than your American counterparts—the ones who have a full nine hours left to go.

Bouncing from the Middle East to Europe is a blink.

Europe to America is a whole ocean.

You and Soap played rock, paper, scissors for who got to depart first. In the end, you won. Wales was closer, anyway.

You left them behind with a heaviness that settled in your pericardium, compunction dipping in the valley of your pinched brow.

A strange feeling leaks from the fissures.

Ghost didn't depart.

They didn't stop in England at all. Right to Wales, right to Scotland. America. Mexico.

You try not to think about your prickly Lieutenant, but he flashes behind your eyelids, anyway. A bonfire in the dead of night. Tendrils of smoke drifting into the midnight blue aether. You're too close to the crackling flame. The heat scorches your skin.

He, too, sits heavy in your chest. A spooled cluster of questions bereft of answers. An unknown chasm gaping below. What it all means–

You woke up when the interior lights of the jet flickered on a few rows ahead, the jaundiced glow rousing you from your slumber. Your temple rested on something warm. Firm, sturdy. You blinked into existence, the ghost of a breath on your lips; a passing dream now left behind to rot. A world, forever unattainable, dissolving into nothing. Sand on your fingertips.

The world knits back into the cold clutch of reality: you're on a plane, and–

And you find yourself staring at tightly woven black thread. A balaclava.

Your eyes dart up.

The pad in his hands bathes him in iridescent light. It casts shadows on his face, in the pocks of his mask, and illuminates the white of the artificial bones. The paint used is tinged blue, brushed with cyan where it meets the black.

His lidded eyes crest low as he stares at the screen—a profile open on a man named Zyani stares back. Your eyes don't linger too long, pulled, instead, to the man you're leaning against. The coal under his eyes is smudged, nearly eroded away in the inner corners. You wonder if he rubbed them earlier, eyes gritty and heavy, but refusing to close. He won't sleep on the plane. He never does.

You don't usually, either.

Why didn't he wake you? Why did he let you stay?

There is no time for discussion—not on a jet that reeks of testosterone with ears everywhere. It will have to wait; shelved for another time when Gaz isn't snoring a few pews away, and Soap hasn't been glancing at you in intervals since you sat down.

Bonnie… you can almost hear him say. What are you doin'?

You can hear the steady breaths he takes, the sound swells through you.

It's the first time you've seen him so relaxed since–

Where are you going? Loose-limbed, one hand still wrapped around his softening cock, the other settles on the bend where your thigh meets the crease of your hip, fingers ghosting over the knob of your bone. His eyes are half moons. I didn't say I was finished with you yet, pet.

You shudder, a quiet breath leaving your lips. It draws his attention. His shoulder tenses under you. His head tilts just enough for him to slide his gaze from the screen balanced on his thick thighs to your open stare.

His eyes are liquid. Honeyed words over smouldering charcoal. "Alright?"

Your lungs quiver with your inhale. Outside of the acrid smell of ammunition, ozone, and gunfire, he carries something musky in his scent. Driftwood. Salt—sweat, blood, the sea. It's potent. You breathe him in again, lids lowering. You hold his scent there, nestled in the gummy webbing of your lungs, dripping down your throat.

Your eyes feel gritty when they slip shut. Anchors pull them down. You nod your head, slow and languid, murmuring your assent in a barely coherent mumble. The drag of his rough fatigues under your cheek, the straps of his tactical vest grinding into your cheekbone. And then—awareness. It startles you back into reality. Your eyes pop open, meeting the black pools above.

You wish you could chisel open his head, and read whatever it is that might be lingering in those unfathomable depths. His expression is shuddered, hidden by the thick of his mask. Eyes lidded and heavy and narrowed right on you.

Intense focus.

Sometimes, the others talk about Ghost like he's a berserker. A wild, untamed beast let loose in the shadows. Even the vilest people pale when they see him—his larger-than-life frame lingering in the background—and it's fear that dances in the cut of their brow, in their shaking glare.

You heard stories, of course.

Those always paled in comparison to seeing him on the field.

You got it, then, why no one mocked him. Why even the worst of the worst never bothered with leading him around by the nose.

He asked a question, and they answered.

For a long while, you thought it was his heigh. His size. Immense power. Expert precision.

But no. It's just him. Those eyes. His presence.

He doesn't just receive attention, he commands it.

You should move. You're awake, now. There is no reason for such intimacy with your Lieutenant, for a man more distant and unreachable than the sea.

You should.

But you don't.

He's warm milk under your chin. Heat bleeds into your skin from the firm bracket of his body. Ghost smells good—sweat and timbre—and feels even better. You could sleep again like this. Lashes fan down, sleep digs into the back of your eyes. You force them open.

Your fingers are tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed tight to his chest; there's a note of domesticity in the way he breathes with you, a palpable weight that falls on you like a thick quilt. His muscles jump. Body tense.

Eyes on you. Always.

But then they're gone. A flutter. They cut out to the pews, and you follow his gaze. Price wades closer.

The bubble pops. You're clinging to your Lieutenant like it's a luxury you're allowed.

Like it's something commonplace.

There is distance in his eyes when they flicker to you. The molasses hardened into something once again unreachable. A wall now sits between you.

(Maybe, that conversation will never come, after all.)

You should have known better than to let yourself want.

The air is crisp when you draw it in. The chill hurts your teeth.

You slip your fingers out from the wedge of his arm and ribs, already mourning the loss of him under your flesh—ticking muscles coiled tight; velvet draped iron. Ghost says nothing when you move, but his gaze is heavy on you when you fold yourself back into your seat. Proper, now. Lieutenant and soldier. You press yourself as far away from him as you can until your arms dig into the plastic around the window, and sit straight—as if you weren't sleeping on his shoulder.

As if he didn't let you.

He looks away when Price takes the bench on the opposite side, offers a nod.

Price echoes it. Flashes a tight smile your way.

Then his eyes linger. Not on you. Not on Ghost. He rests his pensive gaze on the sliver of space between the two of you. Where Ghost's bulky arm takes several inches of space up on your own seat, flesh glued together, parting only at the elbows. He's too big to get away from. Takes up all the space—

(—in your lungs, in your head, in your—)

Price, mercifully, isn't the type of man to pry. His brows buoy on his head, a fleeting glance sent in Ghost's direction, and then he's all business. Astute leader. Battle-ready even on a sleepy jet.

He clears his throat. "Where are you headed?"

It's for you.

Gaz is going to America with the men you'd picked up for this mission. His offer for you to join was swiftly rejected. The invitations from the Mexican operatives, notably Alverez, to come and enjoy the coast were also rejected.

"Is Soap going home?" You ask, hands fisting into balls on your lap.

Price's smile is wan. "He is. Not joining Gaz on his American adventure."

"Misadventure, more like." Ghost's dry tone makes your toes curl.

You can still hear the way he growled out pet.

You huff. "I'm…"

There is nowhere for you to go.

—Well. Nowhere else.

(Your knees ache, chafed and raw. Pebbles dig into your skin.)

"Wales," you murmur. You hear the ruffle of fabric when Ghost dips his head to look at you. "Whatever is easier. I'll take a taxi."

"Right," Price nods. "Get some rest while you're home."

It sounds like a dismissal.

Baleen lines fill your periphery when you turn your head. Your gaze sticks to the crease where his chin meets his neck. You can't bring yourself to look up.

"Better go fight it out with Soap."

He doesn't stop you when you stand, when you squeeze past him, thighs brushing his knees.

He says nothing at all when you depart.

(Don't think about it. Don't get your hopes up—)

The town is silent save your heavy steps on the cobblestone. In the distance, the roar of the ocean crashes along the beige shore.

Something inside of you begins to crumble.

(Too late.)

The woman by the apartment block greets you warmly, but the words are a strange amalgam of vowels and consonants that do not belong together. Her accent sounds English. The words make no sense to you.

Your bewilderment must show on your face. Her smile dips, a touch of laughter paints her words when she says, in English:

Sorry, dove. I thought you were Welsh.

It feels a little bit like a slap to the wrist. Naughty child… mind your manners, and speak your tongue.

"I'm not…," you murmur, chastised despite having done nothing wrong.

Wales isn't where you came from. Here is not the place of your birth. It's a paradoxical realm: a land where you were taken to as a child, and told welcome home; all memories erased of the other times they said the exact same thing. A taboo, now. Faux pas. A fresh start (for the nth time). Welcome home.

It's the place you stayed the longest, though. Your developing years from a child to a teenager, to a spiteful preadolescent with too much to prove, and an ocean to live up to.

(You wonder if the pavement is still stained red.)

You know Welsh. Have spoken it for years. You came, fresh-faced and chubby-cheeked, and the ladies cooed while they taught you the words.

But it's buried. They are covered in dust; a forgotten relic. You remember pieces of the greeting, but your lips are no longer used to forming them. Your tongue is too heavy, too foreign.

You say nothing at all, trailing off into a stifling silence.

"Right," her brows knot, rheumy eyes regard you warily. "Do you need a hotel—?"

"I live here."

You bend down, peeling the pristine welcome mat back, and fish out the key you keep tucked away. Years of training echo in the background; a firm voice rings out, one that sounds suspiciously like Ghost's, barking out how that's trouble. You'll come home to a world of hurt if you keep doin' that, soldier.

(You already do.)

You pull your duffle bag up when it slips, and nod at the bemused woman.

It's not much of a homecoming.

It never is.

The flat you own is barren. A bed that feels too comfortable at night for you to ever truly relax on is shoved into the bedroom, a wardrobe with civilian clothes, a shoe rack in the foyer. A kitchen that's always empty.

You mostly sleep on the worn, old couch where the springs dig into your shoulder blades, and remind you of that night you spent in Sierra Leone, belly full of yabeh. Ghost a hair's length away from you. His gloved hand brushing yours.

The duffle bag falls to the tiles with a heavy thud. Your passport will go in the safe along with all of your other belongings—clearance badge, certificates, your guns—until the call comes in for your next mission.

You hope it's soon. That Shepherd and Laswell trudge up some calamity that will take you far away from this place. A long-haul mission. The kind where you go deep into the trenches, and when you surface, it feels like an aeon has passed.

It's too quiet at night.

Your home reeks of dust. Disuse.

You settle on the couch, eyes fixed on the popcorn ceiling, and pretend you can't feel his shoulder under your head even now.

A world away, and you still think of him.

(Always, always.)

Shepherd calls you weeks later. A secret mission with the Shadow Company, he tells you. When you ask about the others, his voice is tight.

Just you, soldier. Just you.

Breaking up the Task Force isn't unheard of. Ghost does so many secretive missions on his own that meeting people he worked with in the past on a group venture isn't at all a rarity anymore. Price is the same. Soap, sometimes, too.

There isn't much else to do.

(You held your phone in your hand each night for those weeks, finger hovering over the CALL button. Two letters— Lt— on the contact screen. His profile picture is a dune of sand.

It never rang. You never called.)

You give your affirmative, and go to the coordinates where his operatives will be waiting for you.

"Show me what you got," he says, a challenge in his voice.

Your grin is sharp. "Always, Actual."

Phillip Graves meets you with a wide grin on his face. The American flag on his fatigues sticks out against the green. So used to the British flag, you can't stop your eyes from sliding down to it, drawn like a beacon.

(Maybe, in a bygone era, it, too, might have been home.)

"Welcome aboard, soldier." His eyes flash in the setting sun. Eager. Heavy. You echo it in your own smile. "Let's get these son'of'a'bitches."

You're back at the bottom.

The Shadow Operatives stare at you when they think you aren't looking. Low murmurs fill the jet— princess, chick, girl— and you gazed, pointedly, out the window.

Your hands itch; the phantom scabs prickle.

It makes you miss 141 more than you thought possible. Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost. They flicker in your mind, and you wonder what they'd do in this situation.

How would they prove themselves to everyone around them?

(Answer: they wouldn't.)

The only one who isn't pushing you in a box is Graves.

"Heard great things about you," his smile crests over his lips. Eyes hungry. Ready for battle. "Can't wait to see what you can do."

He worked with Ghost a month ago. You find this out when he mentions it offhand. Secret mission with your Lieutenant. Is he always that much of an asshole—?

Actual is in your ear, stay alert. Keep your eyes out, always. Never know what you might miss.

But it's Ghost you think of.

(Always, always.)

"He's not an asshole," you say, shrugging. "Just a man who cares too much."

Almost immediately, you want to swallow the words back down. Stupid. Stupid. You force yourself to remain still, nonchalant.

(How presumptuous of you to think you know him.)

Military likes to gossip. It'll come back to him somehow. The little rookie who stuck up for him. Who said he cared.

Graves' eyes flicker. "That right?"

You blush. English is gone. The only language in your throat is Welsh.

(Graves' guffaw echoes in the jet.)

Graves purses his lips, rolling them from side to side, as you sift through the documents in front of you. He's been pacing the room for the last ten minutes while you meticulously translate each paper in your grasp. Agitation bleeds through the usual warmth in his countenance.

It's tense. A slaughter.

His compatriots flank all of the exits; sounds of gunfire resound through the compound.

The infiltration was easy.

This—

This is not.

"So…," he drawls, the thick accent is warm, but his voice is constricted; pinched. "Heard you were the best at sniffing things out. What do you think?"

"It's not—," you pause, eyes skimming the page, squinting at it.

"What?"

His tone is sharp. Icy. The usual warmth dissipates into a palpable tension; a tight unease.

The shift is strange. Focus on the mission.

"It's not just Konni in this. They're being backed."

"That so?"

You suck in a deep breath. "We should leave. Tell Actual what's going on–"

"Yeah," he intones, crouching down in front of you. His eyes are placid. "We'll do just that."

It all happens so fast. A clichè, really, but a fitting one.

Head turned out the window of the cargo van, deadly missiles being dragged behind. Your mind is full, racing. Nothing makes sense.

You wish Ghost was here. Price. Soap. They're the ones you use to bounce ideas off of: this is what is happening, this is the missing equation, and this is what I think.

Good, bonnie. Now, tell us something we don't know.

And what if the equation is wrong?

Crafty, soldier. How do we prove it?

And then the world shatters.

Konni Operates. A gun to your head. Graves yelling in the distance; spitting curses, threats. Actual in your ear— you'll die here, soldier.

Chaos. Death presses cold metal to your forehead, snapped words in rapid-fire Russian, too fast for you to pick up.

The only ones that leak through are oozing glee. I'm going to blow your head off.

A dead-end. You think of Gaz—the closest to you in age, passing jokes back and forth; playing Never Have I Ever when the missions lull, the others looking on with amusement.

Kids these days, they scoff.

Have you seen this video? He asks, dropping into the vacant seat beside you. Ghost looks up. It's a club in London.

Soap huffing when you ask if he wants to come. Too old for that, bonnie.

You kids have fun, Price says, lips twitching. A rare show of amusement from the man. But I'll have to pass.

What if we went to a pub instead, you geezer? You chuckle.

Geezer? He nudges Ghost to his left, eyes dry. You've been rubbing off on the kids.

You meet his stare over the plastic table. Smile turns shy. Wanna come with us, Lt?

He holds it. Halfmoon. Eclipse. Liquid black. Negative, soldier.

You try not to let the sting of rejection show. It's stupid. Stupid—

Nice one, kid.

Y'did good, bonnie.

Let's show these old boys what us kids can do, yeah?

Their voices echo in your mind. One rings louder than the others. A sharp bark. Gravel shattering. Move, soldier!

You're a dutiful soldier. You never disobey a command from your superior officer. From him.

White-hot pain splits across your temple. The world turns static. You're falling down, down, down—

Waves lap at your body, tugging you out to sea. The briny water fills your throat.

Stay alert, soldier. The General. Voices.

"Well, shit." Graves. He sounds distant. Far away.

You think of Sierra Leone. Your first mission.

Hiding in a concrete house with no windows, no doors, no cover. Gunfire booming across the landscape, cloaked in the pitch black darkness of night. Flickers of yellow-red light pop in the distance.

You don't breathe. Don't make a sound. Your hands tremble around your rifle. Eyes wavering.

Warmth against your back. You startle. A gloved hand over your mouth. The brush of a balaclava against your neck.

"Easy, soldier. They'll see you if you jump."

They'll see you—

"They dead?" A boot knocks against your calf.

You go limp.

"Yeah," Graves. Companion. Comrade. Be careful who you trust, soldier. All you have right now is yourself. Trust your gut; you're on your own.

Copper on your tongue. You let it pool between your teeth, keeping it held in the space between your lips. It tastes of pennies. You try not to choke.

Sir… you whisper the words against his tactical vest. Feel the shift of his body when he looks at you from over his shoulder. Let's get yabeh after this.

We're not on holiday, soldier.

Really? Feels like one.

You need to get out more.

Yeah… maybe…

C'mon, now. Stay with me, pet.

Always… sir. Always…

You drag him to someplace you'd heard of through your new friends–best yabeh in all of Salone; gotta try the Jollof, too, Sesay insists–and he fits in like a sore thumb.

You both stand out, really. Foreigners in the middle of a place visited only by locals. Him in his denim trousers, and short-sleeved shirt, tactical vest fixed on his chest; his mask stays on. A ball cap low over his brow. He exudes danger. The rippling musculature of a tiger. The stealth of a panther.

You—nondescript and tiny beside him.

There is something to be said about seeing your new Lieutenant in denim. In the custom facemask instead of the full balaclava.

With the baleen lines missing over his chin and neck, he almost feels too exposed to you. Too vulnerable. Too open.

You can't stop fixing your gaze on the scant flesh, uncovered, above the collar of his shirt. His arms, bulky, and big, fold over his massive chest.

He barely fits inside the small booth.

Your eyes dance. Amusement. A roseate veil shudders over you—a novice, a rookie—and high off of the success of a mission.

"Sesay says this is the best place in town."

"Sesay says a lot of things, don't he?"

You blink, fingers tapping against the worn wood of the table. It's hot in Sierra Leone. A wet swelter that brands your skin with white-hot intensity. It's different from the dryness of the Sahara.

Somehow, his tone is drier than the arid desert you crawled out of. Drier than the burning heat of the massive sun.

"That he does…," you agree, floundering.

Was this a mistake? Maybe you shouldn't have come here. What were you thinking? Dragging your superior out for dinner. You flush. It's barely discernable from the blistering sunburn over the bridge of your nose. Unfamiliar with the intense sun that scorches the land.

You're drowning, now. Wallowing in this limbo of uncertainty. Maybe you should have just come later with Sesay and Abdul. They asked you when you pestered for directions, but you met Ghost's stare from over their shoulders, and hadn't heard a thing of what they were saying once you met him in the middle.

He's a whole head taller than everyone he meets. Massive. The locals' baulk at him: this huge, terrifying being with a skull on his face, cutting through the throng of people like a tank.

There was so much going on once you started the mission. After the Intel was gathered, and the forces were ready, those long nights spent inside a tent that was barely big enough for yourself let alone the behemoth bulk of your Lieutenant came to an end. It was abrupt. Sudden.

It was just you and him.

And then it was a sea of people.

You'd spent the better part of a year pouring over documents in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Scorpions and sand, and him.

The tent was deadly during the day; balmy with a humidity fit for the Amazon. At night, any complaints you might have had about the heat turned into regrets. It was freezing. You could see white clouds of condensation when you breathed out.

You'd lie next to each other. Grains of sand is the only thing keeping you apart. He was warm—bonfire hot.

You'll be frustrated, mad. That's normal when you spend so much time with a stranger. You might argue, bicker. But just focus on the mission. This is a test of camaraderie as much as it is endurance.

It wasn't like that at all. It was—

Seamless.

His ebb and flow were easy to adjust to. Maybe, it was the fact that you were a neophyte that made it so. Too afraid to let the bundle of frustration rear when this was your first mission. Your first test.

But—

It wasn't quite like that. You found that you enjoyed his company. His barbed insults spoken in a flat, serious tone often flew over the heads of the men you had to work with, but you grew accustomed to them. Enjoyed them, even. He was—

An enigma. A year later, and you know nothing about Simon Riley, and as much as he'll allow about Ghost. There is distance still, but;

It wanes. It cracks. Fills with the sharpness of his sarcasm, the stoic dedication to his mission; the grains of sand that stick to his sweat-slicked forehead. The deep hue of red from the mask he refuses to take off.

You'll suffocate, you quip, eyes glued to the paper in front of you.

Don't worry about me.

That's a silly thing to say…

It ain't. You shouldn't.

Mindless, stupid: well, I do.

Silence. Brutal and stifling. Then: focus on the mission, Rookie. Not on me.

You'd hummed noncommittally. It slipped into the back of your head, eyes fixed on the numbers in front of you.

But it wells, now. When Sesay asks if you want to go with him for dinner, when he tells you how to get there, and what to order.

Not on me.

Your eyes haven't left his. He holds your stare.

The chossy wobbles, cracks. Your hand on his arm. C'mon, boss, let's eat. It stays there while you lead him through winding valleys. The heat of his arm—bare, veins ticking under your palm, too burly for you to wrap your whole hand around the thick of him—bleeds into you. You, cold-blooded, leach the warmth from his flesh.

And now—

He doesn't eat when dinner is brought out. Doesn't take his mask off.

You watch him through the steam that wafts off the Jollof rice, his eyes roaming around the room like clockwork, looking for something that might strike. Hyper-vigilant. Wary. Cold. Distant.

A puzzle not meant to be put together, but your fingers itch with the urge to try.

Why did he come, you wonder. Why didn't he say no?

As if hearing your thoughts, his eyes are on yours. Tendrils of translucent white fog the air between you. His brow pinches. Lids crest.

It punches the air from your lungs. There is a phantom heat in your palm. Your hands shake around the fufu in your grasp, tightening around the tacky food until it bulges between your fingers.

The syphoned heat begins to simmer in your belly.

It bubbles over, blustering through your insides when his head pulls close, chin over the table, and says:

You did good, rookie. Might make a soldier of you, yet.

You bow your head. "Cachu hwch."

"English, soldier."

You shake your head. "N-nothing, sir… burnt my tongue."

You wake up in an empty hospital room. It was early August when you left for Al Mazrah. The calendar on your wall says it's now late September.

The space in between is a blur. Left in the mud. Graves was taken. Was he okay–

You don't remember anything after the point of passing out in the mud, and waking up—sick from infection, burning from a fever—and finding yourself strapped down on a jet. Medics surround you.

You'll be okay, you'll be fine–

You'd passed out again. The world slipping away until you felt the heat on your shoulder blades. The scent of yabeh thick in your nose.

You move, sluggish and heavy, on the rough hospital bed, fingers gripping the sheets below.

You still feel the grit of sand against your arm.

Heat in your belly.

(Cachu hwch, indeed.)

Shepherd calls you a day later on the phone in your private room. Your prison. The men outside say you're not allowed to leave. It's dangerous.

"Did good out there, rookie."

"Thanks, Actual," you murmur, hands clenched around the receiver. "Couldn't have done it without your help. Without you."

You want to ask about Graves. About your team.

You remember the rapid Russian spat in your ear. And this one? You bite your tongue, body pickling with unease.

"Rest up, now. My boys will be keeping an eye on you. They'll keep you safe."

You are discharged at the end of October.

Hands pressed against the still-healing scar on your temple. They peeled the bandage off yesterday.

The infection made it worse. It wasn't healing with the sickness you had. You're lucky some local boys found you in the mud when they did. You would have died.

Laswell finds you outside. Hand against her throat, eyes wide.

She looks like she's seen a ghost.

You certainly feel like one.

The ride to your safehouse is punctuated by a game of catch-up. She tells you about the mission they went on, the one you were exempt from.

The phone calls from Soap, Gaz make sense now. Straight to voicemail.

Hey, you skimpin' out on us, yeah? Skippin' duty? Not like you at all. Kinda worried, y'know? Text me somethin'. You know I don't like callin'. Anyway… we're keepin' it together, yeah? But kinda freakin' out. Uhh… anyway—

Not like you to miss one, bonnie. Call me when you can, aye? Want to make sure you're okay.

Price calls nine times. Leaves no voicemail.

A single text from Ghost. Wheels up at 16:00. Expect to see you there.

You didn't get your phone back until today. These were sent at the end of October.

The clock on your screen reads 2nd November.

"No one knew…," you murmur, hands clenched around the metal. "Why didn't Shepherd—"

"Shepherd said you were sent on recon. Said something happened. He didn't tell the others—just me and Price. Didn't want to distract them from the job."

"When did you find out?"

"That you were alive?" Her lips thinned, skin paling. "Yesterday."

"Where are they now?"

"That's confidential."

A scoff. "Sure. Now, off the record…"

"Mexico."

Something doesn't feel right at all. It sits like an anvil in your stomach.

"Laswell…"

"Get some rest," she says, even. Her eyes are glossy when she stares at you. "We'll keep you updated. I'm sure everyone will be relieved to know you're alive."

Your phone rings two days later.

The screen flashes. Lt.

Your hands tremble when you answer it.

"It was Shepherd," he admits.

Your head swims with the admission. Shepherd. Did good out there, rookie. Now, stay good. Stay alert. Keep your eyes out, always. Never know what you might miss.

"Is he–?"

"No," he grouses, the word a sliver short of being a growl. "He's alive. Graves is dead."

It hits you in the sternum—a punch unlike any other you'd received. Air knocked from your lungs, chest throbbing in agony, you sink down into your bed, fingers gripping the sheets until your knuckles bleach white.

This shouldn't have happened.

This is what you do. It's your purpose. It's your job. Your role. You were selected by Shepherd, by Laswell, Price for that, for your ability to gather information, to weed out the moles, the rats. To sniff them out, and puncture holes in their ship until they sank to the bottom, secrets leaking out.

The words roll out of your mouth before you stop them.

"I should have been there."

The tremulous quiver makes you wince. Weakness. You're not weak. You're not—

Ghost won't see it as such, you know this; he doesn't really react to the harsh emotions of others. He carries an unwavering focus, rapt attention to the overarching mission, the end goal; pragmatic, astute on the battlefield, he doesn't flinch.

It's a toss-up if he'll ever respond. If he does, it's usually with a dry, biting dismissal. Sarcasm with him often rides the line of being too sincere, and too flat. It's not just murky, but opaque. He'll say something—equal parts scathing and wise: it's already done, no sense dwelling on what you can't change. Do better next time.

The bite in his words hurt; it was enough to make even the most impassive man irritated by the blunt, almost cruel tinge to his tone.

But it's later when the message will unravel itself. When you're lying alone in your cot, picking over the things he said, and why he said them, and then—

Oh.

Do better next time.

Right.

A soft sound. The rush of air being inhaled through clenched teeth.

Then: "I'm glad you weren't."

Silence. Your heart thunders. I'm glad you weren't.

It could mean a lot of things. A lot of bad things, but:

He thought you were either dead, or missing, or just—gone. You get it:

The last job didn't kill you—the evidence stacks in your head; one conclusion drawn:

It should have. It was meant to.

Your brush with death was a footnote. Nothing at all in the grand scheme of things.

They wanted you dead. They failed.

Soap called you last night, voice tight. You good, bonnie?

Getting there, you joked. Actual had my back. Graves, too. I'm alive because of them.

You choke.

"You alright?"

It's on the tip of your tongue to say yeah. The usual response. Practised. Easy. Distant. But you think of his words, and your ears ring with the deep husk of his voice. He was honest with you. Open. And that's—

Your words are a rush, dipped in vulnerability. "I don't want to be alone right now."

Too much. Too honest.

Too open.

You flinch. Heart thudding in your throat.

Ghost makes you feel like an exposed wire. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Raw.

He says your name—a low, brassy rasp that tickles the back of your neck. It's rare for him to call you by your given name. It's much too intimate. Too—

Well. It's just too much. You want to lean into it, to drape yourself in the rich utterance. Have it whispered into your ear late at night, while he fucks into you the same way he bucked into his hand.

And in the morning when he first wakes. When he rolls over, body folding over your own. Lips against the shell of your ear. A husky rasp; the word dragged over gravel.

You want it, want him, in ways that are unattainable.

Domestic.

You gasp. "I–um. Thanks," you fumble over your words, head roaring with the realisation that there is more than just attraction in the way your heart flutters in your chest; the downy soft wings of a small bird ruffling its fresh plumage. "I'll… talk later."

Your name is barked through the phone when you pull it away. It's cut off before he can finish.

They video call you from some pub.

The sight of them together—Gaz, Soap, Price, Laswell, Ghost—makes you smile.

"Christ, bonnie." Soap's eyes are fixed on the line near your temple. Scabbed. Plum colour. Healing, but not yet there. An inch over, and you'd have been—

You flinch, shrugging. "Could be worse–"

"What happened?" It's a command. You try not to tremble at the bark in Ghost's tone. Perhaps Laswell didn't tell them everything.

His eyes are wide, the whites cresting over the puddles of black. You can't match his stare. You drop, darting to the clock in the corner.

It's Laswell who tells them about the mission with the Shadow Company. Graves. Shepherd.

"...Fuckin', aye." Gaz murmurs. He echoes Ghost's question. "What happened? No one told us anything. We thought— and then Shepherd said you were out for the mission. Not that—that you'd been— "

It falls silent. They don't know about the mission's end aside from Shepherd's lies. Laswell knows. She was the first face you saw in the hospital.

Let's talk…

"We were ambushed," you start, shrugging again. Blasé. Nonchalant. You pretend you can't feel the intensity of Ghost's stare through the screen. "I… they were going to shoot me. I got away. Got a scratch—," a scoff from Soap, a murmur of more than a scratch, aye; you ignore it. "They thought I was dead, so they left me there…"

There is more to it. Graves. The whispers in your head. Them, in your final moments. Agents outside your hospital door. Two inches from death. A day away from rotting.

You swallow it down. It doesn't matter. It happened and now it's over.

"Bonnie…," there is something raw in Soap's voice. It pricks your pericardium.

Left for dead. Abandoned by everyone around you. The ones you trusted the most. Your own team didn't even look. Had no time to mourn, no time to worry.

You know what they must see; the lines they must be drawing. How they, themselves, currently feel, and what they would do if it were them instead of you. It—

It hurts.

"I'd have joined you at the pub," you murmur, voice a shaky worble, before he can say anything else. "But–," you lift your head, eyes downcast. A facsimile of a smile flickers. You wonder if it hits the mark. "Maybe next time."

Price nods in your periphery. "Listen—"

"I'll be ready for Makarov," you interrupt. "I'm… I gotta go, though. Am I — can I be dismissed?"

"...Yeah, yeah you can."

You hang up without another word.

In the silence of your flat—in a land more foreign to you than the Sahara—you break.

Your night dissolves into a series of firsts in quick succession:

A knock on your door. No one knows that you live here. No one but Laswell when she dropped you off. The rheumy-eyed lady with knobby knuckles who mutters at you in warm Welsh. Words you pretend you can't understand.

Shepherd, too, because he needed a location to put down on paper. A place to find you if they couldn't get a hold of you.

You think it might be him—back for vengeance—and you hold your pistol in your hands, back pressed flat against the wall. One hand drops the brass doorknob.

"Who is it?"

A beat.

"It's me." A thick baritone—enough, you think, pulse racing, to rattle the door with his voice alone. "It's Simon."

Simon. Not Ghost—

Right. Off-duty, now. Until you get a lead on Makarov.

Your Lieutenant knocking on your door at—gritty eyes flicker to the stovetop in the kitchen—quarter to five in the evening is another first. Almost paradoxical, really.

Gun shoved into the holster, you turn to face the wood. Through the little window above, covered by a paper-thin curtain, you can see the dark shape of him, unmoving, as he stands on your porch.

There are a number of reasons why he'd be here, but only one makes you yearn.

You pull the door open, and the sight of him makes you dizzy. Hypoxia. Seasickness. Homesick.

He's dressed as casually as Simon is capable of. Black hoodie, wet on the hood from the snow that falls in clumps outside. A black beanie on his head. Skull mask flat against the bridge of his nose. Denim. Black boots.

The coal around his eyes is smudged. A nebula of pale skin through a black oasis.

"What—?"

"Shepherd." Right. He could have called. Got the Intel from Laswell. His words leave no room for argument when he lets out an amalgam of a snarl, a growl; it's ground to dust when he says: "we need to talk."

"Not—," you don't want him to see the emptiness inside. The vacancy. Militaristically barren. Lonely. "Not here…"

Shepherd was here, too. Not him, specifically—maybe. You don't know for certain. But his agents, definitely. Polluting the inside.

It's a flimsy excuse. You hear the threadbare conviction in your tone.

"Shepherd was here," you say, and then wince. "Not now, I mean—"

The words die on your tongue. Ghost— Simon —is smart. Of course he wouldn't think Shepherd was here now. He'd fled. Went into hiding. You shift on your feet.

He can read you like no one else.

(You wonder if anyone at all can read him.)

You flounder. "I don't want…not here…"

"Where do you want to go?"

Somewhere stiflingly hot. "Anywhere."

Simon doesn't press. He never does. His head rolls, tips toward the street. "C'mon, then. Get your stuff."

He reads it on your face, in the things you don't say. It reminds you of Sierra Leone— eat, rookie, you haven't all day; get some sleep, you're dead on your feet; I'll take the first watch— and the memory clots behind your ribs.

"Okay," you murmur.

You feel his gaze on your back when you turn around. The door is left open. He doesn't follow.

There is a chill in the air when you step outside, bundled up in a knit sweater that does little to stem the frigid sea breeze from cutting through the cracks in the threaded cable.

It's a cold night in Porthmadog.

Snow falls in clumps from the indigo-smeared sky, sticking to the cobblestone under your feet.

Simon says nothing as you walk out of the apartment block. He stays close to you, so close you could inch your elbow out and touch him. The heat from his body is a beacon. You're at war with yourself, struggling not to get pulled into his current, and swept out to sea.

Despite the closeness, there is a distance in the way he paces. Eyes roaming under the hood, taking in the lights strewn overhead, lingering on the alcoves where someone might hide.

Having him here feels a little surreal. Porthmadog is off-limits to everyone—it's a place where you come to rot.

His presence shatters the sense that it doesn't really exist outside of those long nights when you stare up at the ceiling, and want. A metaphysical realm that laps at the cracks inside of you, eroding the thick veneer you cobbled together over the years until it withers away, and you have to patch it up when you get called in for another assignment.

Intact soldier. Whole. Nile.

It's a place, now. Real. Tangible.

Seeing Simon—Ghost, Lt—walk beside you down Lombard Street, footfalls echoing through the winding road, makes something churn in your guts. It sits inside, and feels a little like finality.

How could you possibly come back to a place you pretend doesn't exist? A place that is just en-route to wherever else you have to go?

A place you come to because you have nowhere else.

You can't come back here now that the streets are tainted with the nitroglycerin scent of Simon. A bonfire on the beach. The burning logs doused in kerosene. The miasma will suffocate you.

It clots inside of your lungs, sticking to the gummy lining when you breathe him in.

He smells of bourbon. Cigarettes. Carries the scent of everyone else with him—Gaz's cologne: thick vetiver; the sickly sweet tang of Price's cigars; thick metallic: ozone and gasoline that Soap wears after a mission—and you greedily take it in.

You let it sit, red-hot barbed wire, against your chest.

Your eyes slip. Illegal. Wrong. They find him, always. Bathed in the streetlight above; flushed yellow. It casts shadows on him, and makes his eyes look lighter.

A peaking shoal in the middle of the midnight blue ocean.

He's dangerous. Makes your fingers prickle with want; with the urge to touch.

Makes you greedy.

Stupid.

Despite not knowing the area, Simon cuts through the supine street like he's familiar with it already. Maybe, he is. He must have looked at the map on his phone before he got here, eyes locked on the space, the landscape. Mentally cataloguing each hiding spot.

You follow him—a stranger in your own home—and cross your arms over your chest when the thick chatter carries from inside the shops along the street. Heavy Welsh. Warm milk and honey.

Salt in your wounds.

You don't belong here.

The familiar green of the carpet and flooring shop nearly makes you trip, but you steady yourself. Ball your hands into fists by your side, and drop your gaze to the cracked ground below.

You can feel the moment his gaze shifts, sliding over to you. It bores into your temple; abrasive, and grating.

Goosebumps erupt over your flesh. You blame it all on the cold—the stutter in your chest, the ache in your lungs, the shiver dancing down your spine. The frigid weather. The icy breeze.

Another shiver rolls through you, different this time, when you catch sight of the park.

Your chin hits the pavement. Palms sliding through jagged gravel. Knees splitting.

Your blood puddles on the grey rocks.

They crack you open. Nothing spills from the gaping hole.

"You with me?"

You blink. The reverie shakes, shudders. The little girl with her chin on the ground warbles.

Simon stands there, his back to the streetlights. His presence makes the image distort, and bend to fit him inside. It doesn't belong.

"What's a'matter with you?"

You flinch at his voice, and peer up at him from under clumpy, wet lashes, heavy with melting snow.

The words are harsh, but his tone is—

He steps forward, a few paces ahead. You didn't realise you stopped.

He doesn't come to a halt until there is barely an arm's length of space between you, and seeing him this close to you, his face concealed, blank and empty, has that strange feeling pooling in the pit of your stomach again.

His lashes are blond. It surprises you. You'd always imagined he had black hair. Black hair, black eyes.

It's blonde.

You don't know why it matters, why you can't stop staring at the soft wisps around his lids. They flutter shut, fanning across the smudged ink skin under his eyes. The tips are blond. The bottoms are ash. They're nice, you note, a flavour of that same something blistering through you.

His lids slide open, the corner tightening as his gaze sharpens, focusing on you. "Y'alright?" He asks again, waiting for an answer.

You swallow, and it tastes of sand. Gritty, and painful when it slips down your throat. Your voice is a rasp, a shiver above a whisper, when you say, "yeah. "

His eyes tighten again, deeper this time. Something flashes in those polychrome depths. Under the hat, his brow pulls taut together.

The indent makes your fingers itch, the urge to reach out, to soothe it, is nearly overwhelming.

"You lyin' to me?" He grumbles, an edge to his voice you can't place.

"No," you mutter, the words dragged out of you by force. "Just a —a headache."

He has a look in his eyes that makes you think he knows, somehow. That he can chisel inside your head, and rummage through all the secrets you try to keep.

Your neck aches from having to tip your chin back so much to even look at him, the 90-degree angle making you feel dizzy. The opposite of vertigo where you sometimes look up at the unending sky yawning overhead and feel that tendril of fear curling around you, admixing the awe, until you feel the urge to dig your fingers into the ground, and hold on. You can't fall up, but in those moments, it almost feels like you might.

Ghost gives you that same feeling.

His chin dips low, eyes lidded and heavy. You could almost mistake it for bland disinterest had his jaws not been working, gnashing together in a wordless tick. He says nothing. You watch the bones move. The fabric teeth snap.

All his focus is centred on the blood-red gash near your temple. The black sutures keeping the split skin together.

Ghost makes a sound, and you almost mistake it for a growl. Inhumane. Animal. It's pulled from his throat, but bitten off by his teeth before it can take shape.

You blink up at him, wide and owlish, when he reaches for you.

His hand is warm even through the glove. The rough fabric grazes your skin when he brushes your hair away with his knuckle. His eyes are fixed on your forehead, hardened, all militaristic concentration as he looks you over.

"It's—it's fine…"

"It ain't."

Gritty sandpaper. Harsh, abrading.

It's hushed, though.

Speaking above a whisper feels taboo. This whole thing does, honestly. Illicit, wrong. Ghost shouldn't be lasering his glare on your forehead, searching for a reason to do something about the anger that now brims in those dark depths. His knuckles on your skin feel sacrilegious. Touching you is exempt. Illegal. Off-limits.

But he does it, anyway. Strips the barriers pitched in front of you both like tissue paper, and holds his four knuckles to your temple, his thumb brushing a hair beneath the irritated skin. Gentle. Soft.

You didn't think these hands knew how to do something so delicate. That they were made, instead, to break. To crush. To ruin.

He might, yet: the pad of his finger feels like a brand when it ghosts over the soft curve of your forehead, soothing the phantom hurt, and you think you might just shatter if he doesn't stop touching you like this. Gingerly. Calming. A balm over your aching flesh.

You'd gotten so used to the pain, the constant throb in your head, that this respite from it feels like bliss. Nirvana wrapped in leather.

His touch is magnetic. It pulls a sound from deep within your chest, something desperate and wanting, and you can't snap your jaws shut quick enough before it's loose in the atmosphere, and cresting over him.

Ghost's gentle prods go still. With his thumb pressed into a place that makes liquid heat spume in your vein, you can feel it tremble when your tongue snakes out, gliding over your lower lip.

Your head swims. Phosphenes dance across the back of your lids, and you struggle to remember when you shut your eyes in the first place.

They flutter open.

His stare is fixed on your lips in a total eclipse, honed in on the slow roll of your blood-red tongue as it peeks out from the warm cavern of your mouth. The wet trail left behind is swallowed by his gaze. It flickers up, catching the bloom of heat under your cheeks. The darkened flush makes him rumble; the soft rattle of an engine purring. A frisson passes over his expression, lashes fluttering.

He's close. Closer than he was before. You can feel the molten heat bleeding into your skin with his proximity. Taste the gunpowder, the ash, and the ichor that clings to him; he smells of war when you breathe him in. Gasoline. Copper. A livewire scent that makes your lungs itch.

Dangerous. Powerful. Deadly.

Every synapse in your head misfires, sending off warning signs and sirens to run from the man that reeks of gun oil, and fire; napalm-scented demise with blood-soaked hands meant to ruin. But it only makes you lean in closer until the acrid burn of him corrodes your throat.

His body is warm, and the heat is stifling.

You're drunk off the fumes he exudes; reckless and wanting, and in the slurried molasses of your mind, you wonder if this is what it feels like for a gazelle to stand so close to a lion.

Something cold pools at the base of your spine, making you shiver. A warning—distant, ancient—but the calls of your ancestors are dimmed under the bulk of his shadow. The heavy iron in his gaze rests over you, and you imagine that his body pressed into yours would carry the same heft.

He's somehow bigger up close, you think. Wide shoulders, thick arms, a broad chest and waist; muscular thighs, firm calves.

He's not Adonis, but you imagine he feels just like marble all the same.

"Thought we lost you." His voice is a crackle; sap popping as it burns in the fire. The log charring in the kindling. "Thought we— fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

We. He says we, now. It's new. You shudder in his hold.

"I'm here," you whisper the words, afraid of breaking this strange spell between you. It feels like everything else around you has melted away until only you and he exists on this lonely street that makes you ache.

"You are…" he rasps; a low hush. Maybe he, too, is afraid of shattering it. "You did good, soldier."

His knuckles graze the mark in your temple, gentle around the tight, irritated flesh—it's proof that you lived, that despite the tragedy of the betrayal from the man you counted on the most, you survived. You made it. You won.

His touch is featherlight. But his eyes–

His eyes are heavy with the promise of nothing but ruin.

A million thoughts run through your head, ones that taste like kerosene, and cauterise inside you like a cigarette to your skin. The heat blooms again, but it's not enough—all you can think of is how you wished you had more of him.

(You wonder if you run your tongue along his skin, kiss that acrid mouth, if he'd taste of napalm.)

Chiselled open, exposed to the air. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding the fumes of your burning need in his lungs. When he exhales, you can taste the smoke in the air.

His hand drops, fingers sliding down the curve of your face until he meets the plush softness where your chin and cheek meet. The hand he keeps on you is firm.

His eyes bore into yours. He wants your attention. Demands it. Then, he holds it steady until your mouth drops in a series of short, gasping breaths.

Your voice is featherlight when you say his name. His real one. Simon. It simmers in the air between you, and the scent of it almost makes his eyes snap shut, shoulders coiling. Tensed. Wanting. His muscles flex, bunching together in tight knots. Clench. Release. Clench.

It's only when you hear his haggard breath through the nylon, do you realise he's holding himself back from you.

Your belly flutters at the rumble roiling out of his throat.

Another command falls, deeper, darker, and your spine nearly snaps with how quickly you straighten up when he utters two words.

"Later, pet."

It's a promise. A demand. An out.

His mind made up, decisive and sure, he's now shoving the choice in your hands. Leaving the decision with you for safekeeping.

Like before, there is only ever one choice. As if you had any other answer for him.

When you nod, firm and eager, his chest shudders. "Fuckin' Christ–" it's a snarl, full of tension. Excitement.

His hand slides away from your face, and presses into the base of your spine, settling heavily over the curve of your ass. There is pressure, an urgency.

"C'mon," he rasps, jerking his chin to the end of the park. "Parked over here."

He keeps his hand on you, heavy and hot. A possessive branding as he leads you away from this place.

When you pass, your eyes drop to the pavement.

The gravel is clean. Your blood is nowhere to be found.

Your muscles go lax. You get pulled into his current, shoulder brushing over his chest.

Simon tightens his hold, and pulls you closer.

(Dragging you out to open water until you can't see the shoreline anymore.)

He leads you to a black jeep with tinted windows, and grounds out that it's rental when you press the heel of your palm into your mouth, futilely trying to hide a smile.

"It's nice," you quip, light and airy. "Very you."

"Just get your ass inside already," he says, pulling the door open for you. "Got a drive ahead of us."

His hand settles on your waist when you step up on the first rung, heavy. Firm. You want to lean into him. Have him pressed up against you like this for an eternity.

"Where are we going?" You breathe, shivering from the molten look in his eye. The heat in his chest.

He tugs you back into him, chin grazing the space between your neck and shoulder. His voice is white-hot in your ear. "My safe house."

Your eyes flutter. Heat blooms. "Simon—" his name is a whimper on your lips.

His fingers dig into your hips. "Fuckin' hell, pretty thing. You keep saying my name like that, and we won't make it to Southport."

There is no lie in the words that are forced out of his throat; inhumane, a growl. You don't want him here —in this town where you moulder.

Your fingers trail over his wrist. The coarse hair on his arms tickles your skin.

"Get me out of here."

His eyes sharpen. "Gladly."

Two hours and a half hours from Porthmadog to Southport.

A lot of time for him to reconsider. For that coldness he wears like a shield, that unbreakable distance, to pitch itself in front of him once more, locking you out. Perhaps, it'll be for good. Maybe—

Your hands ball into fists. Knuckles dig into the plush seat.

You know what you want. Know what you've wanted since before you stupidly opened your mouth— keeping my seat warm— and he saw it through.

But what about him? There was no time on the jet for a grand discussion, not when everyone was on top of each other already; not when Soap kept glancing at you, brow drawn tight, as if to ask really, bonnie?

Memories of Sierra Leone have you in a chokehold. Your purgatory, your limbo, your afterlife; when you were dying, it was all of him. Of the desert. Of the town that felt so warm, so inviting. The people baulked at his size but still ushered you over, offering snacks, and treats.

So tiny beside him, a woman laughs. You need to eat more. Your man should make you fat and happy.

You blushed. He's not—

Yes, yes… A wink. A coy grin. He watches from the dirt path as she presses bundled cassava into your hands. He says nothing at all. Your man. You like the sound of it more than you should.

You know what you want. What you've wanted.

It puddles inside of you. Droplets leaking through the fissures that have been splintering for years, now.

A man stands in front of you. Promise me, you'll get him.

You: young, naïve, nodded. I promise.

Ghost pulled you aside. He yells—quite often, in fact—but he's ice cold when he says, we don't make promises, rookie. Deadly. Your heart is in your throat when you apologise.

And then the scent of fire. A mission in Mesaieed left you and Gaz trapped. Helpless. Smoke clogging your lungs. Gaz wheezing under the intense blase; the noxious fumes billowing from the smoulder.

His voice in your ear. We'll get you out of there, rookie. Hang tight.

That a promise? You gasp, gagging from the black cloud drenching your lungs. Close to death, and cracking jokes. Confident. Assured. Nile crocodile lurking below the surface.

He isn't there to see your hands shake. You're thankful for it. Stupid, stupid—you want nothing more to impress your Lieutenant. Match him wit-for-wit. Vile joke for vile joke.

It surprises you when his voice filters through the line, one word slurred into your ear: yes.

Are you a man who keeps his promises?

Always. That's why I never make them. Close to a fiery death, and his voice crackles again. Why wasn't Jesus born in Liverpool?

Gaz coughed. Fuck's sake… Lemme die in peace.

Why, Lt?

There are no wise men or virgins.

Funny. I like that one.

Knew you would. Cover your heads.

The window above shattered. They saved you—just like they said they would.

(You realised then that Ghost cared for you, for all his subordinates, more than he let on.)

And now—

There is no turning back. Later, he said. He promised. A man who keeps his promises.

You think, then, of the look on his face under the streetlamp. Snowfall trickles between you. There was a battle in his head; artillery fire in the gaps of his eyes when he said:

"Thought we—fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

The words get lodged in his throat. They're ripped out with a harshness that bludgeons through you.

You turn to him, taking in his profile as he leans back in the seat, looking out the windshield.

As if he feels your stare, his eyes cut from the window, and find yours. He holds it until you taste smoke in your throat, until your lip trembles. Then it sinks low to your lap. One hand peels off of the steering wheel.

It feels like an anvil when it rests on your thigh.

"Almost there," it's a strangled rasp. A promise.

You nod. Your smile feels flushed when it pulls on your lips. Sunkissed. Warm. Expectant.

Your hand unfurls, fingers aching from the strain of your grip, and you curl them over his wrist. His pulse thuds under your thumb. You stroke it, and wonder what he would say if he knew yours beat the same.

The safehouse in Southport is not at all what you were expecting.

The winding road he drives on leads to a small, modest cabin on the outskirts of the town. Perched away from the rest of civilisation, it sits on its own island. Cut-off from the mainland.

The distance is something that makes a smile pull on your lips. So fittingly him —your lone wolf leader who only just learned the word we —but the sight of the house makes something gnarl inside of your chest. It's quaint.

Somehow, you'd expected a flat in the heart of the city. London, perhaps. Somewhere close to the airport, to the UK base used when you needed the closest weapons cache or jet.

The little abode in the middle of a farm doesn't mesh with the image you'd drawn of your prickly Lieutenant. It's too—

Wholesome.

"It's temporary," he grouses when he catches your teeth sink into your palm, a wide grin splitting across your face. "I haven't been back here in a long time."

"Is it yours?" You ask, turning to him. The jeep hums, idling. Neither of you makes any move to get out.

His fingers drum on the wheel. "Grew up here."

"I thought you were from East London."

"No. Moved there, then back here." He offers.

You nod. You get it.

"It's nice." You say instead, and it really is. A sprawling farmland with rolling hills in the distance where you know the sun hits in the morning. Where it'll bathe the boscage in ochre. "Peaceful."

"I'd have taken you to London," he grinds the words out from between his molars. "But it's too far."

Too far. Roughly four hours.

You've been sitting for nearly three. You shudder, eyes lidded when you turn to him.

A slow roll of your tongue has his arms flexing, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles are stained white. Bleached.

"Maybe next time."

A promise. A question.

The vein in his forearm throbs. "C'mon, let's go."

You barely have enough time to pace a few feet into the foyer before it starts. You turn to look at him from over your shoulder—taking in the chimney, the chaise, the distinct lack of anything personal outside of a safe, a lighter on top of the fireplace—and he's suddenly there. Boots off. Hands curled into fists by his side. Head dipped down, and eyes more dangerous than you'd ever seen them.

That thrill pools—a warning. Run, run.

He stalks toward you, eyes burning coal. "Are you hungry?"

"No," you shake your head, swallowing thickly.

A step back. A step forward. They spark when you run.

"Thirsty?"

"N—no…"

Two steps bring him closer to you. Your back presses flush to the wall next to the fireplace, and he moulds over you like a liquid shadow. Dark, imposing. He's massive. You can't see anything but him.

Simon rests his forearm against the wall over your head, bending it at the elbow to bring him closer to you. The rough graze of his mask over your cheek has you panting.

His hand is a brand on your thigh. It slips down, fingers crooking in the fold of your knee, wrenching it up his hip. You gasp, hands grasping the bulk of his biceps when he drags your centre flush over the growing bulge in his pants.

Your head swims when he growls in your ear. "Is there anything you need to do before I drag you to my bed?" You shake your head slightly, pulse humming in your chest. "Because once I'm inside this pretty cunt, nothing at all will get me out. Understood?"

Your brain short circuits. A complete whiteout.

"A—affirmative." You choke, somehow coherent despite the absolute mess in your head. "Sir."

He rumbles. His chest pushes into yours; the sound reverberating through your bones. "Good girl."

He turned his back to you after he let you inside a modest bedroom, pulling the black sweater over his head. His back exposed—rippling muscles, etches of black from the tattoos—all pale skin wrapped in thick sinew. The sound you make has his shoulders coiling tight.

"Fuck, pet… I haven't even touched you, yet."

He turns, the mask slightly lopsided, and his beanie missing. His hair without the full balaclava sends a shock to your system. The newness of discovering something; elation bleeds in. His hair is ashen brown. Lighter than chocolate, darker than caramel.

You want to sink your fingers into the thick of it.

Thighs pressed tight together, your greedy eyes take him in. The way his hair—moussed from the hat—falls over his forehead; not cropped to the grain like Soap, and barely centimetres longer than Price.

He gazes at you. Waiting, maybe.

Your hands fall to your pants, eager to rid yourself of every barrier between your skin and his. You want him on you— in you. It itches like a sickness. Burns like a fever.

Your trousers fall. Fingers looped into the hem of your panties. He stops you, then, with his words.

"I took the mask off for the team."

You falter, bent down to push the panties the rest of the way off, and blink up at him.

The first thought, of course, is that Gaz saw his face before you. Gaz. The rookie rivalry (playful, carrying the flavour of siblings vying for their approval) makes you burn.

You swallow the jealousy on your tongue. "Oh…"

He waits, still.

"You don't have to…" you want to see him. He's a mosaic; an incomplete piece. You have two halves but the middle is murky. You try to fit them in your head, but the image doesn't line up.

"Lay back," he ordered, hands dropping to his belt buckle.

The image of him tugging the leather, veins rippling under the black ink of his burly forearms, feels unholy. It douses you with a want so palpable, your belly quivers with need.

You don't need foreplay, you think. Not when the sight of him pulling off a belt already has you melting. Has your pussy throbbing, your thighs slick.

"Damn, Lieutenant…" you mewl, dropping down on the bed, knees pressed taut together to stem the ache. "How are you so—"

"Simon," he rasps. The belt hangs in his hands. You wonder if he'd tie you up one day with it. Leave you quivering below him, completely at his mercy.

Or, would he let you use it on him? Let you bind this behemoth to the bed for your pleasure.

Your toes curl. The thoughts alone are enough to get you off, you think.

But it's the sight of him, then, standing over you, trousers hanging low on his hips, kept in place only by the thick thigh he slots between your knees, that really makes you shudder.

"Lay back," he orders again, hand dropping—white-hot, rough—to your shaking knee. His chin lowers, eyes staring at your pussy. "I want to taste you again, pet."

Fuck. Fuck —

He lowers to his knees, still somehow taller than you, and gazes at you between your bent legs. Dark eyes flashing. Goosebumps prickle along your flesh as he trails his gaze down the length of your body, settling, once again, on your cunt.

He looks as if he's going to devour you. Eyes wide, whites full, when he pries your legs apart, spreading your cunt for him once more. He hadn't seen you bare like this—beneath him for his own pleasure—and you feel the ghost of his breath on your sex when he leans in close, breathing in deeply.

"Bloody- fuckin' -hell, pet—" it sounds like a curse when he says it. A choked snarl. "So wet for me, and I haven't even touched you."

His hands are on the outside of your thighs, rough skin grazing the sensitive flesh as he trails them down to the soft flesh beneath your knee. With his thumbs hooked in the bend, pressing sharply into the cartilage, he wrenches them apart, opening you wider for him until your pussy is bared to him completely.

The groan he makes edges on the equinox of being absolutely filthy and wrecked when he drinks you in.

"Missed this pretty little cunt." His masked cheek rests on your knee, head cocked as he stares down at you. When he tips his chin, gazing at you, his eyes are blacker than midnight. A pool of ink. Desire brims.

He hooks your thighs over his broad shoulders, finger looping in the gap between his mask and the skin beside his nose.

You don't have a chance to see it. Fucking tease —

He dips his head before he tugs it down, and you feel the molten heat of his tongue slipping between your folds.

Your head falls back on the pillow, toes curling as that greedy mouth devours you once more. The stubble around his chin prickles the skin of your thighs. His grip is so tight, you already see blooms of blue pooling beneath the tips of his fingers.

The first time wasn't a flute. Simon presses his mouth to your cunt like he can't get enough; lips sealing over your throbbing clit, tongue lapping at you in even, thick strokes that make you see white behind your eyelids. It's good, so good —

He's going to ruin you.

"Simon—"

You remember those filthy groans rumbling against your slit, and your hand lifts, reaching down to tangle in his locks. A tug—sharp, pointed—makes him pant into your pussy, makes his fingers tighten until you can feel capillaries bursting under his firm hold. Until his short nails make indents in your flesh.

"Yeah, pet," his voice is molten rock; you throb, aching, from the sound alone. "Just like that…"

His mouth is on you again, devouring you whole.

You lift your head, staring down at the black eyes that bore into you, the thick locks of hair spilling out between your fingers, and you break.

You fall back with a groan, arching your cunt into his eager mouth, desperate for more. More of that liquid bliss that spools in your core, that has you leaking a puddle under his chin.

His hands shift, sliding down the meat of your thighs until they wriggle under your ass. Your flesh spills between his fingers when he grips you tight, lifting your hips, your cunt, to him.

Simon helps you buck against him, lets you cant your hips into his face, nearly smothering him with the sopping heat of your centre. When you're mewling, panting, with your head tossed back, and rapture in a quiver of his name spilling from your lips, he shifts.

His hold changes, and one hand falls back. His lips seal around your aching clit as a finger—long, thick—presses against your entrance. His tongue laves over you when he slowly presses it inside, crooking it to stroke against your fluttering walls.

The choked sob that leaves your throat is a mangled wreck of pleasure, of want.

"More," you mewl, but the plea barely has a chance to pass your lips before he's dragging his finger out until only the tip keeps you open. "Please, sir—"

He thrusts it into the last knuckle, groaning against you at the slick, wet sound that it makes. "Fuck, pet. Always so wet for me, aren't you?"

"Always," you gasp, fingers gripping his hair tight. "Simon, I need more—"

He pulls his finger out; another joins it when you whimper. The stretch feels good. Heat blooms in your belly. You won't last long. Your thighs quiver with each roll of his fingers pushing in as deep as they will go; with each stroke of his tongue over your clit.

You're going to cum—

"Simon—"

The coil snaps, pussy clenching on the thick fingers wedged inside of you, hips canting into his eager mouth as he rides you through the spasming pleasuring that ripples through your abdomen.

"That's it… that's a good girl," he slurs against you.

It's almost too much when he forces another finger into your throbbing cunt. You keen at the stretch, at the too-full feeling of him splitting your walls.

"Simon, I can't—"

"Yes, you can. You're taking me so well already."

His voice is liquid sex; the wrecked sound of him makes your toes curl, and your spine arch. You want him inside of you. You want to know if he'd make those same grunts of pleasure with your pussy wrapped around him.

High of the sudden burst of endorphins, you look down at him—sloppy with your wetness, his face hidden by your cunt—and you tug his hair until he meets your blown-out gaze.

"Fuck me," you try to demand, but the word comes out as a shaky plea.

"Too tight, pet," he rumbles. "Gotta get you ready for me."

Three fingers buried to the last knuckle, and he says it still isn't enough.

You'd think him cocky had you not the pleasure of seeing him hard and aching already. Big, fat cock leaking between the seal of his palm. You shiver, head dropping to the pillow.

It's all you can do but take whatever he gives you—long, thick fingers stretching you out, brushing the gummy walls inside that flutter when his mouth seals over your clit. It feels like an eternity since he pulled you inside the room.

A tug of your hand makes him groan. You meet his stare, pleading. Breathless. It's too much—

And not enough.

"I don't care," you slur, drunk and stupid on the way his hot mouth glues to your cunt. "I wanna feel you inside of me for days, sir—"

"Fuck!"

It's a harsh snarl that makes you whimper. The sound ripped from his chest, and rubbed raw as it was scraped out. His forehead is pressed to your mound, breathing you in once more.

His head lifts.

It's dark in the room. You can't really make out the entirety of his features—the familiar long nose, the cut of his jaw. His lips. It's bathed in black, in shadows, but through the glimmer of the washed-out moon that spills inside, you can see the distinct wetness gleaming on his mouth, his chin.

You whimper, eyes burning with tears of desperation. When he speaks, it's shredded rocks. Gravel. Low and dark.

"You're gonna feel me for weeks, pet."

It's a dangerous precipice. His voice alone shatters your resolve, and seeing those full, pink lips form the words that will ruin you, it's overwhelming. Your cunt throbs, walls shuddering in pleasure ripped through your being.

He feels it against his fingers; it makes his eyes flutter. His tongue sweeps out. Eye hooded, half-mast as they take you in.

He sits back, hands slipping to the crease of your knees. His chin dips.

"Hold 'em open for me, pet."

You gasp, belly knotting tight from the command that drips from his drenched, wicked, mouth. Your hand reluctantly falls from the soft locks to do as you're told. The warmth of his skin brushes over your fingers when you take his place, keeping your legs bent, spread, for him. You're on display. Open, wanting.

His hand, now free, reaches for the bundle of fabric pooled at the base of his neck. The mask is fixed into place again—a needless action, you think, pouting. Gaz saw his face in better lighting.

(You hope he had the wherewithal to take a picture for you.)

But there is something to be said about how illicit he looks, mouth now concealed from your view until just his eyes are visible. The coal is rubbed off, shadows along the crease, the corner of his nose, under his eyes, but it feels dangerous like this.

With the mask on, he's Ghost. Deadly. Dangerous. Fearsome. Men cower from him. His name alone scorches the earth, and makes the underbelly tremble.

And he's going to be inside of you. Claiming you, taking you. It's a cigarette thrown on a sea of gasoline. Your skin, fervid, begins to blister.

When you look up, it's ink-blot eyes in a sea of white. Red tendrils in the corners; rivers of ichor.

If he keeps looking at you like that, like you're a feast for him, you might go a little crazy, a little delirious.

Simon stares for a moment longer, hand dipping below the bed to grasp himself in his hand. A grunt at the touch, a flutter of his lashes, and then he moves. Coiled muscle; rippling flesh. He looms above you like a Cimmerian god—drenched in tenebrose, mask soaked from your slick—his haunting eyes gazing at you like you're an offering meant to be savoured.

His thighs—thicker than the tree trunks in the distance—slot beneath yours, and the sheer width of them makes you dizzy. The bulk is bigger than your head. Simon must notice the way you're drooling over them, knuckles white as you stare, open and hungry, wanting, as he takes a small amount of mercy on you. He shifts until the bulk of it is pressed taut to your core.

Your back arches, legs trembling. Fuck—

You want to ride his thighs. Want him to perch you on his massive lap, and have those molten eyes fixed on you as you use him to get yourself off.

You could do it, you think, mind blanking out; that soporific pleasure slurring all logic from taking root until a gossamer spools inside, filled with want. With greed.

"Wanna ride you…" you slur, wrecked on the notion alone. "Your thighs. They're so big, Simon, fuck— you're so big—"

"I like that idea, pet," he rasps, thigh notching closer to your throbbing cunt, smearing slick all over the coarse hair that covers his flesh. "Wanna see you desperate for it."

"I am…" you whine, breathless. "I want you so bad, I can't stand it…"

His hands fall, bracketing his burly arms beside your head until the absurd heft of him fills your vision. The muscles in his core pull taut; veins in his arms pulse.

He told you to keep your legs spread, but your fingers itch with the need to touch him. To feel him against your palm.

His cock hangs, daunting and thick, between his legs, head brushing your belly. Prespend smears over your skin; warm, tacky. You want a taste—

When you tell him as much, chin tipped backwards to whisper the words into his neck, he shudders above you. His cock twitches, spits more prespend on you. You want him to cum on your face, you gasp, words liquid, slurred. You're not entirely sure they're in English. You don't think you have the capacity to think beyond want, want, want—

"Yeah?" He rasps, elbow bending as he drops to his forearm. It brings his chest flush to yours. The dark smattering of hair rubs against your nipples. His face is a constellation: white jowls, black eyes. The look alone makes you smoulder. "Don't worry about me, pet."

You're shaking your head, but the protests die on your tongue when his hips slip between your thighs, prying you further apart. Completely spread beneath the bulk of his body, you crumble.

He knocks your hands away, a low murmur of his approval slipping past those sinful lips for listening to him, as if there was ever a choice, and he notches your knees against his hips, pressing himself closer to your core.

Finally free, your hands spring down to grab him, gripping his bicep in a vice just to feel the way it jumps under your fingers, and the other flat against his heated chest. His pulse thunders against your palm.

"Gonna give it to you, now."

You wanted it— ached for it—but as he feeds his thick cock into your pussy, you wonder if maybe you'd been a little overconfident before. That, perhaps, he was right.

It's swallowed down, smothered with a whimper. His stupidly fat cock will not break you.

"That's it, pet," he slurs, mask pressed tight to your ear. "Take it… C'mon, now."

He pulls back, widening your thighs, and then pushing them up until you're nearly folding in half beneath him. The movement jostles his cock, and it nudges something inside of you that makes you spasm around him.

"Fuckin' hell…" he groans, sinking in deeper. His eyes are fixed on the spot where he stretches you taut. Skin raw; cunt pushed to the mettle. "Almost there… look'it your pretty cunt take my cock…"

The air is punched from your lungs when he pushes in deeper, when the blunt head batters up behind your belly button. He knocks against your cervix, and the deep ache has tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

"Go on, pretty thing," he husks in your ear, words drenched in pleasure. Your fingers dig into the bulk of his body, crescent moons embedded into his skin.

He bludgeons into something inside of you that has you see stars—galaxies burst behind your eyelids, and heat, supernova hot, burns low in your belly. It burns at the place where his cocks ruts into you so deeply that you can feel him in your sternum, almost taste him in your throat. It liquefies your body. You melt into a conduit under him; a receptacle that leaches pleasure from the stretch of his cock inside you.

Your body slackens. There is a give; something breaks. And he's suddenly deeper than you knew existed, than you ever thought possible. You feel him almost knocking against the cap of your womb. Each persistent jerk has your pussy clenching around him, milking him, trying to get him deeper.

As if that was possible. As if there was any room left inside of you for him to claim.

You're stuffed to the brim; overflowing with him. You can't take anymore.

You sob brokenly when his hips pull back until only the mushroom head of his cock splits your aching, raw cunt open. The seam of you flutters around him, as if begging to be filled again.

He grunts, a hoarse, low noise dredged from the depths of his chest when he shifts, his cock spearing back into you.

It nearly makes you scream. Your nails rake over his flesh, desperate to find purchase amid a crumbly chossy that threatens to send you plummeting down a precipice, hurtling you toward an unknown abyss.

"Easy, now," he commands, the bark of his voice bitten between clenched teeth. "You're gonna make me cum before I've gotten my fill of this cunt, pet."

"Want it," you slur, babbling on the liquid bliss roaring through your veins. "Want you to fill me up, Simon."

A snarl of your name is the only warning you get before his cock is battering against your gummy walls, blunt head jarring into that little place inside of you that has phosphenes filling your vision, has your lungs aching with hypoxia. Head dizzy, chest shuddering with each breath. You can't get enough of it. Of the heady scent of him, the sun-drenched heat.

Simon is normally so controlled, constrained, and you find yourself fracturing into pieces as his ironclad resolve seems to shatter with each squeeze of your cunt. It's a dizzying feeling to reduce your cold-hearted Lieutenant into a rutting beast, spoiling himself with each tight clench of your soft insides against his thick, hard cock.

Your eyes open, wet lashes flutter and stick to the crease of your eyelid, and you find the way his brow is pinched tight together as he burrows himself deep within you, until the taste of salt is heavy on your tongue, absolutely breathtaking. It's enough to get you hooked. Enough to make such an utter mess of you, that you don't know how you'll recover from this.

It's an intense feeling having him seated so deeply within you. Edging deliriously along that equinox of unfathomable bliss, and the sharp, distinct too much—too full quiver of pain. It's a pinch within your guts, a deep throb that follows the unending plume of pleasure so blistering as it batters into you, that you almost find yourself getting swept away by the sheer thrill of it all. Mindless, driven stupid by the way he takes, the way he ruins.

(You don't ever want him to stop.)

It's one thing to have his mouth on you, but another thing entirely to see how he breaks when he's inside of you. It's addicting. A powerful high that renders everything else static.

Pleasure, red-hot and dizzily intense, lacerates through your core, spooling at the base of your spine. It fills your limbs with molten bliss until nothing remains except the way he pounds inside of you, filling you over and over again with every inch he has to offer. You think you might just go insane if you don't have him. If you don't get to feel the delicious drag of his cockhead rubbing against your pulsating walls.

Your hands slide over his skin. The muscles clenching under the pads of your fingers as you drag them up, over his arm, his biceps, his broad shoulders.

The bulk of his back makes your fingers itch. You sink them into the corded muscles, clinging to him as Simon drags you to that hazy place where euphoria clots inside of your veins, and the heat you syphoned from him bubbles, frothing over.

It's pulled taut—an elastic band that stretches well past the breaking point, and makes your fingers sting when it snaps. You convulse beneath him, sobbing out barely coherent words that sound like a quivering war cry of his name, of how good he feels, and how you're mad with the taste of him nestled so deeply within you.

Your nails digging into his skin, his name on your lips like a gospel, the molten clench of you around—it all congeals together until he's snarling in your ear, a raspy grunt that makes your toes curl, that has you seeing nirvana once more. It's your name—somewhere in the mess of his growl, his groan—that is pulled out from him, and pierces you deep, makes your core tremble at the ragged sound of it, broken and hoarse.

He throbs like a heartbeat, cock pulsing as he sputters out a thick pool of cum. It's almost too much; your pussy is overstuffed, forced to take both the heaviness of his cock, and molten spume that fills you to the brim. It leaks out from around the plug of him, pushed to the base until not even an inch remains, and you feel it gathering under you.

You want a taste of it. It swells inside, fills you deep, and you wonder if he'd let you lick it off of him.

You murmur it into his drenched chest, more slurred words that only vaguely sound English. Maybe it's the tone of your voice—ruined and raw, and drunk of the taste of him—that punctures through, but it hits the mark. Simon buries his head into your neck with another gravelled rasp of your name that sticks to his throat, breaking over the vowels. His softening cock twitches within you.

Words, or sentiment, whispered into the crackling atmosphere that smells of sex and kerosene, and goes straight to his groin.

"Cheeky little—," he starts, a husking grumble, but you squeeze your sore, aching sex around him, fluttering like a soft heartbeat, and it dies with a groan.

The victory doesn't last long. Your raw, abused cunt aches from overstimulation, a throbbing sting from your tender flesh making you wince. You're too keyed up. A ragdoll against the shoreline, caught in the current that batters your body until you feel like one massive contusion.

Fucking Simon feels like surviving a war. It feels like clawing your way out of the trenches, tasting the heavy, gunmetal tang of acrid artillery fire in the air, and standing victorious. Brutalised, dazed, and numb from the beating, but full of the banquet of victory.

He keeps you under him, still buried to the hilt, and pants into your neck. Flushed with exertion, his chest red and drenched in sweat, you slip your hands through the mess of him, and find purchase where the knob of his spine protrudes from his flesh.

Simon's head rises. His eyes—quivering, glossy ink—lidded and sleepy with pleasure, and that tangible post-sex haze that permeates the air, find yours.

Sweat drips down his forehead, over his brow, his temple. It's swallowed by the fabric of his mask, lopsided on his cheeks. Red peaks over the black horizon. A deep flush the same bloodied hue as his chest.

(You wonder if it tastes like ichor.)

His eyes shudder, body trembling from the ripple of it.

"Fuck me, pet…"

You tip your heavy, mushy head back, and grin. Big, and wide. The smile of elation. Of success. "I already did."

He huffs, heavy and full, through his nose. "Bloody hell—" in response to your tease, he grinds his cock against your aching walls.

Your breath is sucked in through clenched teeth; a breathy, high-pitched whimper.

"Mae hi wedi cachi arna i…"

"English, pet."

Your ankles try to link at the base of his spine, body drawn like a bow. "Your cock ruined me."

His eyes are rapacious, tainted with the fervour of conquest.

"It was meant to." The smoke in his timbre makes your toes curl. Your lungs smoulder with the heat of it.

Simon has you seeing nirvana again, and again before the light outside crests through the thin curtains.

He rolls you under him, ankles hooked on his shoulders, and makes you watch as his cock spears deep inside of your well-fucked cunt.

Eyes on us, soldier. Don't you dare look away.

On your knees, head nearly smothered by the pillow, he covers you with the entirety of his bulk until everything around you is pitch black with the shadow he casts. He looms over you, chest pressed against your back, and fucks you slow, and deep. The position almost has you blacking out from the depths he reaches like this, and the burn of the stretch as your pussy pulls taut against his cock.

You can take it. This pretty cunt was made for my cock, pet.

Your favourite is being lowered onto him. Chests pressed together. You bury your hand in his damp hair, your face in his neck, and sink your teeth into the column of his throat until the salt of his skin nearly drowns you.

Fuckin' hell…

(In response, his hand brands the cheeks of your ass with the perfect impression of his massive palms.)

He lays back with you barely lucid, aching, sprawled on top of him, and runs his hands down your spine, husking in your ear about how good you've been for him, how pretty you look blissed out from his cock.

His words are mercury in your head.

"...wanna be good for you, Simon," you murmur into his collarbones.

He shudders under you.

His chest is slick with sweat when you rest your head on it, pulse thudding under your palm. His arm around your waist is an anchor, locking you tight to his side.

You'd woken up to the sun bleeding through the window, the room thick with the balmy swelter of sex. Ashes in your throat, salt on your tongue. Simon's heat burrows into your marrow.

There is a lot to be said, you think. Words that you were too cowardly to admit when in the soft, dazed atmosphere of the plane.

Only one thing buoys to the forefront. The only things you'd been clutching at this whole time. Life on the line, and all you could think of was the dunes outside of your tent. The searing heat on your back.

(Not on me.)

(Always, always.)

"...Since Sierra Leone," you confess into his flesh, mouth pressed against the side of his pectoral. His ashen chest hair tickles your nose.

Simon tenses under you. The soft strokes of his fingers–bare, warm–on your hip still.

You wonder if you misread things. If you made a mistake. Your mouth parts on his flesh. The briny taste of his skin is sharp on your tongue.

You won't apologise. The words are there, the confession lingering in the air like opaque tendrils of smoke. It's in his hands now. This little thing that flutters within your chest, tucked away for safekeeping since he turned to you, eyes dark and narrow, and said you did good, rookie.

His fingers coil over you, tightening against your flesh.

"Everything…" he rasps. Everything. It's pulled out of him; rolled over barbed wire.

Confused, you raise your head, brows knitting together. Everything—

A total eclipse. The ocean in the dead of night. Endless, unfathomable pools of black. The current threatens to drag you under to those depths that shudder in front of you.

The words die on your tongue, ashes in the back of your throat.

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? So, what do you have to lose, soldier?

A smile splits across your face; a sun dawning over the beige spalls that seem to never end.

It tastes of the sea when you press your lips to his. You feel sand under your fingers, his pulse on your palm.

—Price calls it, has known since Mesaieed. He'd bet on Gaz, maybe even Soap. It never crosses his mind to think of Simon.

—But thinking about it now, it was obvious from the start.

("Sierra Leone. Wanna take Gaz with you–"

"No. I'll take the rookie.")

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fanfic #simon riley #Simon Ghost Riley #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw2 spoilers #cod spoilers #simon riley cod

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toasttt11 · 3 months ago

Text

europe

June 2, 2024

Lucia hugged Quinn as they stood in front of the airport and John a few steps away with Lucia and his bags letting the siblings having a moment alone.

Quinn was going to a spend a few days with some friends in New Jersey before Jack came up and then Quinn and Jack would see Lucia when she got back to Michigan for their Concert.

Quinn had got up for the two’s very very early flight to drop them off at Newark.

“Have fun.” Quinn mumbled as he hugged her tightly, he knows Lucia has always dreamed of seeing Paris and John had told him some of things they were going to be doing in Europe and Quinn knew Lucia would absolutely love everything.

Lucia nodded and stepped back sending Quinn one last smile before heading to John and they headed into the airport.

Lucia honestly let John do everything and just followed him holding on to his hand and she kinda really enjoyed not paying attention as they went through the airport until they were sitting in their first class seats about to takeoff to Paris.

Lucia slipped her shoes off curling her very legs up in her seat and getting settled to go back to sleep.

John smiled softly seeing her getting all comfortable, he gently guided her head to him and let her rest her head on his bicep as his other hand held her hand gently rubbing her hand as they headed into the air.

John smiled not even suprised that Lucia was already asleep, He asked a flight attendant that walked by for a blanket and he draped the blanket over his partner.

He started a movie and watched the whole thing while Lucia was still fully asleep and John’s head eventually rested onto top Lucia’s falling asleep for a while as well.

Lucia grumbled rubbing her face on John’s arm as she slowly woke up, John looked down looking amused seeing his sleepy girl finally wake up after sleeping for almost the entire flight, he had a few hour nap and she was still sleeping.

“Hi my sleepy girl.” John softly cooed rubbing her loose braids kissing the top of her head.

Lucia hummed rubbing her eyes, “How much longer?” Lucia questioned softly trying to wake up after her very long nap.

“Just a few minutes, you slept most of the flight.” John answered amused, she quite literally almost slept the entire seven hour flight.

Lucia hummed not surprised, she always sleeps easily in cars or planes and being next to John makes her sleep even easier.

Lucia just kept her head rested on John’s shoulder as she slowly woke up.

Lucia looked up and looked out the window and saw the Eiffel tower, her mouth opened in awe as she looked at the tower she has dreamed of seeing since she was a baby.

John smiled softly pulling out his phone taking a photo of Lucia as she admired the Eiffel tower, he admired her.

“Thank you.” Lucia softly whispered squeezing John’s hand. John just smiled kissing her cheek softly.

They got into Paris around lunch time and headed to the hotel giving their bags to the hotel as their room was not ready yet and they just headed out to the city and started exploring and buying little souvenirs.

Lucia and John both were pretty tired by the time their room was ready so they just took a long bath at the hotel and ordered lots of room service eating on the balcony that faces the eiffel tower letting them watch the sunset over the eiffel tower.

June 3, 2024

John gently brushed her loose curls out of her face as she was still peacefully sleeping, “Luce.” John softly cooed caressing her face making her eyes slowly flutter open seeing John’s smiling face.

Lucia hummed sleepily leaning into John’s soft touch.

“Good morning my love.” John lovingly mumbled pressing a few kisses on her cheek making them turn a rosy pink.

“Morning.” Lucia yawned stretching her arms and wrapping her arms around John’s neck pulling him on top of her and humming contently.

John let out a fond chuckle but stayed laying on top of Lucia for a little while letting her wake up.

“Come on croissants are waiting for us.” John softly teased and poked her side right under her ribs knowing that’s where she is more sensitive.

Lucia squealed squirming away making John laugh.

“And hot chocolate?” Lucia asked raising a teasing eyebrow at her partner.

“Of course Angel.” John fondly rolled his eyes picking his girl up making her laugh and cling to him as he carried her to the bathroom so they could get ready.

Lucia and John got ready for the day and linked hands as they walked out of their hotel heading to a little cafe close by sitting outside.

Lucia happily ordered a hot chocolate making John look at her fondly before he ordered a cappuccino and of course they ordered lots of pastries for breakfast.

Lucia hummed happily as she sipped on her hot chocolate and munched on her chocolate croissant. John smiled leaning over and whipping the top of her lip and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

They spent the next few days exploring all of Paris, John surprised Lucia by getting tickets to go to the top of the Eiffel tower.

They went to see the Louvre, The Triomphe, many cathedrals, many museums, Tuileries Gardens, Palace of Versailles, they rode many ferry’s, ate way too many pastries.

June 6, 2024

Lucia stepped out of the bathroom wearing a long black dress with her hair down for once in their natural curls with a black ribbon in her hair and a pair of black heels.

John looked up from where he was sitting and his breath got caught in his chest as he looked a his beautiful girl, John stood up and slowly walked over to her and took her hand spinning her around making her laugh, “You are absolutely beautiful.” John is always in awe of Lucia but when he sees her in different clothes that he doesn’t always see it always shocks him a bit more than normal.

Lucia blushed trying to roll her eyes to hide how pleased she was from the compliment, And you look good.” Lucia smirked looking at John in dress pants and a button down shirt that he left a little unbuttoned on the top.

“Thank you my love.” John smiled softly playing with her sapphire necklace before he pressed a kiss to her cheek and offered his arm to her making her hold onto his bicep as they headed out of their hotel and walked to their dinner reservations.

“Marino.” John told the hostess as they stepped into the restaurant and they were lead to a private room that John has reserved for their last night together.

Lucia smiled pleased as John pulled out her chair for her before sitting down across from her.

Lucia and John laughed a lot as they enjoyed their dinner and lots of wine together.

Lucia shook her head fondly not surprised when the waiter set down a bowl of dessert in them even though they did not order it and she knew John must of quietly asked them.

“You and your surprises.” Lucia shook her head looking at her partner who is always surprising her and spoiling her.

John just shrugged nonchalantly he loves surprising his girl, “There’s one more tonight.” He pulled out a box from his pocket setting it on the table sliding it to her.

“What is this?” Lucia raised an eyebrow picking the small box up.

“Open it my love.” John softy encouraged her.

Lucia fondly rolled her eyes but opened the box and her breath got caught seeing a beautiful sapphire bracelet that matched her necklace perfectly.

“You didn’t.” Lucia mumbled in shock looking at the bracelet in awe.

“I did.” John smugly grinned, he knew one day he will have given Lucia ever possible jewelry piece and all of them will be sapphire.

“Silly boy.” Lucia fondly mumbled looking up from the bracelet at him with a happy smile and she held her wrist towards him.

John smiled pleased as he took the bracelet out of the box and wrapped it delicately around her wrist and pressed a kiss on her wrist.

“Thank you.” Lucia smiled squeezing his hands.

“Always.” John promised.

June 9, 2024

Lucia and John spent three days in London and spent every day exploring all of London.

The first day they went to see all of the older and famous location that London are known for like, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Cathedrals, Hyde Park, London Bridge, Tower Bridge, Tower of London and so many more.

John and Lucia both being Harry Potter fans meant they spent a day during all Harry Potter themed attractions like, a harry potter walking tour, Warner Bros Studio Tour, Harry Potter locations your.

They spent their third day with a bit of mixed attractions, like the tea train, Jack the Ripper tour, London Tour bus.

June 13, 2024

Lucia stretched waking up in the warm bed and frowned slightly seeing John next to her, she looked over at the glass doors and saw John sitting outside.

It was their fourth and final day in Barcelona and Lucia was glad for the way John planned for their trip, he knew she would want to explore and walk around more in places like Paris and London rather than Barcelona, so their stay in Barcelona hass been a lot more relaxing than Paris and London.

John had got them a place right on the beaches of Barcelona making them spend a lot of the time in the water and going to many different types of beaches around Barcelona.

They of course still explored other parts of Barcelona that wasn’t the beach but they did spend a lot of their time the past days at the breach, they did find many little markets in Spain and they both loved trying all of the amazing fruits.

Lucia stood up letting the sheet fall off her as she got out of bed, she grabbed John’s button that was on the ground from last night putting it on before walking out the glass door feeling the warm sand against her feet as she walked the few steps to her John.

Lucia immediately sat on his lap and curled on his lap like a cat.

John smiled setting his book down next to his coffee and wrapped his arms around her.

“Morning.” Lucia mumbled against his neck pressing a gentle kiss there.

“Morning my angel.” John softly spoke back rubbing her back gently and pressing a few soft kisses to her hairline.

John knew their trip was easily becoming some of the best memories he will ever have but also his favorite trip he’s been on and he’s enjoyed every second being with his girl.

Lucia and John enjoyed a few minutes of comfortable silence with the eaves crashing being the only sounds, before John had a mischievous idea.

He stood up holding Lucia making her hold onto him tighter as he started walking them to the ocean.

Lucia just laughed holding onto John not suprised he’s taking her towards the water.

John smirked mischievously at her as he stepped into the water before jumping forward and dunking them both under the water.

Lucia laughed as she came back up from the water whipping her hair from her face, she grabbed back onto John wrapped her leges around his waist making him hold her.

John smiled pulling her into a kiss.

June 17, 2024

Lucia looked up from the book she was reading, which is a book that is John’s, seeing John walking out with a pizza.

This is their last day in Milan but also their last day of their in their trip as they were leaving to go home tomorrow, John going back to Boston and Lucia back to Michigan.

They spent five days in Milan and ate so much pasta and pizza as you should in Italy and they rented a moped for a few days and John quickly learned Lucia was a much better driver than him. John of course took her out to many fancy dinners.

They were spending their last full day on a rented boat on Lake Como.

Lucia and John spent the morning driving around the water looking at everything before they picked a spot to park at and swam around together in Lake Como.

John had to convince Lucia to finally get out of the water so they could hydrate and eat and then they could go back in the water.

John set the warm margarita pizza on the table in front of his partner, he had the fridge packed to make a few things for them during their day on the lake.

Lucia gently closed her book setting it down as John set next to her and cut a slice of pizza for her.

Lucia moaned satisfied as she took a bite of pizza that John made them, it was incredible especially with him being the one who made it.

John swallowed slighty at the sounds from Lucia but tried to ignore his thoughts, “Good?” John asked as his thumb gently rubbed off the tomato sauce on her lips.

Lucia watched as John gently wiped her face for her, something she has never let anyone else do to her and realized just how much John does for her that she loves but hates anyone else doing for her and it kinda made her realize how much she let her self be open with John, something she was scared to do.

She set her pizza down and leaned closer to John crapped his favs in her hands and pressing a firm and long kiss to her lips.

“What was that for? Not that i’m complaining?” John asked her once she pulled back from the longer kiss than normal.

Lucia was still holding his face in her hands as her eyes nervously flickered around his face, she took a deep breath, “I love you John Marino.” Lucia softly admitted the words she never thought she would tell someone but then again she never thought she would find love the way she has with John.

John’s eyes widen his smile widen hearing the words he’s been waiting to tell her, “I love you too Lucia Hughes.” John softly told her leaning closer to her and pressing a gentle kiss on her nose.

instagram posts of the trip

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welcometololaland · 2 months ago

Note

what are your thoughts of 5x01 tarlos?

hello, anon! thanks for the ask 💜

i wouldn't usually answer this straight away because i like to marinate on these types of questions, but my overall vibe towards 5 x 01 was that it was super enjoyable! felt like old time LS with the rescue and the mystery and then some character backstory and development and humour all thrown in!

as for tarlos...i feel like 5 x 01 was a taster to get us to want more (mission accomplished). tk felt like tk - loved his snarky comments at the firehouse and about soup man (i actually vibe that campbell guy don't get me wrong) and him poking lou 2 in the head with a capsicum/pepper. carlos felt serious and a little tired - like a man who is finding his feet and trying to live up to his own expectations and carrying around the weight of his father's unresolved death. which is, you know, accurate!

i can see the angst/drama coming but also that phone call was showcasing some pretty good communication skills, so i'm proud of them! growing in marriage is a thing 💜

overall: i have my seatbelt on, my tray table is stowed, my seat back is upright and window blind open so i am READY FOR TAKEOFF.

#911 lone star #911 lone star season 5 #tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star spoilers #911 lone star s 5 e 1

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crazycurly-77 · 2 months ago

Text

Lost in the Jungle - pt. 7

Gibbs took the satellite phone

“Stan. Olli. Are you there?”

“Yeah. What's up?”

“We found Y/N. She's okay, but her leg is broken.”

“Do you need help?”

“No. We'll build her a walking aid and I support her. Then we'll come to the base. Get the plane ready for takeoff.”

Then he ended the call and walked out of the plane back into the rainforest. He searched for a suitable branch and trimmed it with his knife.

After he was finished he went back and gave it to you.

He looked between Tim and you back and forth, saying frowning “everything okay?”

“Yeah. Tim only wished us all the luck in the world and hugged me,” you answered smiling and Tim was smiling, too.

Gibbs nodded “I'm glad your friendship will not be damaged just because we are a couple now.”

All three of you smiled and nodded with an awkward silence spreading between you.

Then suddenly Gibbs clapped his hands loudly

“Good. Y/N, I'll pick you up as cautiously as possible, but it will hurt. Sorry, no way to prevent this.”

“It's okay Jethro, I'll endure it. I know you only want to help.”

He gave you a short kiss, then laid his hands on your waist and began to lift you up slowly to hopefully not hurt you too much. You tried to help him and leaned on the stick he gave you as good as possible.

Because there was not much space in the plane, Tim went outside and waited there for you both.

Standing in front of the door he reached out his hands and helped you down, while Gibbs held you from behind.

Then the first challenge was done. All three of you were standing outside of the aircraft.

“McGee. Take the equipment, I'll take my knife and support Y/N on our way back to the base.”

“Yes, boss,” Tim agreed and then you all began to walk respectively limp in the direction of the base camp.

You had been walking for a while when you came across a large snake lying in the middle of your path.

Abruptly you all stopped confronted with this very large animal.

Gibbs took a closer look at her and then pushed her carefully aside, explaining “that's an anaconda. She's not poisonous and if I go for the thick spot in the middle of her, she has already eaten. So, come on. We have to be back before it gets dark.”

And with that you were on your way again.

Your progress was slow, luckily you didn't encounter any more dangerous animals. Sure, there were a lot of animals in the rainforest, but they kept a healthy distance from you so there was no immediate danger.

Your pain was getting worse and worse, but it didn't help, you had to get through it. Small breaks in between did bring about a brief improvement, but there was nothing you wanted more than to finally be able to lie down and rest your leg.

Gibbs did his best, but he couldn't take away the pain. He kept trying to encourage you to hold on, but you found it increasingly difficult. He frowned at you and asked worriedly, “Is it still okay?” All you could do was grit your teeth and nod.

He turned to look at Tim, asking

“McGee. How far is it?"

“About 500 m left, boss," came his reply. You got pretty far despite your injury, but when you tried to take another step, nothing worked. You couldn't help it and screamed in pain.

At your scream, Gibbs flinched just as you did. He looked at you with concern and determination. “It won’t work that way.” He turned and ordered "McGee, grab my backpack of gear and my knife and lead the way. I'll carry Y/N the rest of the way."

"Jethro, I'm far too heavy and it's far too hot for that. It'll be fine."

“I won't allow that," was his determined answer and before you could say anything in response, he had already picked you up in his arms and continued towards the camp.

“Jethro…” you began.

“I won't discuss this with you,” he said and stubbornly walked on.

You were so sorry that he had to go to such lengths to save you, but it made you love him even more, if that was even possible.

Your wonderful, stubborn and sexy marine.

He was such a treasure and you didn't understand how his ex-wives could let him go. You didn't get it for the life of you and you felt chosen that your best friend and your boyfriend were such great guys.

And then suddenly there was a clearing and there was a plane, too.

Finally you have reached the base camp!!

You all yelled and cheered in pure happiness and relief. You made it.

Hearing your shouting Stan and Olli came immediately running to you.

Olli took Gibbs’ bag from him and Stan tried to take you from Gibbs, but Gibbs refused and was marching further towards the aircraft.

Running besides him, Stan said “all is packed, we are ready for takeoff.”

“Good, start the engines and then let's fly home,” Gibbs answered.

Following the order Stan ran back, climbed into the cockpit and the machines came roaring to life.

Tim and Olli entered the plane, picked you up from Gibbs and sat you in one of the chairs. Immediately after you were cared for, Gibbs also climbed into the plane and closed the door, panting, just like the others.

The plane rolled and was airborne after a short distance.

Settling down Olli walked into the cockpit to Stan and Tim and Gibbs sat beside you.

After a few minutes you felt the questioning gaze of your boyfriend on you and you looked up to him.

The both of you locked eyes and with a scowl he asked “what did you do in Ecuador?”

(To be continued...in Chapter 8)

--------------------------------------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story and the other stories I've written to date.

--------------------------------------------

Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

---------------------------------------------

#ncis #jethro gibbs x reader #gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #ncis fanfiction

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nicolewoo · 1 year ago

Text

Super Earth Part 3 Liftoff

Pairing: Roman Reigns X Reader

Warnings: None

I opened the door, and the cameras went wild. I waived shyly as I took my seat next to Jamie. Roman’s seat was on the other end of the table. The crowd of press settled down quickly.

“Sorry to be late. I was handling last minute details.”

“Everything ok?” My boss asked.

I smiled, “Just checking the pollen counts of his samples.” I replied.

“Captain Y/N?” The reporters clamored for my attention.

I chose Leslie first. She had done great coverage of our last mission, “Captain, this is your third mission?” I nodded yes. “And the longest too. It’s well known that you asked for this mission.”

I interrupted “asked…. Begged…. Bribed….” The audience laughed.

“Why this particular mission?” Great question Leslie. She knew I could easily answer it.

I exhaled as I sat up a little. “Our planet is wounded. We are too populated, too polluted. Colonies like the one on Super Earth can be our saving grace. Think of it, an entire planet larger than our own where humanity can expand and ease our burden on Earth. The Super Earth colonists, headed by amazing scientists like this group” I motioned to the group we were taking “have learned to make electricity from the tides of the ocean.”

Jamie added, “it’s not perfected yet.”

I nodded to her. “Right, but here’s my point. The colony was built with zero damage to Super Earth. Zero. We have sworn not to ruin Super Earth by poluting there. The colonists had to learn to work with the planet instead of against it. Imagine what we can do to heal our own planet once these technologies are perfected. Getting scientists to the planet is essential. I want to do my part.”

Jamie jumped in before the press could ask a question. “Plus, we” she motioned to indicate her and me “get a three month vacation on the planet.” She leaned back in her chair as the crowd laughed.

“Yeah well,” Dr. Rhea Ripley, one of three scientists from Australia, said as she leaned back the same way Jamie did “I get a 9 month vacation while you two drive.” The crowd laughed.

Dr. Reigns’ low voice filled the room “Speak for yourself! I’ve got plants to tend to! A botanist’s job is never done.” The press loved the banter.

“In truth,” I started, “These scientists will be doing experiments the whole way. In fact, I’ve seen their schedules. It’s pretty booked.”

Roman answered “and on top of that, Captain YLN has just agreed to teach me how to fly the ship!” He’d thrown me for a loop, but I recovered my composure quickly.

“See? They’ll be busy.” I said. More laughter.

“So what WILL you do on your three month vacation Captain?” A reporter asked.

“I plan on learning about the planet and all the work being done there. But if I get the time, I was hoping to hone my chess skills.”

The innocuous answer barely registered with the press. They immediately asked Jamie the same question. She joked about getting a tan on the ocean planet, but I couldn’t listen, because I could feel Roman’s stare boring into me. The answer wasn’t innocuous to him. He understood my message, and when I allowed myself to look over at him for a second, I found him smiling.

————————————————————

Jamie hit the intercom button and motioned me to start. “Crew, passengers, we are getting ready to take off. For those of you who haven’t done this before, remember to tighten your seatbelt, turn your seat toward the cockpit and take deep breaths. If you get nauseous, close your eyes and try to relax.”

The radio clicked “Explorer, are you ready for takeoff?” Jamie answered the base.

“If you get too sick, there’s a container right by your left hand. Use it and close it. Remember we will not have gravity for this part of our trip, so if you don’t cover it, you might end up with some on you.”

“Explorer, We are ready to count on your mark.” The radio crackled again.

“Just a reminder, this is my third mission, and I haven’t lost anyone yet.” I joked through the intercom. “Just listen to me, and I’ll get you through this. We’re going to start our count down now.”

I nodded at Jamie and she answered again. “Base, we are ready. Start the count.”

We fired up the engines.

10. I checked my own seatbelt and nodded to Jamie.

9. “Let’s do this.” She said.

8 We were preparing for liftoff, checking dials, levels, buttons, all last minute checks.

7 My brain was doing continuous checks on the ships systems.

6 Roman was back there. Was he scared? Will he get sick?

5 I had to be perfect on this mission. I had to keep him safe.

4 I had a whole ship of people to keep safe. 40 total.

3 The silence in the cockpit was broken now by only the sound of the engines.

2 “Let’s do this!” Jamie said.

1 “Here we go.” I said over the intercom

———————————————

“Doctor Thorp, how are our passengers?” I asked. Thorp was our doctor. We’d worked together on two missions and were friends.

Thorp’s response was fast, “Only two pukers and 4 passed out.”

“Pretty good.” I joked back. “Everyone recovered?”

“Yup. They’re up and moving and brushing their teeth.” He laughed.

I unbuckled myself, getting out of my seat and stretching. Jamie did the same. “Who do you think puked?” she asked.

Mentally, I ran through our passenger list. “The scientist from Norway.” I guessed and she agreed. “And….. Canada… that Zayne guy.”

“No way! She laughed. It’s the German guy….. GUNTAR!!!” She overly pronounced it like he did. “It’s always the big guys.”

Checking the ship’s controls I chortled, “Wanna put $20 on it?” She shook my hand to seal the bet.

“Who do you think passed out? Not that hottie from the US!” Her devious smile said more than her words.

I had to hide my face, before she realized I was hiding something. I busied myself looking at the communications panel. “Dr. Reigns? Nah, he’s one of those guys that never loses control.” I mused.

“I gotta say, I’m glad he’s on this trip. Great eye candy.” She fanned herself with her clipboard indicating he was hot. If she only knew…. Those muscles. That tattoo…. His Adonnis Belt……………..

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my body, but it didn’t comply. “He’s definitely handsome” I replied casually, and she must have believed the act, because she changed the subject.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you. I did manage to get a copy of that TV show you wanted…. The Tudors?” She said. “Wanna watch some tonight?”

I needed a quick distraction, “Don’t think I can. I need to meet with Dr. Zayne about his experiment.” I tried to sound casual.

Jamie looked at me, cocking her head to the side. “What’s going on?” She didn’t believe me. “What is your interest in all these scientists?” She didn’t suspect it was Reigns…. She thought something was going on with all the scientists.

Giving her the completed checklist, I looked directly at her. “Nothing…. Just….” I hesitated, trying to think what to say. Suddenly, I had an idea. “It’s top secret.”

She was shocked. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.”

That lie bought me some time.

————————————-

My phone beeped, and I opened it to find Roman’s stunning face smiling at me. “Hey, you alone?”

I nodded. “Yes, but what would have done if I’d said no?”

He laughed, “I was going to pretend some of my research was top secret, and you had clearance.”

“Thinking on your feet Dr. Reigns? Well done!” I smiled at him.

“I think it’s a little late to be calling me Dr. Reigns” he laughed. “Just call me Roman.”

“Agreed.” I answered, “and you can call me Captain YLN” I teased.

He rolled his eyes at me. “Can I come see you tonight?”

“No.” I answered quickly. “We have to be more careful than that. Why don’t we meet in your lab?”

“That’s pretty public!” He protested.

I laughed. “Just trust me, please.”

He laughed. “Ok. My lab. 10 minutes?”

__________________________________________________________________________________

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire @starwithaheart @spookys-girl @pitlissa22 @snowpanda18 @thesamoanqueen @sassginaswanmills

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction

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justsomewritingblog · 1 year ago

Text

Avatar: TLA (Part 10 of many)

Request: None

Requested By: Nobody

Pairing: Zuko x reader

Summary: The Waterbending Master

Warnings: none?

A/N: Zuko either in the next chapter, or the one after that. I’m looking forward to this interaction.

Word Count: 4K+

Last Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You flew low. So low, in fact, that you could see an otter floating on the surface of the water.

“I’m not one to complain,” Sokka started. You let out a small chuckle, which he ignored. “But can’t Appa fly any higher?”

The bison’s feet dragged along the water, creating ripples. Sokka was currently leaning over the back of the saddle, watching the passing fish.

“I have an idea.” Aang said, turning around so you could see the anger on his face. “Why don’t we all get on your back and you can fly us to the North Pole?”

You rolled your eyes and continued to watch the small icebergs.

“I’d love to. Climb on, everyone.” Sokka said, jerking a thumb at his back. “Sokka is ready for takeoff.” He declared. Momo flew over and landed on his back.

“Look, we’re all just a little tired and cranky because we’ve been flying for two days straight.”

“We’re getting close.” You said. “There isn’t a lot of land out here.”

“Exactly! There’s nothing up here, which means we can’t find the Northern Watertribe.” Sokka voiced, crossing his arms. (He was now sitting properly.) A splash was heard as a wall of ice appeared in front of Appa. Aang yelled and steered the large bison to the side. Walls kept appearing, and you, Sokka and Katara were holding on for dear life. Appa’s foot caught a piece of ice and he went spiraling into the sea. The water around him froze as a few small ships came into view. Within moments, you were surrounded.

“They’re waterbenders! We found the watertribe!” Katara exclaimed.

“I’ll take care of this.” You announced, grabbing the waterbending scroll from the bag and leaping off Appa. They watched as you talked with one of the men on the boats, though they couldn’t hear what you were saying. They saw you show the man the scroll and gesture at them, before continuing your conversation. You came back a few moments later and sat in the saddle, a smile on your face.

“What did you say?” Aang asked.

“I told him how I found the scroll, and therefore you guys.” You answered simply as Appa followed the boats.

“Who was that guy?” Katara asked.

“Hm? Oh, Liam. He’s an old friend of mine. He’s known me since I was a baby. He-” you stopped yourself, not wanting to go any further. “We go way back.” You finished quickly. Katara and Aang smiled, while Sokka seemed slightly suspicious. He was about to say something, but the Avatar cut him off.

“There it is!” He suddenly shouted, standing and pointing at the wall of ice.

“The Northern Watertribe.” Katara mused softly.

“We’re finally here.” Sokka added. You smiled at their amazed faces. The waterbenders on either side of Appa used their bending to make a gap in the ice, big enough for Appa to float through. He swam forward, the ships following. You were then faces with four large walls on every side as the opening behind you closed. The men that stood atop each wall forced water down, bringing the wall with it.

“I can’t believe how many waterbenders live up here.” Katara announced.

“We’ll find a master to teach us, no problem.” Aang said. You frowned.

“Actually-”

You were cut off by the loud gasps that followed. You huffed. Katara, Aang and Sokka were all staring, amazed, at a long flow of water, leading into a city. They led the gaang around turns, under bridges, and through tunnels, amazing them even more. You chuckled. Aang waved to a few people.

You continued sailing when you saw a familiar purple. Princess Yue. She was in a boat, sitting neatly, while a man behind her bended the water, steering the boat. You turned and saw Sokka already watching her, a blush covering his cheeks. You covered your mouth with your hand, containing the laughter that threatened to spill from it.

“This place is beautiful.” Katara said.

“Yeah. She is.” Sokka replied, clearly in a daze.

~~~~~~~~~~

A feast was being held. You, Sokka, Aang and Katara were all seated in front of a table, watching men pound on drums. There was also a fountain sitting before, in a constant flow. Two men carried a giant board over to Appa, with a lot of seaweed, you guessed, on it. He roared, chasing the men away, allowing him to eat in peace.

A man that was seated at the middle of a long table stood and began to speak, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Tonight we celebrate the arrival of our brother and sister from the Southern tribe.” He began, gesturing at Katara and Sokka who smiled. “They have brought with them, someone very special. Someone who many of us believed disappeared from the world until now. The Avatar!” He said, gesturing down at Aang, who grinned and waved. Everyone clapped and cheered. “We also celebrate my daughter’s sixteenth birthday!” He said, stepping to the side, revealing Princess Yue. “Princess Yue is now of marrying age!”

You saw Sokka lean backward to get a better look at her and you rubbed your mouth with your hand, as if trying to physically wipe the smirk off your face. “Thank you, father.” The Princess spoke softly, turning to the rest of the crowd. “May the great ocean and moon spirits watch over us during these troubled times!” She spoke clearly, undoubtedly having lots of experience and practice. “We would also like to celebrate Y/n, who has returned from her task!”

Your head shot up and you sat up straight upon hearing your name.

“As some of you know, she has been gone for a little over a year, tracking down the thieves that took a sacred scroll from us. She has returned with it now, and we are grateful for her.”

Everyone clapped again and your face turned pink disliking the amount of attention. Sokka leaned over to you. “You’ve been gone for a year?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re my age, aren’t you?”

You paused, raising your eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“They let a fourteen year old wander around the world? By herself?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

He stared at you, slightly dumbfounded.

“You’re fifteen. Katara’s fourteen. I don’t see the big deal.”

“But at least we’re traveling together.”

“Sokka, it’s already been done. It’s too late to do anything about it now.” You hissed at him.

“Now Master Pakku and his students will perform!” Princess Yue’s father spoke. You all turned, and sure enough, Master Pakku and two boys, around your age, were bending water out of three jugs before them. They snaked them around each other, creating beautiful and fluid movements. They then combined the water into one figure, and circled it around themselves.

You saw Princess Yue approach out of the corner of your eye. Smirking, you slid away from Sokka so she would sit between you. She did. Sokka had currently been stuffing his face, but when you moved away, he turned to you in confusion, only to see the Princess sit. The look on his face was priceless.

He quickly swallowed his food, and leaned his forearm on the table.

“Hey there. Sokka, Southern Watertribe.” He introduced himself, flirtatiously.

“Very nice to meet you.” She said, bowing slightly. They became silent for a few moments. You continued eating, as though you weren’t listening to their conversation.

“So….uh….you’re a princess! Huh?!” Sokka continued, trying to keep the interaction flowing. You chocked on the roll you were eating. Yue nodded at him. “You know, back in my tribe, I’m kind of like a prince myself.” He bragged. Your eyes widened in amazement at the lie. You heard a small laugh.

“Prince of what?” Katara asked.

“A lot of things.” Sokka defended, an aggravated tone in his voice. “Do you mind? I’m trying to have a conversation here?”

“My apologies, Prince Sokka.” Katara teased, mock-bowing. You broke into a coughing fit, laughing too hard. Yue turned to you.

“Are you alright?”

You waved a dismissive hand. “I’m okay.” You wheezed out, beginning to cough again. Her concerned eyes remained trained on you, however. “Really, I’m fine. Go back to your conversation.” You instructed, the coughing dying down slightly. You took a swing of water to wash it down.

“So it looks like I’m gonna be in town for a while. I’m thinking maybe we could…do an activity together?” Sokka asked, turning back to Yue, ignoring your previous suffering.

“Do an activity?” Yue asked him, taking her eyes off you. You could see the beads of sweat trailing down Sokka’s face. He stuffed some food in his mouth, looking like he wanted to die, and swallowed, as if the food could had given him confidence.

“Very smooth.” Katara whispered, leaning over to him. You felt a presence, so you looked up, spotting Liam. You smiled.

“Liam!” You exclaimed quietly, standing and hugging the man before you.

“Y/n, I’m so glad you’re back. You’ve been gone for so long.”

“Well, I wasn’t coming back empty handed.” You announced, crossing your arms. “Not after being out there a year. I wasn’t about to waste a year of my life, only to come back without the scroll.” You informed. Liam was silent for a short while, as if thinking it over.

“That makes sense.” He concluded.

“I know.” You said, smiling. At this point, Sokka and Katara were watching you, curious. Liam noticed this and grew silent, feeling uneasy. You turned and saw the siblings as well, before turning back to your friend.

“Perhaps we could go on a walk. To catch up.” You offered. Liam smiled and gestured for you to lead the way. You did, and you were soon outside, walking along the pathways.

You walked for a few moments in silence, simply enjoying the other’s company. Liam spoke up first.

“There’s something you want to tell me.”

You looked up at him, a small smirk finding its way on your face. “How’d you know?”

He chuckled quietly. “I’ve known you your whole life, Y/n. I think I know when something’s been eating at you.”

You looked down at your hands. “You always could read me. I could never keep a secret from you.” You admitted.

“So what’s the trouble?”

You bit your bottom lip, debating, before finally deciding that he would know if you were lying anyway. “I-uh.” You paused for a moment, trying to plan out how you were gonna do this. He waited patiently for you to continue. “I may or may-not have practiced waterbending….while I was away.”

He stopped his movements and turned to you.

“We were in trouble, I had no choice, if I didn’t do anything people would have died, and I-” You began to explain quickly, hoping that he wouldn’t be mad. He simply sighed, shaking his head.

“You’d better not let anyone else hear that.” He cocked an eyebrow, looking down at you. “They won’t all be as understanding.”

“So you won’t tell anyone?”

“No. I understand that in some circumstances it’s necessary.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thank you.”

He smiled.

“So, in order for me to keep my promise, how about you tell me some of your adventures?”

A smile immediately made its way onto your face. As you walked, you told him of your adventures. How you met the gaang, the issues with Jet, you told him what you knew about the tribes that Aang, Katara and Sokka led through the canyon, and how you, Sokka and Katara all got sick after being out in a storm. Naturally, you left the part about saving Zuko and his crew out. He didn’t need to know about that.

You told him of the fortune teller, but also leaving out her predictions. Liam asked about them but you shrugged him off and continued as if he hadn’t said a word. You told him of Bato, of the Deserter, and how Katara can heal, and you told him of the Southern Air temple, leaving out the parts about Teo’s father previously working for the firenation.

“And so, that brings us here.” You finished. It was now quite dark, and you felt as though you were gasping for breath from talking so much. You in fact, were.

“I can’t believe how crazy your life’s been. You’ve done all of that in a year?”

“A few months.” You clarified. “I’ve been gone for a year, but I didn’t meet them until a few months ago.”

Liam whistled. “Are you glad to be home?”

You thought for a long moment. “I’m not sure. It’s nice to be back, don’t get me wrong, but I think I’ve grown so used to traveling around, and being….free….that I don’t know if I want to stay.”

You saw Liam visibly deflate. “That makes sense. I don’t want you to make your decision quite yet, though. You still have time to think it over.”

“I guess you’re right.” You mumbled. “Liam, it’s been great talking to you, but I think it’s time to turn in.” You looked up at the sky. “I finally get to sleep and wake up without fear of the firenation on my tail, which means I can sleep in.” You said. He smiled and hugged you, wishing you a good night. You walked away, yawning, as you gently bended the water to make it flow towards you.

You climbed into bed, alongside Katara, and pulled the blankets over your head, falling asleep in no time.

~~~~~~~

When you awoke, you were the only one in bed. Katara, Sokka and Aang had all gone. You groaned at the sunlight and rolled over, pulling the blankets over your head again before you remembered that since you were back home, you had to go to healing lessons. You jumped up, and ran out, trying to smooth your hair on the way. You rushed in, just in time for it to start.

“Y/n. It’s good to have you back.” Yagoda spoke.

“Thank you.” You replied, fixing the remainder of your hair. “So much for sleeping in.” You mumbled under your breath. You were in there, watching her work, when Katara walked in.

“Um, hi. Are you Yagoda?”

The old woman turned to her. “Are you here for the healing lesson?”

You watched as Katara’s eyes scanned the children, six of them, before her eyes settled on you. You saw her eyes widen. You looked down, slightly ashamed that you were the only fifteen-year-old among five year olds. “I guess I am.” She said, frowning. She walked forward and took a seat next to you.

“Welcome. Welcome.” Yagoda greeted cheerfully.

The session went on for about an hour until Yagoda finally declared that that was all for today. You helped the children put the dummy away, when you heard Katara speak to Yagoda.

“Thanks for the lesson.”

“So who’s the lucky boy?”

“Huh?”

“Your betrothal necklace.” Yagoda clarified. “You’re getting married, right?”

“Oh, no. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. My grandmother gave my mother this necklace.”

You emerged just then, having known were the practice dummy goes.

“And my mother passed it down to me.” She continued.

“I recognize this carving.” Yagoda observed. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize this sooner. “You’re the spitting image of Kana.”

“Wait, how do you know my gran-gran’s name?” Katara asked, taking a step back.

“When I was about your age, I was friends with Kana. She was born here, in the Northern tribe.”

“She never told me.” Katara muttered. You took this as your cue to leave, and rushed outside, feeling the sun on your face. You smiled and deeply inhaled, smelling the water. You opened your eyes and saw Sokka sitting cross-legged on the edge of a sidewalk. You cocked an eyebrow and walked over, fluffing his ‘warriors-wolf-tail’ to announce your presence.

“Katara, go away. I’m busy.” He replied, not turning around. “Shouldn’t you be practicing with Master Pakku anyway?”

Your smile dropped, but you quickly put on a new one. “Guess again.”

He turned around and his eyes landed on you. “Oh, Y/n. I’m sorry, I just assumed-”

“It’s fine.” You assured, raising your hand slightly. You sat down next to him. “What are you working on?”

“Well, I’m supposed to meet Yue tonight at a bridge. I was carving her a fish.” He announced, holding it out to you. It didn’t look at all like a fish, but he looked so happy and hopeful that you couldn’t possibly tell him that.

You simply looked at it in silence, trying to think of a comment about it. Thankfully, you didn’t have to.

“So, were have you been?”

“Katara and I were in healing lessons.”

Sokka hummed, then did a double take. “Wait, Katara was there, too?” You nodded. “I thought she was supposed to be training with Aang.”

“About that,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “women actually aren’t supposed to learn waterbending unless it’s healing.”

Sokka began to open his mouth, but you placed a hand over it, silencing him.

“I know, I think it’s stupid too, but those are the rules and I can’t change them. I’m sure she’ll learn waterbending another way.”

You took your hand off Sokka’s mouth, before placing it right back on.

“Just make sure that you don’t tell anyone I was waterbending. I’ll get in major trouble since I grew up here, and knew the rule.”

Sokka nodded and you slid your hand off his mouth. “Thank you.” You muttered, hugging your knees to your chest.

“So, you’re meeting up with Yue, ay?”

“Yeah.” He said, a light dusting of pink finding its way onto his cheeks. You grinned.

“You know Sokka, pink goes great with your skin color. Really brings out your eyes.” You teased, making the color deepen. He sent you a small glare, but you could tell he wasn’t actually mad. You chuckled and stood, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you too it, then.” You informed, walking off.

~~~~~~~~

“How’s warrior training going?” Katara asked. You were all currently back in the room, getting ready for bed. Sokka kicked at his still rolled up sleeping bag. He flopped on it, letting out a groan.

“That bad?” Aang questioned.

“No, it’s Princess Yue.” He scowled.

“Princess Yue?” You parroted. “What happened?”

“I don’t get it. One minute she wants to go out with me, and the next, she’s telling me to get lost.” He was silent for a moment. “How’s waterbending training?” It was Katara’s turn to flop down.

“Master poop-head won’t teach her because she’s a girl.” Aang explained, exasperated. You almost laughed at his new nickname for Master Pakku.

“Oh yeah, Y/n told me about that.” There was silence for a moment. “Why don’t you just teach her, Aang?”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Katara asked, mostly to herself, sitting up. “At night, you can teach me and Y/n whatever moves you learned from Master Pakku. That way, you have someone to practice with, and I get to learn waterbending! Everyone’s happy!”

“I’m not happy.” Sokka grumbled.

“But you’re never happy.” Katara retorted. “Come on, Aang.” She said, Aang following her outside. You turned to Sokka and placed a comforting hand on his back, rubbing it in small circles. He hummed in contentment and buried his face in the sleeping bag, soon drifting to sleep.

You sighed, feeling bad for him. “Oh, Sokka.” You whispered, looking down at him. You leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his temple before snuggling down to sleep as well.

~~~~~~~~

You were shook awake.

“Y/n, get up!” Katara urged. You groaned and snuggled further into your pillow. “Y/n, it’s important!”

You cracked an eye open, squinting at the light behind Katara’s concerned face. “What is it?” You asked, voice groggy and rough.

“Master Pakku caught me and Aang last night, and he said he wasn’t welcome as his student anymore. And get off my brother, for crying out loud.”

You looked down, and sure enough, you were cuddled up against Sokka, your ‘pillow’. You must have rolled over in your sleep and latched onto him. He was still asleep however, which you were thankful for, but that didn’t stop you from getting up as quickly as you could, a bright pink on your cheeks.

“Where’s Aang?” You questioned, trying to distract yourself from the mortification.

“He’s outside.”

“You wake up Sokka, I’ll go talk to him.” You instructed, going outside. Aang looked up, hearing your footsteps.

“I blew it.” He whispered. You crouched down next to him, he was sitting, and you placed an arm around him.

“Aang, it’s alright. I’m sure that if you-” You cut yourself off, not fully thinking this through.

“Why are you blushing?”

You blush deepened as you turned to him. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” You sat in silence for another moment, Aang raising an eyebrow at you in disbelief, before your eyes widened. “Liam!”

“Who?”

“My friend, Liam. He can help you! He’s a waterbender, too. I told him about the stories, and he wasn’t upset. Maybe he can teach you!” Your large grin turned into a frown. “But I don’t want him in trouble.” You muttered. You fell on your back and groaned just as Sokka and Katara came out.

“Let’s go talk to Master Pakku.” Sokka said. You followed them.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you want me to do? Force Master Pakku to take Aang back as his student?” Yue’s father asked, once you’d arrived. He sat between Master Pakku, and his daughter.

“Yes! Please.” Katara added.

“I suspect he might change his mind if you swallow your pride and apologize to him.”

You all looked to Katara, who looked at Aang, weighing her options.

“Fine.” She decided.

“I’m waiting, little girl.” Master Pakku taunted. Your eyes widened as you looked to Katara. This couldn’t be good. You were right, as she clenched her fists.

“No. No way I’m apologizing to a sour old man like you!” She yelled, pointing at him. The ice behind her feet trembled and cracked. Your eyes widened in terror. The crack made its way along the floor, cracking one of the jugs they used for the performance a few nights ago.

“Uh, Katara.” Aang started quietly.

“I’ll be outside if you’re man enough to fight me!” Katara announced, turning and walking away. Everyone gasped. You shared a panicked and concerned look with Sokka and Aang.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean that.” Aang told everyone.

“Yeah, I think she did.” Sokka said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“This isn’t gonna go well.” You muttered to yourself, running after Katara. Sokka and Aang quickly followed. You all fell in step beside her.

“Are you crazy, Katara? You’re not gonna win this fight.” Sokka warned her.

“I know!” Katara said, pulling off her coat and throwing it in her brother’s arms. “I don’t care!”

“You don’t have to do this for me. I can find another teacher.” Aang offered, trying to smooth things over.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Katara told him. “Someone needs to slap some sense into that guy.”

She turned and saw Pakku at the top of the steps, making his way down it.

“So, you decided to show up?” She taunted. He was silent, reaching the end of the steps and walking further away. “Aren’t you gonna fight!?” Katara yelled.

“Go back to the healing huts with the other women where you belong.” He spoke calmly. Oh, that was a mistake. Katara pulled water out of a crack in the ice and struck Pakku in the back of the head with it. He halted his movements.

“Fine. You want to learn how to fight so bad?” He asked, turning around. “Study closely.” He taunted. He drew water out of two pools, for waterbending practice, and threw them at Katara, knocking her back. He flowed the water around them, drawing her closer.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” He told her. She brought the circle to an abrupt stop, sending the water out of the way. It came flowing at Sokka, and you quickly used bending to move it out of the way.

Katara rushed Pakku again, and he made a wave, turning it into ice as she rode up it. She leapt off and landed on a pillar at the base of the steps. Master Pakku turned the ice into an actual wave, rushing it towards her.

She used bending to freeze ice around her ankles, keeping her in place. As the water came towards her, she smacked it out of the way again, revealing her, unmoved.

“You can’t knock me down!” She told him. Everyone cheered.

“Go, Katara!” Aang encouraged. She rushed him again, and they got into close combat, which was clearly not her strong suit. She was quickly knocked into the water and you cringed, squeezing your eyes shut. You heard cheering and opened your eyes, seeing Katara send ice-discs at him. He broke most of them, simply hitting them with his forearm.

Katara sent water at him, which he quickly began to control, turning it back on her. She slid backwards, and you watched Aang and Sokka’s concerned faces. She got up and brought down empty containers, made of ice, atop him. He did something, turning them into a cloud, making it hard to see. When it cleared, he retook his stance and spoke.

“I’m impressed.” He admitted. “You are an excellent waterbender.” He complimented.

“But you still won’t teach me, will you?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes as they began fighting again.

“Does she even need a teacher?” You asked yourself. You looked back to the battle just as Master Pakku trapped Katara in long icicles. Sokka and Aang were very concerned, their faces riddled with worry.

She looked up and struggled against them, as Master Pakku walked past her. “This fight is over.” He announced.

“Come back here! I’m not finished yet!”

“Yes, you are.” He suddenly stopped, and picked something up off the ground. “This is my necklace.” He said quietly.

“No it’s not, it’s mine! Give it back!” Katara shouted.

“I made this sixty years ago. For the love of my life. For Kana.”

The spikes around Katara melted into water.

“My gran-gran was supposed to marry you?” She asked, quietly.

“I carved this necklace for your grandmother when we got engaged.” He explained. You, Sokka, Aang, Yue and her father all moved closer, while everyone else seemed to have left. “I thought we would have a long, happy life together. I loved her.”

“But she didn’t love you, did she?” Katara asked softly, almost afraid to break the moment. “It was an arranged marriage. Gran-gran wouldn’t let your tribe’s stupid customs run her life.” She said, walking forward. “That’s why she left. It must have taken a lot of courage.”

Yue suddenly ran off, crying.

“Go get her.” Aang told Sokka. Sokka nodded once before running after her. You ran a hand down your face, already sick of the drama. You watched him leave, hoping things would go well for him.

~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Katara shook you awake.

“Come on, it’s sunrise!”

“And?” You asked, voice muffled by your pillow.

“We have to start training. Get up!”

She ripped the blankets off of you, took ahold of your arm, and drug you outside, with you groaning all the way.

“Alright, I’m up.” You mumbled, standing and adjusting your hair and clothes. She quickly took ahold of your hand and drug you along with her. She drug you to a group of people, Aang among them, practicing waterbending. The boy turned around.

“Hey, Katara! Hey, Y/n!” He greeted. You waved.

“What do you two think you’re doing?!” Pakku asked. You sent a worried glance to Katara. “It’s past sunrise. You’re late.” He continued, taking his stance. You let out a breath of relief and took your stance as well.

“Good to see you guys here.” Aang commented.

“You, too.” Katara replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: Which chapter has been your favorite so far?

#My works #Mara's works #A:TLA #Avatar #Avatar: TLA #Avatar: The Last Airbender #Zuko x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader #Avatar: The Last Airbender x reader

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jumpywhumpywriter · 5 months ago

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Captured -- wild humans hunted and captured to be used as servants part 8

Warnings: captivity, starvation, starvation whump, painful recovery, etc.

"Wait here." Kazimir turned and left, returning with a dignified but not-to-fancy hooded cloak.

"This should help you stay under the radar. When we land in the heart of the city, here are my basic rules: keep your head down, don't make eye contact with anyone, and don't speak to anyone unless spoken to directly. And stick close to me at all times, like a burr in a wolf's fur. Got it?"

Corbin nodded vigorously as he slipped into the dark cloak, pulling the hood down to cover part of his face. "How do I look?"

"Like the most suspicious human servant I've ever seen," Kazimir grunted. "Let's hope no one pays close attention to you."

He opened the front door of the cabin, gesturing to Corbin, who walked out onto the takeoff platform, before balking as he looked down. Kazimir was right -- this was an insanely high drop, it made him dizzy just looking at it.

"Are you ready?" Kazimir's voice sounded directly behind him, and before he could even answer a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, tipping him off the ledge into freefall.

Corbin sucked in a huge gasp of terror, squeezing his eyes shut as his stomach did a nauseating lurch. Then Kamizir beat his magnificent wings and leveled out, gliding gracefully through the sky.

"I know you're scared, but... you might want to open your eyes, or you'll miss the scenery," Kazimir called down to the human in his arms.

Corbin took several shaky breaths, swallowing hard as he forced himself to crack one eye open, then the other. The sight stole his breath away. They were riding a tailwind toward a magnificent city built in the mountainside that glittered in the sunlight, giant buildings were everywhere, some of the biggest he'd ever seen, that seemed to scrape the very sky itself.

Surrounding the city was a lush forest that stretched for miles in every direction.

Kazimir's powerful wings beat strongly, carrying them swiftly to the center of the city where he descended, setting Corbin on his feet as they landed.

Corbin stared wide-eyed at everything around him. There were dozens of bird-folk milling about, many with human servants trailing after them. It was such an odd sight.

"Stop gawking like a kid in a candy store," Kazimir chuckled. "This is what everyday life looks like here. Act natural, like you belong. And remember, stay close to me." He started walking down the street with his head and wings held high, a figure that radiated power and authority.

Corbin scurried to catch up, walking at his side and observing all the new sights.

Almost every bird-person they passed gave Kazimir a respectful nod of acknowledgement, completely disregarding and ignoring Corbin.

Corbin remembered his words of warning, and kept his head down, staying silent as he followed Kazimir to a weapon store. On the way, they passed an alley, and he could see some scraggly humans lounging around it, all who looked emaciated.

"What's wrong with them?" Corbin asked quietly, sidling closer to Kazimir, who followed his gaze.

"They are outcasts," he whispered under his breath. "Sometimes masters will abandon their servants on the streets once they're no longer useful, or if they grow too old to work anymore."

"Seriously? They just leave them here like unwanted puppies?" Corbin gasped.

"Yup. Pretty much. It's the sad reality." Kazimir extended a wing around him, shielding his sight from seeing any more as he steered him down a different path before taking his wing back.

"We're here," he announced. Before them stood a large blacksmith shop, and he walked confidently inside, his human companion in tow.

"Kazimir! What a delightful surprise!" A bird-woman behind the front counter greeted him chipperly. "My favorite regular customer. What will your order be today? We recently got a new batch of throwing blades if you'd like to check them out--"

Corbin stopped listening to the conversation as all the brilliantly shiny weapons lining the walls caught his attention, and he wandered over to look at them. Everything from broadswords to daggers and poison darts, the place had it all. And everything looked wicked sharp, honed to razor edges.

Corbin could see himself perfectly reflected in the bright metal of all the blades as he awed over them.

Once his curiosity was sated, he turned to walk back to Kazimir -- and crashed face-first into a pair of wings. The person they belonged to whirled with an angry hiss -- and it was not Kazimir.

Corbin swallowed hard as a tall man with sooty-gray wings towered over him, his bronze eyes cold and sharp as the weapons on the walls.

"Watch where you're going, runt," the man spat hatefully. Corbin couldn't help as his gaze traveled to the deadly white fangs he was baring at him.

"Well? Aren't you going to apologize?!" The man's harsh voice snapped him back to the present, and he flinched, ducking his head.

"S-Sorry, Sir," he blurted hastily.

"You better be." The man took a menacing step toward him, and Corbin jerked away until his back hit the wall behind him, facing the danger.

Man, Kazimir had warned him and he'd still gotten himself in trouble, the exact thing he'd promised he wouldn't do... Maybe he should have listened and stayed behind at the cabin.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

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archester-creations · 1 year ago

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Rated: G

Pairing: Blades/Dani Burns

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: Day six of @heartsandsparksshipweek roleswap; they/them Blades, human Blades and transformer Dani

“Are you an alien?” is the first thing out of the human’s mouth when they saw her. There was a tricorn hat on their head that long brown hair spilled out of and a red-and-white striped scarf around their neck that didn’t quite feel like it matched with their orange shirt. Dirt stained their white pants and the ends of them are soaked. Dani didn’t quite know how to answer, because the question is yes, but she also knew she’s not technically supposed to reveal herself to anyone. Did it count if they’d already figured it out?

“Uh, yes,” Dani said anyway. The humans eyes lit up.

“I knew aliens were real! Can you come home with me? I owe Heatwave so many ‘I told you so’s,” the human said. Dani blinked.

"I… guess so?" Dani said. The human didn't seem like they'd do any of the things Graham was so worried about. Not that Dani thought most humans would. She’s pretty sure Graham overexaggerates in his worry. “So where is this Heatwave? I can fly us there!”

"Oh, I don't… fly," the human said.

"You don't fly?" Dani asked in disbelief.

"Nope. I stay firmly on the ground."

"Well you have to try it now," Dani said. She honestly couldn't understand how anyone stayed on the ground when there was a big, beautiful sky on this planet with shifting colours.

“I- I don’t know.” The human looks nervous, so Dani gives her most reassuring smile.

“Trust me, it’ll be fun. Just us and that big, beautiful, blue sky you have,” Dani said. “I’m Dani by the way.”

“I’m Blades,” the human said.

“Blades seems like a funny name for a human,” Dani said. It definitely didn’t quite match with the few human names she’s heard so far. Huxley. Luskey. There were a lot of -eys.

“Dani seems like a funny name for an alien,” Blades said and Dani laughed.

“Touché,” Dani said. “So?”

“I-” Blades jumped up and down a little, shifting between their feet. They ring their hands around the scarf. “Sure. But only to Heatwave! And not high, either!”

“Alright,” Dani said. She took a few steps back and transformed into her helicopter mode. Blades gasped at it.

“You can become a helicopter? That’s so cool! Even if I’m still not sure about the flying aspect of it,” Blades said.

“Yeah!” Dani said, and Blades looked even more excited at the prospect that she could still talk to them. “You should see my brothers and dad, they can transform, too, they their earth vehicles are different then mine.”

“Are they helicopters, too?” Blades asked.

“No, they’re ground vehicles.” Dani laughed. She opened her door and wiggled it a little. “Now get in!”

Blades hesitated a bit, bouncing back and forth again, before they shut their eyes and jumped in. Dani closed her door behind them.

“Ready?” Dani asked.

"Just remember not too high," Blades pleaded in a small voice, painted nails digging into her seats.

“Why are you dressed like that, anyway? People don’t dress like that on the few earth programs I’ve seen on tv,” Dani said to distract Blades during the takeoff.

“I’m an actor,” Blades said. They preened a bit, adjusting their tricorn hat with one hand. Dani jostled a little on accident and Blades' hand flew back to the seat. Their next words came out slightly strained. “I have a pirate role right now.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Dani said. And then they were in the sky, past the buildings and trees and everything else so it was just horizon in the distance and clouds. It was the perfect time, too. The sky was beginning to change. The clouds were puffy and tinted with the oranges and pinks of a sun setting. It was darker under the cloud layer, deep blue like the ocean far from any land. Above the clouds it was bright. It was the pure, unfiltered version of ‘sky blue’ that she’d seen humans try to replicate but could never really truly get the essence of. The blue of a spark. This time when Dani jostled lightly, it was on purpose. “Open your eyes,” she said softly.

“No.” Blades shook their head.

“C’mon,” Dani said. “Don’t you trust me?”

Blades made a sound like they might be in pain, but Dani saw them open their eyes anyway. And she saw the moment their eyes met the sky. The blue outside might look like a spark, but the way it caught their blue eyes, they glow like optics. Bright, glowing blue. Their eyes are big and their lips are parted. The light outside continued to change; the sun lined the sky with gold, painting Blade’s cheeks pink and golden. The upper portions of the sky started to darken like layer below the clouds, twilight settling in so the stars could appear. She gently flew higher, just so Blades could be closer to them. Their hands were warm against her window, a contrast to the air’s chill.

“Do you like it?” Dani asked.

“It’s beautiful,” Blades said. They laughed. “I could never do this without you.”

“I could take you whenever you want,” Dani said.

“Maybe later,” Blades said. “I just want to enjoy this for now.”

“Alright.” Dani smiled. She flew slow, so Blades could watch the sky’s gradual change to night, and spent the flight switching between watching the sky and watching Blades. Maybe it was because they were her first real human, but she thought they might be her favourite human.

#rescue bots #maccadam #daniblades #blades #dani burns #humanformers #heartsandsparksshipweek #alternate first meeting #actor blades #roleswap #writings

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kazekothestrange · 1 year ago

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"Oi!! Sorry to keep you waiting!" Running towards the other gathered ladies, Kazuno waved to catch their attention., Kazeko close behind. "Everybody ready?"

"Yo! Yeah, we're all ready!" Shanna waved, Rose letting out a little sigh under her breath and folding her arms. "Good, you're safe." The twins greeted in reply, Rose stepping forward and gesturing for Shanna to choose a dance partner as suggested.

"Haa, just in time. The next song is about to begin." The elven woman gently gestured towards the skull, to let everybody know there's something up with it, sending a telepathic message to the two other stand users. "That skull is trouble. Don't stare at it."

One by one, the girls settled in with another and started moving to the music, covering their information exchange.

"We found some pretty telling things on our end... and you, dear?" Kazeko murmured as quiet as she could without being drowned out.

"Us, too. But go ahead. What have you discovered, Kazeko?" Rose muttered back, glancing over her shoulder.

"Well, we found what is definitely an entry point, probably for what's responsible for this. Claw marks on the balcony railing, and shoe scuffs in the carpet. Kazuno used a torch to look at the ground below, and there was no sign that anybody had been jumping down."

"That lines up perfectly with one of the things we learned." Replied the noble, spinning around her dance partner. "There've been sightings of a winged humanoid creature around this mansion. It must have been using the balcony for takeoff."

"We got two solid witness accounts." Kazuno spoke up as she shuffled over to the other twin, stopping with a swing. "A friend of one of the missing people said he raved like he was out of his mind, about a beautiful woman he just had to ask out, as if he would die if he didn't. And another kept hearing what sounded like a person growling whenever she got too close to this place at night!"

"Hmhmhm... it's all coming together..." Shanna started to smile. "We found a long lock of curly pink hair, and that clock upstairs? It wasn't broken, because it was battery operated and just removed from the wall. But yet the batteries were taken out, to forcibly stop the clock, but it wasn't placed back on the wall, as if this was all done in a hurry. So whoever it was didn't know how to work a modern day clock, and tried to trick everyone into staying longer. Perhaps to get more victims, or by chance, to give this being more time with its CURRENT victim." She closed her eyes in thought as she did a twirl, flaring her skirt.

"So, something that looks like a person, and crafty too... but doesn't have all its marbles together, huh?" Kazuno mused, smirking as a similar idea started to form.

"Not to mention the blood spatters I found on a candelabra." Kikumi interjected, backing up towards the others.

"A-and I've got a bloodstained scrap of fabric in my bag... I found it on my way downstairs...!" Kazeko replied once more, eyebrows upturned with worry. How many people had fallen victim...?

"Plus, would you believe it? We found Sakura here at this party, so we were able to get a witch's opinion on this! She said we have three choices from all the information she knows. Dragon, Succubus or Incubus, or a Chimera. Now, I know Chimeras, and so do you, Kazeko, Kazuno. You met Kyle and Koryea. I can't possibly imagine the reason for Chimeras to kidnap many victims and keep coming back for more. Plus I highly doubt a human mixed chimera would go after this many humans as well. Dragons are also meant to be guardians, so unless we're a danger to the Earth, it shouldn't be a dragon either. So. You thinking what I'm thinking, Rose?" Shanna looked over at her sister.

"I guarantee I am." Rose answered with a firm nod.

"I'm thinking... succubus. Are we all on the same page, ladies?" Kazuno piped up, cartwheeling close to the converging group.

"Definitely..." "Without a doubt." "Yep, it's gotta be!" "Mmhm." One by one, everyone confirmed their suspicions are the same, slowing to a stop as the song came to a close.

"Alright, everyone, let's go meet up with Sakura!" Shanna pointed a finger up to catch everyone's attention, and the brunette led the charge out of the foyer, everyone under the watchful eye of the skull looming menacingly over them...

Kazeko and Kazuno: Me

Shanna, Rose, Spy: @strawberry-metal

Kikumi: @caffeinated-chaos-bean

Stage: はぎの

Skydome: MMDAnimatio357

Poses: Taken from various motions, I will track down all the credits later

Effects:

Autoluminous4 and SvSSAO: Sovoro

HgDiffusion: Harigane

Dream Shader: Ianami

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #mmd #mikumikudance #reblog #jojo #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jjba ocs #ocs #halloween event #event #shanna #rose #the twins #kazeko #kazuno #siblings #kikumi fujimori

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warriorofdragons · 2 years ago

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Have Chronal Accelerator Will Travel Chapter 1: Back in Blackwatch

Word Count: 11.5k

Warnings: Language, Some slight Suggestive themes.

Summary: Overwatch sends two teams of two to travel back in time on retrieval missions: one is sent to acquire a blueprint, and the other is sent to acquire military weaponry, combined these assets will help them put a stop to a destructive plot Talon intends to set loose upon the world.

Notes: Timeline: Present 7 years from current lore. Past: Precedes Retribution mission, by at least a month or two.

Abbreviations: Class C=Communications, ES=Encrypted Storage.

Your husband Cole kisses your forehead, “Be safe, Honeysuckle.” “You too,” you whisper before wrapping your arms around him. The two of you hold one another for a long moment, until eventually Lena clears her throat, “Well, we best get a move on then.” You both pull apart to look back at her and then you glance up at Cole. Cole places his hands on your arms, “Hey, we’ll be back together in no time.” You give him a half-smile, “Yeah.” You then stare into his eyes for another moment before your eyes drop to his lips and you place your hands on his cheeks and lean forward and kiss him. Cole desperately returns the kiss before the two of you break away from each other again. And as you step away from one another, Cole’s right hand trails down your arm to your hand and he grasps it until your fingertips leave his finally. Cole then heads to his own plane with Lena in tow, and you head to yours with Mei. You seat yourself in the pilot’s chair and fasten your seatbelt, and you wait for Mei to settle herself in the chair beside you before you close the ramp door. Then you start flipping switches to turn on the engine and prepare for takeoff. Nearby, Lena is preparing her own plane as you hear her engine roar to life. “Everyone strapped in and ready for takeoff?” Lena asks cheerfully over the radio. “Yep,” you answer. “Uh huh,” Mei says beside you holding tightly onto her tank. “Chronal Accelerators working?” Lena asks. You glance down at the device on your chest that is currently emitting a quiet hum before zipping up your jacket, “Yes.” “Definitely,” Cole says. You look across at Lena’s plane and see your husband seated next to her. “Everything seems in order,” Mei says. “Then we are ready for takeoff,” Lena announces. “Runways all clear, Lena,” Winston says into your earpieces. Lena maneuvers her plane out in front of you and down the runway first, since her and Cole have to travel back further than you and Mei, they need a head start. Once her plane is lined up on the runway with the only exit from the mountainous base she guns the engine and speeds down the corridor of the hanger. The wheels of the plane just start to lift up as she coasts out into open air and you watch the plane drop out of sight. It’s another moment or two of watching before her plane comes back into view in the opening of the mountain, as she gains altitude. “Lena, don’t forget to-“ Winston begins. “I know, I know ya silly goose, I’m calibrating the teleportation matrix now,” Lena interrupts, “Don’t worry, Winston, everything will be fine, you and the team did a great job with the calculations everything’s going to be fine…” she trails off in her usual chipper tone. You and Mei glance at one another and smile. Going back into the past is no easy feat and a part of you was still surprised Lena had agreed to come along on this mission. But you suppose an ace like her couldn’t leave this to anyone less skilled at flying these planes. “Calibrations complete, New Mexico here we come!” Lena shouts. It takes her another couple minutes to get up to speed before she activates the teleportation matrix and then… “Making the jump in three…two…-“ Lena says before a crackle of static from her comms being out of range is the only sound left in your ears. There’s a moment of silence as you inhale deeply. “Alright, Slipstream Three, you’re cleared for takeoff,” Winston says. You position your plane onto the runway next. “Alright, Snowball, it’s time to deactivate for a little while,” Mei says. Snowball emits a few sad, low beeps, but nonetheless locks themself into their port. “It’s only for a little while,” Mei promises her small, mechanical friend. “Hold on tight,” you tell Mei. She nods and clutches Snowball’s battery to herself as Snowball switches themself off. You gun the plane forward and hurtle down the ever decreasing runway, just as Lena had. The wheels of the plane come off the paving beneath you as the plane lunges forth into open air. Bright light fills your vision and you adjust the plane wings to generate more lift, and you soar out away from the mountain before you slowly start to climb back up through the air. Once you’ve reached the appropriate altitude you begin your own calibrations as Winston’s voice once again comes over the radio, “How are things, Slipstream Three?” “Going smoothly so far,” you say, “The gravitational field is online.” “Good, good,” Winston murmurs. You know Winston is nervous to send his friends off into the past knowing very well what might happen, and to be honest you’re nervous yourself. But you trust Winston has done his best to ensure your’s, and your team’s, and…your husband’s safe return. And that’s all anyone can ever hope for really. “You and Dr. De Kuiper have done a great job recreating and improving upon the original Slipstream’s design, I trust that the two of you will get us there and back home safely,” you say. Winston’s quiet for a moment, “Good luck out there, Overwatch.” “We’ll see you soon, Winston,” Mei says. Winston chuckles lightly, “I’m holding you to that.” You prime the teleportation matrix and then bring the plane up to speed, “Preparing to jump in three…two…one……” You’re met with a huge concussive force as you punch through time and space and alarms start blaring in your ears. Quickly, you adjust the gravitational field surrounding the plane and the levels start to dip back into the green. The plane continues to rumble around you, but you can’t inspect much of the outside what with all the light from the energy currently surrounding the three of you. You hold the plane steady as you fight against the current trying to sweep you along and then you’re hit with another wave of force and then the energy surrounding you dissipates as you soar into a cloud. It seems you’ve come out the other side and you take a deep breath to steady your nerves, it’s time to see if it worked or not. You flip through the radio channels to the one Jack gave you and chatter from the nearby mountain base fills your headset. But it’s not from your team, no the voices you hear are unfamiliar to you, and you smile and glance at Mei, who smiles back at you hearing the same thing.

You circle the plane back around and decrease your altitude so you can land, “Mayday, mayday, requesting emergency landing!” you radio the base. You receive an immediate response, “What’s your cosign?” You give them the cosign of one of the planes you and Ana had managed to find in the old flight records, “I need to make an emergency landing!” you insist. “You’re weren’t due for another hour, what’s your emergency?” the voice asks over the radio. “Got a damaged engine, took unexpected enemy fire and I need to land ASAP, would you rather I do it in the Atlantic?!” you argue in an irritated tone. There’s a brief pause and then you’re being directed to one of the open lanes. You carefully fly the plane, making sure to shut off the gravitational field completely, before nearing the opening in the mountainside. It’s a tricky maneuver landing inside a mountain and only the best pilots can land here. The wheels of the plane touch down on the ramp that extends to just beyond the opening of the mountain base and then you begin to rapidly decrease your speed as the wings of the plane flare. You smoothly maneuver the plane once you’ve slowed down into the open bay they’ve cleared for you. As you cut off the engine and people start to approach, you notice that they’ve already realized you’re not the plane you’ve claimed to be, judging by the armed guards headed your way. You’re engine also isn’t damaged and you’d like to keep it that way, so you unfasten your seatbelt and remove your headset. “They might separate us, keep calm and remember to ask for either Commander Morrison or Blackwatch Commander Reyes,” you tell Mei. Mei nods as she unfastens her seatbelt and grabs her gear, “Alright.” You both get out of your seats and head down the ramp at the back of the plane to meet the armed agents outside. The Overwatch agents approach you cautiously and then restrain the two of you and confiscate your weapons and gear. Mei looks a little sad as they also unknowingly take Snowball with them. “Everything will be alright, Mei,” you whisper to her. “Hey! Keep quiet!” an agent yells at you. “No,” you state, “We’re here to speak with Commanders Morrison and Reyes.” “Yeah, riggghtt,” the agent says, “The two of you are going straight to a holding cell.” “I think Commander Reyes would be pretty angry if he found out you didn’t tell him we were here,” Mei says. “Is that so?” the agent replies in feigned interest. “The Commander doesn’t have time for the likes of you,” another agent says. “I don’t know…my friend here’s right, he would be mad if he found out something interesting was happening that he didn’t know about, in his own base no less. And I’d hate to think what he’d do to the person or persons who didn’t inform the Black Ops Commander of strange goings on,” you persuade. The agent glances to the other one and you can see them weighing their options. The two of you are then pulled along with them as the agents escort you to an interrogation room as opposed to a holding cell. They sit you and Mei down in the chairs in front of a table and handcuff you to it, and then one of them tries to remove Mei’s Chronal Accelerator he just now notices under her jacket. She tries to resist, but her hands are adhered to the table now. “Hey! Leave her alone! You take that off and she’ll die!!” you shout. “What the fuck are you talking about?!” the agent argues. “Ever heard of Lena Oxton?” you ask. “NO,” the agent protests. “Well, Lena Oxton, current Overwatch agent, previous RAF pilot got into an accident where she phases in and out of reality, take that off and we’re all gonna be sorry for it,” you threaten. The agent shoots a weird look down at Mei, but lets go of her. “Why do you think we want to see Reyes?” Mei adds. “Whatever,” the agent says shaking their head. “Let’s just go,” the other agent says, “The higher ups can deal with this.” Both agents leave the room finally and lock the door behind them. You glance back over to Mei, “You alright?” “Yeah, those two are assholes,” Mei says. You chuckle, “Yeah.” “Do you think Lena and Cole made it alright?” Mei asks. “Yeah, I mean if we did they had to of,” you say. You turn to stare across the room at the large glass pane, which you’re certain is a two-way mirror, as your thoughts turn to your husband. “So this is what it used to look like?” Mei muses, “I’m not impressed.” You laugh a little, “At least it’s not a decrepit concrete building.” “True,” Mei says laughing. You end up waiting for a little while in relative silence with the combined hum of the lights above you and your Chronal Accelerators, and the occasional footsteps heard from the hallway outside. Mei even starts making up a tune that she hums under her breath to the sound of both of them, when finally the door opens.

You both turn to look as none other Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison walk in, apparently your little stunt Had been enough to attract both of their attentions, just like Jack had said. Reyes’ eyes scan the two of you while Jack is busy studying a tablet in his hands, no doubt with a report written on the two of you. Reyes stops in front of the two of you and crosses his arms, and you notice his eyes find Mei’s Chronal Accelerator peeking out from underneath her heavy jacket. “Commander Morrison,” Reyes states. Jack continues to wander into the room and past Reyes as he continues to read. “Jack,” Reyes calls. “Huh?” Jack says as he looks up finally. And you can’t get over how much younger he looks, his blonde hair’s only just beginning to gray, there’s no scars on his face…although there are deep, dark bags under his eyes. You have no idea how much coffee he’s running on, but the lingering smell of it on his clothes, would suggest a lot. Jack looks to the two of you finally, with a tired and unfamiliar cast to his blue irises. This isn’t the same grandparental, old man whose held your’s and Cole’s child, or grilled meat at team cookouts, or fallen asleep in front of the tv on Christmas Eve. This is a tired, overworked, middle-aged man who seems to only go from one problem to the next. Jack clears his throat as he glances back down at his tablet one more time before fixing his full attention on the two of you. “You see that?” Reyes asks pointing at Mei. Jack squints, “Yeah, it looks just like it.” “I have one too,” you announce. “Really?” Reyes asks almost uninterested, but you can tell there’s more to it in his eyes. You lift up your hands, gesturing to your handcuffs and Mei jingles hers too. Jack and Reyes exchange a glance and then Jack nods back at the mirror behind them, “Alright.” Reyes steps forwards and undoes your’s and Mei’s handcuffs and then steps back. You unzip your jacket and reveal your own Chronal Accelerator. “Son of a bitch,” Jack says. “How’d you two ladies come by these devices, did you make them yourself?” Reyes asks. “No, Winston made them for us,” Mei answers. Both Jack and Reyes laugh. “It’s true!” Mei exclaims. “Yeah, right the monkey made you two Chronal Accelerators,” Reyes continues. “Scientist!” Mei insists leaning forwards. They both stop laughing and look at you and Mei seriously for a moment, and then the two exchange a glance. “How did you find this base? Where did your intel come from?” Jack asks. “Well, you, Jack,” you say. Jack shoots you a confused look before shaking his head, “Try again.” “She’s serious, you helped us with the secure radio channel, and with retrofitting the plane although that was a group effort,” Mei explains. “Look we could go around and around in circles all day, okay? So let’s just cut to the chase, we’re from the future,” you say gesturing to you and Mei. Both Reyes and Jack start laughing again. “Oh, God that’s a good one,” Reyes says wiping his eyes. “We’ve come back in time to retrieve a blueprint that was destroyed-are you even listening to me!” you shout to be heard. “From the future, huh? And here I thought I heard it all,” Reyes says. Their combined laughter finally starts to die down as you stare off at the wall annoyed. “So…you’re from the…” Jack snickers again and then controls himself, “So you’re from the future, how do we know you’re really the good guys then?” “Yeah, prove that you’re really from the future,” Reyes says and then chuckles as he looks at Jack. “Yeah, what’s something only we would know?” Jack adds. Unfortunately, you don’t know Gabriel Reyes very well, that would have been your husband Cole’s expertise considering he was taken under Gabriel’s wing for a time. Cole could have answered any questions regarding Commander Reyes easily, but he also would have encountered problems interacting with his past self, which is why you’re here instead. You glance over to Commander Morrison, Jack on the other hand… “Jack, you still like to carry around that old photo of you and Vincent,” you say. Now Your Jack has stopped in recent years, and finally left that old photo in an album and in the past along with other photos from his military career like any memory ought to be. But it was something Jack had suggested you bring up if either of you were going to be taken seriously, something about ‘having to cut through to his younger self like a knife.’ Jack’s eyes widen, “I…what? Um…No, I-You must be mistaken.” Reyes notices Jack’s sudden discomfort and studies him closely, “Wait…Do you?” Jack rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “I…Maybe? Which one?” he asks you defensively, his face growing red. “The one from during the Omnic Crisis, right before you were shipped off to join the Soldier Enhancement Program, he’s got an arm around your shoulders and he’s wearing a blue polo…should I go on?” you ask with a raise of your brow. “No, that won’t be necessary,” Jack says quickly with a wave of his hand. Reyes gives Jack a sideways glance before turning his attention back to you,” How’d you know all that?” he accuses. You shrug, “Jack told me.” “You also sent us with one of your favorite novels,” Mei pipes up. She reaches into one of her jacket pockets and pulls out an old paperback book with yellowed pages and crinkled corners and holds it out to Jack. Jack takes it and smiles a little and then opens it up to a different old photo tucked inside it’s pages, the book is a western tale that he had lent Cole one time years ago, and the photo is an old Overwatch team photo. Jack closes the book back up and then hands it back to Mei, “I think…I’m actually starting to believe them.” Reyes furrows his brows at Jack, “You can’t be serious?! They could have been tailing you for all we know!” he exclaims and then glances back at the mirror. The anticipation swells up in your chest at who could be behind that mirror, you know who you’re hoping it is, but it could also be anybody. Reyes then tilts his head as if considering something and then motions a come here gesture at the mirror.

You feel the pressure build further in your chest as you wait with baited breath for them to appear. It’s not long before the door opens although to you it felt like an eternity and you’re not disappointed when the love of your life, Cole Cassidy walks in. He’s a lot younger than you know him to be of course, but no less handsome. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, gloves, and pants, with a black stetson to match adorning his head, but the belt buckle he’s wearing is one you’ve never seen and it bears the Deadlock gang symbol. Cole is unarmored, but he is wearing his pistol and ammo belt, it’s likely all he could grab on such short notice. The thought of him relaxing in his quarters or taking a smoke break is distracting to you, almost as distracting as his shoulders and arms… You try not to stare too much at his left arm, but you’re struggling. You instead steer yourself towards the thought of if his Blackwatch uniform would still fit him, you decide that it couldn’t possibly, the Cole you know is much bigger now. Cole moves to stand next to Reyes and he looks between the two of you. “I’m gonna need a little more proof, before I allow them to just waltz around the base,” Reyes says. “Well, I’m the Commander of Overwatch and if I say they can, they can,” Jack says. Reyes pinches his nose, “Not this again. Jack, I’m the Commander of Blackwatch and I can veto your decision.” “Like hell you can,” Jack says. You’re focused on Jack’s and Reyes’ beginning argument when you feel a pair of eyes on you, and you glance up and straight into Cole’s soft brown eyes, you smile at him and he smiles back at you. “I’m as much in charge here as you are,” Reyes says pointing a finger at Jack’s chest. “My Base, My jurisdiction,” Jack argues. “Well, why don’t we just ask Captain Amari?” Cole asks nonchalantly. Both men stop and turn to Cole. “Listen, we don’t need to get her involved,” Jack says holding his hands up. “I’m sure Captain Amari has better things to do with her time than solve another one of our arguments,” Reyes says. “I think they’re scared of her,” Mei whispers to you. You giggle a little. “Are not!” they both exclaim in unison before then looking at one another. “Mind if I try askin’ them some questions?” Cole asks, “Since you’re too busy squabbling again.” “Be my guest,” Reyes says gesturing towards you and Mei. Cole threads his thumbs through his belt loops and approaches you, all confidence and charm, something you’re so familiar with, it doesn’t even require a second thought to melt it away, “Hey-“ Cole begins. “Hey there, Cowboy,” you say lowly with a wink, “What’s a tall glass of water like you doing in a place like this?” Cole’s eyes widen in surprise and then he smiles so wide and when he tries to speak he stumbles over his own words to the point where you can’t make out anything he’s saying. You giggle lightly in amusement. Cole smiles a wide, lovesick grin and pulls his hat down low over his face as the younger version of your husband becomes downright bashful. You laugh again at how cute he’s being. You’ve had plenty of practice at making Cole flustered beyond recognition and that’s when he’s prepared for everything you could throw at him. This Cole never stood a chance against your flirting. Reyes looks at Cole disapprovingly before he looks back at you, “Alright, who exactly are you two?” he demands. You and Mei introduce yourselves. “We’re Overwatch agents, well future ones anyways,” Mei says. “What did you come all the way back in time for?” Jack asks. “A blueprint for a machine,” Mei explains. “That still doesn’t explain why you time traveled for a blueprint,” Reyes says crossing his arms again. “Yeah, if we have it now, why can’t you just get it from future Overwatch?” Jack asks. You and Mei exchange a glance. There’s a lot of reasons why, besides the original blueprint being destroyed, but it would be a lot to go into and definitely more information than they need. “It was destroyed in a fire, the original no longer exists,” Mei says simply. “We also didn’t just time travel for a blueprint, there’s another team that went on ahead to a separate time jump point,” you explain. “Who’s on that team?” Reyes asks. “Lena and Cole,” you answer. “Cole? Cole who?” Reyes asks suspiciously. “Cole…Cassidy,” you say carefully and your gaze drifts over to Cole standing next to Reyes who seems to be staring at you with a different sort of surprise on his face. “How…do you know that name?” Reyes asks. “Because I know him,” you say pointing directly at Cole. Reyes looks over at Cole and nods, “Good, I wanted to be sure we were talking about the same thing.” “How many other cowboys named Cole Cassidy do you know?” you ask in annoyance at his roundabout questioning. “Just the one,” Reyes says. “So ya’ll both know me in the future, I take it?” Cole asks. “Of course!” Mei says with a nod. “Yes,” you say softly. And Cole’s attention is drawn more to your soft spoken reply. You of course have only ever known Cole by Cole Cassidy. To the point where you could almost forget these days that he used to go by a cycling list of aliases for a long period of time. It’s especially easy to forget now that you share the same last name, you do have to write it on a lot of paperwork afterall. Your wedding ring isn’t on your finger at the moment, on missions you prefer to wear it on a chain around your neck to keep it close to your heart. “Alright, then I have a couple questions of my own,” Cole says. You have to resist the urge to fiddle with the ring now, less you call attention to it. “What’s somethin’ I’ve never told anyone?” Cole asks. Cole’s eyes fix on you as he waits for you specifically to answer him. And it’s a tough question if only for the fact that you know too many answers to that question. But a lot of them are painful, memories from his childhood he hardly talks about, his greatest fears, missions gone wrong here in Blackwatch. Many things that are hardly appropriate to bring up in mixed company, like right now. But maybe that’s what he’s hoping for, that you do truly know him well enough that you’ll be able to find something to convince him, without resurfacing buried trauma. “You still have your father’s hat…and on the inside of the brim written in your mother’s handwriting, is your father’s name,” you answer holding his gaze. Cole blinks and then inhales deeply, “Alright, one more question, is it this one?” he asks. He is of course referring to the black stetson currently adoring his head. You shake your head and smile, “No, the hat I’m talking about has a wide brim and a lot of nicks in it.” Cole smiles and takes of his hat and combs his fingers through his hair, “That’s right,” he says and then turns to Reyes and Jack and puts back on his hat, “I’m satisfied they’re telling the truth.” “Well, that’s two out of three,” Reyes says with a sigh, “Seems I’m outnumbered, I guess we’ll take them to Winston first see what he has to say about these Chronal Accelerators and then we’ll track down that blueprint.” “Perfect! The blueprint is one of Winston’s, I’m sure he’ll know where it is,” Mei says. “Well, ain’t that convenient,” Reyes says with a smirk. “Alright,” Jack says clapping his hands together, “Let’s go see our resident scientist.” Mei smiles and the two of you are lead out of the interrogation room finally.

Jack and Reyes have your gear and weapons returned to you both and as you and Mei are walking through a cargo bay stacked with crates, you spot another familiar face passing by, Captain Amari. And she stares at your group and furrows her brows, undoubtedly because she doesn’t recognize you and Mei, before she stops in her tracks. You can tell Jack and Reyes are anxious about her presence which only further seems to raise her suspicion and her brow, so she confronts them, “And what do we have here?” she asks crossing her arms. Jack tells her your’s and Mei’s names. Ana blinks and looks at both of you, “I’m unfamiliar with the two of you, what business do you have here?” “They’re here for a blueprint,” Jack answers for you. “Oh? What kind of blueprint?” Ana questions. “One of Winston’s blueprints,” Reyes says. “Oh and they’re also uh…from the…future?” Jack says with a nervous laugh while rubbing the back of his neck. Captain Amari narrows her eyes at Jack, “If I could have a word with the two of you in private,” she says sternly before turning to Cole next, “Agent, keep an eye on these two while we are gone.” “Will do, Ma’am,” Cole says with a tip of his hat. Ana walks off with Reyes and Jack in tow as you watch them try to explain to her the situation. Cole walks over to one of the nearby crates and sits down and pulls out a cigar. You sit down across from him and Mei gives you a knowing look and sits down nearby, but far enough away to give you two some space. Cole’s eyes drift towards Mei as she reactivates Snowball, and the little robot comes beeping back to life. Cole takes the still unlit cigar out of his mouth and points at Snowball with it in silent question. “This is Snowball!” Mei chimes happily. “Right,” Cole says. “He’s an old friend of hers, they’re inseparable,” you say. Cole looks to you and then back at Snowball before nodding, “Just make sure the little guy stays out of trouble.” Cole then takes his lighter out of his pocket and lights his cigar finally. You watch Mei talk to Snowball for a few moments as she explains what happened while they were asleep. You hear a low exhale from Cole as he puffs out a cloud of smoke from his cigar and look back at him, and the gaze he has fixed you with you could only describe as burning. Cole places his cigar back in his mouth and you watch the movement of his lips as he inhales another drag and then your eyes drift up to his as he watches you from underneath the brim of his stetson. He then blows out the smoke from the left corner of his mouth and closes his eyes gently, before returning to stare at you. “It’s not polite to stare,” he says softly. “You were staring first,” you retort. Cole chuckles lightly, “True, true. Maybe I’ve just got a nice view from here.” You smile, “Well, the view ain’t half bad from here either.” Cole bites his cigar a little in response. You stare at him for another moment or two, your eyes trailing over his face and all the little details, and Cole seems to enjoy your quiet appreciation of him. “Do we know each other?” Cole asks suddenly, “In the future I mean.” “Of course, Cole, remember what I said earlier?” you ask. He nods, “Yeah, but do we Know each other?” “Intimately?” you offer. Cole takes his cigar out of his mouth and gestures with it, “Yeah.” You smile and bite your lip, “You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”you ask lowly. Cole’s jaw goes slack as he stares at you with a hunger in his eyes that you’ve seen many times, and he’s about to say something else when Reyes and Jack walk back towards you. “Alright, you’re cleared with Amari but something’s come up, Cole, we’ll need you to escort them to Winston,” Reyes says. Cole stands up and drops his cigar to the concrete floor and steps on it, “On it, Boss.” “We’ll meet up with you three…four…afterwards to see you off,” Jack says staring over at Snowball now hovering near Mei. And then the two of them walk away again. “Alright, looks like I’m in charge,” Cole says looping his fingers through his belt loops and straightening his pants, “Lab’s this way.”

You and Mei follow Cole down a series of hallways deeper into the base until he comes to a large, metal door with a keypad. Instead of using the keypad though, Cole knocks on the big, metal door, “Hey, Winston! Got a couple of visitors for you!” A small screen next to the door and above the keypad lights up and a camera of Winston soldering some parts together comes into view, “What is it, Cass? I’m in the middle of something.” “Said I got a couple visitors for you, thought you’d might like to meet ‘em,” Cole says. Winston is still focused on his task as he picks up a banana and dips it into a nearby jar of peanut butter and starts to eat it, “Tell them to come back later, I’m busy.” “Now that’s not very nice,” Cole scolds playfully, “After they came all this way to meet you,” then Cole turns to you and winks, “How far in the future did you say y’all you’re from?” “About fifteen years,” you say. Cole whistles, “So I’d be what forty three, forty four?” You hear the clattering of metal tools as Winston drops whatever he was working on and turns to face the camera finally, “Did you say you were from the future?” Winston asks in astonishment. “Finally! That get your attention did it?” Cole asks with a smile. “We are!” Mei answers. “You didn’t say they were from the future!” Winston yells at Cole. Cole weathers his shouting easily, “I said they came all this way to meet you, they’re a long way from here.” Winston glares at Cole, “I don’t understand your cowboy speak.” “Well, now are you going to stand there gawking or are you going to let us in?” Cole asks. Winston goes to open his mouth and then just sighs instead and pushes a button and you hear the door padlock click. The door then swings inwards and Cole waves his hands at the door. “Ladies first.” Mei walks in first and stares around the lab in awe. And as you pass by Cole he gives you another wink. Cole then shuts the door behind you all and you take a moment to look around as well. Winston’s workshop is huge and filled with an assortment of projects he’s working on. You step towards the center of the room where he’s seated, schematics and parts strewn across the table in front of him. “So you’re really from the future?” Winston asks. “Yes, and we came here to retrieve one of your blueprints,” Mei explains stepping towards Winston. Snowball flies around Mei and beeps in agreement. “Really? And what’s your’s and your friend here’s name?” Winston asks holding his hand out to Snowball. “I’m Mei, and this is Snowball,” Mei introduces. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Mei and Snowball, I’m Winston,” Winston says. Mei laughs, “I know.” You smile at the three of them as Cole steps beside you and clears his throat and holds his hand out to you as he introduces you as well. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” Winston greets adjusting his glasses. “They’ve got a couple of your Chronal Accelerators too,” Cole adds. “Really?! Might I see?” Winston asks. Mei unzips and removes her coat and Winston’s eyes widen as he sees the Chronal Accelerator attached to her chest. You also remove your own jacket to reveal your Chronal Accelerator. “My, my, this has been an unexpected turn of events,” Winston says as he turns off his soldering tool and sets it aside. Winston then cups his chin as he examines Mei’s Chronal Accelerator, “Hmm, it seems the design has been improved upon. No doubt it needed to emit a stronger field to shield you from a jump to the past. What did future me recommend to you with these devices?” “Not to take them off for any reason,” Mei says shaking her head. Snowball beeps again in agreement. “Interesting, Lena has always been able to remove her Chronal Accelerator as long as she remains near the active field, but since you’re in the past…you are not anchored to your own timeline,” Winston says. “Like a life vest not a life boat” Cole says. “Precisely,” Winston says, “I will defer to my future self’s expertise on this matter, surely he has information that I do not currently possess in regards to this.” “It was a precaution so we wouldn’t get Chronal Disassociation like Lena did,” you say draping your jacket over the back of a chair and sitting down at the table. “Yes…” Winston sighs looking down. “Didn’t you say Lena was on the other team?” Cole asks stepping closer to you. “Yes,” Mei says. “There’s another team?” Winston asks with raised brow. “Yeah, apparently they sent out two teams of two, one here and one…somewhere else, didn’t really specify,” Cole says. “Lena made a jump into the past?!” Winston exclaims with shock, “But the implication of-“ “It’s alright, Winston, you said yourself that there have been improvements to the device, and it’s because you made the improvements that we’re all still alright,” Mei interrupts. Winston sighs, “But still, this was a very dangerous thing to do.” “We all knew the risks when we agreed to do this mission,” you say slipping your fingers underneath your shirt to feel your wedding ring. “And Lena didn’t go alone, Cole offered to be on her team,” Mei says waving her hand at the younger Cole standing beside you. “But what if the devices are damaged?” Winston asks concerned. “You made us memorize how to make repairs to them,” you say. Winston sighs once again and nods, smiling a little, “Just like I did with Lena.” “So two teams of two so each of you has backup in case somethin’ goes wrong and each one of you has a pilot. I know Lena’s gotta be the pilot on my team, but who’s the pilot on your team?” Cole asks. “Me,” you answer tucking your ring back under your shirt. Cole’s eyes dip down for a moment to follow the movement and then his eyes meet yours, “You? You must be pretty damn good to be chosen to fly a plane like that back in time,” Cole says with a grin. You grin back at him, “Yeah, I am. Fareeha wanted to be the one to pilot the plane but then she’d have to deal with her mother in this timeline.” “Fareeha is in Overwatch?” Cole asks with his brows raised. “Yeah,” you say. “Her mother must not be too happy about that,” Cole says. “It was…let’s just say it was complicated,” you say. Cole chuckles, “It would have been easier for her to convince Gabe and Jack though but…she definitely would have had argued with her mother. Shame, I kind of would have liked to have seen that.” “Oh, don’t worry you will,” you say with a laugh. Cole blows out a breath, “Still fightin’ after all these years?” “Mostly, it’s over little stuff these days, but those two had their work cut out for them,” you say. “I’ll say,” Cole says with a smile. “So which blueprint was it that you needed from me?” Winston asks. Mei removes a piece of paper from her discarded jacket and unfolds it and hands it to Winston. Winston squints at it and then his eyes widen, “This? But it was just a prototype, it never even worked, the gravitational field alone was-“ “Let’s just say we have an expert who’s willing to help us with that,” Mei interrupts, “And please, Winston we really need that blueprint.” Winston sighs, “The blueprint on file is incomplete, I’ll need to compile some of my notes.” Winston then gets up from his spot at the table and goes to his computer desk to start retrieving the blueprint. You then hear a swift series of knocks on the metal door. “Oi, Winston! Open up!” a voice calls. “Oh! Cole, could you?” Winston asks. “On it,” Cole says and presses the button for the door. Lena speeds into the room as soon as the door opens and then stops dead in her tracks as she stares open-mouthed at you and Mei. Winston looks up from his monitor, “Oh, Lena, these three are-“ he begins. “You’re from the future!” the younger Lena exclaims now pointing at you and Mei. Cole chuckles as he closes the door again. “Yes, I do suppose it’s obvious,” Winston states taking a microfiber cloth and wiping his glasses clean. Lena starts excitedly running in place, “Ooh! I just knew it! One look at those Chronal Accelerators, and I just knew it!” “Heh heh, maybe we should have had Miss Oxton here meet the two of you first, she would have got this whole thing sorted a lot quicker,” Cole says. “What’s it like? The future I mean, do I get that tattoo I always wanted? Ooh, what about skiing in the Alps? I’ve always wanted to do that, or-“ Lena says and then gasps loudly, “No, wait! Do I ever get married?” Lena’s staring at Mei and fixing her with the biggest puppy dog eyes and pouting out her bottom lip. “Yes, no, and yes,” Mei answers. Lena excitedly squeals and jumps up and down. “Mei!” you exclaim, “You’re not supposed to tell her that!” “I’m sorry! I can’t lie to my friends, especially not Lena!” Mei defends. You sigh and drop your shoulders, “I know.” “Am I your friend?” Cole asks Mei. “Of course,” Mei answers. You stand and turn to him, “Oh no, you don’t, Cowboy,” you warn poking his chest. Cole smiles and puts his hands up, “Or you’ll what?” he teases. You narrow your eyes at him and he raises a brow. And then you flick his hat off his head. “My hat!” Cole exclaims as he quickly spins around to scoop it off the floor, “I’ll have you know this is a Stetson!” Cole complains dusting it off. “I know,” you giggle, “You’re not allowed to ask Mei questions about your future self. And, Lena, You should know better,” you say turning to her. Lena’s shoulders slump, “I know, I just couldn’t help it. I mean who wouldn’t want to know about their future self?” You smile at her, “I mean Lena you want to get married eventually, right?” “Well, of course,” Lena answers. “Then by virtue of that being something you want out of life you’re probably going to get married,” you say. “Well, now I definitely know I’m getting married,” Lena says, “What’s her name?” Lena then asks Mei. “It’s…” Mei begins and then looks over at you shaking your head, “A surprise. I really couldn’t ruin it for you especially if I want to be a bridesmaid.” Winston looks up from his monitor, “Lena, stop asking questions about the future…as tempting as it may be…” he muses staring up at the ceiling for a moment before getting back to work. It seems everyone in this room wants to know what happens, which is fair, but…there’s a lot they don’t need to know yet, both the good and the bad. And besides spoiling too much of the good might ruin it’s impact when they really need it most. “So…are you a part of future Overwatch?” Lena asks Mei. “Uh huh,” Mei nods, “We’re much newer agents compared to all of you,” she says waving her hands at Lena, Winston, and Cole. Cole sets his hat back on his head and adjusts it. Winston lets out a sigh, “I’ve compiled all of my notes into one file, but…it’s going to take a little while longer for me fill in some of the gaps I had left in my research.” “Take all the time you need, Winston, we’re not in any rush,” you say. “‘Cause I bet you got all the time in the world, huh?” Lena says with a chuckle, “A little time travel humor for you, since we’re all time travelers now.” Mei laughs and Snowball chimes happily. “But that means I get more time to chat,” Lena says taking a seat and placing her hands under her chin, “So where are you from? I’m from England obviously,” Lena says patting an English flag patch stitched to the shoulder of her Overwatch uniform. “I’m Chinese,” Mei says. “Ooh nice, and what’s your specialty?” Lena asks. “I’m a climatologist,” Mei answers. “Oh, so a scientist like Winston here,” Lena says turning in her chair to look at him. Winston smiles back at the two of them. You watch them talk for a few moments the past version of Lena already becoming fast friends with her future friend, to no one’s surprise, and that’s when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You look back at Cole behind you and he points his thumb in the direction of the door. “Mind if I have a word in private?” Cole asks quietly. You glance back over at the group with Winston busy at his computer and Lena and Mei engaged in conversation with Snowball floating nearby paying close attention. Now that Lena has focused her curiosity towards Mei instead of her future self you don’t think you’re in any more danger of big secrets getting revealed like the fall of Overwatch.

So you turn back to Cole and nod. Cole walks over to the door and opens it for you and you step through first. You walk out into the hall as Cole closes the door gently. You start to turn around when Cole suddenly throws out his right arm to and it hits the wall firmly, effectively pinning you in. He then leans closer to you so that you can now feel his hot breath on your lips and the soft fabric of his t-shirt brush against you. Staring down at his lips for a moment as they’re slightly parted you can see a smile form on his face. Your eyes slowly drift up Cole’s face as you smile back at him. His eyes regard you for another moment before he quirks a brow, “You didn’t even flinch….I’ve done this before….” he breathes, “Haven’t I?” You bite your lip, “Easy there, Cowboy,” you tease. Cole points at you with his left hand, “And that? What you just said, just now? I’m pretty sure you’ve said that before too.” You open your mouth slightly as you try to come up with a response. He’s right of course, but you can’t tell him that. Cole leans back a little, tilting his head as his brown eyes study you, “So…to pick back up where we left off on our earlier conversation…we know each other in the future and intimately from what I’ve gathered…” he trails off as his fingers lightly drift across your chin and then down your neck. You can’t help the involuntary shudder that passes through your body at his touch, and Cole seems to enjoy it, but you quickly realize it’s not what he’s after when you feel his index finger slip under your collar and give a gentle tug to your necklace. A small gasp leaves your lips as Cole carefully and slowly pulls out the chain holding your wedding ring. He’s quiet as he stares at it, turning it over in between his thumb and index finger. “Cole I-“ you begin and stop when you see him notice the engraving. A custom engraving which consists of a little lasso bordering the words, “Let’s ride off into the sunset together.” You meet Cole’s eyes as he slowly lifts them to yours, and you can see the realization wash over him. He opens his mouth and shakes his head slightly, “You’re…my wife?” he asks softly. There’s no point in hiding it now, so you simply nod, “Yeah, Cole, I am.” He drops your ring to let it fall back against your chest as he cups your face in both of his hands a huge, yet tentative smile now gracing his lips, and he laughs breathlessly, “Of course! It makes perfect sense!” A little confused you place your hands over his and shake your head a little, “What does?” Cole tilts his head and grins, “Darlin’, you do…the way you smile at me, the way you look at me, the way you talk to me I….Sweetheart, no one has ever looked at me with so much love in their eyes the way you do,” he says with a dreamy sigh, “You couldn’t have been anyone else.” “Cole…” you whisper as you look deeply into your future husband’s eyes. Cole laughs a little, “See?” he asks now caught up in how you’re looking at him. You tighten your grip on his hands and feel the fabric of his gloves against your skin and a thought occurs to you, “Can you take off your gloves?” you ask gently. “Oh, ‘course,” Cole says as his hands leave your face and he hurriedly removes them. Cole stuffs the gloves into one of his pockets haphazardly and then places his palms back against your cheeks. You smile happily and close your eyes and relish the feeling as he strokes your skin softly with his thumbs. His palms are calloused, but surprisingly gentle as he cradles your face reverently. You had met Cole after his Blackwatch days of course and after he had already lost his left arm, so you’ve never felt his left palm before. And Cole had always lamented on how he wished he could cradle your face in both of his hands, to get to feel every curve of your face at once. He’s memorized the planes of your face and your body after all your time spent together over the years, but still This was something he could never have. You don’t know if your husband will remember it or not, but at least you could give one Cole this…this moment. You open your eyes finally as you feel Cole’s forehead lean against yours and as you shift your head upwards he pulls back at the movement, seemingly also having been lost in the moment. He smiles at you and then leans forwards and presses a kiss to your forehead, before exhaling and pulling back entirely, a bright smile still plastered on his lips. “Honey, you have no idea how happy I am to meet you, I thought that…that I would never get to settle down or fall in love and…I mean especially with everything going on these days and I…” he stops to shake his head as he continues to smile at you, “You’re just that little bit of hope I was lookin’ for.” You smile at Cole as you feel your eyes start to get watery, “I can’t promise you that things won’t be tough in the future and that there won’t be bad things-“ “Shhh,” Cole soothes stroking your cheeks with his thumbs, “If you know me, then you know that I’ve been through my fair share already, but just knowing that you’re gonna be there on the other side of all that waiting for me? That’s all I need to keep going.” You let out a wet chuckle as you try to stop the tears. Cole smiles softly at you, “C’mere, Honey.” And with that you fall forwards into his arms. Cole holds you for a little while before letting you go, albeit a little reluctantly before drying your tears, it’s then that you can see a few tears had formed in his own eyes. “You know I have half a mind not to let you go back,” Cole says jokingly. “Cole,” you scold playfully. He chuckles, “I know, I know. But I couldn’t do that to you, you belong in your future with future me, the lucky bastard.” “Hey, that’s my husband you’re talking about,” you tease. Cole laughs. You smile at him and then bite your lip, “And with little, Sweetpea, of course.” “And with little-“ Cole begins and then stares at you with wide eyes. You smile more. “We? We have a kid together?” Cole asks. You give him a small nod. Cole then scoops you up into his arms, lifting you clean off the floor in his excitement, you squeeze him back as your feet dangle in the air. He then sets you back down on your feet with a laugh and wipes at his eyes, “Future’s just lookin’ brighter and brighter, boy or girl?” You place your index finger over your lips, “I can’t tell you that.” “Aw, not even a little bit?” Cole asks. “No,” you laugh, “I’ve already said too much.” “Alright, can’t blame me for trying though,” Cole says before holding out his hand for you, “Come on, let’s see if Winston’s done with that blueprint.” You take his left hand in yours and follow him back into Winston’s lab.

Cole quietly opens the door a crack and peeks back into the room. As the sounds of Lena’s and Mei’s conversation drifts out into the hall, Cole opens the door further and creeps back into the room. He then waves at you for you to follow. You step back into Winston’s lab and Cole doubles back to shut the door again while you rejoin Mei by standing near the table. “So then I said, ‘They don’t call me an Ace for nothin’!’” Lena laughs, followed by Mei’s own giggles. Winston looks up at you and Cole, “Ah, there you two are! I’ve finished filling in my notes and I downloaded everything onto this,” he says holding up a small device, “You still use Class C, ES chips in the future, right?” Winston asks with a raised brow. You smile at him, “Of course,” you say taking the offered data chip from him and tucking it into your jacket pocket still hanging on your chair for safekeeping. “So where did you two run off to, eh?” Lena asks leaning her elbows on the table. “Just stepped outside for a minute s’all,” Cole answers for you. For which you’re grateful because you were about to lie and say the bathroom, and with Cole obviously in tow that would have sounded very awkward. “Oh? Busy flirting, Cole?” Lena accuses. Cole’s face flushes and he dips his head, “I…Mmm,” he grumbles. You smile and cover your mouth with your hand trying not to laugh. Lena continues to smile at the embarrassed cowboy and then she fixes her gaze on you, “Oh come on, it’s so obvious he’s crushing on you. And I’ve never seen him quite like this before.” “Cole was nothing but a gentleman,” you say in his defense. “Oh, I’m not saying that,” Lena says holding her hands up, “Just that he wanted a private chat with you was all. Did he strike out?” Cole clears his throat, “No, I most certainly did not! And now that the whole room knows about it, it turns out it wasn’t much of a private chat now was it?” he demands glaring accusingly at Lena. Mei covers her mouth and giggles. “Heh heh, sorry!” Lena apologizes rubbing the back of her head, “It’s just I’ve never seen you this smitten before, it’s so sweet!” You stare lovingly at Cole and are amused at how flustered he is. Lena looks over to you and gasps and then covers her mouth before she says anything else. “What?!” Cole exclaims startled by her reaction. “Nothing!” Lena claims innocently, “Just that I know something you don’t know!” Cole glances back to you and gives you a knowing smirk before shooting Lena a feigned confused look, “And what might that be?” Lena shakes her head and then mimes a zipper being closed over her mouth, “I Can’t tell you!” she sing songs. Cole shakes his head and chuckles. “Well, we’d better get going,” you announce, “We are on a mission after all,” you say retrieving your jacket and draping it back over your shoulders. “Aww!” Lena pouts. “Ah, of course! I understand, spending too much time in the past could be dangerous,” Winston says pushing up his glasses, “And future Overwatch needs this intel.” “It’s too soon! I was hoping we’d get more time to chat,” Lena says her shoulders drooping. “Don’t worry we will,” you say. “Yeah! We’ll see you soon!” Mei answers happily standing up from her chair. “Oh, true!” Lena laughs, “Although not soon enough for me! Here at least let me give you a goodbye hug?” Cole glances over to you a soft smile on his face, “Yeah, not soon enough,” Cole whispers to you. You smile back at him. Lena gets up and hugs Mei first and then you, “Since you’re my friends from the future then you Know how much of a hugger I am!” “Oh we know,” you laugh. You step towards Winston next and hug him goodbye. “Oh,” he mutters in surprise, but gladly returns the hug. Finally Mei hugs Winston and then you look to young Lena and Winston, “Thank you so much for all your help.” “Anytime,” Winston says and then his eyes widen in realization, “Haha accidental time joke?” Lena bursts out laughing, “Yeah! Anytime!” The rest of you join them in laughter before saying your final goodbyes and then Cole escorts you back down the series of hallways you came from as the door to Winston’s lab closes and then bolts shut behind you.

You continue down the halls that will lead you back to the hangar where your plane the Slipstream 3 resides, but before you can leave the lab area of the facility a door opens up in front of you to the left and a tall, lanky figure in a lab coat steps out. You still in your tracks as your blood suddenly runs cold and your heart starts pounding in your chest. You knew that there was a chance you could run into former Overwatch members on this mission, but this was one person you were hoping to avoid at all costs. Her gaze remains fixed on the paperwork in her hands as her long nails rapidly tap away at the little blue screen, a sly smile creeping it’s way onto her visage as she continues to loom in the hallway in front of you. Cole manages to take a handful of steps forward before he notices your sudden absence to his left and turns back to stare at you behind him. You can see his mouth open slightly and his eyes narrow at you before he turns his head to glance back at the scientist in front of you. Moira finishes her tapping and looks up as she closes it out to find the three of you standing there. Her dual colored eyes scan over each of you and land on the only face that This Moira should recognize, “Ah, Agent Cassidy, to what do I owe this…unexpected visit?” “Just showing these scientists around,” Cole says hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “Oh? I would have thought that sort of thing a bit below your pay-grade, and what exactly is their field of expertise?” Moira asks her eyes scanning you and Mei and then fixing on you. You try to steel your expression as best you can, but you can still feel her icy blue eye piercing through you like a needle. Mei glances back at you, “We’re Climatologists,” she announces placing a hand on your shoulder and covering for you. Luckily you and Mei had already zipped your jackets back up to cover your Chronal Accelerators again after leaving the safety of Winston’s lab, so Mei’s lie for you isn’t as blatant and leaves no real reason to disbelieve any of you. You also only just now notice that Snowball is tucked away in Mei’s canister on her back and not free-floating like before. “Hmm,” Moira ponders removing her gaze from you finally to stare up at the ceiling. But you’re reminded that this Is Moira and she likes to poke holes in everything, Often just for the fun of it. You have to try to suppress an involuntary shiver at the thought. “Curious what Overwatch would need with a couple of glorified weather reporters,” she muses. “Now, Moira, play nice,” Cole warns taking a cigar out of one of his pockets and placing it between his teeth. Which gains Moira’s attention and ire as her lip curls up in disgust, “You’d better not be thinking of lighting that thing in here.” “What?” Cole smirks his voice muffled slightly from the cigar, “This old thing?” he asks taking it out briefly to gesture with it, “Was just headed out for my smoke break.” Moira is clearly not amused, if her pursed lips and narrowed eyes are anything to go by. Cole steps backwards to you and takes your left hand in his right and tugs you toward his right side, effectively putting himself between you and Moira. But his hand in yours actually brings her attention back to you and she arches her brow, “Is this your little girlfriend?” she asks cooly towering over you, “Didn’t think you’d ever find one of those, Cassidy, what with that empty head of yours.” Cole chews on his cigar as he repositions it to the corner of his mouth and narrows his eyes at her. You know that sometimes Cole will keep an unlit cigar in his mouth as a way to calm his nerves and keep from grinding his teeth. And you also know that no one makes him grind his teeth more than Moira. “At least I don’t drink piss and vinegar instead of coffee in the mornings like you, Moira,” Cole quips back with a smile. The immediate frown on Moira’s face is almost comical, at least it would be if you weren’t still terrified of her. “Such colorful, backwater language that I’ve come to expect from you, Cowboy,” Moira says. You know what Cole’s doing, he’s trying to keep Moira’s full attention on himself so that she won’t scrutinize or criticize you and Mei. But you also still really want to leave, being in Moira’s presence is making you sick to your stomach. And besides, from what your husband has told you he had a lot less patience in his Blackwatch days than he does now and you can tell from the glint in Moira’s eyes that she’s waiting for him to crack. You tug on Cole’s hand subtly and he squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Well, I’ll let you get back to whatever it is that you science types brew up in your little cauldrons-I mean labs,” Cole says tipping his hat down with his left hand. Moira grumbles and looks like she’s about to say something else, but Cole cuts her off, “Can’t just stand out here in the hall gawking at your colleagues, there’s work to be done around here.” Moira’s eyes dart to the floor, “Yes, there is More important work for me to be doing,” she says thoughtfully and more to herself, “Good day, Agent, and Congratulations on actually managing to fool someone into dating you. Enjoy it while it lasts,” she says walking down the hall past you. The three of you continue walking again and you carefully look over your shoulder to find that Moira is gone. You breath a small sigh of relief and try to stop the shaking in your hands. “Are you okay?” Mei asks and Snowball peeks back out of Mei’s canister with a sad beep. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you answer quickly. You look up to find Cole staring down at you and then you glance down at his hand to realize that he’s still holding yours. “I know Moira can be a bit much,” Cole begins, drawing your eyes back up to him, “Personally, she always gives me the creeps.” He has no idea. You huff out a quiet laugh. Cole looks back down at you, “She really spooked you though,” he whispers. You glance over to Mei and she shakes her head, but then she picks up her pace to walk a little further ahead of you two, just enough to give you both some space. You know you can’t tell Cole the real reason for why Moira scares you so much. If he knew there’s no telling what he’d do to your abductor, he’d probably try to kill her honestly. But you can’t change the past, not even yours, you can only change the future. You meet Cole’s gaze again. “You want to talk about it?” Cole asks quietly. “You know I can’t,” you admit. There’s a touch of pain behind Cole’s eyes and he bites down on the cigar still in his mouth. A moment of silence passes between you as you walk down the halls together, the only sounds the soft hum of your Chronal Accelerator, and your’s and his boots clunking against the metal floors. “Promise me that you’ll at least talk to future me about it when you get back?” Cole asks. You’re caught off guard by his request and you look back up at him in surprise. “Whatever it is that I Can’t know about, I know you wouldn’t have kept from him. And I also know that he’d do anything for you, so promise me you’ll tell him? In case…I don’t remember,” Cole continues. You nod, “I will,” you promise. Cole sighs and offers you a small smile. You smile back at him. Moira may have accused Cole of being empty headed, and while he may not be a genius scientist like many of your friends in Overwatch, he’s always been very perceptive. And for a self-proclaimed genius scientist like Moira, she continuously underestimates him and actually played right into his hands when he started throwing insults at her. So much so that she began to ignore you and Mei in favor of winning the argument And getting the last word in. Cole was even willing to let her get under his skin a little if it meant protecting you from her scrutiny.

Soon enough the three of you reach the hangar and Cole takes the cigar from his mouth and stuffs it back into his pocket. And you notice that he’s almost bitten it in half from worrying it between his teeth, and now you’re really glad you decided against telling him the truth about Moira. He can and will be rightfully angry about it later, but now’s not the time, not when he still has to work with her within Blackwatch. And some of his most dangerous missions still lie ahead of him. Cole busies himself with scanning the hangar from the sidelines, and you glance around as well, and aside from your plane the Slipstream 3 there’s only one other plane. The crew from the hangar is busy with unloading the cargo from this plane, which clearly had arrived to the base after you, and as you study it…you realize that it’s the Actual Plane who’s callsign you had co-opted. “Ah, there they are,” Cole says beside you. You follow his gaze and spot Commanders Morrison and Reyes approaching you. “Well, that was fast,” Reyes notes. And you realize that he’s staring down at your’s and Cole’s joined hands. You let go of Cole’s hand and Cole loops his thumbs through his belt loops. “Get the blueprint you needed?” Jack asks. “Yep,” you say procuring the data chip from your pocket and holding it up for him to see. “Good,” Jack says, “We’ll clear you for takeoff in just a few more minutes,” he says looking over your shoulder at the plane that’s almost finished being unloaded. You put the chip back into your pocket. While you’re waiting for the other plane Cole pipes up, “You’ll never guess what happened, Miss Oxton instantly recognized them as being from the future.” “Of course she did,” Reyes groans in annoyance, his shoulders sagging. “You know maybe we should have called Lena in when we were interrogating them, Gabe,” Jack suggests. Reyes sighs and rubs his fingers between his brows. Jack has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face and Reyes just looks like he can’t wait for this crazy day to end. You lower the ramp to the plane once everything is cleared away. “See you all soon!” Mei chimes happily waving to the group, Snowball chimes in with a few beeps as well, “Snowball also says goodbye!” “Who’s Snowball?” Reyes questions with his hand in the air as Mei boards the plane. Cole surprises you by taking one of your hands in his left, “I’ll see you soon, Sweetheart.” “See you soon, Cowboy,” you say as you step backwards onto the ramp and the two of you keep your hands outstretched until only your fingertips touch and then your hand falls limp to your side. “Good luck out there, Overwatch,” Jack says with a salute. “Thanks,” you say mimicking his salute and with that you board the plane.

*******

“Preparing to jump in three..two…-“ she says and then the radio crackles and fills with static, and then a few moments pass where no one says anything else. “I guess it worked,” Jack says as he checks in with the radio tower operators in front of him. “So what was that all about?” Gabe asks Cole. Cole looks up at his boss, “Huh?” “You know, that whole hand holding, ‘Oh now we’re stepping apart as we stare wistfully into each other’s eyes’ bit,” Gabe explains. “Oh that?” Cole asks. “Yeah, That,” Gabe says. Cole smiles wide and looks out the window at the blue, open skies as he takes off his hat and places it over his heart, “That was My Wife.”

#cole cassidy #cole cassidy x reader #overwatch

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