#thinking that simon was the only one who could understand how she felt and that's why he needed to be back

[softaestluv]

Guard Dogs

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor! Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, & Pt. 5 (final part!)

This chapter will contain smut! 18+ content!

Tags: Smut, Cunnilingus, oral, vaginal fingering, creampie

Summary: You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Ghost used to believe he favored winter more than summer, despised sweltering days when sweat trickled from his mask. Gathered wet pools in his collarbone, dried sticky on his skin. At least during winter he could blame the cold in his home on the weather rather than the loneliness.

But now he isn’t entirely sure, not when he knows your warmth, makes the cold almost tenfold without you.

He decides it may just be when it brings you to his doorstep, rainstorm rumbling behind your standing figure. He lets you in despite running away from your home less than a week ago. Doesn’t let his pretty bird stand in the storm for long.

“My power went out, it’s dark and cold over there,” You explain, swiping your tongue over bitten dry lips, “Is it okay if I stay here until morning? I didn’t know where else to go.”

His girl was scared was she? Came to him for rescue.

Almost snickers at the irony, came to his home, the same walls he only felt alone and frigid in. Yet you stand at his doorstep, seeking refuge like he could provide you with the same warmth and comfort your home does, that you do.

So, he sets a kettle of tea for the both of you. Joining him quietly in the kitchen, leaning against the opposite side of the counter he is. He keeps his eyes on the stove, doesn’t exactly plan to fill the awkward tension with anything more than the boiling water. Small talk wasn’t his strong-suit, and he definitely didn’t want an explanation from you.

Why would he need one? The two of you were nothing but neighbors, friends if that.

However, the silence seems to bother you; he knows it does when you speak up, “How are you?”

“Been fine,” He huffs, handing a steaming cup of tea to you.

And because he doesn’t want to know how you and your new boyfriend have been he doesn’t ask.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” Give him a tight smile in return.

The room becomes silent again, the sound of both of you drinking tea fill the kitchen. Even after the both of you are done drinking, no words are said, gazes avoided as the light tapping of your fingernails against the glass replaces the slurping, loud even between the pitter of the rain outside.

“Don’t you get it?” You finally ask, laughing remorsefully under your breath, continue once he tilts his head at you, “It’s you.”

He still doesn’t understand what you mean, brows furrowing together under his mask.

You sigh, “There’s no one else, I don’t have a boyfriend. I was talking about you, Simon.”

“What are you talking ‘bout?”

“You’re who I have waiting for me at home. You’re who I want to spend time with. Who I want to come home to. Well I don’t mean it like you’re sitting waiting around for me, it’s just,” You begin to ramble, trying to explain your emotions while your face warms, turns the pretty pink he has grown to love.

The rest of your words don’t matter to him, his balaclava is forgotten on the floor, insignificant. A stupid barrier between him and his bird. Breaks the distance between the two of you in two quick strides. Has you hoisted on his kitchen counter in a second, lips stamped to yours. Your words swallowed down between his lips, dissolved into a muffled yelp.

It’s intense, cups his palms around your jaw so tightly you can’t even think about pulling away from him, but you kiss back with the same intensity. Makes his head spin at the sheer way you reciprocate, doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this before. Like your life depends on it. As if you intended to take the breathe from his lungs, trying to portray your emotions through your lips.

The past months poured out of his chest and into your pretty mouth, but your own desires fill his chest, leave him impossibly warm and full. The pain of just looking, watching for so long without being able to touch or taste had him digging shallow indents into your skin, didn’t want to let go. Though you don’t seem to mind his strong hold, only cling to him in turn, curling your arms around his neck. Trying to pull him closer as if your proximity wasn’t nearly enough.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He rasps against your lips, hot air blowing over your cheeks.

“Thought I was making it pretty clear,” You chuckle lightly, “Figured you didn’t want me like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Simon says, “You don’t get it.”

Presses his lips against yours again, even if he has more he wants to say. Doesn’t exactly know how to balance pouring his heart out to you and sealing your mouths as one. So, he tries to do both, breathing hushed words between kisses.

“Thought it was too good to be true. You don’t get it,” He repeats, because, really, he thinks you don’t understand.

Don’t understand that he thinks you’re too good for him. That it doesn’t make any sense that someone like you would want someone like him. Broken and damaged when you were anything but.

Accepted what you were willing to give him without pressing for more, even if he wanted to fuse himself with every dimple and blemish on your body. He almost doesn’t believe it. It’s not what he deserves, some educated man should be in his spot. A man that isn’t tainted in filth and blood.

A better man.

And yet, you kiss him like he is the only who deserves you. Look up at him like he hung the fucking stars. He would— if he could, string them bright and twinkly above your pretty head.

Doesn’t think you truly understood how much his fingertips ached everytime he forced them to clench onto something other than your soft body. How hard he had to dig his teeth into his knuckles when he climbed into bed after he shared dinner with you. Stomach still full, pretty voice still ringing in his ears, cock heavy in his palms.

“You’re all I wanted,” He confesses, “Wanted to come home to you every day.”

Don’t understand that he never wanted anything more.

“And what if I did have a boyfriend?” You ask, “Would you just let me go that easily?”

Can’t help the way he holds you a little tighter. Something possessive burns in his throat now that he knows the taste of your lips.

“Don’t wanna think ‘bout that. Doesn’t matter anymore. I have you now, don’t I?” He grunts against your neck, breath warm on your skin, “Riley and I were yours, always. Tried to show you that.”

Your next words— if you can call them that, are nothing more than breathless quakes. Make his cock throb painfully in his pants; you’ve been nothing, but sensible, sophisticated, but now you sound so frail, impatient.

“Show me then, Simon.”

The way your gaze sharpens is cue enough for him, doesn’t need to be told twice. Won’t miss another opportunity or wait another second to make you his. He wasn’t exactly eloquent, couldn’t express what he wanted with his words. Opts to use his roughened hands the only way he knows how.

Takes your plump thighs into his hold because as much as he’d like to bend you over his kitchen counter, lap at your pussy like all the endless pies you’ve made him, he’d much rather prove he could satisfy you in his bedroom. Fuck you wet and sticky into his mattress.

It’s a mess of limbs, stumbling down the hall as you plea his lips not to leave yours for more than a second. He almost stops at his couch, bumping clumsy into it on his venture, but he decides splitting you in two over the arm would be for another day.

The kiss turns lewd as he carries you, smacking lips messily, saliva sloppily smeared against tongues and roofs of mouths, teeth knocking together. Though it doesn’t deter you, only slot your lips against his more earnestly. Barely manages to drop you onto his bed before you’re pawing at him to join you.

Yanks your clothes off like they personally offended him, feet and arms getting stuck in the tangles of clothes. His own follow soon at your sweet request, both of you stripped to your underwear.

It’s almost impossible to keep his hands on just one part of your body. Probably spends entirely too long palming your round breasts, pinching your pert nipples, kneads the doughy meat of your sides and hips. Large hands everywhere and nowhere at once, like he needed to touch every inch of your body, wasn’t enough until he did. Hypnotized by the way your supple flesh spills between his fingers, how you arch into his touch with breathy whines.

It’s overwhelming being able to touch you however he pleases after holding back for so long. Makes his touch that much more firm, calloused and scarred fingers scratching your smooth skin. Can’t fucking decide what he wants to do first because he wants to do all of it.

But when he descends between your body, peeling your underwear off so you lay bare for him, and his eyes land on your pussy, soaked and pretty for him, he loses all reason.

He spreads your thighs wide, must be hovering close, feel his hot breath on your wet cunt because you whimper a quiet ‘oh Simon, please.’

And because he can’t deny his girl of anything, especially when you ask so sweetly, his tongue swipes between your folds, dragging slowly to your clit. Something carnal washes over him as he repeats the motions like he’s pussy-drunk, intoxicated by the pretty noises you let slip past your lips.

Surprises himself when he groans deep and beastly against your sensitive flesh. Hadn’t even realized he had been making noises between each wet lap and harsh suck. Too inebriated by your arousal, melting on his tongue smoother than any plate you’ve placed in front of him.

Spreads your glistening cunt open between his thumbs, burying your face into the pillows from the way he openly examines you. Breaking you down and peeling you apart under his intense stare. He doesn’t mind too much, not when he drags a finger between your folds, dipping the full length into you. Causes you to snap your head forward, give him such a pretty moan when he plunges a second finger in. Spongy walls popping around his thick digits, slowly works you stretched and opened. Until he could comfortably burrow to the knuckle with each stroke.

Deliberately kept it slow, drawing out each glide so only his fingertips remained. Took his time breaking through your wet entrance, enjoyed the desperate little mewls you released above him too much to give you anything more. Strong and deft hands bring his pure girl ecstasy, gentle despite the way he’s used them to hurt others.

Wasn’t pleased until your thighs began to tremble either side of his head, hoists them on his shoulders to settle them. Smushed his face against the fat of your thigh, decorated the skin in his lips and teeth.

“More, more mmph— Simon, please.”

Can’t hide the smile that breaks across his lips, pressed teeth to your thigh from the way you whimpered his name. Sounded so pretty coming from your lips, begged so sweetly for him. He rewards you, wraps the cushion of his lips around your swollen clit and smothers his tongue over the bead in calculated strokes.

Your hips buck away from his stimulation, loud cry muffled against the sheets when he suctions the bead. A firm arm bands around your waist, holds you down to take it, wouldn’t let you escape his grasp that easy. Doesn’t stop until you finish on his tongue and around his fingers, hiccuping on your breaths as you stiffen. Your palm wrapped tightly around his wrist on your hip, dig indents into his flesh as he works you steady through it. Slick gathering in his palm and between his knuckles.

He rests between your thighs a little longer, not quite trying to overstimulate you, but rather staining your taste in his throat. Both of you basking in your orgasm.

When he crawls on top of you, you blink lazily at him, half-lidded and dilated. Swipe your thumb across his chin to wipe your collected slick off. He doesn’t let you move far, chases after your thumb and sucks it clean, makes you inhale a sharp breath through your teeth. Kisses the pad gently when he’s done, trails soft pecks down your palm and arm, over your shoulder to your chin. Stops when he reaches your lips, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb.

“Wanted to know how you tasted for so long,” He murmurs, lips brushing against yours with each word.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck, scratching at the short blonde hair, “Thought about you every night after dinner. Kept hoping you would just eat me instead.”

Simon’s eyes flutter, exhaling through his nose like a bull, “Was so hard to keep my hands to myself, you know that, sweetheart? Especially when you look like this.”

Emphasizes his words by squishing the plush of your hips, “Couldn’t stand thinking you were in some other blokes bed.”

Hooks his hand under your knee, pushing it higher slightly, adjusting his own hips between your legs. You’re soft and pliant, just how he imagined his girl would be, let him bend you how he sees fit.

“But you weren’t, were you?” He hums, “Just perfect and proper for me like always, huh?”

Nudges the bulb of his cockhead along your swollen folds, catching on your welcoming entrance.

You nod your head weakly, “Yes, Simon, only you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as he pushes forward. Puffy walls splitting open for him, stretch for his girth, slick aiding in the glide. Feels you dig your fingers into his shoulders, hears your breaths stutter in your throat. Purrs gentle praises into your ear to ease the thick stretch.

His pretty bird was such a good girl, wasn’t she? You can take it, knows you can.

Bottoms out in your pussy, gives you a minute to adjust before you’re slurring pleas against his neck. ‘Oh, Simon, s-so big. Feel so good, oh fuc- please move? Please, Simon?’

So he does, can’t hold back when you sound like that. Give you anything you ask for.

Grinds his hips shallow and slow, makes a steady pace of it. Tangles your legs around his hips, locking them at his back, keeps the two of you pressed together. Broad chest smashed against your smaller one, impossible to move far from your aching cunt. His strokes are languid, gentle. Softer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t intend to fuck the sensation away with hurried and inept thrusts.

He wants to remember how every ridge in your pussy feels, memorize and store each shuddered breath and strained moan you give him. Needs you to feel cherished, the way your warmth has made him feel for months. Wants you to feel each inch of him, molding your walls into his shape until it’s all you ever knew.

You seem to agree, only squeeze your legs tighter around him as if to keep him tucked to your cervix. Though it’s not like he could even imagine pulling away from your searing flesh, plans to keep himself buried inside your pussy for as long as he can.

It’s intimate, almost too tender, but not nearly enough at the same time. As if the way you cling desperately to him, keep him pressed skin to skin doesn’t appease your ache. Like the way his entire shaft finds a home in your pretty cunt isn’t close enough. Decides to intertwine the both of your fingers together, pulls you from his neck so he can rest his forehead against yours.

But your eyes flutter shut, brows furrowing together with each determined stroke. Kiss swollen lips caressing his with each mewl, joins the obscene noises in the room. A mixture of squelches and whined ‘Simon!‘

“What’s t’matter baby?” He coos, wipes the sweat-slicked hair on your temples, “Tell me, huh?”

“Simon, nmmf—oh god. Right there, please right there. Please, don’t stop.” You beg.

He doesn’t.

Fucks you through it, balls sticky with your slick.

“Yeah?” He hums, “Right there, baby? Liked that?”

Your voice cracks over a high-pitched moan, can’t answer with a full sentence when his fat cock plunges deep, rakes against the spongy flesh that has your toes curling and back arching. Watches as you unravel on his length, walls clinging to him after each drag. Mouth slacked when three fingers find your clit. Swipe steady strokes in tandem with his thrusts.

You finished just like that, wrapped around his cock, walls clenching painfully tight, spamming and twitching with each pulse. White froth gathering at the base of his cock.

“That’s it, there we go,” He praises, “My pretty fucking girl.”

Doesn’t even care how he sounds or really, think about the words spilling from his lips.

“So good for me, yeah? She takes me so well,” He continues, talks you through your orgasm, words slurred, “Such a good girl. My sweet girl. Gonna make you all mine.”

You nod frantically babble for him to. Tell him you want nothing more than to be his. And he has every intention to, buries himself to your cervix and paints you as his.

It takes him a moment, bodies still conjoined between your legs even though he went soft long ago. Fingers still intertwined beside your pretty head, basking in your warmth and sweet kisses. Separating is difficult, but the moisture begins to dry tacky on your skin, sticky between your thighs. Becomes uncomfortable, so the two of you take a shower, wash each other clean.

Pride beats his ego when he has to keep an arm around you. Standing under the water, legs numb beneath you. And because you’re too sweet for him, you scratch his scalp while he holds you close. Mollifies under your touch, water drenched kisses shared between quiet giggles.

You return to the bed with him once again. Pulls your bare skin flush against his, tucks your head under his chin, arms banding your hips. Holds you tight through the night, possessive and protective. Doesn’t plan to ever let go. Not when his terribly cold bed melts warm in your presence. Sheets encased in your heat, stinging his fingertips and toes. It’s almost too hot, palms clammy against your pretty skin, but he doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t care that sweat beads at his back when this is the closest his bed has felt like a bed and not a mattress with coiled springs and worn duvets. The most his house has felt like a home instead of four walls of brick and drywall.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, not when he wants to savor the moment for as long as he can, but your warmth lulls his eyes heavy and tired.

When the morning comes, he thinks it might be a sweet dream— a rare occurrence in his mind. But there you lay, fast asleep in his arms still. He can’t keep his hands to himself when he sees you. Meaty paws trace your figure, pushes the blanket low so he could get a pretty view of your smooth skin.

His touch rouses you, shifting in his arms to turn your backside to him. Mumble a groggy morning to him, muffled against his pillows.

You’re even more malleable than last night, lift your leg so sweetly for him when his hand descends between your thighs because he thinks he might be addicted to you. Whimper quietly into the sheets when he slides home, fucks you lazy and slow. Little more than sex, just wants to relish in your warmth.

Gets to experience one of the lazy Sundays he always watched you take from afar, except now he’s participating. Glass barrier nonexistent, not when you’re in his bed, whining his name against his lips.

Shatters it for him, makes his house a home.

The weekend ends too soon, isn’t ready to leave your cocoon quite yet, but you wake up beside him when Monday morning comes. Ask if him and Riley are going to join you on your run.

They do.

He was sure Riley wouldn’t want anything more.

Leaving each other for work proves difficult, almost stays so he could remain in your contented warmth. He doesn’t, bleeds the taste of your lips in his mouth instead.

And when he does return home, he returns to you and Riley. Greet him with a pretty smile just like you always do, place a plate of fresh food in front of him. Eat dinner together, like you two always used to, Riley snuggled on your couch, but now instead of walking across the street, he stays.

Thank you so much for all the likes/reblogs/comments! I’m so happy you guys enjoyed it as much as I have! 🍒💌❤️

Cross posted on my Ao3 here, as well as all my other fics!

Tag list: @ttznlettt @rainschnael @rockinraccoons @crypticenbug @c1garette-nightmares @keepghostly @l3thal-l0lita @terrifiedanimegirl @migueloharacumslut @tine1603 @whoisteona

[thewriterg]

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰

pairing(s); simon riley x fem!reader, reader x toxic family

summary; You tried to keep it together to keep him away from it to not get attached but it only take one situation for you to come crumbling down reaching out to simon for comfort —angstober day;14—

word count; 900+

warning(s); age gap, sweetheart is her/your own warning, thinking college student reader so like early twenties and simon is about mid to late forties, arguments, crying, angst, kisses, pet names, mention of violence, simon abt to risk it all, and language

playlist; nothings new by rio romeo

A/n:—GIFs; @astrolux111 & @silenthqll— GIF does not determine race

Simon was up it didn’t take much to wake him and when he heard the footsteps approaching his flat front door he was up the handgun from his scratched wooden nightstand that he’d bought off some older man who he was sure had passed to the unknown by now

The rough knocks on his door frame were demanding and rushed as if the person behind the wood was on time crunch he approached the door the firearm clutched in his hand his finger taking no time to rest on the trigger his hand was on the nob before he swung the door open his eyebrows furrowing not expecting to see what was in his line of sight

Your eyes were red and puffy tear streaks stringing your face your hair out of place as well as your shifted clothes Simon swiftly setting down his defense on standing table next to his door grabbing your arm to bring you into the shelter of his home he checks over your body to find nothing alarming but the soaking wet clothes clinging to your body

“S-simon” Is all you can get out as your body racked with sobs you shoulders hunched and he wraps an arm around you littered with tattoos your face hidden in his chest covered by the cotton tshirt that was a little small on him your cold wet clothes transferring onto his as shushes you slowly moving you into his bedroom sitting you on his mattress slipping your drenched shirt over your head as you sniffle your head throbbing from the continuous tears and energy spent you didn’t realize you were dressed in dry attire until you were getting picked up and suddenly the weighed down fabric wasn’t overwhelming you anymore your legs wraps around the blondes torso lying your head on his shoulder you body still shivering as you felt yourself dip onto his worn mattress rubbing his hands down your goosebump covered arms

“Come on love what’s the matter with my sweet girl, hmm? Tell Si what’s the matter” Something triggers in you causing more streams of tears to fall down your face and you try to speak choking out incoherent words and sniffles simon rubs a hand over your hair pressing a kiss your forehead his brain screaming at him to to go punch the nearest punk out on the street because there has to be something, something major to keep you acting this way

“I don’t want you to leave me” You body wracks you chest feels like it’s gonna cave any minute you feel like your airway you’ll be cut off and your sound will be free from your body

“Sweetheart it’s gonna take more than a few tears to get rid of me, matter of fact you won’t be able to you understand?” You nod your head before your spewing everything weighing your chest down to the floor about you family and how they make you feel more down then you’d ever been without meaning to the situation I particular causing your weaker construction to tip over and collapse your siblings couldn’t keep their hands out of your things and this time it had did it you’d been saving for a new laptop for class it cost more than you liked to admit and your sister god you loved her but she was at the age where she couldn’t keep her hands off of thing your things to be exact and long story short your laptop was broken in your sisters hands you berated her scolded her it was the least you could do for the trouble she caused you

When your parents arrived home you expected them to finish the job rip your sister a new one she ran into your father arms rambling of how mean and what a monster you are and even after you told your parents about what she had done she’s barely get a slap on the wrist you were older you shouldn’t yell at the younger ones defending your honor and standing your ground got you yelled at a stinging mark on your cheek

“My h-head hurts” You whimpered after a moment of silence and it was true you didn’t know how long you’ve been crying for and your head felt like it was going to explode Simon sets you down on the mattress briefly your head still spinning and pounding in your ears he leaves and returns again two pain killers that look like a spec of nothing in his palm he sets and on your cheek gently prying your jaw open setting the drugs on your tongue before you swallow the he praises you for it and your realize how much of a all time low you are

“Come on sweetheart no more tears you know it’ll make it worse” This time you’re not sobbing from the pain your chest but rather the pain your head hiccups slipping from your lips falling apart in his grasp and he held you like he always will and as he always had

He’d glue all your broke pieces back together

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

NEW; sweetheart and simon headcanons

[imaginedreamwrite]

Can we please get the 141 groups reaction to seeing Johnny getting handsy with his wife after their drunken night out 🫣🫣 (seeing their Sergent grabbing her ass an' all that 🤗)

If there was one thing they knew about Johnny, it was that he loved his wife. John Soap MacTavish was a man who adored his cute little wife, a man who enjoyed being married.

The entirety of the 141, hell even the SAS, knew that Johnny was a devoted husband through and through.

John, Simon and Gaz loved you like you were their family, sharing in Johnny’s affection for you, amicably and unromantically. Of the 141, Johnny was the only one currently married—John was divorced and dating, Simon was in a long standing relationship, and Gaz was thinking about proposing to his girlfriend.

When he was gone on missions and operations he’d keep your picture in his tactical vest over your heart. He’d call you as often as he could just to hear your voice and remind himself of what he had to return to. Mrs. John MacTavish could never not be loved or have the ground you walked on worshipped by the Scotsman.

When they went out for drinks, Johnny had flaunted that gold wedding ring on his finger. Any woman that even looked at him would be told I’m a married man, my wife is beautiful and not spare a second thought to the attentive eyes of women that were attracted to him.

When the night was over and Johnny was ready to go home, Simon had to call you to come pick him up. The Scotsman was devastated over thinking he’d lost his bonnie wife, the woman he adored beyond reason. He was drunk and stumbling, looking for you without realizing you hadn’t come with them.

As you pulled up to the curb and got out of the vehicle, Johnny hadn’t realized that the woman he was waiting for had showed up. He was leaning against that light pole while mumbling about his wife, his love, and why couldn’t she be here.

Simon felt the pulling headache in his temples, annoyed that Johnny was too inebriated to understand that his wife was right there waiting for him.

Once Johnny realized, of course, he was all over you. He didn’t care that the other men were standing there as he grabbed handfuls of your ass. He didn’t care that they were witnessing him complimenting your ass and your marriage, he was damn proud of you. Johnny had made it well known that he loved your body, every bump and ridge and line, every inch of you was praise worthy to him.

No one would say anything to you, they all respected your and Johnny’s marriage too much, but once he was gone and settled in the vehicle, was a different story.

It wasn’t any kind of bullshit locker room talk—no, anything said was nothing more than an appreciation for the kind of marriage you had. Because you damn well had Johnny wrapped around your finger, and they weren’t sure if you were even aware of how badly he was down for you.

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of charmed serial killer Simon. (Part 1 is here.)

This part is heavily inspired by this particular Badjhur audio “Surviving the Slasher” from, like, a long time ago. Where he’s a killer. Easier to find than expected, thank you masterlist. It permanently has a room in my pea brain, no rent, utilities included.

You’re out with your little friends again. Simon scoffs to even call them that. You give them so much more than they even try to give you - support, encouragement, time, energy.

One of them has a shitty deadbeat boyfriend that’s throwing a flat party, so they’ve dragged you along per usual. You’re still swearing off alcohol after the last time you went out - when you got a ride home with him. So you’re totally sober when the rest of the idiots suggest “investigating” the abandoned hospital on the other end of the block.

You go with them as the only fully-sober one, but spend the whole, stumbling trip trying to convince them to go somewhere, anywhere, else.

Apparently the boyfriend fancies himself something of an urban explorer because he knows just how to get in, bragging that he’s going to start some stupid internet show looking for ghosts there. You end up getting knocked into a half dozen times just trying to keep your woozy friends from getting tetanus.

It doesn’t take long at all for someone to suggest hide and seek. You try adamantly to put your cute little foot down - reminding them that it’s dirty and structurally unstable and there could be people just trying to camp out in peace in here. You’re adamantly ignored and your friends scatter.

And Simon starts to hunt.

Oh, he wishes he could have seen your face when the screams first started. If you recognized the shriek of Addy, the one who yanked you away from a proper apology when you first bumped into him at the bar. Wonders if you felt anything when Simon stabbed her boyfriend in the stomach and sent him stumbling away to incite more terror.

Of course you did. His pretty little chatterbox, coming to the rescue as soon as you heard their cries.

You get yourself lost trying to find someone, anyone. He picks off your group one. By. One. He finds you trying to triage a nasty slice to Heather’s thigh. She was talking shit about you just two days ago to Addy.

And oh, how brave you are, trying to stick with her to the very end. All it takes is one well-placed throw and you’re scrambling back as Heather burbles blood.

He takes a single, loud step towards you - and you bolt. Such a smart thing, you don’t even glance back to see if he’s following. He’s not; there’s still trash to take care of.

You find one more friend - one he doesn’t mind so much, mostly because you just met tonight. She’s crying, making a fuss and you’re trying to soothe her while still focused on escape, letting her cling to your arm.

Simon starts herding you both towards an easy exit. A few well placed foot falls here, a jaunty whistle there. He loves watching your big eyes dart toward the noises, how you get low like a bunny hiding in brush. Always put yourself between your new friend and wherever you think he could come from.

Your friends’ blood is beginning to dry when he decides it’s time to wrap things up.

He appears in a doorway, and you shove at your fellow survivor, make her squeeze through the rusty door first. You’re just starting to follow when he snags you around the middle. You yelp, feet kicking at air, tugging at his soaked hoodie sleeve.

He shoves your back against a wall and presses close, the flat of his knife against your pretty cheek.

“What did we learn tonight, hm?” he mocks.

You’re flinching away, but know better than to struggle or scream. So clever.

“W-why are you doing this?” you ask.

How sweet, that you can’t understand the motivations of monsters like him. He indulges you.

“To teach you a lesson,” he answers. “Get better friends.”

You look furious, even as tears well in your eyes. He coos over them, tugs the bottom of his mask up enough to lick them as they fall down your cheek.

“S-Stop, that’s - that’s so gross,” you hiccup, pancaking yourself to the wall.

He snorts in amusement and tugs his mask down again.

“Now, I know you’re a good girl with good manners, so let’s see them.”

You blink at him, eyes soooo big. Don’t understand what he means.

He tuts. “Say: thank you, ghost, for teaching me a valuable lesson.”

You press your lips together in a tight, pouty line. He wants to bite them. Instead, taps the point of the knife against your jaw. A silent threat that’s he’s still debating if he means.

But you manage to get the sentence out, stuttering, voice breaking halfway through. Mm, he’s missed hearing your gratitude. It’s almost sweeter this way than all the times you said it in his car.

“You’re very welcome, sunshine. Now, off you go, before I decide to teach you something else.”

You don’t hesitate when he steps back. Peel yourself off the wall and wriggle out to freedom.

Simon chuckles. What a fun little playdate, he’s so glad he let you go that first time. He’ll have to arrange another one soon.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

[mrsparrasblog]

You're losing me pt. 5

prev. part. first part.

TW: Gun, violence, mentioned rape, gaslighting, medic is shit

It was your last day on sick leave, so you spent it grading papers, cuddling with Winston, and getting distracted by Kyle's messages and his slutty pictures. You were so thankful for Kyle; he never pressed you for what happened with Johnny, just distracted you.

After you send a picture of Winston you heard the bell ringing and rolled your eyes. You knew Kyle never listened when you said not to come over, even though you really needed that time alone right now. Johnny is an artist, even though he didn't admit it, and so was being in a relationship with him. It was like being in a colorful picture, so vibrant. But since you left him, it felt like someone drained out the color; the painting is black and white, no longer golden.

You went to the door, opened it, and to your surprise, it wasn’t Kyle behind the door. She was there, her eyes puffy and red. 

"What do you want?" If she was there to humiliate you, you’re going to throw up. You shortly texted Ky that she was there.

"I wanted to talk to you, I need your help," she sobbed.

Simon always called you one of the nicest people on earth, but right now, it was enough of being nice. "Well, you can ask Johnny for help." You tried to shut your door, but her foot was already between the frame.

"He is the problem."

"What, did he leave you?" you snorted out.

"He threatened to kill me because of the baby." You clearly misheard her. This can't be true, as if you can do anything against Johnny, and as if Johnny would do something against his own teammate.

"Baby?"

"Yes, I'm pregnant, three months." She rubs her nonexistent belly in front of you. Three months? Johnny cheated on you for three months? And a baby? No, this can't be true. Johnny loves babies; he’d never kill a pregnant woman, none of them.

"And he is threatening you?" You asked while slowly trying to pull out your phone again. You knew Si would be here in 4 minutes if you called him.

"Yes, he wants to tell everyone that I raped him, just so I get an abortion." With that, you burst out laughing. This was the worst joke you ever heard. When she wanted you to pull you away from him for real.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid to believe this shit now leave my apartment before I call the police." You already pulled out your phone to dial the number of the police, who are you kidding, dial the number of Simon. Simon and John always explained if something happens to you, call them instead of the police, they solve your problem faster, and that was a gigantic slag-formed problem.

"Bad mistake," she points out a gun to you, calculating. You trained for this situation endless times in school, but it was still different when someone held a gun against you. Would it work to tell her that there are people that love her? Or maybe you should argue with logic.

"When you kill me, they won't forgive you, it's not worth it," you said trying to sound as calm as possible.

"They won't find out," she laughed. God, that woman was batshit crazy.

"Here are cameras," they weren’t recording, but maybe she was stupid enough to believe you.

"They will understand," she said. Maybe she was stupid enough but also crazy enough to not care. There is only the last logical thing you could say to her.

"Then kill me."

"What?" She was surprised at your bluntness, but you knew she couldn’t really kill you, and if Kyle looked at his phone, he would have already been on his way, so you need to get through this for 10 minutes, 10 minutes, and you are safe.

"If you kill me, Johnny will find you, Kyle will break you, Simon will torture you, and John will finish your miserable life, my death isn’t worth this." You slowly walked backward towards the counter, there must be a gun. John put it in there when you first got together. You didn't quite know how to use it, but better than nothing.

"You're right," finally.

"So why don’t we put the gun down and just, you know, talk about it like adults," you suggested, still moving tiny steps backward.

"Stop moving, or I'll kill you," the same words over and over again. She sounded like a broken record recorder. You stopped moving, but this wasn’t enough for her.

"Maybe I should kill your rat, so you listen." Rat? Her gun pointed toward Winston. Fuck, she should better kill you than your baby. You lost complete hope in turning her; she is crazy.

"He is Kyle's dog, not mine. If you kill him, he will be sad." The shake in your voice was evident; tears started to storm out of your eyes; you didn't know what to do anymore.

"Three of four are enough, anyways." Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I can call them; I'll break up with them, just let Winston be safe, okay?"

"Really, you give up your boyfriends for that rat?" She gestured disgusted at your precious baby.

"Yes."

"Okay, call them," you walked to the counter, dialing Simon's number, close enough to the gun. You really hoped they don’t show a sign that they know; they are SAS; they need to understand, right?

"Hello," good, Simon's voice.

"Are the others with you?" You asked, trying not to tremble; she couldn’t find out what you planned.

"Yes, I put them on speaker, luv."

"I'm breaking up with you, with all of you for final this time. John, you're always putting me in danger, Johnny, you're always with her instead of my home, always on deployment with Simon, and you’re carrying all these scary guns with you that make me afraid, and I hate your stupid dog, Kyle." She looked proud and relieved at you, too stupid to realize. But they were smart, right?

"Okay, just give me back my keys to the office, they’re in the cupboard in the kitchen. I don’t want to see you anytime soon, I will pick it up at three tomorrow, bye." She gained heavily, and all you could feel was relief; you looked at the clock; it was 2:57, three minutes, and the gun. God, you loved your smart boys.

"Will you let me go now?" you asked, and she shook her head.

"Just need to make sure that you never go to my boys again, you can understand, right?"

"I'll move abroad if you want, the US, Germany, Italy, call it and I'll be gone." Before she could reply, she heard a loud bang outside, and that was your chance to grab the gun as she turned around, loaded fucking genius John, but not in safety, idiot. And then you shot, closing your eyes. You never did this before; the closest you came was a water gun at the beach; you didn't hit anything major, only her shoulder, but it was enough for her to lose her stance and fall. Seconds after, the boys went in Simon pulled her to the ground like a bulldozer with John. While Kyle and Johnny ran to you.

"Are you okay?" Both men asked, checking you for any injury.

"I don't feel okay."

"We know, love." You wrapped your arms around Johnny and began to sob. You needed him; you missed him and you were so scared. You knew for a fact he didn't cheat on you after that stunt that woman pulled today.

"We'll take care of her; we will be back soon, luv," Simon said with a devious grin while putting his boot on her to press down on her bullet wound.

John and Ghost left with her, and you knew for a fact your shot would be the nicest thing she witnessed in the next few days.

"I shot someone."

"Proud of you, hen."

"Never shoot again, please, babe; you're terrible at it," Kyle joked, but you still felt shitty. He knelt down, hugging Winston tight. "Oh, you've been such a brave and good boy protecting your mama. Let me take you to the park, pup," he said while Winston barked happily. "You two need to talk this out."

"Only we two now, Johnny."

"Aye, only we two."

"Where do we start?"

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

Taglist: @cod-z , @kaoyamamegami, @postmortem-angel, @jackrabbitem , @sseleniaa , @thigh-o-saur , @littlechomper @ab12305 @darkangel4121 @thychuvaluswife

A/N : so I added the picture of Eliot to make up for the Angst I write 😭

For any who has a light belly (do you say that in english or only in German lol?) the next chapter will be half torture of her and the other half Johnny and Reader <3

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Five - Diamonds

♡♡♡

The next ball you attended felt like quite the intimate affair. Understandably so.

You attended with your mother, but as soon as the Bridgerton's arrived, you waited for the opportune moment to join them. Benedict and Colin seemed particularly pleased to see you already. You were becoming quite close friends with them.

The Duke approached Daphne and asked her to dance. Anthony was about to intervene, but Lady Danbury, who had approached alongside Simon, spoke up before he could. "I shall need someone else to seek me a glass of ratafia, then. Lord Bridgerton..." She holds up her arm, "Do me the honour?"

You hide your smile at her tactics. It was so clear she was trying to prevent him from interfering further.

Anthony gives in. "Of course, Lady Danbury."

They leave.

You watch as Daphne goes with Simon into the main ballroom. You watch them go. As you enter the ballroom yourself, you watch them join the others in a dance.

They look happy together. They are enjoying themselves.

Could it be the Duke does, in fact, feel something for Miss Bridgerton? It certainly looks that way. You can only imagine what Whistledown will say about this.

Benedict smiles as he watches from beside Anthony.

"They look wonderful together," you say softly.

Anthony clenches his jaw from beside you. As the current dance ends, Anthony takes Benedict by the shoulder and urges him forward. "Go dance with your sister."

You look at them as Benedict asks, "why?"

"Because I asked you to!"

Benedict looks less than pleased but goes anyway, groaning. You watch him approach Daphne.

With Simon now free, Anthony marches off to talk to him. You sigh as you realise you are now alone.

Benedict dances with Daphne only for a short while before she parts with him and enters the next room. The same room Anthony went into with Simon. You find yourself walking that way to see what was happening.

You stand in the door as Anthony hurries past. Violet reaches out for him, but he keeps on moving. You find Daphne looking at Simon. She approaches him to speak with him.

Benedict comes up beside you. "Will you dance with me? My dance with Daphne ended early."

You chuckle and take his hand. "As did her patience, I think. What was that about?"

"I have no idea." He takes you to the dance floor. You both start to dance.

"Your family is quite something."

"That's putting it politely."

"Is Lord Berbrooke a problem?" You ask.

"I'm not sure. Anthony seemed to have it all handled." Benedict shrugs. "He seems to have control of the matter."

"Does he?"

"I think so." Though Benedict didn't sound so convinced.

"I have you any callers yet?" He asks, changing the topic. As much as he loved his family, he only cared to discuss them for so long.

"No..." You confess.

"Not one?" He asks, sounding surprised. "How is that possible?"

"The ton have their eyes on Daphne now. I shall be unlikely able to stand out at all." You tell him.

"I find that hard to believe."

"It is true. I appreciate your concern, but I fear I shall not find a match this year. I shall enjoy the rest of the season as much as I can."

Benedict frowns slightly.

"You need not pity me. I am quite content to wait another year." You assure him, or at least try to.

"Still, wouldn't it be nice to know someone noticed you?"

You keep your mouth shut. You fear him being able to read you too easily. Though it seems your silence was enough of an answer for him.

"You need not feel the need to pretend."

"It's nothing."

Neither of you speaks again. When the dance ends, you bow and part ways from him. Benedict watches you go, sensing you would rather have some time to yourself for now.

♡♡♡

Your mother enters the drawing room where you are reading. She has this morning's issue of Lady Whistledown. You care not for the gossip column.

"It seems Miss Bridgerton is indecisive about the duke."

"Is that so," you hum softly, turning the page in your book.

"She would make a fine duchess, do you not think?"

"Yes, quite."

Your mother looks up at you. You're awfully quiet this morning. "Something the matter?"

"Why should anything be the matter?" You ask.

"No reason... You are just so quiet this morning."

"Forgive me. I didn't get much sleep."

"Are you well?" She asks.

"Well enough."

Your mother comes to sit beside you. She reaches for your hand and pulls it into her lap. "You can speak with me about anything."

You smile and squeezes her hand. "I know."

"A mother knows when her daughter is upset."

"I wouldn't say I'm upset."

"Then what is it?" She asks.

You sigh and put down your book. "I have had no one caller this season. I know I am not diamond, and I know we are not Bridgerton status, but I thought surely one man in all of London would come see me."

"Yes. Well, I thought perhaps that Benedict might."

"Mother."

"I know. I know. You told me yourself. I suppose I am glad you have become friends with them. Though he would make a fine husband."

"I am sure." You smile.

"You will find someone. Perhaps not now, but soon. I am willing to wait with you."

You smile at your mother and lean against her shoulder. She kisses the top of your head gently.

You are thankful you have her.

♡♡♡

The grand picnic was an exciting time. All the ton gathered in the park to enjoy the wonderful weather and promanade. It was a chance to see who was courting who, if at all anyone.

You were in attendance with your mother and a couple of maids. You were sitting under the canopy, fanning yourself gently, not that it was extremely hot today. You scanned the park, looking out for family faces.

Lord and Lady Carlisle were strolling by. You spotted two young boys by the lake, one of which you were certain was the son of Mr Thomas who loved but two houses away from you and your mother.

Your eyes found where the Bridgerton's were stationed. Anthony and Colin appeared to be playing games with their younger siblings. Benedict was seated, watching them. You smile.

The thought of a large family seemed so comforting to you. As an only child, you would never know what it would be like to have the company of siblings.

Perhaps, you think, in your future, you may have many children. You would like your children to have the love and support and chaos of each other.

"You're smiling."

You turn to find your mother looking at you.

"What are you smiling at?" She asks softly.

"Nothing," you lie.

You know she doesn't believe you. You also know you can't hide from her either. "Do you think I can have a large family one day?" You ask.

She smiles. "I do not see why not." Your mother had already spotted the Bridgerton's across the way. She knew they were a large enough family. "One day."

You smile as you turn back to them.

"Why don't you go over? I will be quite alright with my own company for a while."

"Are you certain? I do not mind staying."

She smiles softly. "Go. Enjoy yourself. They are, after all, your friends."

You smile and thank her, rising from your seat to go join them. As you get closer, Benedict and Colin both perk up.

"Hello," you smile.

Anthony turns and smiles, too. "Hello. Come to join us, have you?"

"Is that alright?"

Before Anthony can reply, Benedict speaks up, sitting up in his chair. "Of course. Come, sit with me."

You chuckle and join him under the canopy. You sit in the vacant seat. Violet comes over with a smile. "Good to see you, dear."

"I hope I'm not intruding."

"Nonsense!" She smiles, placing a hand on your shoudler gently.

You watch the children play. Benedict offers you some food from the basket beside him, and you accept. Any sour moods about your prospects has been forgotten.

When Simon approaches on horseback, Daphne is quick to flee from her brother to join him. They stroll away.

"Are you alright?" Benedict takes the opportunity to ask.

"Hm?" You turn to him.

"The other night, you left rather quickly the other night."

"I'm fine. I was just tired. Forgive me." You offer him a smile, but he takes note it doesn't quite light up your face.

"Of course."

You continue to pick at the picnic.

Benedict watches you for a little while, but his attention is torn away when a voice calls out.

"Bridgerton!"

You look up in time to see Berbrooke coming forth with something in his hand. His face looks terrible, as if he took a beating.

"A bring cheerful new, Bridgertons."

Violet and Anthony turn to look at the man.

"I have taken matters in my own hands and sought a special license for my wedding to Miss Bridgerton."

"There is to be no wedding," Daphne states, pleading with him.

You stand, worried for Daphne.

"I told you. The arrangement is cancelled." Anthony recalls.

"Lord Berbrooke, you look in a great deal of pain," Violet says. "Shall we continue this in a more private location?"

"I require no further conversation." He says firmly. "Though perhaps I am finally speaking to the true head of the Bridgerton house. For if it were you, I imagine you would have instructed your sister to take better care than to encourage certain attentions while alone with me on the Dark Walk at Vauxhall. Of course, mere hearsay of such scandal could wreak havoc on even the most influential of families. What would someone like, say, Lady Whistledown do with such unseemly information?"

You stare at the man with shock and disgust. You had no idea lf the details of what has happened, but you know enough to know Daphne would never take part in such behaviour.

"Is that a threat?" Anthony asks.

"It is certainly not. Because in three days, I am to marry. I have the diamond of the season." Berbrooke states. "I have the beey best the ton has to offer. I have a Bridgerton. And I shall save her, as well as your entire family, from the ruin which you could not protect them." He looks at Anthony.

You want so much to make his black eye worse. You don't even realise Benedict holds your arm gently to prevent you from moving.

Simon goes to move past Daphne to do the exact same as you thought. Benedict quickly let's go of you to hold him back.

You're caught off guard by how quickly both men moved.

"I look forward to the union of our great families." Berbrooke grins. His grin sends your stomach turning. "Bridgerton. Hastings."

He leaves.

Anthony is left to look at the special license that had been thrusted upon him.

Daphne looks beyond upset.

Anthony and Violet are quick to see Daphne home. Benedict escorts you back to your mother while Colin sees to his younger siblings.

"Will she be alright?" You ask.

"I'm sure. Though you best leave this to my brother."

"She looked terribly upset."

"As she should be. Lord Berbrooke is a horrid little man." Benedict sighs. "My sister deserves the best."

You smile softly. "I'm rather fond of Daphne. Perhaps I shall pay her a visit soon?"

"I am sure she will be most pleased. For now, give her time."

You nod.

You reuter to your mother who comes to stand with you. She had seen Lord Berbrooke approach.

"Is all well?" She asks.

You let go of Benedict to join her. "It shall be in time, I'm sure."

You turn back to Benedict. "See you soon." He nods and departs.

Your mother loops her arm with yours and walks with you. You tell her little of what happened, but you know she, too, worries about Daphne.

When the eyes of the ton are all on you, there comes great pressure and challenges.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

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@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn -

[a-b-riddle]

A Simple (Mis) Understanding Chapter One: Location, Location, Location

John

"MacTavish," It had been about three months since the 141 had returned from our last OP. It had been a rough one and, although, we had all come back alive, we didn't come back unscathed. And we all had to thank a pretty little IT 'expert' to thank for that. Stupid fucking Omega...

"Usually I'm the one calling you. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I threw back the amber colored liquor, finishing the last of my latest bottle. It seemed all I had in my free time was drinking myself into an early grave.

Good.

"Care for a hunting trip, Cap'n?" Johnny's tone was playful, which was almost always never a good sign. MacTavish could seek out trouble like a bloody bloodhound. 

"What d'ya have in mind?" I humored. I had come home to a sedentary life style. Any ideals I had about settling down, extinguished. I wasn't as young as I used to be, but I'm still too into the fight to retire now. So whatever Johnny had in mind, surely must be something worth at least entertaining.

"A pretty little flower." He says and I swear I can almost hear the see the smirk on his face. "Stands at about five foot three. Has a knack for stabbing a man in the back right after suckin' 'im dry."

Daisy.

"You got a lead then I take it?" I try to stifle the anger as I feel it beginning to bubble. Every Alpha instinct is telling me to track, hunt, kill. Before, every biological urge I had toward our flower was to protect, keep, and fuck until she forgot her own bloody name. Now, I wasn't so sure I could stand the sight of her long enough to get the answers I wanted-- needed-- before absolutely tearing her to fucking shreds. 

"Aye." He confirmed. "Wanted to see if you were up for it before I called the lads."

"How polite."

"You're still, Cap'n."   "And I know you had more..." There was a shift in his tone. Unease as he tried to find the words, but couldn't. He couldn't. None of us could. Because none of us could describe what had happened with Daisy. Betrayal is too gentle of a word, too short and modest of a word to describe what she had done to us; hell, me. Johnny cleared his throat. Clearly uncomfortable and wanting to retract the beginning of whatever statement he had intended on making.  "Join me to settle an old debt, ye?" 

I didn't need to think twice about Johnny's officer. An opportunity to finish what we started back in Austria. I didn't regret stopping Johnny as much as I did not getting the answers I needed before the little bitch disappeared like a damn thief in the night. Now was the chance. Not only revenge for what we had been through, but the betrayal she had put us through. Jeopardizing not only the 141, but the few loved ones we had. My mum, MacTavish's sisters, Garrick's entire fucking family and the little solace that Simon had. A peace of mind knowing if he wanted to start living again, he could. All of it was almost lost. 

"You got eyes on our-" No. She wasn't ours anymore. Not our girl. Not our flower. Sure as fuck never our Omega. "On her."

"I got an address." If he noticed my pause, he didn't say anything. For that I'm grateful. I can't be weak again because some of doe-eyed little Omega. One who whispered sweet lies about how good my knot felt and all the things she wanted in life. Things we-I- wanted.  "Had an old contact have her name pop up. Hen is too fucking dense to make sure to use an alias especially considering she stayed on our side of the pond."

Don't really plan on going home after this. Not really anything waiting for me back there except some student debt. She had hid the pain of having no family well, but, now after everything, nothing seemed genuine. Every kiss, every touch, every smile and laugh she had thrown my way was now tainted.

Now it was time to bury it all.

"I'll call Garrick." That was all the confirmation Johnny would get out of me. I didn't want to seem too eager to finally get my hands on her. I needed to be collected. Level headed. I was the Alpha. I was the one my team looked to for guidance. I had already failed them once. I damn sure wouldn't be doing it again. "I'll let you convince Riley to come along."

"Lettin' me call in the boogeyman?" Johnny was smiling again. Could fucking hear it in his voice. He was the one who had probably fallen the hardest for the little bitch. Indulging him in soft touches and soothing his temper. Probably the same reason he had put a barrel to her forehead the moment she had admitted to it.

I was going to tell you. She had tried to excuse her delay as if that were the issue. I just didn't know how to tell you. But can you blame me? Yes. We could. And we did. For the shitty last seven months. For the constant worry all of us had for having to pull our mind out of the mission to worry about what was going on back home.

Her tears didn't save her. Only until Laswell came in raising an absolute bloody stink. Claims of how the very audacity to potentially injure an Omega on her team could cost her career. Fuck her career.

"Send me the details." I pulled another bottle off the shelf. Promising myself it would be the last one I had until I finally pulled that weed of a woman out of existence. Killing her meant I could finally move on. Find someone, certainly not a fucking Omega, to settle down with. I could heal from the heartbreak I would never admit to. It would be the ending that we all needed.

"Will do Cap'n." Johnny didn't wait for my dismissal before he hung up. He was just as ready for a hunt as I was.

[deebris]

Seems like destiny

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After spending years in the bone marrow donation system, encouraged by the army, Simon was finally notified that they had found a match. He just didn't expect to find out that he would be donating it to his own son, who he had with his teenage love and never knew.

Warnings: Family problems, panic attacks, teenage pregnancy, swearing, mention of diseases such as leukemia, murder, archaic ideas, anguish.

Word count: 3.5 k

Any questions or errors, please let me know.

Simon always remembers how the army encouraged soldiers to be blood donors. There was a great concern within about it, as it was one of the ways the government found to help hospitals and people who depend on transfusions to survive.

Then campaigns for bone marrow donation began, but it was so rare to find someone compatible that after 6 years on the waiting list, Simon thought he would never find someone who would need him. But that changed two months ago when he received a call from the institute informing him that he should go there immediately.

He underwent more medical exams than he had ever done, and although he was a tough guy, he couldn't deny the pain he felt in the weeks following the procedure. Among so many people dying in beds waiting to find a donor, someone could finally heal because of him. It made Simon feel good about himself, as good as he hadn't felt in a long time. That had been one of the reasons why he joined the army: to help people.

Now he could only hope that whoever he donated to would improve. He found himself during the day thinking about it, wondering if in a few years it would affect him as much as it does now. It's not very fresh in his memory, but Simon is able to superficially remember the day he registered on the bone marrow donor list. He had been in the army for a short time, still a soldier, and "Ghost" didn't even exist yet.

He thought this would be put aside. He didn't understand if he would need to donate more often, not really knowing the process deeply. That's why when he received another call from the same institute, he thought there had been some mistake, or that they would need more, but the reason for the contact surprised him.

The recipient's caregiver wanted to meet him and was willing to break the standard anonymity by revealing their identity. Accepting the offer would mean that he would also need to disclose his personal information, which is why he hesitated so much. But as he constantly replayed the woman's words in his head, he grew restless.

"The caregiver wants to meet you," that's what she said. Could the recipient be a child? Or perhaps an elderly person? Or maybe someone who was already so ill that they could barely decide for themselves. He shouldn't have any information about this person, even something as empty as what that lady had let slip.

"You should accept. Everyone would like to have the opportunity to personally thank the person who saved their life," were the words of his Captain, John "Price." And it had been the push that Simon needed to agree to the idea.

Now, standing in front of the hospital room door, Ghost debated with himself whether he should open it. Just a few meters away was the little boy who had been haunting his mind for the past few days. And how did he know it was a boy? He had been directed to the children's oncology ward when he arrived at the reception minutes ago, as soon as he was cleared by the unit director, who already knew about the situation and the breach of anonymity.

Furthermore, the clipboard with the patient's information on the door also made it clear that it was a boy. The name "Lucas" was printed on the paper, accompanied by a surname that was familiar to him. There weren't many people in the UK with that name, which caught his attention.

All that separated him from the family was that door, dividing the cold hospital corridor from the room he could only hope would be less disheartening and empty. He didn't know if he would find a smile on the other side, or if he would be met with the sad gaze of the child's mother.

This woman had contacted him through a letter. On that day, he hadn't yet notified the institute that he was willing to speak with her, so the letter came anonymously since nothing had been filed. He read what she had to say, revealing some things, such as the fact that she was a single mother and was extremely grateful to God for sending him to save her son. Some paragraphs were difficult to read, where she recounted how she had lost hope before.

The little comfort he found in that text was when she talked about the boy. In those passages, her handwriting was less shaky, and he was sure she was happier when she wrote those parts of the letter. He knew that this had been her attempt to persuade him to come meet her, but without her knowing, he had already decided. Simon kept the piece of paper with him and reread it in his spare moments.

That stirred his emotions. He thought he had managed to harden his heart after everything he had been through, but he was wrong. Deep down in his soul, he was more emotional than he let on to others. He hoped that "Soap" would never find out, or he would be eternally tormented.

"Damn," he muttered softly, snapping back to reality. Simon began to bitterly regret agreeing to this. He should have declined and moved on. He could leave, but he was already here, so he mustered up the courage to knock on the wood.

He considered himself presentable in the civilian clothes he wore, accustomed to the heavy military equipment he carried all day at the base, and also missing the mask covering his face. Simon adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, as a way to occupy his sweaty hands, more nervous about the approaching footsteps he heard than his appearance.

Before the door opened, he had already told himself he would remain silent and wait for the boy's mother to start the conversation. If she asked who he was, he would state his name and explain why was there. But as the woman inside was revealed to him, he fell silent not because he had decided to, but because he was speechless. Suddenly, those seconds he spent admiring the child's surname on the door seemed like a scene from a comedy movie to him. How ironic it is considering he was just thinking about you moments ago and, like magic, you appeared?

It seemed like you took a few extra seconds to recognize him, and he doesn't judge you for that. Although you have changed and are now an adult woman, with a more mature face and body, he had changed much more since he was a teenager. Back when you two were in school, he was shorter and thinner, and he didn't have any of the scars on his face.

But it wasn't just that which changed in him. You stared in complete shock at how different the demeanor of the guy you were in love with was. He was more serious, more intimidating, very different from his brother, Thomas, whom you had seen years ago, just a few days before he was brutally murdered along with his wife and child.

Your legs went weak, and your eyes burned with tears threatening to overflow. You wanted so desperately to say something, but nothing could come out of your mouth. Was this real, after all? You withdrew your hand from the doorknob, not realizing you had been gripping it tightly until now, and sat in the nearest chair to avoid collapsing to the ground.

Your blood pressure had surely dropped, as you were sweating cold and seeing black spots. What were the chances, after so many years and after everything you had been through, of finally finding him just when you weren't even trying anymore?

Your memories since you found out you were pregnant began to flood back. You vividly remember your father's reaction when he found out you were having a baby; what he said when found out that the neighbor's son, Simon, was the father of the child; how you struggled to escape him after he took you away to another state, to cover up the shame of having a "prostitute" as a daughter.

You never managed to tell Simon, and when you returned to that town, the town where you two met, he was no longer there. You didn't have a penny in your pocket and only survived that week because of Tommy's help. He gave you a bed to sleep in, food, and clothes, both for you and his nephew. You remembered the perplexed expression he had when analyzed Lucas's appearance, it was impossible to deny that he was a Riley.

It was because of him that you found out Simon was in the army and that he hadn't come home in months.

You never managed to thank him properly. Just two days after showing up there, Tommy handed you half of the money he had in a bank deposit. He told you that a good part of that money belonged to Simon, and therefore, it belonged to your son too. You rented a hotel room so as not to continue bothering his wife, especially since she now had to cook and clean for five people.

You left for the hotel with the promise to reward him someday and continued making visits while anxiously tried to contact his brother on his phone, but Simon never answered. You didn't have a cell phone and couldn't spend the money Tommy gave you so lightly, deciding to prioritize your son's needs.

Several voicemails were recorded, but there was never a response. You felt angry at Simon. You screamed into your pillow, frustrated for not being answered and repeating to yourself how stupid he was. But the possibility that maybe he was dead haunted you. Tommy had told you how complex his work in the army was, that it was more dangerous than usual.

You always feared what you would find when you saw him again. He could have a wife, a beautiful house, and everything you ever wanted to have with him one day but couldn't. He could have children, children who had the opportunity to grow up with him, unlike Lucas. And then when you found out that no, none of that had happened, a kind of happiness flooded your chest, even though nothing in the world guaranteed that he would want anything with you again. The last time you had anything, you two were barely adults, until one day you left without saying anything. You thought he hated you.

That lasted until one time, when you went to Tommy's house, there was nothing there but blood. You still remember how scared you were when you found the broken door and called the police, who surrounded the scene of the violent crime that had just happened. You waited so long, but so long for Simon to show up. What kind of person doesn't attend their own brother's funeral? That's when you decided to forget him and threw away the phone number you had written down.

Some more time later, when Lucas had just turned 7 years old, your life was turning upside down again. It all started with symptoms of a common virus. He had fevers, weakness, and got tired very easily. Then he started losing weight and getting pale. Many pediatricians said it could be anemia or hepatitis, but more symptoms kept emerging. Joint pains came, as did swellings, and after a year of medical investigation, the diagnosis came: leukemia.

You entered a state of denial. Was there something wrong with his diet? Or his lifestyle? It could be genetic, but there were no cases of cancer in your family. Maybe the Rileys had some?

Since that day, your life has never been the same. With each passing month, your son only got worse. You would give all your savings, live on the streets, or even rob a bank if it meant seeing your baby well again. Fortunately, the government offered treatment for free, but some medicines needed to be acquired more urgently than the hospital could provide, and medicines for such treatment were not cheap at all.

The only thing that could cure your boy was the marrow from a compatible donor. You prayed so much that you could save him, but when the tests were done, it was impossible. If no one in the family could donate, it was almost a death sentence. Your last hope was your father. You hoped to never have to see him again, let alone tell him where you had run away to, but now you were no longer the same foolish young girl who depended on his money.

Despite everything, you knew he loved his grandson, and a single phone call was enough to make him come running. In recent years, he had been worried about the two of you, not knowing where you had gone. He never had the courage to admit he was wrong, and apologizing was never his strong point, but he regrets every day what he did. That day he didn't know how to react. He wanted to kill Simon, the brat who got his only daughter pregnant, just as he was afraid you would become a joke in neighborhood for having such a young son. He only managed to think about leaving to avoid a disaster, never asking what you wanted or how you felt.

For the first time, when he saw you so tired and alone, he held his tongue to not say anything that could ruin everything. Instead, he hugged you tightly, and you were so craving someone's company that you curled up in his arms just like when you were a little girl. He was a grumpy and archaic man, someone who made many mistakes, who still makes them, but he still has humanity within him.

Unfortunately, he was not a match either.

You stopped daydreaming, and you didn't realize how bad you were until you saw an adult Simon crouched in front of you, shouting in the hallway for a doctor, but you tried to silence him by grabbing the nails on his rolled-up shirt sleeve, catching his attention. The last thing you want is for the doctors responsible for your son's health to be alarmed, thinking he's worsened. These professionals worked as hard for him as you did. Simon seemed to understand and went to close the door to prevent curious eyes from appearing.

Simon looked at you with sadness, and it crushed your heart. He was afraid you wouldn't be able to breathe properly again; he knew you were desperately begging for air, but couldn't draw it in. He hesitated to touch you, but gave in to the desire and placed both hands on your cheeks. He was incredulous. It was really you, the girl he loved most in his entire life, more than he thought he was capable of loving another woman. Simon had imagined so many times meeting you again, and he had so many doubts.

"Calm down," he repeated in a whisper, locking his eyes onto yours. He knew panic attacks; he had experienced them himself several times. "I know. I know, dear. It's a lot to process."

"You…" your voice tried to come out amidst desperate breaths, while also trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands grabbed both of his wrists, and your thumb smoothed over the skin, feeling his heartbeat. "It's you who…?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me, the donor," he quickly confirmed, even before you could finish the question. "Don't speak. Breathe."

You were managing to calm down and think more rationally. Understanding hit you like a bucket of cold water, and your embrace made the big burly man he had become freeze. The feeling was so strange. Of course, among so many people, the only one who could save your little son would be his own father. The person with whom he shared half of his genes.

"He's yours, Si," your voice sounded like a spell in his ear, the old nickname sending shivers down his spine. Your tone was so gentle that he barely understood the meaning of the phrase. But soon he felt his lips quivering, recounting the events of the past few months and how unbelievable this would sound if he told this story to someone. "I swear he's yours," you repeated as if that made it easier to assimilate.

The content of that letter invaded his mind again and again. He felt horrible.

Simon pulled you closer to him, your bodies almost merging. You were still beautiful, even in your disheveled state, betraying exhaustion. And even after so much time, it was as if nothing had changed between the two of you. He knew there was a small body behind him, sleeping peacefully in the bed, but he didn't dare to look. He could hear the sound of the machines, and then it all came crashing down on his shoulders at once: he had a son with you. By his calculations, the boy should be 9 years old. Wow! He hadn't seen you in over a decade.

"I have so many questions," he confessed with a choked voice, and you don't remember ever seeing him cry before when you were younger.

"I searched for you so much. I called so many times," the last thing you wanted was to make him feel guilty, but hearing that, he felt like he should have kept searching for you too. As soon as you left, he went asking where your father had gone. He worried and tried to find out something, until enlisted in the army, and then all he did from then on was just think about you; never seeking; never trying in any way to find you again because it seemed easier to accept that you had left forever.

You tried to distance yourself, even though you hated it, to look at his face one more time. Simon allowed you to run your fingers over his features until your eyes landed on your son behind him. He knew where your gaze had gone, but he didn't follow it. And of course, you would understand what was happening.

"Look at him," you pleaded with tenderness, but he shook his head while rubbing his eyes, as if they hurt. "You're hurting me doing this, Simon."

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was rejecting the boy, so he stood up, fighting the weakness in his legs and slowly approaching the bed. The child's face was turned exactly in his direction, as if anticipating he would be there, but his eyes were closed, and his breathing was peaceful. It was only then that Simon realized how he was hyperventilating until he felt your hand gently pushing him closer.

His heart hammered in his chest, overwhelmed by anxiety and fear, as he watched his pale and still son. Each step was a journey through an ocean of uncertainty, each breath an effort to maintain composure in the face of the storm raging within him.

As he leaned over the fragile and inert body of the boy, a wave of emotions engulfed him. His broken heart cried out to stop the affliction that plagued his son, that beloved being he barely knew.

Tears blurred his vision as he stroked Lucas's hand, so small and vulnerable compared to his, so similar to yours. Each touch was a silent promise to stand by him in every moment, even in the darkest and most painful.

He found himself whispering words of comfort, as if each sentence could ignite a spark of life in his son's dormant soul. He pleaded to the heavens, to the stars, to any higher power that could hear, for a miracle, for a chance to see those childish eyes shine for the first time in his life. He was an identical copy of Simon at that age, and it made him wonder if the color of his irises was also the same, the same shade of brown. A sudden curiosity arose: what was his voice like? Would it sound like yours, so gentle and reassuring, or could it somehow sound like his?

There, in that moment, time seemed to freeze, the whole world disappearing. It was as if he were dreaming. There was no way all of this could be true, someone must be playing a prank on him. He wanted to look at your face again, to smell you while he ran his hands through your hair to make sure it was really you, flesh and blood. "He's going to be okay," he poured out the words, even though he knew the danger in promising that, and you dove into them, knowing you didn't have to face everything alone anymore.

[pancake404]

Smiling and Nightmare Critters Test Art

After a while, I decided to make art of the Nightmare Critters finally and what I headcanon as their relationship with the Smiling Critters would be.

In my headcanon: I agree that the Nightmare Critters as a group is supposed to be the opposing and villainous side in the cartoon going against and causing trouble with the Smiling Critters, maybe one in particular in each episode that the Smiling Critters have to deal with.

But I also think there could be some duos or small groups that could be a little more than just villain and hero but rather a bit more complex and sometimes, a few of them are friends.

Here are some ideas presented:

Crafty and Simon know each other and have a past together before they go their own ways. This is coming from the fact that both are more mythical than the others who are regular animals(Crafty the unicorn and Simon the dragon). Also, in some degrees, they can be shown as opposites. Simon is more stuck up and focuses on being the best compared to everyone else as any little achievement is going to be slapped across everyone's face by Simon as he constantly boasts while Crafty might literally die if she had to present her art and start showering herself with compliments in front of anyone. In that portion, I labeled that Crafty left Simon as they began having frequent disagreements and arguments Crafty ended up joining the Smiling Critters which she felt more comfortable with. Simon isn't going to let it go though and they have a rivalry/frienemy/strange relationship.

I think Hoppy and Rabie would get along specifically being gossip gals. They can't keep anything to themselves and from each other as Hoppy would be the one that would accidentally overhear secrets from her friends and Rabie would learn about it and start spreading the rumors around. Yeah...the other critters don't like them being together as chaos tends to unfold afterward.

Bubba and Allister don't have much of a friendship though out of a random thought I had, I imagined Bubba silently reading to himself while using Allister as a platform to stay above water. Allister doesn't care as this means he doesn't need to move at all and just lets him.

Dogday and Poe would be funny to see because Dogday is pretty much everything Poe doesn't like. Dogday is upbeat, very social, and represents the sun which are all things I imagine Poe hating(he does not like the sun and that's confirmed). Dogday doesn't realize this so he tries to be the same positive leader he is when talking with Poe, who, at this point, is begging Dogday to leave...but by some random chance there is a loud noise and Dogday does not get the hint.

Lastly, Catnap and Baba. I think they would be great with each other as both eventually are tired of socializing for the day and just want some time to relax alone. Catnap is the only critter that doesn't bother Baba even when near as Catnap doesn't speak so he is this silent, comforting presence. While opposites attract(Dogday and Catnap), Catnap and Baba understand each other well. They both may be a bit psychopathic which they share with concerning interest.

Hope you enjoyed the art and my explanations of how they would interact.

[marsborne]

Untold Weight - Pinocchio x f!Reader

After the events that happened at Arche Abbey, Pinocchio is left to think about all that has happened. The thoughts that run around in his head are not very pleasant.

Set after the Rise of P ending

- warnings: sad pino at the beginning - word count: 1.6k

AU where Antonia lives

It’s been a few days since Pinocchio returned from the Isle of Alchemists with Sophia, and ever since, unease seemed to settle over him like a shadow. He’d shared everything with you—every trial he faced, from his battles against countless enemies to his fight with Laxasia, and even his confrontation with Simon. His silver hair, gleaming softly in the moonlight, a sort of proof of setting Sophia free and her being with him until the very end. She was happy now, radiantly so, and yet…something lingered.

He told you about Geppetto. About the Nameless Puppet. About Carlo. About his own heart.

When he returned, it was you he sought out first.

He found you in the library of Hotel Krat. There were no words, only action. He wrapped you in an embrace so tight, so full of sorrow, it felt like he was holding onto you for dear life, afraid you might slip through his fingers just like his maker.

He didn’t know what to think. His father—his creator, the man he had idolized and obeyed without question, had spoken such hateful words. Yet, he had shed tears for him.

Tears for a monster of a man.

And still, those final words haunted him.

"I’m sorry, son."

They echoed in his mind, turning over and over like the mechanisms in his chest. The more he thought about them, the more he believed they weren’t meant for him at all, but for Carlo.

Everyone at the hotel noticed the shift in him. Some more than others. It was Antonia who noticed first.

She called for him one day. Life at the hotel had started to mend—rooms restored, halls repaired, the echoes of despair replaced by the tentative whispers of hope.

He sat on a stool by the piano in the library, his elbows resting on his knees, his silver hair falling like a curtain to hide his face. Across from him, Antonia sat in her wheelchair, her gaze warm with quiet understanding.

He told her everything.

Antonia, who had loved Geppetto and Carlo so dearly, found her heart twisting in ways she hadn’t expected. She had never imagined this of Geppetto, the man she once held in such high esteem. Carlo was gone, but her love for the boy remained steadfast. Yet, in the time she had come to know Pinocchio, her affection for him had grown just as strong. In many ways, she saw him as a son.

But there was another weight Pinocchio carried, one he couldn’t voice so easily.

He worried about what you might think of him now.

His father’s words had cut deep, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t silence them. He was just a puppet. Nothing more.

But oh, if only he could see himself through your eyes.

Antonia saw it too.

“Oh, dear child. That girl holds you so very dear—more than you probably know. Don’t think I didn’t notice how she looks at you, from the very first day you arrived here. I may have been ill, but I wasn’t blind,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Talk to her and see for yourself. She has a pure heart, and she loves you truly. She would never discard you, just because you’re not made of flesh and blood.”

Her words stayed with him, echoing in his mind, until finally, he found the courage to come to your door.

You had been worried sick. For days, he had barely spoken to anyone, least of all you.

When you opened the door, his gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to meet yours. You could see the weight he carried, feel it in the air between you. You knew what had happened—everyone did. You couldn’t claim to understand his pain. You didn’t, and you never would.

But you had resolved to be there for him, through it all.

He stood before you in his simple white shirt and dark pants, a picture of vulnerability. You stepped closer, your hands reaching up to cradle his freckled cheeks, gently lifting his face so you could meet his eyes.

His eyes shimmered—not with the polished quality of their craftsmanship, but with unshed tears.

“Pino, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

It was a silly question. You knew what was wrong.

He said nothing, only wrapped his arms around you. Carefully, always carefully with his Legion arm. He buried his face in your shoulder, silent tears soaking into your shirt.

Your heart ached. You held him close, your fingers threading through his silver hair, offering comfort in the only way you could. For a while, the room was quiet, save for the soft ticking of his mechanisms and the steady beat of his heart. Then, finally, you spoke.

“You are enough.”

He froze. For a moment, even his gears seemed to halt. Slowly, he pulled back, his face a mix of surprise and something else—something raw.

“…What?”

“You are enough, Pinocchio.”

And just like that, he broke.

He kissed you with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that felt like a plea and a promise all at once. His hands moved with a careful kind of desperation—one resting on your back, pulling you closer, as if he could fuse you together and never let go. The other found its way into your hair, his fingers threading through the strands as though seeking solace in their softness.

It was not a kiss of hesitation or doubt—it was everything he couldn’t put into words. His fears, his sorrows, his love for you—all of it poured out in a torrent, raw and unrestrained.

For a moment, you were stunned, caught off guard by the sheer weight of his emotion. But then, like the tide rushing to meet the shore, you responded without hesitation.

Your hands found their place, one on his cheek and the other curling around his neck, pulling him even closer. The heat of the moment wrapped around you both like a cocoon, shielding you from the outside world. You kissed him back with everything you had, pouring every ounce of love, every whispered promise, and every silent vow into the connection between you.

His lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and tenderness, as though trying to memorize every detail of this moment. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and you felt a soft, shaky sigh escape him. The hand in your hair tightened just a fraction, his thumb brushing against your temple in a touch so reverent it made your heart ache.

Your senses were overwhelmed by him—the faint metallic tang of his scent, the warmth of his touch, the rhythmic ticking of his mechanisms mingling with the steady beat of his heart. It was a symphony of contrasts, both human and mechanic, and it was him.

When you finally broke apart, it wasn’t from a lack of desire but the need for air. His forehead pressed against yours, his silver hair falling between you like a shimmering curtain. His breaths came in soft, uneven gasps, mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply looked at each other, his glossy eyes searching yours as if trying to confirm that this was real, that you were here, and that you loved him as fiercely as he loved you.

And you did.

Without a word, your thumb brushed against his freckled cheek, a silent reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere. His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, and in that instant, you knew. No matter the hardships you faced, no matter the doubts that plagued him, you would face them by his side.

---

An hour later, you lay together on your bed. Pinocchio rested his head on your chest, his arms wrapped securely around your torso. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat was his anchor, grounding him in a world that often felt too overwhelming.

Your fingers played idly with strands of his silver hair, curling them around your fingertips as you stared at the ceiling.

For Pinocchio, this moment felt like heaven.

The thought came to him suddenly, yet it rooted itself deeply.

He thought of Julian, the gentleman who had entrusted him with his wife’s most cherished possession. Their wedding ring. His words rang in his head.

"Please remember the love Melody and I shared. Who knows? Maybe you'll find true love one day, too."

He thought of Polendina and the love he so clearly felt for Antonia—a love so pure and steadfast it seemed to transcend everything.

And then, he thought of you.

He adored you. Completely and utterly.

“I want to marry you,” he said, breaking the silence.

Your fingers stilled. Your heart skipped a beat, and he felt it beneath his ear.

“I…what?”

“I want you to be my wife,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly.

Now he lifted his head, propping himself up on his arms. His silver hair framed his face, strands brushing your cheeks like a veil between you and the rest of the world. Your face burned crimson, and he chuckled softly, a flicker of mischief breaking through his seriousness.

“You’re not…proposing to me right now, are you?”

He faltered, guilt flashing across his face as he began to sit up. But before he could pull away, you grabbed his face, pressing a kiss to his freckled forehead and tucking a few silver strands behind his ear.

“I’m not complaining,” you said with a soft smile. “And I want you to be my husband as well”

For a moment, he looked as though he might short circuit entirely.

Little did you know, the residents of Hotel Krat had already begun planning your wedding long before either of you realized you wanted one.

Heyy so school started and I'm not okay with that

Anyways I finished ng+ and immediately started ng+2 and my brain slapped me with this idea

I put my whole nervous system and brain power into that kissing scene I hope it's alright-

Also that ending was so random I felt the need to add that

[sinkovia]

Coffee Shop: VI

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

You work at a small cafe that Simon starts visiting when he’s not deployed.

Coffee shop Masterlist

Simon, having finished his workout earlier than usual, decided to break his routine and head to the coffee shop a few minutes ahead of his typical schedule. As he approached the entrance, he spotted the man who had asked you for your number the day before. Simon took a deep breath and increased his pace, striding purposefully towards the door with larger steps.

“C'mon, doll face, what’s the real reason you didn’t call me?”

“I lost your number, I don’t know what happened to the napkin you gave me.” He took a step closer to you, and you backed into the table.

“I know you're lying. What is it, hm? Not attractive enough for you?” He grabbed your waist, trying to bring you closer, and you shoved him off you.

His hand lifted, and you put your hands up to block him from hitting you, but in one swift motion, Simon’s fist collided with the side of his face. Your eyes grew wide, and you took a step back.

Simon, fueled by a surge of protective instinct, straddled the man on the ground, gripping his collar and lifting him up. Another punch followed, blood spouting from the man's nose, prompting a shocked reaction from you. Concern etched across your face, you gently placed your hand on Simon's shoulder.

"Simon, please, you're going to kill him," Reluctantly, he got off the man, taking a deep breath. Simon then lifted the man off the ground and dragged him toward the cafe door.

"If I ever see you come here again or she tells me that you tried doing something to her while I wasn't around, I'll find out where you live and fucking kill you. You understand, mate?" The man nodded in terror as Simon opened the door and forcefully threw him out.

You approached Simon with a gentle stride, placing your hand on his arm as you brought his hand closer to your eyes. A small gasp escaped you as you noticed the slight cut on his knuckles, your eyes widening in concern.

"Take a seat, I’m going to grab the first aid kit," your worry evident. Simon, trying to reassure you, offered a slight smile. "I’m okay, love, no need to burden yourself."

"Simon, you have a cut on your knuckle, it could get infected," Anticipating his protest, you furrowed your brows, looking up at him with a soft plea.

"Simon, please," he felt a subtle skip in his heartbeat. He nodded in agreement, not just to let you tend to the cut but also to let you disappear into the back, giving him a moment to smile to himself.

Observing the small red cut, he marveled at how you were getting worked up over this minor injury.

The thought crossed his mind – what would you think if you saw the deep scars that adorned his body.

You returned to Simon with purpose, speed walking and taking a seat next to him. His hand was placed on the table in front of you, and you swiftly opened the small medical kit, retrieving peroxide and cotton balls.

Simon gazed down at you, a content smile playing on his lips. Your hands worked deftly as you soaked a cotton ball in alcohol and tapped it onto his cut. He hissed, and your eyes widened, immediately shifting to his face. To your surprise, he was smiling.

"You ass," you teased, and he laughed in response. You resumed your task, tapping the cut before applying cream and securing a bandage. Simon raised an eyebrow when he noticed the bandaid – white with small brown bears.

"Sorry, it's the only ones we had left," He smiled down at you before relaxing his gaze.

"Are you okay?" asking with genuine concern.

"Yeah, I'm okay. He didn't hurt me or anything," he simply nodded, and a smile adorned your face as you looked down at your hands.

"Thank you for protecting me... I don't know what would have happened if you weren't here," your eyes locked with Simon’s. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes you melt in the chair.

"No need to thank me, love. I wasn't just going to stand there and let him hurt you," 

You smile up at him, and the moment lingers for a few seconds, the two of you locked in a gaze that speaks volumes. The only thing that tears your gaze from his is the sound of your manager's voice from the back.

"I should go see what he wants. Do you want your regular?"

Simon smiles and nods, "please."

You grab the med kit and disappear into the back of the cafe. Simon looks down at his knuckle with the bandaid on it, lightly brushing his finger over it and smiling. The tenderness with which you cared for him resonates in his thoughts – the gentleness, the careful movements, as if you were tending to a fragile bird with a broken wing.

The moment was more than just about a cut on his knuckle; it was a silent acknowledgment of the care and connection growing between you two. Simon couldn't help but appreciate the emotional comfort that lingered even after you left.

His gaze shifted to the door, and a warm smile spread across his face when he spotted Elise. "There's the most gorgeous woman I know."

Elise turned, her own smile lighting up when she saw Simon. "Honey, you're back! Now, where have you been?" Simon rose from his seat and walked up to her, linking his arm with hers. Together, they made their way to his table.

"Overseas."

"Oh? A military man. Makes sense with these strong muscles," Elise remarked, lightly squeezing his arm, and Simon couldn't help but smile. They both took their seats, Simon across from Elise, who then noticed the book you had lent him.

"What are you reading now, honey?"

"Y/n lent me this book. I finished reading it a few days ago," Elise smiled and leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"When are you going to take her out, hmm? That girl is head over heels for you, Simon. She would not stop talking about you the entire time you were gone." Simon's smile grew, his heart fluttering and swelling in his chest at Elise's words. The realization that you had been talking about him in his absence brought a warmth that lingered throughout their conversation.

"Really, what did she say?" a curious eyebrow raised. Elise, however, merely smirked at him before getting up. "You'll have to ask her yourself." She strolled over to the register, and just as she did, you walked out, greeting her with a big smile and asking about her day.

After a few minutes of small talk and bidding farewell to Elise, you made Simon's tea and brought it over to him. "I'm sorry that took a while."

He handed you the money and smiled, "No worries, love. Was talking to Elise while you were out back." You took a seat across from him, your elbow propping your head up.

"Really? Did she offer to crochet you a beanie?" Simon smiled and shook his head slightly. "No, she didn't. She told me that you spoke about me while I was gone." Your smile faded into an awkward laugh as you mentally cursed out Elise for bringing up your conversations about Simon.

"Yeah, I was bored without you around," you admitted, looking away briefly before meeting Simon's gaze again.

"Missed my company, hmm?" Simon teased, a warm smile playing on his lips as he lifted the mug to his lips. You paused, holding his gaze for a moment before answering.

"Yeah, I did," you confessed, feeling a hint of embarrassment. Your eyes dropped to your hands, but Simon, sensing your vulnerability, put his cup down on the table and leaned towards you.

"When I was overseas, the tea at the base tasted like burnt nuclear waste. I couldn't wait to come back home," your face brightened as you looked up at him. A warm smile spread across your face.

"I'm glad you had something to look forward to," you said sincerely. 

Simon's return had brought back more than just the familiar taste of home – it had brought a warmth and joy that you both cherished in each other's company.

During your break, you sat with Simon, and for the first time, you heard him ramble about something - specifically, the book you had lent him. Engrossed in conversation, you both talked about the ending of the book, and you learned that Simon’s favorite character was Joel Miller.

As you returned to work, Simon found moments to share jokes with you while you were behind the register. The sound of your laughter made his heart swell, and in those moments, he felt a lightness he hadn't known before.

As the familiar beep of his watch signaled the end of his time with you, you turned toward him,  "Heading out?" 

Simon looked at the time on his watch before meeting your gaze. He stood up and replied, "No, I think I'll stay for a bit longer."

"No plans tonight?" you asked with a warm smile as you wiped down the counter. "Don't ever really have plans, I stay home most of the day," You hummed in understanding, your gaze meeting his.

"Want to try something else off the menu?" Simon's gaze lingered on you for a few seconds before he looked up at the menu displayed above you. 

"Do you make coffee as good as tea?" Simon asked, a small smile playing on his lips as he leaned against the counter. You reciprocated with a confident grin.

"Of course, I do."

"Could I get a latte and a croissant?"

"Yeah, that will be 6.50."

After Simon paid, you prepared his order and set it on a tray in front of him. As he took a sip of his latte, he couldn't help but relish in how good it tasted. Despite not being much of a coffee guy, he could certainly become one if every cup tasted like this.

However, his enjoyment was interrupted when he noticed a car parking across the street. After five minutes of no one exiting the vehicle, he subtly glanced over. A sigh escaped him when he realized it was the man's car from earlier.

Questions raced through his mind. Why hadn't the man come inside? Was he waiting for him to leave to approach you? Or perhaps, was he waiting for you to finish work?

All these possibilities raced through Simon's mind, but one thing was certain. He wouldn't leave until he knew you were safe. Glancing at his watch, he noted that he had been there for around two hours already. He then looked at you, handing the next customer their order before they took a seat at the back of the cafe with their child.

"When do you get off of work, love?" Simon’s eyes glanced at the clock before returning to you.

"In about thirty minutes," Simon hummed thoughtfully, taking another sip of his drink. He turned his head to check if his car was still parked across the street, confirming that it was. The looming possibility that the man from earlier might try something when you got off work lingered in his mind.

As you wiped down the counter, the older woman who works the shift after you walked through the door. You engaged in a brief conversation with her before walking over to Simon.

"Are my lattes any good?" he was finishing the last bit of his croissant when you asked. 

"Ten out of ten, love. You know your way around a good cup," you smiled proudly at him and Simon leaned foward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table.

"Don't look now, but the man from earlier, he's parked across the street," Your eyes grew a little wide, and you pulled out a chair, taking a seat across from him.

"How long has he been there?" you asked, a hint of worry in your voice.

Simon glanced at his clock and then back at you. "Ten, fifteen minutes." Your gaze went down to your hands, taking a deep breath before checking the clock.

"My shift ends in ten minutes," you muttered, glancing out through the window, noticing the car and the sun setting. "It's getting dark out too."

"Do you have a safe way home?" Simon sipped the last bit of coffee in his mug. You sighed and shook your head. 

"I usually walk to work and back home." You pulled out your phone and opened the Uber app.

"I can just Uber home."

Simon almost let you do it, but the thought of the man possibly following the Uber car and attacking you at your door made him speak without thinking.

"I could walk you home." You looked up from your phone, eyebrows raised, and smiled, shaking your head.

"No, it's okay. I don't want to burden you with something like that."

"I don't mind, love. Wouldn't feel right if I didn't make sure you got home safe. Him coming back could be my fault; I did rough him up."

"You really think he’d try something?" Simon stood up from his chair.

"Wouldn't doubt it from a man like him. Probably should have punched him a few more times," he said, smiling down at you. You smiled back, shaking your head, appreciating the protective concern in Simon's eyes.

"The walk is about ten minutes, is that okay?" you asked, getting up from the chair and heading towards the door, with Simon following behind you.

"What direction?" as you both stepped out of the cafe you pointed towards the direction where Simon lives.

"Works out; I live in this direction too," You wrapped your coat around you tighter, feeling a chilly breeze against you.

"I'm glad," you quietly muttered out.

Simon smiled, looking down at you. "Glad it works out, or glad I live in this direction?"

You awkwardly looked away, berating yourself for not watching how you worded things. "Glad that it works out. I would feel bad if I made you walk far," 

"Good exercise," he remarked.

"Optimistic."

"Rarely."

You smiled, a subtle warmth in your gaze, and looked up at Simon for a few seconds before glancing away.

"Something on my face?" he asked.

"No," your smile lingering.

"Hm," 

He looked to his side, his face no longer in your view, and a small smile played on his lips. An unfamiliar sensation stirred deep in his stomach. It almost felt like his stomach was lifting. Was this what people meant when they say they have butterflies?

As you both walked, every few steps, your arms would occasionally brush against each other, and Simon found himself instinctively gravitating toward you.

“So, how was your day?” you quietly asked, genuine curiosity in your eyes.

“Same old, you know.”

“Oh, really? Mine was, um, pretty good. I found this cute dog on the internet. Almost wanted to adopt him.”

“Why didn't you?”

You shrugged, a thoughtful expression on your face. “I have a cat, and I don't know how she would respond to a dog in the house.” Simon hummed, nodding his head in understanding.

“Do you like dogs?”

Simon had been thinking about adopting a dog to put into the K-9 training unit so he could start taking them on missions with him. However he never really got around to the adoption process.

"Yeah, dogs are alright. Been thinking about getting one."

Excitement lit up your eyes, "Oh! Maybe I could write down the adoption website for you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I could check it out."

Simon glanced to his side as they passed by his house. Should he tell you where he lived? Since a man was potentially stalking you, it would probably be good if you knew where he lived for safety reasons, right?

“This is where I live,” Simon motioned to his house as you walked by. Your response was a casual hum, “When I overbake, I know who I'll give my extras to.”

A genuine smile adorned Simon's face as he looked down at you, and you continued your walk in a serene, comfortable silence. Despite the outward calm, Simon's thoughts churned in turmoil. The encounter with the man lingered in his mind, prompting questions about your well-being.

As the quiet street stretched before you, Simon's mind played out scenarios of the man taking more intrusive actions. What if he decided to break into your house? What if he caught you during your walk to work tomorrow? He glanced at his watch to check the day, and he internally sighed, realizing tomorrow was Saturday, and you don't work weekends.

It would still be good to have your number for safety reasons and safety reasons only. It's not like Simon wanted to talk about books with you or hear from you on the days you didn't work. Of course not, safety only.

Before he knew it, you slowed down and turned to him, pointing towards your house, "This is where I live." Simon's eyes roved over the vibrant array of colorful flowers in your front yard and the well-tended plants near your front door.

"Green thumb?" he asked with a teasing smile.

You laughed and nodded, "The greenest."

"Thank you for walking me home; I really appreciate you doing this,"

Now or never Simon. 

Seizing the moment, Simon steeled himself. "No need to thank me, love… I did want to ask... if-"

Despite being a seasoned killer, a special ops soldier, and a lieutenant for Task Force 141, Simon found himself unexpectedly grappling with nerves as he attempted to ask for your number.

"Just... wondering if, you know, for safety reasons, I could have your number." he finally managed to articulate, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability.

A playful grin played on your face. "Safety reasons, huh?"

Simon scratched the back of his head, avoiding direct eye contact. "Well, you never know what that man will try. I only live a few houses down; I'd get to you quicker than if you called the police."

Your heart warmed, and you couldn't help but smile, finding Simon's awkwardness endearing. "Alright, for safety reasons then,"

Simon retrieved his phone from his pocket and handed it to you. As you navigated through his contacts app, a momentary surprise flashed across your face when you noticed he only had three contacts. Undeterred, you swiftly added your number to his phone and handed it back to him.

“I'll text you a link for that adoption website,”  Simon nodded, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket.

You started walking up the little path to your front door, turning towards him with a genuine smile. “Thank you again for walking me home, Simon.”

“Of course,” his tone warm and reassuring.

When you unlocked your door, you turned back to him and waved, “Walk home safe.” Simon nodded, reciprocating the gesture, and you walked into your house, locking the door behind you. A smile that was almost too wide for your face lingered as Simon retraced his steps home. Pulling his phone out, he smiled when he saw your name now in his contacts. 

[anandrettisimp]

Okay, so I need to do a bit of a ramble about one of the biggest couple goals in recent motorsport.

I am, of course talking about Will and Liz Power

Now you’ve gotta understand that they basically started at Team Australia/Walker Racing within a couple of months of each other with Will doing the last two races of the ‘05 Champ Car season and Liz joining as part of the PR team in February ‘06. They had met and interacted but it wasn’t an easy start for Liz.

You see, between Long Beach and Houston, which was to be the first race she would attend in person, her Dad, Bo, had a stroke and required quadruple bypass surgery. It was only at the last minute that she felt she could do the race only just making it in time for the team bus leaving for the airport.

Will sat beside her, making sure she was okay (apparently all he really wanted to do was hug her).

Eventually Liz was asked by team boss Derrick to befriend Will for two reasons:

He basically knew nobody

Australian media wasn’t happy that Australian driver at Australian back team wasn’t dominating series he had only just started in.

Part of the way Derrick sold this to her was by describing Will as a lost puppy but, at the same time, she wasn’t to date Will or she’d be at risk of losing her job.

Well within a couple of months they were dating because what do you expect when you take two people in emotional vulnerable situations and tell one of them to get close to the other.

It should be noted that around the same time Will had already asked mutual friends if Liz was seeing anyone.

Simon Pagenaud knew from the start and was even Will’s wingman from time to time and helped them hide the relationship while Liz’s family became part of Will’s rock in America. Liz’s mum Kathy is Will’s PA lady and basically the only person he trusts to buy and choose his outfits (cause left to his own devices you will know he is colourblind).

Of course it got found out but between how well Will was doing by the end of the season and how professional Liz had been in her role all was good.

Over time their careers would split, Will moving to KV Racing then Penske (with Liz being heavily involved in helping him prep for the interview) while Liz had stayed with Walker Racing until the end the going on to Dreyer & Reinbold Racing before calling time as she found it was too much to do PR at one team while your husband races at another.

And, honestly, if I was a racing driver’s partner I’d probably be in a similar state to Liz, murdering all the bottles.

Their son Beau, named in honour of Liz’s dad who had sadly passed away in 2007, was born in 2016 but after the birth there were complications which resulted in Liz having to go back into hospital in Christmas Eve, luckily she was able to recover.

Towards the end of 2022, as Will won the championship for a second time, Liz again was starting to get ill. Come January 2023 she had a fever of 106 and Will had to call an ambulance.

It turned out that she had a staph infection that had settled in her spinal column and the only way to save her was to do an operation.

She almost didn’t make it.

Will pulled out of the Daytona 24 but he almost retired full stop.

He had to be there for his family.

She got better though she was back in the hospital just before St Pete.

I think you had to be an idiot to not see that Will was off balance last year. This was a man who was doing everything he could to take care of his wife and then going to races by himself.

The support system that he has depended on since his first full season racing in America was gone.

For the first time since 2007 he failed to win a race.

It wasn’t until the final races last year, with Liz finally back that he relaxed. He even said he was just happy the season was done.

This year everything is back to normal or as normal as it could be after going through something like that.

But, most importantly, Liz is back.

There’s already been a couple of weekends, be it after practice, qualifying or the race where you can see Will come out of the car hot and all it takes is Liz being there a couple of words and he calms, ready to speak to the team and media.

We already know if Liz hadn’t gotten better when she had then we don’t have Will leading the championship right now because he would have chosen her and Beau over another season.

Heck, if he wins the championship this year I wouldn’t be shocked if he decides to end his career on that high so he can spend more time with the one who stood by him through it all.

[hannahdalaney-blog]

Carvings in your skin

Jacaerys x plus-size reader

warnings: none this is an intro to a series!! Confident reader, fem reader.

summary: this goes a little fast but I just wanted to establish a starting chapter. Reader has a knight but it's purely platonic! Pt2

// I just wanna say the old English in not very strong in my writing, and I will make stuff up if I want to because this is a fantasy and I say so😋

"Who?" your voice rang through the room trying your very hardest to remember the name spilled from your mothers lips.

"Jacaerys, the prince. You are to be wed." she adjust herself on her throne.

"To be wed?" you repeat, more to yourself than her. She arranged a whole marriage without you knowing.

"Yes and you will have to live in house Targaryen for the moment, the prince's request." she lowered her head.

"Why can't I stay mother? I am needed here." you couldn't possibly leave your mother alone on the throne. She shakes her head raising it to look you in the eyes.

"You will do as told, you are my only heir." she remained you so often how could you ever forget.

"Yes mother."

Moving to Targaryen house was a rather long feet, servants coming and going. Your personal knight followed you of course his loyalty a needed trait as you enter the dragons den. Everyone knew of the scandal and constant betrayal that goes on in the royal home.

The ceremony was to be held the day you arrive, your mother wanting to make sure you can't run away. Boarding the ship taking you to travel you lean on sir Simon, he's been your knight since you were a bebe.

"Don't worry my princess I've heard he's a good man." he had grown a softness to you. You smile lacing your arm around his armor cover one.

"Thank you Simon, but truthfully he is the least of my worries." you had heard the same as Simon but it was his family that scared you.

Stepping off the ship walking in pace with Simon, holding your head high. Queen Rhaenyra and King Daemon greet you with a rather over the top welcome. She was just as intimidating as you thought her to be the King even more so.

"Thank you my Queen." you lower your head slightly bowing.

"You are to be family, and a Queen yourself." you give a small smile.

"Jacaerys is getting ready for the ceremony." she smiled. King Daemon stayed the same in position eyes wondering around you.

"Who is he?" you didn't think the King would speak making you flinch a little. You follow his eyes to Sir Simon, his look rather offending.

"My knight Sir Simon, your grace" you state plainly waiting for Simon to bow but he doesn't.

"Do you not think our knights can protect you?" when he talked to you it felt like he was looking down at you.

"Of course not, my mother thought it best I have a familiar and trusted person by my side. Seeing as I have to leave my home and mother." you say giving your best crowd pleasing smile.

"Perfectly understandable, let's get you situated." the Queen chimes in taking your hand and pulling you further into the dragons den.

The ceremony was rather long making your feet ache. Prince Jaceary was a nice catch of a man. He was beautiful, his curly raven hair brushing across his shoulders. The black and silver attire complimented his frame and features handsomely. You weren't looking to bad yourself dressed in dark blue and silver.

Before you could snap out of your thoughts he turned to you taking your hands in his. It was the time to kiss and seal the marriage, may the gods save your soul. You didn't wait for him to move as you leaned in squeezeing his hands. His lips were soft against yours his mouth partly open.

You deepen the kiss a little more before pulling back completely. You watched his eyes slowly open and him regain his composer. His face a light pink as you smile at him, he was cute. Maybe your marriage would not be so bad after all.

Everyone gave their congratulations to you, your husband, and mother. The Queen had hosted a feast announcing it with a happy smile. Your feet ached at the thought of having to stand and talk to lord and lady. But at least you sit and eat for the first part of a feast.

Jaceary was glued to your side as much as they would allow him to be. He seemed to have taken a liking to you at least for now. You rushed to finally feel the relief of sitting down in a chair. Flinching at the contact of a hand rested at the small of your back.

"Are you feeling alright?" you look beside you finding a worried husband.

"Yes, just a long ceremony my lord." you smiled as best as you could. He nods shifting his curls toward his face. His hand remind in its spot as he guided you to your seat next to his.

You sigh as you get the relief you have so desperately needed. Though your posture must remain as straight as posable. Many people gave speeches, raised glasses, and shared stories. Your eyes started to drop as the night went on the party never seeming to end.

"You should call it a night my lady." Simon's rough voice made your eyes snap open. Shaking your head you stood up turning to the man covered in amor.

"It would be rude." you smoothed out your dress scanning the room for your betrothed. His mother wanted a word with him slipping his hand from yours he followed her.

"I do not think anyone would mind." you glare a him a little making him shift under your gaze.

"I should find my mother." you stated moving to walk away.

"She went to rest a while ago my lady." she didn't say goodnight? The thought must have slipped her mind as she talked and drunk as the sun long passed.

"Why would-" the Queen and prince interrupt you.

"I'm sorry my friends but the night has come to an end!" she announced. Your angelic husband makes his way to you smiling widely. What could have made him so happy?

"Let us rest my love." you blush slightly but nod letting him guide you to your chambers. Simon followed behind keeping a respectable distance. As you approached the door you turned in Jacearys loose grasp.

"Simon make sure to look after my mother tonight, she seemed to enjoy the wine." he nods biding you a goodnight.

Your body slumped as you saw the bed, your so tired. A whole day of moving and being wed have made you rather loopy. Plopping down on the bed you sighed. Jacearys closed the door an amused smile graced his face.

"Straight to bed then?" you look up him. Right it was your first night together.

"I'm sorry my prince but I do not think it would be enjoyable at the moment." you mumble a few words slurred. He blushes and shakes his head.

"No I just meant you should get undressed first." you nod standing back up.

He helped you out of your dress while you tried to keep yourself upright. The embarrassment will kill you when you wake but for now you let him undress you. You sighed in contentment as he laid you down.

"I should go.." his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Why? we are already wed." your eyes closed mouth hung slightly open.

He stays silent but you can hear him undressing. You wanted to take a look but chose against it. The bed dipped with his weight and you felt his warmth even though he wasn't touching you.

Tomorrow would bring a new day of adjusting to the dragons den.

[cactusisconfused]

I’m having ✨thoughts✨

Aroace(?) Soap

-

Soap doesn’t understand why he feels this way for Ghost- he’s never felt this way before. Not for anyone. No woman, no man- no one.

Yet when Soap is around Simon, his mind swarms with thoughts he’s never had before. Thoughts of wanting to hold the man close. To listen to his deep, gravely, stupidly handsome British accent.

He’s so scared that it’s love- romantic love.

Soap isn’t emotionless, he loves with his whole mind and heart to the point it’s fucked him over in more ways than one- but never has he felt this.

He’s dated of course, because that’s what you’re supposed to be doing growing up. He’d dated a few girls. They were pretty, but that idea only rendered as a fact, with no emotion behind it. Like how a sunset can be beautiful but you wouldn’t take a sunset out on a date.

His relationship started when he was fourteen. A girl confessed her love, and Soap thought that’s all it took to be in love, for someone to say a ‘magic’ word. He didn’t understand that he was supposed to feel something.

She would try to kiss him, hug him, and he would give it back but it was never honest. Kissing felt wrong, felt nothing like how it seemed in the movies. They only lasted a few weeks.

He dated another girl a year later, his older sister Leah, had put them on a blind date. The girl was sweet, and again objectively pretty, but he felt…nothing.

He’s heard people talk about love, about the butterflies in one’s stomach, how everything would seem to zero in on one person. But as he looked at her from across the table, he felt nothing. He tried again, thinking that he just needed to wait for something to click.

She tried to advance things, Soap couldn’t get past taking his shirt off before making a piss poor excuse to leave. He doesn’t know why he felt like he needed to leave- why his skin was crawling at the thought of being intimate. But he did, and when he got an earful the next day from her, he had no good argument.

The girl had looked at Soap for a long moment before gently asking if Soap was gay. If that’s why his kisses never felt true, why there was no love- romantic love.

Soap at the time agreed with her, one for an out and two as it felt like a solid explanation for the way he was acting. He’d never felt anything towards guys, but maybe that’s because he’s never tried, he had never thought about it.

Soap had just turned seventeen when a guy friend of his admitted his attraction to Soap. Again, Soap looked at the man, dark brown hair, decent build, a kind man. Soap agreed regardless, already hating himself for going through with it. But maybe- maybe he is into guys and just…needs to get to know him more.

The two go on many dates and they last for almost a year. Soap could almost convince himself that he was truly in love.

Looking back, he wonders if he only felt that way because this man was the only one who saw Soap for who he was, and not the face he puts on for everyone else.

But Soap knows he was pushing his luck, knows he was leading the man on. The guilt had eaten him whole.

Three good people, all gave their undying love to Soap, and he gave nothing in return.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t feel how they felt- doesn’t know whats wrong with him. Why he can’t feel romance, why he’s never wanted sex.

He joins the military the next year, and he forgets about those feelings. Relationships aren’t meant to happen between soldiers and the one night stands are easy enough to dodge- both from men and women.

He had completely forgotten about all of it.

He had.

He really had.

Until Simon fucking Riley.

Until he saw that beast of a man dressed as the fucking grim reaper.

It wasn’t in an instant that he felt these new emotions. It was well after Las Almas and well after they catch Makarov.

Throughout that time, Soap and Simon got close, closer than either had truly expected. They flirted, though it was all banter of course.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Soap realized as he watched Ghost move through a warehouse through a sniper optic, that he found he meant it.

Then he started thinking and thinking. He couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop himself from getting jealous when anyone else looked at Simon with a suggestive glance. How he couldn’t stop thinking about holding him close, closer than Soap had let anyone before. How he had thought about pulling Simon close and have his lips meet the other’s.

It scares him.

Even if this is love- romantic love- he doesn’t feel like it’s enough. That he wouldn’t be a good enough partner, like how he was with the others in the past. What if these thoughts are the same as the last guy’s, he’s just going through some mental hoops to make him think it’s romantic?

Not to mention, Simon is his fucking superior- and his closest friend.

If he admitted his ‘love’ and for some reason Simon agreed, what if it goes away? What if he can’t recuperate once more? He’ll ruin their friendship and Soap can’t bare the thought of seeing Ghost take place of Simon.

He’s in turmoil and has no idea what to do with it.

He can’t tell gaz, he wouldn’t understand why Soap feels like he’s going crazy for feeling romantic for the first time. And like hell can he tell price, for the same reasons, plus insubordination. Price is a chill man, Soap knows that, but why stir a pot that’s already way past boiling.

So he’s stuck, with nothing but his journal and swarming feelings that make no sense.

-

Lmao, imagine identifying as aro ace for years and then boom, nada. Hahhahahahha. Definitely not projecting on him.

Definitely.

Anyway.

Have a good day (●’◡’●)ﾉ

[kammachem]

Through Hell for You╎CH 1╎Ashes of Yesterday

Simon "Ghost" Riley had spent years burying his emotions and pain, becoming a soldier who felt nothing. After losing the woman he once loved to a brutal, random death, he built walls around his heart. Then came Kilie Reyez, who saw through his mask and drew him in with her rare understanding. As she chipped away at his defenses, Simon feared the same vulnerability that had led to his past heartbreak. He was terrified of caring again, but the pull toward her was undeniable.

Kilie Reyez had sworn never to let anyone get close after the pain of her past. But Simon’s vulnerability and his haunted memories of lost love made her confront emotions she had long buried. His pain mirrored her own, and though she tried to keep her distance, the connection between them was impossible to ignore. Both of them feared the ghosts of their pasts, but their growing bond threatened to tear down the walls they’d built around themselves.

⁎ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader ⁎ Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Dramedy, Hurt/Comfort ⁎ Rating: +18 ⁎ Word Count: 4.4k ⁎ Chapter Warnings: none ⁎ Playlist: Feels Like- Gracie Abrams, To Build A Home - The Cinematic Orchestra, Dancing With Your Ghost- Sasha Alex Sloan

"Every night I'm dancing with your ghost" - Dancing With Your Ghost- Sasha Alex Sloan

The rain drummed steadily against the windowpane, soft and rhythmic, like a heartbeat against glass. Simon lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the familiar sound that had once lulled him to sleep as a boy. Back when things were simple. Before war, before masks, before he learned the weight of what it meant to survive.

Beside him, her breathing was slow and even, her body pressed lightly against his. She always slept deeply, as if she had no fears, no ghosts that haunted her when the lights went out. He envied that. Envied how easily she could rest, how she didn’t wake up expecting an attack, fists clenched and heart hammering in his chest.

Simon should have left hours ago.

He always did.

But tonight was different.

Her fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns over the ridges of a scar near his collarbone. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it—she was always reaching for him, grounding him, as if touching him made him real.

"You’re thinking too much again," she murmured sleepily, her voice thick with the weight of fading dreams.

Simon huffed a breath, tilting his head slightly to look at her. "Am I?"

She gave him a lazy smile, the kind that made something in his chest ache. "You always do. Even when you pretend not to."

He didn’t respond. Didn’t know how to.

She knew him too well. Too easily. That should have been the first warning sign.

For two years, she had been the only constant in his life outside of war. The only thing that felt solid, real, when everything else was blood and bullets and the deafening silence of his own thoughts. She wasn’t a soldier like him, not in the same way, but she understood the life. She understood him. That should have been enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because she wanted more.

She shifted, pushing herself up onto one elbow, her hair falling over her shoulder in loose waves. "Simon," she said, his name softer than a breath. "I need to ask you something."

His body tensed before he could stop it. He knew that tone. Knew what was coming.

He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "Go on, then."

She hesitated, her fingers stilling against his skin. "I want more."

The words were simple. But they hit like a hammer to his ribs.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "We have been doing this for two years, and I know what you’re going to say. That this—"she gestured between them—was never supposed to be serious. But Simon…" Her voice softened. "You don’t have to do that with me. You don’t have to pretend like you don’t care."

His jaw tightened.

She thought he was pretending. As if the way he touched her, the way he let her see pieces of him, wasn’t already the most he had ever given anyone.

"You know what my life is," he said, voice steady but distant. "What ours would be."

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she just looked at him. Like she was searching for something in his expression, some sign that he wanted her to fight for this.

"Simon, please?" she asked.

Simon’s stomach twisted. He should leave.

But he didn’t want to leave. Not really.

Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when her hands were warm against his skin, when her heartbeat was steady and strong against his ribs.

She leaned in, brushing a slow, lingering kiss against his lips. When she pulled back, she whispered, "Just think about it, okay?"

And he let himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe he could.

Simon didn’t sleep that night.

Long after she had drifted off, her fingers still loosely curled against his skin, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Thinking.

It was dangerous to think too much.

He had spent his entire life avoiding it—pushing things down, locking them away so tightly that even he could forget they existed. That was how you survived. You didn’t look too closely at what you had, because the second you realized how much it meant to you, the universe had a way of ripping it from your hands.

But she had a way of making him think. Of making him feel.

And he hated it as much as he needed it.

When the first light of dawn seeped through the window, she stirred beside him, stretching with a contented sigh before rolling over to face him. Her smile was lazy, laced with sleep, and for a second, she looked so at peace that he felt like a fucking thief for being in her bed.

“You stayed,” she murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep.

Simon didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t sure how to.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

She propped herself up on her elbow, studying him like she was searching for something in his face. Maybe trying to decide whether this meant anything. Whether he meant anything.

Her fingers brushed against his jaw, her touch featherlight. “Have you thought about it?”

Simon didn’t pretend not to know what she meant.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before sitting up on the edge of the bed. He needed distance.

“I don’t—” He stopped, jaw tightening before he tried again. “This life… it doesn’t make space for things like that.”

Her eyes softened. “Maybe it does. Maybe you just don’t let it.”

Simon scoffed. He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the floor like it had all the fucking answers.

She shifted, moving behind him, and then her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressing between his shoulder blades. She held him there, steady, like she wasn’t afraid of the weight he carried.

“I’m not asking you to stop being who you are,” she murmured. “I’m just asking you to let me be part of it.”

Simon squeezed his eyes shut.

She made it sound so simple.

But nothing about him was simple.

Still, for the first time, he found himself wanting to try.

So he reached down, covering her hand with his, giving her fingers the smallest squeeze. It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a declaration.

But it was something.

And when she sighed in contentment and pressed a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder, he let himself believe, if only for a moment, that maybe—maybe—he didn’t have to keep running.

The day passed like any other.

They got breakfast at a small café a few blocks from her flat, the kind of place that served coffee so sweet it made his teeth ache. She teased him for wincing at the taste, stealing his cup with a smirk before sipping it herself.

"American coffee has ruined you," he said, shaking her head.

She grunted. "Not my fault you drink tar."

She laughed, the sound bright and warm, and he couldn’t help the way his lips twitched in response. She had a way of pulling reactions out of him before he could stop them.

They walked after that, aimlessly weaving through the city, her fingers brushing against his every so often. She never pushed, never forced him to take her hand, but she was always there. Always close.

At some point, she grabbed his sleeve and tugged him toward a small bookstore tucked between two buildings. "You never read for fun," she accused, scanning the shelves with practiced ease.

"Never had much reason to," Simon admitted.

She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like he’d just confessed to a crime. "That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard."

He rolled his eyes.

"Alright, tough guy." She tapped her chin thoughtfully before pulling a book from the shelf and shoving it into his hands. "Start with this."

He glanced down. It was some battered copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

He arched a brow. "Seriously?"

She grinned. "Revenge, betrayal, redemption—it’s got everything a broody soldier like you could want."

Simon shook his head, but he didn’t put it back.

Maybe he would read it. Just to humor her.

The night air was crisp when they stepped out of her flat, the city alive around them. Streetlights hummed with a soft yellow glow, their footsteps echoing against the pavement as they walked with no real destination. 

It was a quiet moment—one of those rare nights where the world didn’t feel like it was at war, where there was no mission, no orders, no looming threat. Just them. Just this.

She walked beside him, close enough that their arms brushed with each step. She never forced him to hold her hand, never reached for him unless he reached first. She understood him in a way that no one else ever had, knew the boundaries he couldn’t always put into words. And yet, she was still always there.

“I was thinking about our next trip,” she said, her voice light but expectant, like she was testing the waters. “Somewhere warm this time. By the sea. Somewhere we can actually relax for once.”

Simon huffed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Relaxing’s never been my strong suit.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “No kidding.”

He smirked faintly, but she wasn’t done.

“I bet you’d love it,” she continued, tilting her head to look at him. “The kind of place where the water’s so clear you can see all the way to the bottom.”

Simon arched a brow. “What makes you so sure?”

She grinned, bumping into him lightly. “Because I know you.”

Something in his chest clenched—too tight, too sudden. She said it so simply, so certainly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe to her, it was. Maybe she really did know him, in a way that no one else ever had.

And that terrified him.

He didn’t even know himself anymore.

He didn’t know when he had stopped seeing himself as a person and started seeing himself as a weapon. When had it happened? Somewhere between the bodies and the blood? Somewhere between war and survival? He couldn’t say.

But she never looked at him like he was a weapon. She never flinched away from the violence in his past, never hesitated when she traced the scars that others found too ugly to acknowledge. She never made him feel like he was something to be feared.

She just saw him.

And for once, he let himself think that he didn’t have to lose this.

This could last.

They ended up at the little pub she loved, the one tucked into a quiet corner of the city where the air smelled like old wood and whiskey. It was never too loud, never too crowded. The kind of place where no one looked at them twice.

They found their usual table near the back, and she stretched her legs out under the table, nudging his boot with hers.

“I’m serious about that trip,” she said, swirling her drink in her hand.

Simon exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair. “You really think I’d enjoy sitting around on some beach?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, giving him a smug little grin. “I think you’d love it.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doubt it.”

She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. “You know what your problem is?”

Simon arched a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“You don’t let yourself want things.”

His fingers tensed slightly around his glass.

She kept going, voice softer now. “You act like wanting something is dangerous. Like if you let yourself have it, it’s only a matter of time before it gets taken away.”

Simon’s jaw tightened. “That’s because it usually is.”

She watched him, her expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, she reached across the table, brushing her fingers against his knuckles. Just the lightest touch. Barely there. But he felt it all the way to his bones.

“I’m not going anywhere, Simon,” she murmured. “Not unless you tell me to.”

His throat worked around words he couldn’t say.

Later that night, back at her flat, she curled up against him, tracing lazy patterns over his bare skin. Her touch was featherlight, her breath warm against his collarbone.

“You ever think about it?” she asked softly.

“About what?”

“Something more.”

Simon swallowed. “More?”

She shifted, lifting her head slightly so she could look at him. “Yeah. More than just this. More than stolen moments and pretending like we don’t care.”

His chest ached.

She thought he was pretending.

As if the way he touched her, the way he let her see him, wasn’t already the most he had ever given anyone.

He let out a slow breath. “You know what my life is.”

She nodded. “I do.”

“You know how this ends.”

She hesitated. “Do I? Do you?”

Simon stared at the ceiling. He knew how it should end—him walking away before she got too close. Before she got caught in the storm that followed him wherever he went.

But he didn’t want to leave.

Not when she was looking at him like that.

Not when her hands were warm against his skin, when her heartbeat was steady and strong against his ribs.

She leaned in, brushing a slow, lingering kiss against his lips. When she pulled back, she whispered, “Just think about it, okay?”

And for the first time in a long, long time—

He did.

The next few weeks were different.

Simon let himself want her.

They spent lazy mornings wrapped up in blankets, her fingers tangled in his hair as he dozed against her chest. They made dinner together, bumping hips in the small kitchen, her laughter filling the air as he pretended not to know what he was doing.

She stole his shirts, wore them around the flat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And fuck, he liked it.

More than he should have.

More than was safe.

She made him forget.

Forget the weight he carried, the ghosts that whispered in his ears when the nights stretched too long.

Because in the back of his mind, a voice whispered that this kind of thing—this kind of peace—was never meant for someone like him.

But she wasn’t listening to that voice.

And for once, neither was he.

Simon’s gaze softened as he looked at her, watching the way her eyes lit up when she spoke of the future. "I think I could get used to that," he said quietly, the words leaving him before he could fully grasp their meaning.

She caught the hint in his tone, her smile softening. "You can," she murmured. "I promise. We’ll make it work."

He didn’t say anything else, but his chest tightened. The promise of it settled like a weight, pressing into him with both warmth and fear.

It wasn’t that he forgot the war, or the life he’d lived. It was that, for a few fleeting hours, he could almost pretend. Pretend that the ghosts weren’t following him. Pretend that he wasn’t drowning in guilt, in memories he couldn’t outrun. Because with her, everything else fell away.

There was a peace to the moments they shared. Even when they weren’t speaking, even when silence filled the air, it wasn’t empty. 

It was full of something Simon had never been able to name before. But he wasn’t ready to say it—he wasn’t ready to face the truth of what he was starting to feel for her.

They walked through the city on lazy afternoons, the scent of rain heavy in the air, the streets slick underfoot. 

She talked about their future, the one she dreamed of. A place by the sea. The ocean’s blue-green depths, stretching out to the horizon.

The future that he is in.

To have someone see him, really see him, and still want to stay. To be here. With him.

He glanced at her again, but this time, something flickered in her gaze. A question. An understanding.

But it wasn’t just that. It was a quiet, tentative hope. Like she was waiting for him to give her something more. To open up in ways he hadn’t let anyone before.

"Why do you always talk about the future?" he asked quietly, his voice just loud enough to carry over the hum of the city around them.

Her lips twitched into a soft smile. "Because I believe in it. I believe there’s more to life than just surviving. I believe in having something to look forward to."

But then, she turned to him, her fingers brushing against his arm as they continued their walk. Her touch was warm, grounding, and it almost made him believe that maybe he could offer her something. Something more than just the broken man he’d become.

The city seemed to fade into the background, the lights dancing off the wet pavement, the soft murmur of voices and cars distant against the thunderclouds that loomed above them. The storm was coming, and she didn’t seem to mind. She always said she loved the rain. That it cleared her mind.

Simon wasn’t so sure about that.

The tension between them was palpable, thick with unspoken words, with questions he didn’t know how to answer. And he didn’t know why, but he felt like this moment was a crossroads. A point where, if he let himself go, if he let her in, things might change. And he didn’t know if he was ready for that.

And then, without warning, the world shattered.

The explosion came from nowhere.

One second, everything was quiet—the soft murmur of the city, the rhythm of their footsteps, the scent of rain. The next, there was nothing but fire. A blinding, deafening force that ripped through the air like a hurricane, sending Simon crashing to the ground.

The world spun, disorienting, as the shockwave hit him like a freight train. He didn’t even hear the blast—not at first. All he felt was a pulse of pressure, a crushing force that drove the air from his lungs, throwing him forward.

Time stretched. For a moment, there was only darkness, and then a burst of light. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he lay on the ground, limbs aching, blood pounding in his ears. His vision was blurred, the world a swirling mess of smoke, debris, and chaos.

His instincts kicked in immediately, training taking over, but nothing—nothing—could prepare him for the sight in front of him.

Everything was gone.

Everything.

His mind tried to process the scene, the wreckage, the fire. There were bodies. Scorched remnants. The twisted metal of her car, burning in the street.

And then, through the haze, his eyes found it.

Her bracelet.

The one she never took off. The one he’d admired a thousand times. The one he’d kissed before they went to sleep, whispered promises into.

Simon’s world tilted, and he forced himself to move, pain and fear coursing through his veins. He pushed himself up from the ground, ignoring the cries of people around him, ignoring the blaring sirens in the distance. There was only one thing that mattered.

Her.

And as he stumbled toward the wreckage, hands shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the world around him seemed to blur. His legs moved without his consent, every step a struggle to stay upright, to do something.

But when he saw the remains of her car, he realized, with crushing finality, that there was nothing he could do. The fire was too intense, the debris too thick. The world was crashing in on him, the voices of the other people nothing but background noise.

And then, in the midst of everything, his eyes locked onto a charred bracelet lying at his feet.

Her bracelet.

Everything in him stopped.

The funeral was a blur.

Simon didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay away. Something inside him—some twisted part of him that couldn’t let go—made him show up. But he wasn’t there for her family. He wasn’t there for the people who spoke in hushed tones, offering condolences, pretending like everything would be okay.

He was there because he couldn’t leave her. Even now.

The service was in a small chapel, the kind with stained glass windows that let in pale, muted light. The room was filled with flowers—white lilies, roses, orchids—but they did nothing to mask the heaviness in the air, the oppressive silence that hung like a weight on Simon’s chest.

Her parents were there, grief written across their faces, their bodies trembling as they clung to each other. Her friends, too, were gathered—too many to count, all lost in their own sorrow. But Simon couldn’t bring himself to look at them. 

Couldn’t bring himself to look at her mother, whose eyes were red and swollen with tears. Her father stood stoically, his jaw clenched, but Simon could see the cracks in his composure. He could feel the grief radiating from the man, just like his own, except Simon knew it wouldn’t show. Not here.

He barely heard the eulogy. Her best friend stood at the pulpit, trembling, fighting back tears as she spoke about all the things that made her special. How kind she was. How brave. How full of life. Her laughter, her warmth. Simon had heard it all a thousand times before, but today, it sounded hollow.

The words slid off him like water. They didn’t reach him. Not anymore. They couldn’t touch the emptiness inside him.

When it came time to say goodbye, Simon stood frozen in the back, his eyes locked onto the closed casket. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his body trembling with the urge to scream. To punch something. To make the world hear his anger. Because this wasn’t fair. This wasn’t right.

She was gone. She hadn’t deserved this.

She had been just a few steps away from freedom—away from the life she hadn’t been prepared for. And now, she was gone. A victim of a senseless attack. A car bomb.

Simon couldn’t make sense of it.

The chapel was still and quiet, save for the soft sobs around him. He felt like an outsider, even though he was surrounded by her memories, by the people who had loved her. He wasn’t the one who should have been here. He wasn’t the one who should have been standing in the shadows, struggling to hold it together.

Her parents—her mother, clutching a handkerchief to her face—approached the casket. They spoke to her softly, their voices broken, but Simon couldn’t hear their words. He couldn’t hear anything over the deafening roar in his ears.

And then it was his turn.

He couldn’t bring himself to step forward.

Instead, he stayed frozen, his eyes never leaving the casket, as though he could somehow make it all go away if he just stood still long enough.

But he couldn’t. No matter how much he wished for it, he couldn’t change what had happened.

The priest began to speak, his voice reverent, solemn, but Simon couldn’t listen to him either. His mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t here in the chapel anymore. He was back in the streets, back in the moment just before the explosion. He was back holding her hand, hearing her laugh as they walked together.

And then, just like that, the world had exploded.

He hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.

When they lowered the casket into the ground, the finality of it hit Simon with all the force of the blast that had taken her away. The dirt piled on top of the wood, the thud of it like the beat of his own heart, rhythmic and unforgiving.

This is real.

She’s gone.

It was a feeling that crushed him from the inside, as though the weight of everything he’d ever done was bearing down on him all at once. He wasn’t just grieving the loss of her. He was grieving the loss of everything she had represented. The chance for something more. The chance to build a life outside of war.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to do anything to make this feel less permanent, less wrong.

But he couldn’t.

When the crowd began to thin, when the murmurs faded and the small group of mourners began to disperse, Simon remained. He stayed at the gravesite, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the weight of his boots dragging as he stepped forward.

He dropped to his knees by the freshly turned earth, the coldness of the soil seeping through the fabric of his pants.

This was it. The end. The final goodbye.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the bracelet. The same one he had found amidst the wreckage. It was still charred, blackened from the blast, but he could still make out the shape of it, the small charms that dangled from the silver chain.

For a moment, Simon just stared at it.

This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. He hadn’t been ready. He had barely even begun to accept that he could be something more, and now it was gone. Snatched away without warning, without mercy.

The weight of it settled in his chest, pressing down until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He had to force his voice to break the silence.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse, like it was a struggle to even speak the words. "I’m so sorry."

But she wasn’t here to hear him. She would never hear him again.

With trembling hands, Simon placed the bracelet on the edge of the grave, the way he’d seen people leave tokens of love for their lost ones.

And as he stood to leave, his heart felt heavier than it ever had before.

The man who had walked into that chapel was a different man from the one who had walked out of it.

Simon Riley wasn’t just broken anymore.

He was shattered.

[pinkysberg]

silver linings

read on ao3

sadie adler/abigail (roberts) marston

wordcount: ~1.7k

tags: pining, slice of life, romantic tension, lesbian sadie adler (it’s not important but that is how i write her), implied lavender marriage adlers, otherwise canon compliant

summary: in which sadie pines for abigail

a/n: they mean sm to me. u don’t understand

Adjusting to being in a gang comes easier when Sadie’s allowed to act like she’s in a gang. She discovers it's a remarkable outlet for the bubbling rage she’s always sitting on. It seems that it's favourable to let her lose on the gang’s adversaries rather than their own. Pulling a knife on the camp cook was the final straw apparently, and had Sadie known that’s all it’d take to get her out of washing dishes and doing laundry, she’d have tried to stab Simon Pearson weeks ago.

Sadie’s shot a gun plenty before this, even pointed one at men up in the mountains who thought she’d be easy to push around as a lone lady on the trail. However, she hadn’t killed a man until her first shopping trip into Rhodes with Arthur Morgan. She thought it’d be hard, taking life, but it wasn’t. It was as though she’d been waiting for the moment since she saw Jake’s body hit the floor of their cabin. She wanted to make the world pay for what it’d done to Jake. For what it’d done to her.

She isn't crying so often now, which she thinks must be a good thing but she feels guilty for it. Like she should still be inconsolable. The tears have subsided but they’re not gone. They’re simmering with the rage, waiting to boil over. Sometimes she has nightmares that wake her in the middle of the night, her breathing rapid and face wet with unconcious tears. She goes for walks and finds herself by the shore of their camp watching the tide roll. Sometimes her mind drifts away, to the mountains, and she swears she can feel hands on her, the icy air bristling at her skin, only to be brought back to reality by the camp’s ambience.

Attempts are made at trying to socialize with some of the others around camp, but the only person she really gets along with and finds herself choosing to be around is Abigail. And if she felt guilty for being beyond constant tears, she certainly feels guilty when she brings Abigail a coffee in the morning and joins her to watch the morning sun dance on the river.

Abigail watches Jack play in the gravel shore and Sadie watches Abigail. Sometimes their morning coffee is quiet, no words shared between them and even still, it's enjoyable. Other times they make small talk. Sadie learns about Abigail’s past, with work, with the gang, with John.

John Marston is a fool, she’s decided. Any man who can't see what he has in front of him with Abigail is a god forsaken fool, especially when she’s so dead set on sticking by him. Those are the discussions Sadie cares less for and they end up being the most frequent.

“I don't know what I have to do for him to get it.” Abigail sighs one morning, staring down into her coffee.

Sadie watches Jack in her stead. She shrugs; Realistically she’s not so sure that if John hasn’t gotten it by now that he ever would. Though, she knows that may not be the right thing to say.

“He’s a fool.” Is all she supplies.

“Sometimes I think of just…givin’ up. Taking off with Jack and leaving him behind…seems like that's what he wants, anyway.” Abigail mutters.

Sadie knows Abigail loves John. More than she ought to, in her opinion. She wouldn't be happy if she left John behind and she knows Abigail’s not so naive to think she could make a stable life for herself and the boy on her own.

“He’s a fool,” Sadie repeats, “but…he’ll figure it out.” She offers.

Abigail scoffs. “I’m not so sure.”

Sadie isn't either. “You’ve got help. You don't need him.” She tries instead.

Abigail sighs wistfully. “I know…but I want him…and maybe that makes me a fool.”

Love makes a fool of everyone, Sadie supposes. She’s never been a fool in that respect, she wasn’t truly ever able to be. The opportunity was never afforded to her. The love she had with Jake was the most practical decision she’d ever made.

“Maybe.” Sadie agrees.

Abigail shoots her a look, her brow furrowed but the corner of her mouth is quirked up. Sadie smiles back and it's small and fond. God, maybe she is a fool. Looking away, she looks back to Jack who’s throwing rocks into the water now.

Sadie sets her coffee down on the log next to Abigail and approaches Jack’s side. She crouches to his level.

“Y’ever skipped rocks?” She asks him.

“Skip rocks?” He looks up at her with wide, curious eyes.

Sadie collects a smooth, flat stone from the ground and holds it up for Jack to see. “You want a rock like this, see? Then you hold it like this.” She angles her wrist so the rock is aligned with the water. “And you just flick it.” She instructs as she sends the rock skipping over the water surface.

Jack gasps and looks up at Sadie. “Wow!” He exclaims.

“If the water’s frozen it’s even cooler. Makes a neat sound.” She says to him.

“Can I try?” He asks her.

With a chuckle, Sadie shrugs and gestures to the ground. “Find a rock.” She says to him.

Jack spends the next while skipping rocks - or rather, trying to. Abigail offers a thankful smile to Sadie for the time she doesn't have to spend finding ways to entertain a four-year-old.

Children were never something Sadie had considered, and she assumes Jake hadn’t either. It never really came up. She wasn't warm and nurturing - not like Abigail. Her edges are rough and her hands are calloused. She lacks patience. Maybe that’s something you learn, though. Sadie wonders if Abigail was always this gentle, always this nurturing, or if she had to learn.

“You’re good with him.” Abigail compliments.

“Ah,” Sadie shrugs. “S’nothin.” She says. “I had a nephew, ‘bout Jack’s age when I last saw him.” She shares mindlessly.

Abigail’s quiet for a moment before she looks at Sadie with an unassuming expression. “I didn't think you had any family.” She says.

Sadie sighs. She doesn't. Not really, anyway - none that associate with her. Though it's not as though she associates with them either. She had never really seen eye to eye with any of her family. Eventually it became clear to them that she was always hiding from them. She couldn't bear to lie to them but she also felt she had to lie to them - for their sake and for her own. Sadie stopped writing first, but eventually they stopped asking after her. She couldn't very well show up on her sister’s doorstep after all this time.

“I…We’re…estranged.” She explains. “Long story.” Except it isn't, really.

“Oh,” Abigail nods. “I’m sorry.”

Sadie shakes her head and gives Abigail a tight smile. She had grown accustomed to loneliness.

They drift back into quiet company, wordlessly watching Jack attempt to skip rocks. Abigail smiles and claps when he manages to get a stone to skip over the surface of the water, even if it's only once or twice. Eventually, though, his attention wanes and he's wandering off towards the centre of camp. Abigail gives Sadie a soft smile before she follows her son. Sadie watches her go and she feels foolish.

Later that evening she finds herself back on that same log, looking out over the water bathed bright magenta with the setting sun. Most nights she finds herself reminiscing about Jake and their perfect little life - for all the things it could have never been, it was perfect nonetheless. Long ago, Sadie had made peace with being safe over unfulfilled. Safety, though, was no longer a luxury she was afforded. Here in the brush, surrounded by folks who’s care for social expectations seemed to be non existent, Sadie finds her mind dwelling on thoughts of Abigail instead of memories of Jake.

She thinks about Abigail until she’s thinking about John, somehow. There are some choice words for a man like him. Being forced to watch him turn away from Abigail’s affections is akin to watching Jake try to chop wood with his legs together. She’d rather just take over. Though, this isn't a time where she can fondly lay a hand on someone’s shoulder and they’ll just hand her the axe. So she sits in agony and waits for John to swing a blade into his own foot.

Once night falls, foot steps in the gravel behind Sadie pulls her attention over her shoulder. Abigail Roberts approaches, no Jack in tow. Sadie cannot help the smile that works it's way onto her face at the mere sight of her.

“Mrs. Adler,” Abigail chirps in greeting, returning the smile.

“Miss Roberts.”

“Would you mind some company?” She offers, coming to stand next to where Sadie sits.

Hazel eyes gleam up at sparkling cerulean, even in the dark they're bright and bold. Sadie nods.

“Could never mind your company.” Sadie returns, sounding perhaps a touch more inviting than she’d intended.

Abigail giggles, something soft. If Sadie were more credulous, she’d almost characterize the sound as fond. Abigail sits with a sigh, next to Sadie with hardly any space between them. Their knees could knock together if Sadie twisted her hip ever so slightly. Her heart skips a beat in her chest at the proximity.

“I like this new get up.” Abigail remarks, noting Sadie’s new pants. It's a change from the borrowed skirts she’d been wearing.

She’s thankful for the cover of darkness that hides the way her cheeks rouge at the comment. “Yea?” Sadie asks.

“Suits you.” She nods, bumping their shoulders gently. “Seems like all this suits you.” Abigail murmurs, gesturing around them.

Maybe there's truth to that. It certainly suits her better than chopping vegetables. “Hmph.” Sadie chuckles in response.

After a moment, Abigail rests her head on Sadie’s shoulder unprompted. Instinctively, Sadie goes rigid, unsure what to make of the moment. Abigail only sighs and relaxes further, which draws some of the tension out of Sadie.

“It ain’t fair to say, but,” Abigail hesitates, “but I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad to have met you, at least.”

Warmth blooms within Sadie’s chest. Maybe it isn't fair, given just what it took to bring them together but she cannot deny that she’s equally as glad to have met Abigail. She rests her head against Abigail’s where it lays on her shoulder.

“Meeting you has certainly been a silver lining.”