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[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 7

2.3k | angst, drinking irresponsibly If Simon could do it all again (part 1)

“You don’t look good, sir.” The sergeant stood at attention, looking straight into his lieutenant’s eyes.

Simon had to commend the balls of Kevlar required to walk right up to him to point the fact out unprompted, but that was why he liked Sgt. Eric Jefferies the most. You had no time to waste when you raced with death on the regular - he would tell anyone they didn’t look good.

He knew he didn’t - it was the same bland face he had the pleasure to look at in the mirror each day. Annoyed, but not surprised by the darkening circles under his eyes, stark against his pale complexion. It didn’t help that he nicked himself in the jaw shaving that morning.

“Dining hall, sergeant,” he grunted.

“You’re barely eating, Riley,” Lt. Ramsay said, the same bloke who’d catch him sneaking back to his room. “You know you’re contributing to the food waste when you don’t ask for seconds, yeah?”

It was true, and the table chuckled, but Simon continued to shove whatever was on his plate into his mouth. It was enough to not starve.

“He never leaves his room anymore, not even on the weekends,” another lieutenant quipped, but was promptly elbowed by the officer next to him.

That, too, was true.

Simon had nowhere else to be, like how it always was before his mum came to Hereford. These days his flat was too empty and cold with the hole in his chest. He never came back after that night.

It wasn’t like he was thriving in his quarters either, but it was still a little better – at least it was untouched by you. Though his nights were dreamless at first, he kept waking, and waking until the dreams started.

It was a glitch in the universe, wasn’t it? That the memory that played in his mind to insanity was the last time he saw you, about crawling back to your door with limbs that didn’t feel like his, vision swaying with the lights, coming on and off, his heartbeat ringing in his head.

It’s not supposed to end this way… I want to try…

He sighed at another disturbed night. Tea would slow his mind. Instead, he found the box of Darjeeling you gifted him to take back to base. ‘So we can have the same tea over the phone,’ you’d said.

Was there a way to escape you, make you stop haunting? He needed an exorcism.

He put it back in his drawer. One day, it wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.

And the nightmares came back. It was once, then twice, and thrice a week of waking up in cold sweat in the dark.

Simon’s performance slipped. There was a reason sleep deprivation was a popular torture method. He requested sleeping medications - his career was the last thing he had and he wasn’t about to let it go. Any unrestful sleep interrupted by the vivid images his sickly mind conjured up was still better than no sleep at all.

Quitting you was impossible when the thoughts still followed. If pushing you away didn’t work, maybe basking in the memories would, even if it hurt more. Aching for your warmth, the scraps of it, he’d go anywhere you’d been to see your ghost. The pain was better than the void.

“You lads are volunteering at the soup kitchen this Saturday,” he announced to Sgt. Jefferies after hours.

“Saturday, sir?”

“It’s good for you. Reminds you why you’re doing all this.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” he teased. “You’re not my L.T. on the weekends.”

Simon’s stare didn’t waver and the other bloke’s smile dropped.

“Copy, sir. I’ll tell the others.”

When the four burly SAS soldiers entered the kitchen, chatter and clanks stalled as all eyes turned to them.

“May… May I help you young lads?” one of the middle-aged ladies said.

Simon recognised her from his last visit, but he quickly realised this was a silly idea. He was out of place, knowing no one there.

He flashed half a smile. “Just wanted to give a hand. Got any lifting to do?”

The lieutenant and his sergeants hauled the food items to the kitchen, including the bread which he taught his sergeants to half and butter. They were offered to peel potatoes, but Simon decided it was wise to leave it to the pros instead.

People still avoided his gaze while his boys exchanged pleasantries with the other volunteers; Eric even got called handsome by the group of older ladies he impressed with his strength as he hefted the sack of potatoes. While the night was as pleasant, it wasn’t the same if you weren’t there to hold his hand and laugh at his jokes.

When the boys invited Simon to the pub at the end of the night, he said no. He thought he was ready, but even after weeks, coming back to his flat was just as sickening.

The silence pierced. Despite all the lights flicked on, the place made his skin crawl, the space too vast and empty. But he didn’t become a lieutenant from succumbing to his emotions.

As he lay in bed, he recalled that you too slept there once. That the mattress once dipped with the gentle weight of you, but unlike the bed that bounced back, you’d left a lasting imprint that disfigured his soul.

Simon wondered what you were up to, if you knew he was there drowning, miserable in his cold room. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your door to be closer or further: closer so he could catch a glimpse of you without meaning to, or further so he wouldn’t be so tempted to go over and get on his knees.

You said begging only reduced you to nothing, but for you, he’d beg and beg. There wasn’t much to lose when he wasn’t much to begin with. He was a stray for a reason.

He tossed and turned, and was granted a wink of sleep before the same bloody dream flashed in his mind.

I don’t care how hard it gets…

He sat up, feet thudding on the floor as he rubbed his face with a heavy sigh. It was always that one moment, like a broken record. Why couldn’t it be you on a night out, or kissing you on the kitchen counter, or simply, you smiling? It was a curse. If only the heart could follow where one’s feet went.

With no plans on coming here, his sleeping pills lay on his desk at base. He looked through the cabinets to distract himself, finding various bottles of dusty, unopened spirits he was gifted. They weren’t his cup of tea.

So he packed, to get his mind off you, from spiralling and digging a deeper grave for itself.

It was time for a change. With the accommodation he was provided, he never needed to rent, but he did anyway in case his mum ever needed the place. It was a good call he did, but with the divorce on the way, keeping it was pointless. He’d rather spend the extra money on his mum and nephew.

Yes, he came to remember- not to forget, but you wouldn’t leave, would you? In the dead of night, when he pulled the hoodie he’d forgotten about out of his wardrobe, he decided he’d had enough of his bloody flat and drove back to base.

He still had another weekend to before his next deployment, a two-month mission. He’d finish packing then.

“You’re right, sir, it feels good volunteering.” Eric grinned at his lieutenant. “We’re going again tomorrow. Also one of the ladies is introducing her daughter to Sam. See you there then?”

Never again. “Dining hall, sergeant.”

Simon was a fool for not finishing his lunch sooner and bolting, instead lingering for the announcement. With how atrocious he did on his tests, he must have been beyond high to still hope for a miracle, that despite everything, he still had a chance at a promotion.

He didn’t make to the top 3.

Amidst the wishes from the table, Lt. Ramsay’s turned to him. His grateful smile faltered.

Simon’s fists clenched. It was supposed to be him, his. But who was he to be mad. It was the fruit of his incompetence. He knew this was coming. Things were going to shit. The unforgiving truth was staring right at him mercilessly: he had nothing else.

He left for his office.

“Sir, sir!” Sgt. Jefferies called. “We’re heading to the pub tonight. Come with us.”

He gritted his teeth. Word travelled too fast.

“Let’s get out of the base for a bit,” he continued when he caught up to his long strides. “It’s the last weekend before we ship out.”

Simon eyed the display of vibrant bottles behind the bar as he listened to his sergeants’ orders, the names foreign to him. Above, the telly showed a rugby match rerun no one paid attention to.

“Jefferies, how much you reckon it takes me to get pissed?”

He chuckled. “You, sir? At least 10,” he said before taking a swig of his beer.

“Nah, 15 sounds more like it.” Richie, the designated driver for the evening piped up.

Sam downed his first two shots, hissing as he slammed the glasses on the bar. “Agreed. Do you know how much he lifts?” He nodded at Simon’s biceps, bulging under his loose black shirt.

It was a genuine question. Simon didn’t want to get pissed, he only wanted to forget. He didn’t mean to go over his limit he had no idea was at seven.

Drunk Simon was a weeping, blabbering mess. It didn’t help that he was massive, because his sergeants had trouble getting him to the car before Richie drove him to the address of his flat he barely managed to gurgle out before passing out.

“Sir, you’re paying for the bloody cleaning if you get sick in my car!”

Why did he think this was a good idea? He was never a drinker, barely even touched alcohol socially. It was the poison that turned his dad into a demon, and it too became his downfall. The only thing he thought he would always have – his resolve, let him down too. He’d lost you, his mum whom he was supposed to protect, his future, and now his dignity.

Desperation was a lethal sentiment.

And that dream came again, that he stumbled to your door. Legs wobbly, his vision in and out as the world spun in slow motion.

“Luv… Luv, it’s not supposed to end like this,” he slurred, the same line he always opened with.

A marionette, a prisoner in his own head, it was a loop he couldn’t escape. The awful show had to commence to end the same way each time.

“I’m sick of losing and I wouldn’t know what to do when you leave, after how much you’ve given. Instead, I left when you needed me. I should have been there for you, gone through all this with you, no matter how hard it got.

“If you would give me a chance, I’ll quit the SAS. I’d start all over again. I’ll butcher the carrots and apples with the bloody peeler, I’ll let the steakhouse mess up our reservation and eat a dozen soapy tacos… If you ever show up at my door with your pie again, I swear I’d kiss you, not scare you. And I’ll never let go. If it has to hurt, I want it to be you.”

The door clicked open, and like how it always went, it meant the dream was coming to an end.

“You make it worth it,” he muttered as his vision faded.

…

Simon gasped for air, this time staring up at blinding lights. He shielded his wet eyes, chuckling to himself.

“Bloody hell, I think I’m sick on the inside.”

“Only your past, but you are not your past.” Your voice echoed in the distance.

His body was too heavy to move. “Could you forgive me, for all of this?”

“Could you? You need to forgive more than you need to be forgiven.”

He laughed as another tear slipped.

Simon woke on his couch, still in his clothes from the night before. Dreaming of you always drained him, leaving him hollow and out of touch with his body.

He sat up with a groan, rubbing his face as the dizziness settled. He didn’t remember much after getting dragged to Richie’s car. Judging by the gnarly bruise on his arm, he probably fell last night, but he was glad he found his way back to his flat in one piece.

Stumbling to the shower, he hissed when his toe stubbed one of the boxes on the floor. It was a horrendous decision to drink so much, still having to pack the rest of his stuff. He leaned over the sink, staring at his bloodshot eyes.

His sergeant was right. He didn’t look good. He never did. What the fuck are you doing to yourself, Riley?

With his hair damp, he made his way to the kitchen. As he realised he’d packed all his tea stash in one of the bloody boxes, a series of knocks echoed in his flat.

He grumbled. It better be important for someone to disturb his peace, especially with the pounding of his head. He couldn’t be bothered putting a shirt on before he swung the door open.

It was you, a pie in hand like the first time he met you all those months ago.

“Hi, is Simon in?”

His heart lurched as he crushed you in a hug.

“Thought you said you were going to kiss me.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie @lyenera @luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @footyandformula @opalesquegirl @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs @strawberrystargal @damalseer @onlineoutcast @alright-i-guesss @maresoleil @mehjustalasshere @rrtxcmt

[cumikering]

Alex Keller x plus-sized reader

.8k | fluff, body insecurities Even if you don’t love yourself, Alex will until you do

The door of your shared apartment slammed shut followed by a couple of thuds.

“Baby?” Alex called from the couch, looking over his shoulder.

When you rounded the corner with a frown, he rushed and wrapped an arm around you, noticing the wobble of your lower lip.

“Oh, sweetie, what is it? Did something happen?”

You’d jumped out of bed with a grin that morning at the thought of the shopping trip ahead. One of your girls had their birthday coming up and you were getting matching dresses.

“No… It’s just…” You sighed, fighting the brimming tears. “I couldn’t find anything.” The first tear fell anyway, which you wiped away immediately.

He led you to the couch.

“Each time they found something cute, I had to be the bearer of bad news and tell them they didn’t have it in my size, or that it looked horrible on me. We went through the whole mall, and I had to look at all these cute dresses that I’d never get to wear because nothing would fit right. I feel so left out.” You sniffled. “I… I was feeling good. Got to have a nice brunch and boba after, but now I just feel guilty about ruining the day! We spent the whole day out and we didn’t even get anything.”

“You didn’t ruin the day, sweetheart.” He gripped your hands. “You just haven’t found the perfect dress yet. It takes time, doesn’t it?”

“I couldn’t even find anything remotely flattering. How am I going to find the perfect one? I don’t… even want to go anymore.”

You still wouldn’t meet his eyes when he wiped your tears away. “How about this, you get a dress you like, and we’ll get it tailored? Then you’ll get to showcase all those gorgeous curves I love so much.”

“But… It’s not supposed to be tailored. It’s supposed to look good right away.”

“Clothes off the rack don’t usually fit everyone perfectly. My dress uniforms were tailored too.” He tilted your face towards him. “We’re living, breathing things. We don’t all look alike and that’s normal.”

After a long silence, you muttered, “Why are you with me, Alex?”

“Because there’s no one I want more than I want you, no one with a sweeter smile or a lovelier voice.” He kissed your knuckles. “Some days I wake up and I wonder what you are doing with me. You should be with someone who doesn’t have to leave you all alone for weeks, make you worry sick if he’s coming home. Someone who doesn’t have so many ugly scars.”

“Alex…”

“It’s the same reason you’re with me, isn’t it? It’s never about what I see, always about how you make me feel.” He kissed your forehead. “I don’t see these flaws you talk about, because to me they’re not. I wish you could see yourself how I see you, just 5 minutes,” he said, caressing your cheek.

“Your smile is what keeps me going in the field when things go sideways. This pretty face is my absolute favourite thing to come home to.” His hands slid down your arms. “Because there’s nowhere safer than your arms when you hold me tight, or when you stroke my hair with your gentle hands.”

He squeezed your waist. “This is a wonderful reminder that I keep you happy. What else am I supposed to grab when we spoon?” His gaze trailed further down. “I love when you jump into my arms, especially when those thighs wrap around me, or when you get on your tippy toes on to kiss me.” He gave you a once over before bringing your hand to his lips again. “Fuck, there’s nothing I don’t love about you. I can’t ask for anything more.”

Your lips wobbled again, but for a different reason now.

He pulled you to his chest, his strong arms around you as he kissed the side of your face repeatedly. “I know it’s hard sometimes. But I’m going nowhere, and I’ll love you even more the days you can’t.”

He brushed the new tears off your face with his thumb and peppered more kisses on your cheek as he held you.

“We have the whole day to shop tomorrow. We can go anywhere you want, maybe the matcha cafe you like too after?"

“You don’t mind?”

He shook his head, giving you one of his gorgeous smiles. “The best things take time, like finding you. But had I known it’s you, I’d have waited longer.”

Happy birthday to my C aka my April sis aka the one Alex Keller would literally be on his knees for aka the story itself @shadofireshinobi. Here’s to many more times I’m gonna slide into your DMs and rizz the hell out of you <3

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 6

2.7k | angst No matter how loyal, guard dogs still have their teeth (part 1) (part 7)

Simon’s steps to your door were heavy, as his heart had been since that call.

Despite his blazing wrath, he was unprepared for the waves of guilt that washed over, the shame that wrestled to drown him. He was unable to protect you from his past – he brought it upon you, even after how much too sweet you’d been, how softly you’d touched him. How could he ever look you in the eye again?

The stray never deserved any of that.

When you gave him a squeeze at the door, he didn’t return it. Still, you tugged him in with the same lovely smile, even when it wasn’t as wide.

“Fancy a cuppa?”

“No.”

Your pretty hand shouldn’t be in his filthy one. Do you even know what I do with these hands?

You sat at the dining table and Simon remained on his feet to your side, eyes fixed on the cup of pu erh before you. His fists clenched and released. You didn’t like pu erh.

At the end of the day, he was still a reaper in dress uniform - one with an unrelenting demon that lurked in the far corner. He could have fucked him up that evening at the bakery. Feel his nose crumble against his knuckles, maybe even the snap of his scrawny neck in his hands.

But no, this happened because he didn't. Like his mum said, you were good for him, of course you were. But was he for you? He was nothing but trouble.

You smiled up at him. Always so sincere, so delicate, making his stomach twist more.

“My dad’s visiting this weekend. I was wondering if you wanted to meet him? And… Um, what I should introduce you-“

Not addicted, he'd tell himself too many times, as if it didn’t sound like a bloody lie to his own ears. You were the beginning of an incurable addiction, a cliff with the bewitching view he was a step away from falling off of.

His gaze left you. “I’m going back home with my mum tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you said, your disappointment evident. “Okay, maybe next time then.”

His heart pounded in his ears as he forced the words out, nails digging into his palms. “We should stop this.”

“What… What are you saying, Simon?”

“This. Meeting you, staying over. I’ll have less time when I become captain. This isn’t going to end well,” he reasoned, but it sounded more like he was convincing himself this was the right thing.

He knew it was, even when it didn’t feel like it, like a lot of things in life. He knew one day he’d be glad he did this. One day, even when right then it felt like the worst thing he could be doing. Would someone, something, rip this decision away from his hands?

“You don't get to say that yet, not right now. I know you're going through a lot.” You reached for his hand. “But we can wait until things settle and we’ll talk-“

He pulled away from your touch. “I've made up my mind. I never meant for things to get this far.”

In the still room, his stare remained on the cup you hadn’t touched since his arrival.

“You knew this all along and you still let it happen,” you said as realisation dawned.

He looked up to meet your hardened gaze. He’d seen you sad, annoyed, angry, but this was the first time your eyes were devoid of warmth. Being the receiving end of that stare was a stab to his chest.

“I should believe people when they show me who they are.” You chuckled humourlessly. “Get out, Simon.”

The world slowed. It was hard to draw his breath as he remained unmoving, like he was chained to the floor of where his sanctuary once was. Despite the arms that ached to wrap around you and never let go, he forced himself to walk away as his blood ran cold.

The door slammed behind him. He didn’t expect a positive response, of course, but it was definitely not the shatter of his own heart.

Still, it didn’t hurt as much as it would have had he waited until you inevitably left him for one reason or another. At least he’d never have to worry about being like his dad, about hurting you, betraying you, if you weren’t there to begin with. Like he’d always known, you deserved better, someone as lovely as you – unlike this stray who would never be enough.

It’s the right thing.

He could give his mum his undivided attention now. She would never leave nor kick him out the door. If he was not wanted, he had to be endlessly needed, used dry until he was nothing but a ghost.

“Who the fuck broke my bloody door!”

Simon and his mum had been waiting for his dad’s return to the house that had turned into a complete mess. Meanwhile, she’d packed as much of her belongings as she could, her luggage in the living room.

“Sign the bloody papers before I make sure you never can anymore,” Simon barked, standing tall next to his sitting mum.

His dad rounded the corner and Simon’s jaw ticked thinking of what he did to you. He let out a weak sigh at the sight of his wife and son at the dining table, a sight he hadn’t seen in over a decade. His eyes softened.

“I don’t want anything from you, James. Please sign them and we’ll be out of here.”

He pulled out the chair across the table and propped his elbows up, face in his hands as he took a deep breath.

“I need to apologise, Melanie,” he began. “I’ve made your life hell, and I know there’s nothing I can do to change that now. I was my fault.”

“She didn’t ask,” Simon said through gritted teeth. He shoved the papers closer when he ached to break the filthy table with his dad’s skull.

“I’m sorry about your last night here. It was unforgiveable, what I did.”

Simon slammed his fist onto the table. He had watched the grand performance too many times. “You’re not fooling anybody with your tricks. Sign the bloody papers. I swear this is the last time I’m asking.”

His mum patted his hand, and he reluctantly took the seat next to her.

“I want you to have the house, Mel. You’ve always kept it too beautiful for a man like me. It’s the least I can give you after everything.” He let out a steady breath, flipping open the document. “I hope one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me for how much I’ve hurt you,” he added quietly.

Was that remorse that settled in his hollow eyes?

His mum bit her lip as a tear slipped. When Simon wrapped an arm around her, she sobbed into his chest.

No words were exchanged as his dad went through the papers, and it remained so until Simon wheeled his mum’s luggage out the door behind her.

“Goodbye, James.” She didn’t spare him another look.

“Simon?” he called in a small voice. “I’m sorry I’m not the father you deserve.”

The lieutenant threw the door shut.

Simon spent the next few days with his mum, Tommy, his wife and son. Since his last visit, Tommy’s got a new job and seemed to be spoiling his son rotten with plenty of new toys, including the shiny red bike outside. Unfortunately, even after over a year, he and Beth still hadn’t had much luck trying for a second child.

Joseph was a brilliant kid with a toothy smile, just like Tommy was, and it always surprised Simon how big his nephew got between each visit. It was a shame he only got to meet his family twice or thrice each year.

“Joe, you’ve been sitting on your uncle’s shoulders all day,” Beth said with an amused smile. “Give him a break.”

“It’s the best seat ever!” His little arms wrapped tighter around Simon’s head, eyes glued onto the cartoon on the telly.

“You need to do your homework.”

“I’ll do it here.” He poked the top of Simon’s head.

He laughed. “I don’t mind.”

She shook her head. “Come on now. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You don’t want to be late.”

“Okay…” he huffed before dragging his feet to his room.

While he flicked through the channels,  Beth went back to the kitchen where his mum was. He wasn’t one to watch the telly apart from football, but his thumb hovered over the button when the Great British Bake Off came on.

He remembered the episode. He’d watched it with you, the only person he ever watched the show with. It was yours, like a secret only the both of you knew.

It’s the right thing.

Faintly, his mum chuckled at something her daughter-in-law said, and his mind couldn’t help but drift to all the times it was you and her in his flat instead. Sharing stories, laughing, while he smiled at the sight from afar.

It’s the right thing, Riley, I promise.

He turned the telly off and went for a walk instead.

At dinner, the table admired little Joe’s drawings he’d done at school – he always saved them for when his daddy came home. With his precious family beaming, it seemed like the life Simon should have had, the one he always imagined was supposed to be like. But even without the devil trailing behind like an ellipsis, this, somehow, didn’t feel right either.

Despite his smile, his chest was heavy with the rotting carcass of the heart he didn't know he still had until weeks ago.

It’s the right thing, it’s the right thing, it’s the right thing.

Later that night, Simon’s head tilted when he entered the guestroom his mum occupied.

“Have you not packed yet? We’re leaving tomorrow. I’ve still got training on Monday.”

On the bed, she lowered her book and frowned. “I’m not leaving. Manchester is my home, Si.”

“Home is where you’re safe, mum, and you’re not here.”

She sighed, the sympathetic kind, before putting her book away. “My well-being and happiness aren’t your responsibility.”

He scoffed. “‘course they are.”

“I can’t thank you enough for thinking about me, but what’s happened, happened. I’m trying to start over, and that includes not being a baggage to you.”

He blinked. “Mum, what are you on about?” he asked carefully as he sat next to her.

“You need to live your life. You push good things away, Si.”

What… “I don’t. You’re all I’ve got.”

“Always so stubborn.” She shook her head. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, Si. My first love… Your granddad didn’t want us together, and I ended up with your dad. I grew to love him, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I chose easy over real. Sometimes I wonder if I’d been less afraid, what life would be like now.

“I'm by no means regretful, because I got to have my two perfect sons, but you had to pay for my mistakes too, and for that I’m yet to forgive myself. I’m supposed to give you a good life, but I didn't. The least I can do now is not hold you back.

Her hands clasped over his. “So live for me, Si. Don't worry about me. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will always be your mum. I can’t stop loving you even if I tried. I just need to see you happy, that’s all I need from you.”

His gaze dropped to the ground. “I’m not good enough for her,” he muttered.

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“Isn't it too late?”

“Never.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“You make it sound harder than it is.” She cupped his cheek. “It won’t be painless, but if she’s the one, it will be worth it.”

Against his mum’s shoulder, he wished his tears would stop flowing, but with the way she rubbed his back, Simon was once more just a little blond boy with the scraped knee.

From the front porch in the chill night, it was shameless how he called you at that hour, when he didn’t even say goodbye when he left. It was shameless how even after you rejected his calls, he still called for the 5th time, or 10th – he’d lost count. But at last, the line connected.

“Luv,” he said breathlessly, palm pressing against his eyes that had barely dried.

“Please stop calling me.”

“No, wait. Please, listen. Don’t-”

“You’ve made up your mind. Begging only reduces me to nothing, so I didn’t try to change it. I owe you nothing, Simon.”

And the line clicked off.

Still sat on the steps, he blinked at the phone in his hand, deciding if he was going to worsen the situation if he called again. It was shameless that he did anyway, but it went straight to voicemail.

Simon might not have had plenty of dating experience, it was shameless really, but he knew he still had a chance if you were mad.

You’d listen when he showed up at your door, still hauling his backpack.

“Luv, please. Please, listen.”

He thought his heart was about to explode when your footsteps approached. The door opened halfway.

“Hi,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

His breath hitched, and he was near to tears. Despite his resolve, he couldn’t get the words out.

“I've thought about it. You're right. I thought I knew what I was getting into, but it was always so hard to see you leave, and I realised it’s only going to get harder.”

No, no, no...

“Thank you for being honest and saving us from further heartache. I know I didn’t have to block you, but I hope you understand my decision to not be in contact anymore.”

“Luv, no. I wanted- I want to try. I don’t care how hard it gets.“

“I care. I want stability, maybe even a family, and I see now we’re not heading in the same direction.” You looked up at him with glassy eyes and a pained smile. “I wish you all the wonderful things, Simon. Truly, I'm so thankful I got to know you.”

He barely made out the words tumbling out of your lips, wishing he was hallucinating.

“Goodnight, Simon,” you whispered as you closed the door.

Even then, you didn’t give him a foul look for his audacity to show his face after biting the hand that fed him. It was the last time you were going to see him, why did you still have to treat him with respect?

He wished you’d have said something mean, even sick. You should have called him names, tell him he was the most ungrateful man there was, that he was just like his dad, so he had something to hate, so the fire could flare up high once more and he’d be safe behind it like he always was.

But it was you. You could stab him in the chest, and he wasn’t sure it would have been enough to hate you. To overwrite how wonderful you’d been to the wounded stray.

His gaze cast down, unmoving at your door. He did this to himself. It was his fault for dropping his cold stare, for smiling, for looking when you weren’t, cracking his jokes, touching your hand and kissing you, for lying down and baring his belly. It wasn’t your fault you didn’t want him anymore after what he’d done.

If he closed his eyes, he could still see the vivid curve of your lips, your soft laugh, the caress of your fingers. The ache for you morphed into an itch that made him want to claw at his skin, to replace the sweetness with bright, searing pain.

Would you please do the humane thing and shoot him so he didn’t have to drown in the storm that brewed in him?

It was for the best, he told himself. It was what he wanted after all, to keep his problems away from you, to keep you happy, even when he wasn’t in the picture. Leaving you was his repayment for being a thankless beast.

“Just because I go, doesn’t mean my heart follows,” he whispered.

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[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 5

2.9k | fluff, night terrors, being held at knifepoint Whose fault is it when the stray you feed won’t leave? (part 1) (part 6)

“You got a girlfriend now, Riley? You know you don’t have to keep coming back to base, especially not at this hour,” a lieutenant from another unit teased as Simon passed him in the hall. “Don’t forget our training is coming up.”

He kept his head down as he unlocked his door. It was inevitable for suspicions to arise after doing this for months now, but thinking of the eventual teasing he was getting in the dining hall made him groan.

Earlier that night, he’d left his hoodie at yours. If he couldn’t have yours with him anymore, maybe you’d appreciate having his.

You took the bait, a selfie of you in it already waiting on his phone when he lay in bed. He shouldn’t have left your flat - your bed was infinitely better than the one he was in anyway. Perhaps he could find an excuse to keep one of your shirts with him instead.

Simon came over almost every night and the banter only got worse when his peers started noticing how he was only gone a few hours each evening.

“Don’t you get tired from all the driving?” you asked as you poured him another glass of water at dinner. “It’s not a short drive at all.”

He looked up from his plate. “Do I bother you?” he asked carefully.

“No, no! I meant, why don’t you… Your flat’s right down the hall.”

Of course the drive was beyond tedious, but it was the lesser of two evils than to be caught having one of his bloody nightmares again.

When he had his first back home, fresh after deployment, his mum said his piercing scream woke the whole house up. He swung the bedside lamp around in a daze as he heaved, yelling at nothing. She said it shattered her heart to see her baby so.

“Why not stay there if you don’t want to be here?”

You thought he didn’t want to be with you?! Where did you get such an outrageous theory? He didn’t want to leave your bed if he was allowed to.

“It’s not that.” He put his fork down, weighing how to put it. “I dream sometimes. I’ve been told it can be really difficult to watch.”

They hadn’t been anywhere as vivid the past few months, but he knew the demons hadn’t left. They lurked around the corner, ready to strike at the earliest convenience.

He usually got them in the field or fresh after a mission, but shooting up into the still darkness was no shame among his sergeants as they shared understanding glances, a silent promise to keep it amongst the unit. Each of them carried the same weight after all.

You nodded, giving him one of those kind smiles again.

Why couldn’t he hold his tongue around you? The lame jokes, the embarrassing bet he lost and now this. What were you doing to him?

“And we have training this week. I’d prefer sleeping a little later than having to wake earlier to drive.” He averted his gaze. “I’m in the top third of the regiment. One of us is getting promoted to captain.”

For years, he looked forward to each promotion, excited about being and doing more, but that evening as the words formed in his mouth, they tasted… underwhelming. It dawned on him that it would be another reason he wasn’t enough for you, not someone you deserved. It caught him off guard that the title was not as shiny now up close.

“That’s wonderful. Captain Simon Riley does have a lovely ring to it.” You reached across the table and rested your hand on his. ”When do you get to know?”

Did the joy in your eyes ever lie? Was he allowed to imagine a world where the possibility to be apart longer wasn’t a problem for you, even when she couldn’t handle the mere thought of him being SAS?

His hand clasped over yours. “We’ll be deployed next month for a bit, but after that. So in two, three months.”

“Rest up then. You don’t have to come over. We can call meanwhile.”

Would you let him? That he only took without giving? He was supposed to provide, to be endlessly needed, but never need.

But you did. The rest of the week he was battered from training, but your soothing voice surrounded him as he lay in bed, melting the tension of his aching muscles away. It was far better than when he was deployed, but it wasn’t the same if he couldn’t hold and kiss you. He had to feel you pressed against him, to be constantly reminded that you were real.

By Friday, he was dead tired, but he couldn’t stay away from you anymore.

It’s raining hard. I don’t want you to have to drive so far again after a short visit. We can meet for breakfast tomorrow instead?

Nah

You opened your door to Simon with his hood pulled up, wet with rain splotches. He didn’t wait any longer before pulling you in for a kiss.

“Good thing you left the black one here.” You helped take his wet hoodie off, and the shirt under pulled with it before you smoothed it down. As you hung the black fabric on the back of the chair, you chuckled. ”Do you even have any in another colour?”

He shrugged, smiling, thinking of the secret matching one he got. “Maybe.”

You sipped your Ceylon tea as yet the same panda advertisement interrupted the episode of the Great British Bake Off.

“You’re making that face again, Simon.” You placed your cup back on the table and snuggled back against him.

He turned to you with a sheepish grin, his arm wrapping around you. “Am I that obvious?”

“Shoot. Don’t be shy.”

“Shoot,” he repeated, barely able to contain his own laughter. “What’s the scariest tree?”

“What?”

“Bam-boo!”

You giggled into the crook of his neck while he cackled at his own joke. He could have sworn you were mostly laughing at the way he laughed, but he liked it. He liked making you smile.

When you led him to bed, he noticed the nightstand on his side was cleared. You’d removed the night lamp and the colourful candles you liked to light at night. He let out a small sigh, thinking of you looking up ways to help. You didn’t have to be so thoughtful or he was never going to stop spilling his secrets.

Your fingers brushed along his black and blue arm making him shiver.

“Do you need anything for these?”

“They look far worse than they are.”

“How many people did you beat this week?”

He chuckled. “Enough.”

Simon was not one to avoid stare downs, but when your soft gaze lifted to his face, he couldn’t hold it for long anymore. He didn’t want you looking back at him, not like that with those gorgeous eyes. The façade he loved to intimidate people with had grown to be an insecurity. You were supposed to be with someone as beautiful as yourself.

“Love the shape of your nose.” You pecked the tip of his crooked nose – another proof of the terrible things he’d done.

He rolled you off him, climbing over you. Under his shirt, your hands explored the expanse of his muscled back as he kissed and kissed. He wondered if you could tell how many raised scars there were, the way his body couldn’t bury the memories properly anymore.

You pulled his shirt off and your hand trailed down his chest, littered with more cuts and scrapes. He wished it looked better for you. When he leaned back down, you kissed down his neck and collarbones.

“There’s nothing not beautiful about you, Si,” you breathed against his shoulder. “It’s too easy to love you.”

This huge, blemished, strange dog might have kept coming back to your door, but at this point, maybe it was a bit of your fault too if you kept inviting it in and feeding it. It was too good to be true, like it was all a dream to have come across you, to end up at your dining table, to be here in your arms.

How did you expect to say something like that without making him want to cry, without giving you his soul?

“Simon?” you whispered against his knuckles you were just kissing.

He hummed drowsily against your exposed shoulder, his bare chest against your back.

“What’s blue and not heavy?”

“What?”

“Light blue.”

The last thing he remembered was snorting softly as he smiled before he slipped into slumber.

And so the stray lingered longer and longer after each weeknight dinner and stayed at yours every Friday and Saturday. You didn’t seem to mind. Meanwhile, after weeks of back and forth between his mum and her lawyer, his dad was finally served.

Simon decided the occasion deserved a celebration. He tried the steakhouse again, telling himself he was going to take matters into his own hands if the place screwed up his reservation again. They didn’t, fortunately for them, and he was even given complimentary onion rings ‘for the mix up the other day’. Apparently it was hard to forget the huge man with the intense stare.

You kept surprising him how you even remembered his lame jokes when you retold them to his mum. He always loved seeing you both interact, how gentle you were. Most of all with him, the way you grabbed his rough hand under the table, stroking with your thumb. It was impossible to not love you.

But the best part of each evening was that he got to kiss you at the end of it, unlike before, when the thought of holding your hand almost made heat rise to his cheeks. But first, he needed to get cleaned up before he could climb in bed with you.

“Mum, you need to stop giving me that look,” he grumbled, tossing his keys onto the entryway table.

“What look?” She turned to him feigning innocence, but the amused smile she’d been wearing all night betrayed her.

“That one!”

She laughed, swatting his arm. “Oh, Si. You’ve been happy. It looks good on you.”

He blinked.

“There’s nothing a mum wants more for her son. Take care of her. She’s a sweet one.”

You were, indeed, especially in bed, all cosy in one of his shirts. You smiled before giving him your back – an invitation for him to come up behind you. He nuzzled your neck, arm wrapping around your waist.

“Wait, you’ve got a non-black hoodie!” You turned to him, fingers tracing over the pie patch on his chest. “Just like the one you got me.”

He smiled.

Acknowledging the tingles you gave him was weird, that his mum knew, and that his door wasn’t far enough from yours, especially when she wouldn’t stop shooting him those looks. It didn’t matter he was a grown man - he felt like a teen all over again, getting teased for having a crush.

It doesn’t hurt anymore to think about the past, about being left behind. You made him feel like he wasn’t just another unsalvageable, daft soldier, but someone worth having, caring for.

And so he willed himself to not ruin the time he had with you by getting ahead of himself. There were other great lieutenants too - he might not even get the promotion this year, and this wouldn’t have to change one bit.

With the divorce finally happening, things were falling into place. Breathing didn’t feel as heavy, and having you in his arms was the cherry on top. If being with you was home, he was never sure he even had one before this.

Simon was deployed the following week.

The night prior, he engulfed you in a hug at your door, nose buried in your neck as he inhaled. You made him promise to get home soon and safe as he kissed you. The more time you spent with him, the harder it was to see him leave.

You knew what you were getting into from the start, but you couldn’t lie the distance and risk he put himself in made you uneasy. Knowing how devoted he was to his job, you wanted nothing more than for him to climb further up the ranks, but you knew it also meant an uphill battle of balancing a normal relationship amidst his commitments. Even when there was almost no day without hearing from him, the hours in between were unbearable sometimes.

Your dad was supportive, as far as not blatantly voicing his opinion counted anyway, but knowing him, it was still a more positive reaction than to some of the men you saw. You were his precious one after all.

You thought he could see it too, that Simon was quickly becoming more than just a man you were seeing. But you didn’t miss the looks he gave - like you were making a huge mistake - apprehensive if the lieutenant was even a good man, if he could give you a proper relationship like what you deserved, if he was only going to break your heart. You reassured him he was a gentle soul despite his living, that he overflowed with selflessness.

“You’ll see when you meet him,” you promised.

On the first Saturday of the month, it was your turn again to volunteer at the soup kitchen. It was nice when Simon could help with the lifting and the ride, but this time you had to resort to a taxi like you always did. He insisted you use his car while he was away, but you rejected the kind offer.

Ben helped as much as he could, but you didn’t have the heart to see him strain and groan. He had history of a bad back anyway, which was why he stopped doing the majority of the baking those years ago.

“Don’t have to pay today, luv. Simon covered it before he left.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Go.” His hand wrapped around yours, curling it over the notes you held out to him.

“Thank you, Ben.”

“Thank you.”

Some of your friends asked if the ‘tall bloke’ didn’t come with that evening. You smiled. ‘Maybe next month when he’s in town,’ you said.

The shift ended little later than last time, Simon was far more of help than you realised. The chill wind hit as you walked home, and you slowed to tighten your scarf.

The next thing you knew, you were pulled into a dark alley. Nails dug onto your arm through your jacket as a man shoved you back against the rough and damp brick wall, making you yelp. He flicked out a knife from his back pocket.

Your breath caught in your throat when he leaned in, reeking of alcohol, his stare and smirk deranged. You realised… You realised you’d seen him before - the younger, healthier version of him at least.

“Hiya, little birdie. No Simon this time, huh? You’ll listen then…”

Tears pricked your eyes. “D- don’t hurt me, please. You can have everything. There’s an ATM-“

“No, no… I don’t want your money… Tell Mel to – hic – call off the proceedings.“ His grip loosened as his words slowed. “I haven’t been good to her… If she leaves, I’ll have no more chance to… make things right.” The knife clanked onto the ground as he hiccuped.

With it, you kicked his shin as hard as you could, making him fall with a shriek. You sprinted away, looking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following before rushing into the closest corner shop, your knees pressed to your chest in the furthest corner.

Your hands shook as you tapped your phone, wiping your tears away as the line connected.

“M- Melanie?”

Every once in a while, while looking through the folder he’d made of the photos you sent - his favourite pastime as he waited for sleep after returning your texts, Simon would involuntarily come across that photo. He chuckled.

He stood in your small kitchen wearing the silly apron, a post-pie mess on the counter. He couldn’t hide his concern about the ugly pastry, thinking it wasn’t going to turn out. But it was the very first pie he’d made. Were his tainted hands allowed to create something so wonderful, with you? He wished he’d asked you to be in the picture too.

The way you made him feel, he realised it might be more than an infatuation, more than a fleeting crush. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how you said he was easy to love, but you were not one to lie. Being loveable to you to any degree was enough for him.

I’ll tell you when I’m back. He sighed as he stared at one of your selfies.

His phone dinged. Si, call me when you can

He sat up, dialling straight away. “Mum?”

“Your dad’s back. This time he went after her.”

“What?” His hand formed into a fist. That bloody bastard.

“She’s okay. Shaken, but alright now, sleeping in your bed.” She sighed. “I can’t keep running from my problems, Si. Look how I’m bothering you, even dragged her into all of this.”

“I’ll serve him the bloody papers, mum,” he said through his teeth. “And he’ll regret not signing them the first time around.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie @astraluminaaa @luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs @lyenera

[cumikering]

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 4

2.4k | fluff Simon liked the way you looked at him (part 1) (part 5)

“Why was the strawberry crying?” Simon asked, casually buttering his toast that Saturday morning.

“Why?”

“’cause it was in a jam.” He looked too proud of himself as he took a bite of his toast.

You laughed, looking up from the near empty jar you were trying to clean out with your butter knife.

He loved seeing your bright smile as you sat there across the small table. Even that this was his first breakfast with you, it was better than dinner. In the gentle sun, your eyes were even lovelier, wisps of hair around your face like a halo. The building was far quieter at the hour and you felt closer, like you were all his in this quiet corner of the world.

“Luv, I was wondering if you could teach me how to bake? If you don’t mind.”

“But I’m not a very good baker.”

“Bollocks. Your pie was mint.”

You chuckled. “Okay, that one I can.”

After breakfast, you laid ingredients on the counter next to the recipe - your handwriting distinct, pleasant. Were you ever going to write something for him? A little note would be more than enough, but if he could ask, he’d prefer a letter, maybe, for when he’s away thinking of you.

“Would you like an apron?” You held yours up, with a cat print peeking out of the pocket.

He chuckled, looking over as he washed his hands. Would you like him more in one? “If you reckon I need it.”

You tied it around his waist and let out a small giggle at the sight. “So you want to cut the butter into smaller pieces,” you said, working the butter into the flour with the back of a fork before handing it over to him.

Simon pressed the fork onto the butter, but the sheer force of it made flour fly out of the mixing bowl.

“Shite,” he said under his breath.

“Gently.” You placed your hand over his, pushing it down. “This way.”

He took a breath as he watched how you did so easily, but most of all, revelled in your touch. You’d already held hands, but this was something else. He wished you didn’t let go. And you didn’t, instead wrapping an arm around his waist, watching, as he proceeded with the job you assigned.

He peered at you and you nodded approvingly.

“Now tip that out and fold the dough over itself until it comes together - no dry flour left.”

He dumped the lumpy, powdery mess onto the board and brought it together with his large, awkward hands. But a few folds in, the dough started to transform into a cohesive ball. His brows rose in amusement.

“Look at that, you’re a natural!”

He chuckled to himself as you beamed at him proudly.

Next came the filling. You placed the peeler in his palm - the very same one from last week - his fucking nemesis. He picked up one of the apples, dwarfed by his hand, hoping he had better luck with rounded objects.

He didn’t. He was taking off chunks off the pitiful fruit. He should have come prepared and asked his mum how to peel apples without looking like he was about to stab someone. They certainly didn’t teach you how to use a peeler at the butcher.

“I like to do it this way.” You lightly took the tool from him and demonstrated with another apple. “Hold it here and pull away, like this. Even pressure for the thinnest peel.”

Thanks for not calling me daft.

Following your advice, the assignment didn’t turn out to be that hard. You put on some music as he cored and cut up the apples. At least he was far better with traditional knives.

“Quality control,” you said, popping a piece in your mouth.

Simon chuckled, placing the knife down as he turned to you. “Any good?”

“Mhm. Sweet, but tart enough.” You reached for the mixing bowl again, but he caught your wrist, making you look up at him.

“Would you please let me kiss you?”

You blinked and his heart stalled in those few silent seconds, but you stepped towards him, clutching the front of his black shirt. He sighed as he leaned in, arm around your waist, finally tasting your lips - perfect just like he’d always imagined them to be. The apples were indeed sweet.

You pulled away and bit down your smile, eyeing him from under your lashes before looking away. He too couldn’t stop the grin that crept up his face, nor the thumping of his chest. He picked up the knife and continued the task at hand while you stood next to him measuring out the rest of the ingredients.

On the occasions he looked over to make sure he was following your directions correctly, your gazes met and you turned away, hiding your face behind your cup of jasmine tea. He found it endearing.

The crust he rolled out looked mangled but you reassured no one would be able to decipher the patchwork when it was all done. As he brushed the top of the pie with egg wash, he nodded when you asked if you could take a photo of him.

You gave him a little peck when he finally closed the oven door, just like you had each time he finished a step. He felt like a dog, getting a treat for every good behaviour. The pie felt like a chore now. Could he not dive into all his treats already?

You sat on the couch as the pie baked.

“I’ve always wondered how far your sleeve goes. Does it extend to your chest?”

“Just a sleeve.” He pulled his shirtsleeve up revealing the entirety of his monochrome tattoo.

Your lips pursed. Did he look that good that it flustered you? You were adorable. He liked the way you were looking. Could you never look away again?

“Would you believe me if I told you I had a nipple ring?”

You laughed, tearing your gaze away from his arm. “No way.”

“It was a stupid bet I lost shortly after I enlisted.”

“What was it?”

“It’s too embarrassing. Maybe next time.”

Simon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to him as he leaned back. With your hand on his chest, you closed the gap and he just wanted to melt into a puddle against your soft lips. Your breath hitched as his fingers ran down your spine.

You lay on top of him, and his wary fingers toyed with the ends of your hair. The both of you remained silent in each other’s embrace, kissing occasionally, until the timer on the oven went off.

“What do you want for dinner?”

Simon took another bite of his pie that he had to admit tasted far better than he expected it to, perhaps even as good as yours if he was generous (if he closed his eyes anyway). No soggy bottom, at least. Merry Berry would be proud.

“I’m going to the soup kitchen, so I’ll get something nearby after.”

How could he forget? It was the first Saturday of the month.

“You need to pick up loaves from the bakery, yeah? Need me to drive you?”

You smiled. “I’d really like that if you don’t mind, actually. Oh, I need to text Ben, in case he forgets.”

“Ben?”

“Your mums’ boss. We pickup leftover bread there at a discount.”

As you buckled up in his SUV, he realised he never got to hand you your gift last night. He reached for the bag in the backseat.

“For you.”

You pulled out the grey fabric and that beautiful smile bloomed across your lips again.

“Oh, Simon, that’s lovely.” Your fingers traced over the little patch on the left side of the chest. A slice of apple pie. You looked up at him. “Thank you so much.”

It was impossible for his heart to not skip at such a sight.

As you settled the payments with Ben, Simon helped you haul the crates of bread into his car. He was glad he was around this time to help you out otherwise you’d have to take a taxi all by yourself like you always did.

“Ben, mate?” As Simon carried the last of the crates, he stopped at the door which the older gentleman was holding open. “You reckon you’ve got anything to do with how the bastard found out my mum works here?”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know him.”

“Did you contact the coppas? Ran a background check on her perhaps?”

Ben’s eyes widened. “Oh, I had no idea-“

Mr. Riley must have played the worried husband and reported her missing back home to have been notified.

He sighed. “No worries, Ben. It’s not your fault.”

“R- really?”

He felt bad about how the old man gripped the door, still looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m just glad you were there with her. Oh-“ He fished out a wad of cash from his back pocket and handed it to Ben. “To cover the discount. See you around, mate.”

Still in disbelief, he flinched at the pat on his arm.

At the facility centre, the lieutenant effortlessly carried the load into the kitchen, but he lingered at the building’s entrance.

“You reckon there’s anything else I can help with inside?”

You smiled. “Always.”

Perhaps Simon should have asked what the menu was before offering a hand, but he was glad it was the humble garlic bread and that his slicing and buttering skills were decent. You introduced him as a friend to the other volunteers, who were polite (or scared) enough not to question how close he stood by you. But was it bad if he wanted more, if he wanted them to ask who he really was to you?

At 6, people started pouring into the hall. Some knew you by name, greeting you with a grin that faltered when they laid eyes on the stony lieutenant next to you. It must have been comical how the both of you looked behind the small table handing out garlic bread, his frown a stark contrast to your bright self.

But he was having a grand time simply being close to you, seeing you and your friends making people smile. His pinky trailed down your hand.

You looked up at him, shoulder bumping his arm. “You keep our country safe. That’s why we get to have nights like this.”

He smiled when you held his hand. He supposed he was a tiny, tiny bit responsible for this. Your reassurance gave him a new sense of pride, that he was doing something.

After a late dinner you insisted Simon pick, the both of you headed home. When he made it to your flat in the baggiest shirt he owned, you were on the couch, freshly showered just as he was.

You should be kicking him out for bothering you even at this hour, so why did you take him by the hand and lead him to your bed instead? He didn’t resist when you lay next to him, your hand propping your head up.

His heart raced with you this close, watching your soft eyes travel over his face that he didn’t feel deserved to be mere inches away from your beautiful one.

“Simon Riley,” you said quietly, your thumb tracing his lower lip.

“Hm?”

“You’ve got a pretty name.”

Even my last name?

Your gaze flicked up. “Your eyes are really pretty too.”

His eyes fluttered close as he let out an uneven breath.

“You’re beautiful.” Your fingers trailed down his scruffy jaw.

He was certain now his chest was about to explode. Were you high? What did you see in him?

He’d never been touched so carefully before, gazed at so softly. Not even by his first and last love, his childhood sweetheart, whom the thought was the one before duty got in the way. It had been so long ago that he’d forgotten what it felt like to have a bit of peace, to just be - if things were ever this pleasant.

Each ‘a little more’ of you carried him further and further, and he’d floated a little too far from shore - the shore which had thinned into a distant line in the horizon, foreign from where he was as he threaded.

Wasn’t this only going to end one way? He was playing with fire, going down a slippery slope, to be in involved with you as this mess of a man. He did terrible things for a living. He wasn’t good enough for you, couldn’t you see? Or were you too compassionate to understand? It was all the more why he shouldn’t be here with you, in your bed, under your touch, even when he didn’t ever want to leave this flat of yours.

But you let him stay anyway, even after the shameful admittance of his past. Could it be that it didn’t matter to you, that for the first time he was alright as he was, despite his shortcomings? Perfectly loveable, as you were in his eyes?

Hope glimmered in him. I want to be good enough for you.

“Why are you so… nice?”

You took a moment to reply. “It’s easy to be. Being nice is free.”

It was not. Nothing was, but who was he to break your heart?

“Have you not been hurt from that?”

Your lips quirked into a resigned smile. “Unfortunately so, but sometimes it’s worth it.”

He pulled you in, his fingers tangled in your hair as you let out a soft giggle against his lips. When he eventually let you out of his grasp, a little breathless, you flicked the bedside lamp off.

You yawned. “If you’re heading back, please slide the key under the door.”

He didn’t want to. He scooted behind you, a heavy arm around your waist.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what. The bet was that Arsenal was going to lose to Man U. Well, they didn’t, but my left nipple did.”

Your body shook with laughter. “Of course it was a football bet.”

He smiled into your hair. “Goodnight, luv.”

“Night, Simon,” you mumbled.

Pressed up against you in your soft bed, so cosy with your scent surrounding him, his eyelids soon grew heavy.

His worst demons could visit in his dreams again, but nothing was going to take him out of your bed that night. Maybe, this time, things really could be alright for once, and not only in his favourite flat in Hereford.

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[cumikering]

Bootleg CK

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 3

2.9k | fluff To him, nothing existed outside the walls of his favourite flat (part 1) (part 4)

When was the last time Simon was this on edge about meeting someone? Probably when he first met his captain when he joined the SAS, about to take the CQB test.

What was he even nervous about this time? This was no first impression - he already scared you the first time you met. He was lucky you still wanted to talk to him after. If he were you, he probably would avoid the huge, grim-faced bloke with the horrible dad jokes.

That Sunday evening, wearing a crisp button down, he knocked on your door and waited. He had his sleeves rolled up his forearms, trimmed his scruff that morning, even put on some cologne, but as he stood there he realised he never explicitly stated this was a date.

Did he need to? He wanted it to be without having to say it. He knew assumptions were the leading cause of misunderstandings, but would you still want to go if it was?

You emerged from your flat with a sweet smile, wearing a cute dress and pretty heels, all dolled up for the evening. You looked like you were ready for a date. Was this a date?!

He blinked, the fabric of his shirt strained slightly across his chest as he breathed in. “You look lovely.”

Your smile widened. “Thanks. You look nice yourself.” Your gaze lingered, but he hoped not because you thought he was trying too hard.

In front of his car, he silently offered you his arm. He wasn’t even looking at you, but he heard your faint chuckle when you took it to walk up to the restaurant.

“I’ve got a reservation for 2 under Simon Riley,” he answered the young host.

“Mr. Riley…” He repeated as he went through the tablet. “I’m sorry, perhaps a different name?”

Simon pulled out his email confirmation.

The host squinted at the phone and upon realisation widened his eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. There must be a mistake on our end. Your name isn’t on the list.” He blinked. “We’re uh- we’re fully booked tonight.”

“Can you please check again? Or is there a way you can squeeze us in?”

The host winced, and at this point he reckoned it was more from scrutiny of his stare rather than the unfortunate error.

“I’m terribly sorry, but we’re booked solid, sir.” He swallowed. “May I let you know if something opens up?”

No, no, no. His first night out with you wasn’t going to be ruined. Did he have to intimidate someone into giving up their table? He knew he could.

“It’s okay, Simon, we can go elsewhere,” you reassured, your hand still on the crook of his arm.

No, he didn’t want to go anywhere else! He wanted this. You wanted this.

You thanked the host and led the defeated soldier out, rubbing his inked forearm. On the pavement, absolutely gutted, he turned to you, shoulders sagging.

“Hey, isn’t that famous taco shop nearby? Just down the street, I think?” You looked up at him. “Been meaning to try it. Do you like Mexican?”

It didn’t matter what he liked. “We can get anything you want.”

Your warm hand remained on him the short walk to the place. Unfortunately, it was packed, leaving no table left so you got the meal to-go. He felt terrible - you got all dolled up for his plans to go sideways, only ending up with tacos in the car.

You nudged him with your elbow. “Don’t look so sad, Simon. We can pretend this is round two, the late-night snack because the fancy dinner wasn’t filling enough.”

He glanced at you, your smile bright as you looked up the sky, your hair danced to your steps. He smiled to himself. At least the weather was nice, and most importantly, you were there. His for the evening.

“Oh, those are humongous!” you gasped, steps coming to an abrupt stop.

He followed your line of sight to the bright display of a tucked away cookie shop. You tugged on his hand as you made your way there. He chuckled lightly as you revelled in the selection, leaving with four hefty cookies roughly the size of his palm (which you fought him to pay for).

You beamed up at him when he took your hand which fitted perfectly in his. He wished the walk to the car was further so you didn’t have to let go so soon.

While dinner delighted you, Simon was trying his best to pretend the coriander in his mouth didn’t taste like soap. His eyes closed as he breathed in deeply.

“Simon, you should have told me you don’t like tacos.” You grimaced.

“At least you’re enjoying yours.”

“I am, but it’s no fun if you don’t! You eat each in two bites, and chew like you’re trying not to throw up.

“’m fine.” He’d had far worse in the field.

“You need to tell me if you don’t like something next time, okay?”

He hoped there would be a next time.

“Should we get you something else? You can’t tell me you’re full.”

He sighed and gave you a sheepish smile. “Maybe Chinese near the flat?”

You laughed. “You’ve got good taste.

While Simon got the takeaway, you headed to your flat. He figured he might as well get changed into more comfortable clothes to enjoy his dinner in, still annoyed by how the evening turned into another mediocre night in.

His mum popped out of his kitchen with a mug of steaming hot tea, grinning. “Si, the cookies are mint. You should have taken me there!”

Oh? You’d raved about them, but the two you saved were for his mum? Why did you have to be this kind? So generous, even after the lame evening.

When he made his way to yours, you’d left your door unlocked. You lounged on the couch, your hair still damp, watching a baking show.

“What’s this?” He sat next to you.

“Great British Bake Off. Have you seen?”

He shook his head. “Don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“The cookies put me in such a baking mood.”

He scarfed his meal down in silence, simply grateful this round didn’t taste funny.  When he was done, he brushed against your arm as he placed the empty takeaway box on the coffee table. He casually stretched his arm along the back of the couch, and you scooted closer, pressing against his muscled thigh. The couch didn’t feel so small anymore, but he needed it to be even smaller.

The steak dinner might have failed, but this wasn’t bad at all - staying in, enjoying your quiet company like this. Maybe you didn’t mind his presence after all.

While this sort of show was not his first pick at all, to his surprise, the calmness mesmerised him. Despite the tense nature of a competition, the show was serene and kindly. You were right - it was quite inspiring. Although he couldn’t help but laugh when the sweet Merry Berry earnestly said ‘soggy bottom’ when judging the contestants’ pies.

Simon peered at you. He’d never learnt to cook beyond turning things edible, let alone bake anything, but watching deft hands peeling, slicing, rolling and braiding was hypnotising to say the least. He wondered when you we’re going to bake again because he’d love to watch you and your delicate hands again.

Should he get the apples? Would you knock on his door with another pie if he did? If he could do it all again, he’d have leant in to kiss you instead of leaning against the doorframe to scare you.

When the episode came to an end, he excused himself for the night. It was later than the time he usually left, but losing a little sleep over your company was worth it.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask where you got your hoodies. They look so thick and comfortable.”

“They’re from this shop near the base. Would you like one?”

“I’d love that! Could you take one of mine for size reference?”

He nodded and you went to retrieve your hoodie from your room.

“Please don’t judge! It’s my favourite.”

With a small smile, he took the old and faded hoodie from you, knowing it had the most soul. “They’re the best when they’re worn, yeah?”

Back at base, Simon placed your possession carefully in his wardrobe. It felt oddly intimate to be trusted with your clothing, especially your favourite, like it didn’t belong in his cold and dark room. But as he lay in bed, he wondered why he didn’t kiss you on the cheek, or anywhere you allowed him, really.

He turned to his wardrobe. You wouldn’t mind terribly if he kept your hoodie on his bed, would you? He stifled a smile when he laid it next to his pillow. He thought of the movies you watched wearing said hoodie, the teas you sipped. He wondered if you’ve danced in it alone in your kitchen, and to which songs, and what you were cooking.

That night, in the silence he didn’t want to break, he sighed softly. Things could be alright after all.

While Simon had been busy that week, he could leave base on time that Friday and arranged dinner with you (and his mum too, of course). He even had some time to drop by the hoodie shop to get you one (you didn’t need to know he got the exact same one for himself), although he was a little gutted that he didn’t have an excuse to have your hoodie with him anymore.

He picked you up from work before driving to his mum. He was excited to present you the gift which sat in his backseat, but he figured he’d do it later at the end of the night at yours. You patted his forearm when you got in the car, and he just couldn’t look away from your smile. Your hands lay idle on your thighs during the drive and he itched to grab one. He prayed for a moment, an excuse, an opportunity.

But when he pulled up at the bakery, from the large window, his eyes narrowed at the scene in the usually peaceful shop. His mum stood behind the counter, hands clenched over her chest, next to an elderly man who was shouting at another man in front of the counter.

Rage flared in the lieutenant. He slammed his door shut and stormed into the shop, throwing the door against the wall.

The man in question turned at the interruption. It was the devil of Simon’s nightmares, Mr. Riley, eyes wide as he registered the sight of the livid 6ft 4 soldier. Simon strode across the room and took a huff of breath before pulling his fist back. The blow knocked his dad straight onto the floor.

“Simon!” his mum gasped.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he spat at his dad who cowered from him.

“I’m- I’m just trying to apologise. I know I was wrong for what I did.” He held his skinny hands up, as if they could protect him against his son’s wrath. “I’m a changed man, Simon.”

A changed man? Yeah, right.

“What you’ve done is unforgivable, and the least you can do is leave her alone,” he said through gritted teeth. He pulled his fist back again, and his dad closed his eyes in resignation.

“Si, no. He’s made enough of a scene.” His mum pulled him by the shoulder. “Come on, Si. Don’t get yourself in trouble for him.”

He heaved, pausing, but his fist didn’t relent. Still pulled back, like the string of a bow more than ready to snap, the tension in his arm aching. But he remembered you were there, witnessing everything, how the illusion that he was an ordinary man crumbled.

It was a rude awakening that even when the pain in his life was out of sight, he was still the Simon with all his baggage. That day, the disgrace clawed its way out of the ground like the undead. Because this, his history, was never dead to begin with. He was cursed with the shame of being related to such a man.

“You don’t want to find out what I’m going to do if I see your face again.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave her alone.” He held his trembling hand up, scooting backwards before scrambling out the door, bumping into you as you watched in stunned silence.

“Melanie, you can go,” the elderly man behind the counter said.

She let out a shaky breath and disappeared to the back before emerging back with her belongings.

The room was tense, and with a tight smile, you only nodded at who he assumed to be the owner of the bakery. You went to his mum, rubbing her arm as you led her out. Simon hadn’t said a word since, his fists in his pockets, telling himself to not run after his dad and bash his face in once and for all.

Though on the outside it looked business as usual with Simon, always quiet with an icy stare, he was seething at dinner. The meal didn’t taste any better than MRE as his fork stabbed the pieces of whatever-it-was on his plate.

His mum seemed unaffected too, chatting and laughing with you, patting your forearm. As if she’d expected it, like her husband was a sentence that haunted wherever she went, waiting to strike. Thankfully, you were nice enough to not ask anything about the incident, preventing the evening from being even more shameful.

While you went to your flat to settle in, Simon and his mum went to his.

“What did he do to you?” he asked as soon as the door closed.

She sighed softly. “He was grovelling, asking me to come back.”

“How did he even know you work there?”

“I’ve got no idea, Si. But he always finds a way to get what he wants.”

He stared at her, wondering what that meant - if she was folding. He looked away before letting out a deep breath, running his fingers through his overgrown blond hair.

“I’ve been thinking about it. I’m arranging a meeting with a divorce lawyer.”

His lips quirked into the tiniest smile. It was about time.

After a shower, Simon knocked on your door. You didn’t seem to lock it anymore when you were expecting him. From the couch, you looked over your shoulder with a smile.

“I figured it was an Earl Grey kind of night.”

You had the kettle on the table, next to two mugs – one empty.

His eyes flicked to you, standing by the couch. “You must be wondering what the fuck that was.”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell-“

“That was my dad. My mum came here to get away from him.”

You gave him a sympathetic nod, patting the seat next to you.

He dropped himself onto the couch. “He hasn’t been nice to my mum to say the least. Hasn’t been to any of us in fact.”

“Must have taken a lot of courage to walk away, leaving everything she’s ever known.”

He turned to you, brows raised. “She told you?”

“No, but it’s not hard to see. She’s got no one here except you. Something must have happened back home.” You paused. “I know it’s just… difficult to do two people’s work.”

His gaze stayed on you, watching how yours cast down. He didn’t know what possessed him, but he asked, “How do you deal with guilt?”

“Accept that sometimes it’s not your fault.” You scooted closer, your hand on his. “That sometimes there’s nothing you can do even when you desperately want to. That you’re not always the good guy in everyone’s story.”

He leaned into your shoulder, his nose brushing against the smooth skin of your neck as he let out a long sigh.

You wrapped your arms around him. “I told you I’ve only got my dad now. He kept forgiving my mum, but it just didn’t work when your heart’s not there. It might have not been my fault things fell apart, but I wanted to have a hand in rebuilding what’s left. I like to think we’ve been having a pretty good time.”

Simon could tell you were smiling from the climb of your voice.

“You’ve still got your mum. There are still nice things to be had.”

His thick arms snaked around your waist. The TV droned on as the last half of your tea went cold, but you didn’t let go, fingers running through the hair above the nape of his neck.

His shoulders were still heavy. His dad wasn’t out of their lives yet, but with you like this, it was easy to forget it all. That anything else existed outside your quiet flat – his favourite flat.

He sat back and pulled you to him, an arm around you. You put on another episode of GBBO and lay on his chest. As the both of you stayed wordless, he contemplated if he could let himself stay - the couch or the floor would be fine. He wouldn’t leave if you asked, but you didn’t.

Near midnight, he excused himself to his flat - his first time staying there since his mum came. At the door, he braved himself to kiss you on the cheek.

“See you at breakfast.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @eve-lie @luvecarson @ghostslittlegf @gluttonybiscuits @jaguarthecat @nocturnalreader106 @devils-dares @sparrowgalaxy

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 2

2.1k | fluff You had many dinners with Simon (part 1) (part 3)

Simon Riley white-knuckled the vegetable peeler against the poor carrot in his other hand like it owed him money.

He’d knocked on your door that morning with the full intention of being helpful, but it was painfully difficult to hide the fact that he was beyond clueless as he stood there at the counter. He even dressed for the occasion, wearing a loose black shirt to not dirty his sleeves. It was his first time seeing you in something other than a hoodie, and he caught your momentary gaze on his tattooed arm.

Sure, he kept telling himself each time he came up with an excuse to have you over was for his mum’s company. It made him happy to see the smile on her face as she chatted with you, your laughter filling his otherwise quiet flat. But was it really for her company now, when it was just the two of you as he embarrassed himself?

Regretting what he thought was a brilliant idea, he glanced at you, absolutely horrified of being a hold up and ruining lunch.

You didn’t even look up from the pot you were stirring. “You know, I really don’t like doing the dishes. Would you like to help with that instead?”

A small sigh of relief escaped him as he dropped everything on the cutting board, thankful you spared the sliver of dignity he had left. He did most of the cleaning while he watched you. You said you weren’t the best cook, but your movements were serene, easy. You didn’t look like you were going to chop your fingers off, and to him, that made you far above decent.

Evidently, Melanie complimented the meal generously while Simon simply asked for a third helping. He beat you to the dishes after that, not allowing you to lift a finger after all the cooking you did.

At your door, you turned to him. “In case I don’t see you again before you ship out-“

“You will. I leave Thursday morning.”

“Oh.”

“Can I have your number?”

You handed him your phone and Simon Riley called himself from it.

“I’ll see you around, Simon.” You smiled at him.

Again, he only left when you’d closed your door. When he entered his flat, his mum looked up from wiping down the dining table.

She sighed softly. “How long am staying, Si? It’s been over two weeks now.”

“As long as you want, mum. I’d rather you here.” He walked over to her. “At least I know you’ll be safe.”

“What’s going to happen to your dad?”

“You wouldn’t let me bash his face in, and he’s not my dad. Not sure he ever was,” he said gravely. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I just need to know you’re safe. That’s all I’m asking.”

She turned away, the discomfort evident in her eyes. Simon knew the look to well.

“You need to leave him, mum,” he said under his breath.

“I think I’m going to stay a few more weeks, two months tops,” she finally said. “Until things settle. I’ll look for a job meanwhile.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I want to feel useful, Si,” she reassured. “You’ve been too kind to me.”

“Never enough.”

When's the latest you can have dinner before it's not called dinner anymore? Simon texted you Monday afternoon.

Is this the premise to a joke?

He tilted his head. On second thought, it did sound like one of his dad jokes.

No, was a genuine question actually.

9, maybe. Why?

I'll be home before 7:30. Would it be okay to wait for me for dinner until then?

Who's cooking?

Takeout chef down the street. You pick who the lucky bloke is

You smiled as he stood at your door with takeout in hand. The way you looked at him made him question his clean shaven look that day. Did he look too much like an adolescent with no scruff?

Simon didn’t like making conversation, let alone with someone as sunny as you, but he was surprised to find that he wanted to put himself in a social situation with you. Still, he wasn’t used to it. He tried saying more, he really did, but the most he managed to tell was that he was an apprentice butcher back in Manchester before he enlisted, and that he was a currently a lieutenant in the SAS.

After dinner, you sat facing each other on your small couch sipping on tea, knees almost touching each other’s.

At this point, he noticed you didn’t look away as much as you did the previous instances. Either you’d got used to his unyielding stare or his attempt to appear less scary succeeded. You didn’t ask further about his job, and he hoped it was because you thought it was mostly confidential, not because you were afraid of him. That was alright though, you were far more interesting than his work anyway. He enjoyed watching the way you lit up talking about your interests.

Perhaps it was patronising how he wondered why you could be so much like sunshine in this bleak world, walking around like no one was going to break your heart. He found your generosity reckless, even foolish. Guilt pricked his heart for having these unsavoury thoughts, yet he was still utterly and shamelessly fascinated by your smile.

Despite him not wanting to leave, he excused himself for the night before it was remotely late.

“The day at the base starts early, yeah?”

He gave you a small smile. “Same time tomorrow?”

You nodded.

“Good night, luv.”

On his way to the lift, he knocked on the door of his own flat. His mum answered, clutching her cardigan close to her chest.

“Oh, Simon. I wasn’t expecting you.” She stepped aside. “Are you staying the night? I’ll get the bed-”

“No, ’m just dropping by.” He closed the door behind him.

“Did you need something? Have you had dinner yet?”

“I did, yeah.”

A knowing smile tugged on her lips. “Was it with someone I know?”

“Wanted to say good night and make sure everything’s alright.” A blush might have crept up his neck as he stepped in for a one-armed hug.

But the next night, Simon dropped by again before going back to base.

“Why are you here every day now?” Melanie looked at her son with a teasing smile. “I’m not complaining, but I thought you said you were too busy to come home.”

“Can I not want to see my own mum?”

“Sure, Si.” She gave him a playful side eye. “Let me see what ingredient I’m missing, in case you want to run to the shops.”

He groaned. “I’m shipping out Thursday. Wanted to take you somewhere nice for dinner tomorrow. Get yourself an outfit. Use my card.”

“How nice!” She beamed. “Is she coming with?”

He looked away. “I didn’t invite her.”

“Would you like to?” When he gave her an unsure look, she reassured, “I don’t mind at all. She’s sweet and I’m happy you’re meeting new people.”

Of course it didn’t take any convincing for him to invite you to his favourite steakhouse in the city. In fact, he very much looked forward to having another excuse to see you, especially dressed up. Not like you didn’t look nice, but thinking of taking you out made him giddy. He suddenly didn’t dread the med evals, trainings and briefings he usually detested before each deployment.

When he arrived at base, your reply waited.

Thank you so much for the invite. The place sounds lovely, but I don’t want to intrude. Have a nice evening you both!

His shoulders sagged. Can I at least see you after dinner?

Mrs. Riley beamed when Simon picked her up with a rose in hand. He didn’t remember ever seeing her so dressed up, and he was glad to have given her the opportunity to. She gushed over the delicious dinner, the wine and how polite the waiters were that it brought a bittersweet smile to his lips.

He could tell how much the evening meant to her, and it broke his heart that no one had cared for her that much in a very long time. He held her hand as they walked back to his flat.

“You be safe, Simon. I’ll be waiting for you,” she hugged him tight at the door as her voice wavered, her eyes brimming with tears.

He gave her a squeeze, feeling the emotions rubbing off on him. “Will do, mum. I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he said into her hair.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek before he headed to your flat.

Simon didn’t recall feeling this heavy upon shipping out in recent memory, but as you answered the door in your loose shirt and shorts, his arms ached to wrap around you. Instead, he shoved his hands in his trousers pockets.

“Would you like to come in?”

“I can’t,” he said. Because if I did, I wouldn’t want to leave.

You looked away, seemingly a little embarrassed by his rejection.

“May I ask why you didn’t want to come earlier?”

You stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind you. “I feel your mum would appreciate it more if it’s just the two of you, that’s all.”

“Maybe next time with you then?” he asked hopefully. “Just us?”

You nodded and a smile blossomed on his lips in return. You both lingered a few more seconds in silence.

“I’m wishing you and your unit the very best on your mission. Please take care out there.” You cast your gaze down.

He caught the wobble in your voice and the sincerity was the push he needed. You barely had time to react to him stepping in for a hug. His arms encircled your frame loosely, but tightened as soon as yours wrapped around his waist. He curled over you, inhaling your scent as your breath tickled his neck.

The lack of distance only highlighted how much he towered over you. He was sure you could feel his racing heart under his turtleneck, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to hold you.

“Let me know when you’re back,” you said when he pulled away.

“’course.”

Simon very much looked forward to your texts whenever he had time to himself. While he asked you about your days, he unfortunately couldn’t say much about his. Instead, he sent you photos of the sunrise, or the shit cup of tea he was having. In return, you sent photos of the Hereford sunset and your meals. He said the kind of food he ate would ruin your appetite.

You told him his mum got a job at that bakery you loved – you knew the owner. On some days if her schedule allowed, you could walk back home with her. Simon thanked you for keeping her company, knowing how much she must have appreciated it.

The two weeks seemed to roll by a litter faster than usual. You were the first to know as soon as he was scheduled to fly back. He said he’d probably get home a late, but would love to see you if you had the time.

At his first knock, rapid footsteps came from behind your door which you swung open with a grin on your face. “You’re back!”

“May I come in?”

You made way for him, and when the door closed behind you, he stepped in, arms lifted a little. With a chuckle, you closed the gap, squeezing him tight.

“Are you available for dinner tomorrow?”

You pulled away. “No, going out with friends.”

“Oh,” he muttered. “Sunday then?”

“That’ll do.” You smiled, walking backwards to the kitchen. “Come, I’ll make us a cuppa. Co-worker gave me some oolong tea.”

His eyes softened. “Sorry, can’t stay long, luv. I’m going back to base.”

“But tomorrow is Saturday. I thought you stay home on weekends.”

“Yeah, but it’s too late now. I don’t want to bother my mum.”

You gestured at the couch with a chuckle. “I’d offer you this, but it’s way too small for you.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to bother his mum - he wouldn’t. He could get in and out the place without a sound, nor was your couch a problem. He could sleep on the floor and it would still be better than some of the places he’d had the pleasure to sleep in.

He wasn’t ready yet, especially not when he just got back, with his mind still reeling 1000 miles an hour.

“That’s okay. I can head back.”

Your brow rose at him. He understood how silly it was now, driving all the way to you at this hour to not even stay 15 minutes. It was embarrassing, if he was honest, how much he was transfixed on seeing you that he didn’t even think of the logistics of the visit.

“Sorry, I’m not a late sleeper. I’m dead tired and always sleep like a log the first night back.” His eyes flicked to your lips as he swallowed. “I’ll pick you up Sunday?”

You smiled. “Where are we going?”

“The same place. I think you’re going to like it.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @fruitymoonbeams-blog @ghostslittlegf @luvecarson @sparrowgalaxy @insert-weird-name @nocturnalreader106

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader

2.6k | fluff, mentions of physical abuse If Simon still had his family (part 2)

Simon Riley just got back to the safe house when he saw it.

Tommy Riley, 2 hours ago, 5 missed calls

It’s mum. Call back.         

His heart thumped as the phone rang. “Mum?” he said as soon as the line connected. ”Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“Oh, Simon…” her voice cracked.

His dad had always been an alcoholic ever since he could remember. He and his younger brother Tommy grew up witnessing his antics: stumbling through the door with slurred shouts in the wee hours of the night, often breaking things in the house, taunting them with the exotic animals he brought on occasions, if he even came home at all.

Mrs. Riley turned the other cheek, making excuses for him. As a child, Simon believed her, that people were short sometimes. Because daddy was tired at work, because mummy didn’t cook dinner right, or forgot to buy his favourite beer… Until he grew up and saw the behaviour as what it was.

But she never left, reassuring him his dad would never lay a hand on her. Simon didn’t trust that bastard of a man, but it was her choice to stay and he could only respect that. It was not his decision to make.

At least if he couldn’t bring her the happiness she deserved, he had to do something to distract himself from the hell at home and divert his aggression. That, and he wanted to help make the world a better place. When he left for the military, he firmly warned Tommy to take care of mum and to be there for her if anything was to happen.

Still, Simon spent his adult life painstakingly watching, waiting for the man’s first misstep so he could eliminate that cancer out of everyone’s life once and for all. The day was finally here. His dad had chased his mum about the house with a knife.

“I- I’ve got nothing but the clothes on my back. I walked barefoot to Tommy’s,” she said between sobs.

“How long has this-“ He stopped himself. It was not the time. He took a deep breath, his hand in a fist, knuckles white. “You’re catching the next train to Hereford,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You’ll stay at my flat until I’m back and we’ll figure things out. Someone from the base will call and help you out.”

“I don’t want to be a bother, Si. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re never a bother,” he said sternly. “I only go back home on the weekends, just stay there. I need you to be safe, mum. Please.”

In Hereford, on a chilly Tuesday night as you made your way down the hall to your flat, there stood a lady fumbling with the key to her own. On the floor laid bags overflowing with fresh produce. She turned as your footsteps approached.

“Hiya, sweetheart. Terribly sorry, but could you give me a hand please? I can’t seem to get the door.” She was middle aged, greying short hair, soft spoken with a Manchester accent.

 “’Course.” You smiled at her as she moved aside. “Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” The key only turned halfway before stopping.

“I just got here some days ago.”

You grunted before turning it all the way. “There you go.” You pushed the door open.

“Oh, you’re an angel, luv.“ She thrusted a bag of apples towards you. “It’s not much, but here. Please have these as a thanks.”

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am. It’s nothing really.”

“Please, I insist.” She put her hand on yours. “And it’s Melanie.”

You smiled. “Welcome to the building, Melanie. I’m at the end of the hall if you need me.”

You spent Saturday morning baking, courtesy of Melanie’s delicious gift. Even that you devoured the apples throughout the days, you didn’t want to risk the rest going bad on you – you could only eat so much. As you let the pie cool, you cleaned up before making your way to her flat.

It didn’t take long for the door to open. Your smile fell as you blinked at the man staring down at you. His stature huge, almost filling the doorframe as he stood unmoving.

You cowered, eyes darting away. “Hi, uh, is Melanie in?”

“Melanie?” he repeated, voice gruff and cautious. He leaned his forearm against the frame, appearing even more intimidating than the situation needed him to be. “What does this concern?”

You took a step back. “Just… wanted to give this to her.” You held out the pie towards him.

“Who is it, Si?” a woman from behind him called.

The man stepped aside to reveal the much shorter Melanie.

Her face lit up. “Oh, hello, luv. What a surprise!”

“Thanks for the apples, Melanie. I made you this.” You trudged the pan towards her, shifting your weight.

“Come in, come in. This is my son, Simon.” She turned to the man, patting his arm. “She’s the bird who helped me with the door the other day.”

Still with the sharp stare, he gave you a curt nod before you followed Melanie in, placing the pie on the dining table.

“Lunch is almost ready. Would you care to stay, luv?” She made her way towards the stove and muttered, “I always cook too much.”

You smiled. “I’d love to, sure. It smells lovely.”

You helped set up the table as she finished up the soup and brought it out. Simon got himself a helping and sat across you with Melanie beside the both of you. The blond was a few years older than you, jaw lined with a light stubble, but those brown eyes. They were icy, calculating as he glared at you.

Even that the soup was tasty, you regretted saying yes to it as you ate under his scrutiny. Instead, you averted your gaze to take in the flat. The layout was similar to yours, but quality pieces furnished it instead. The large, dark couch in the corner of the living room looked particularly comfortable, behind it a tall shelf lined with books. It was sparsely decorated, and too tidy to be recently moved into without boxes about.

“Do you know if they’ve got a farmer’s market nearby, luv?”

“I don’t, sorry. I get by going to Tesco.” You gave her a soft laugh. “But I can help you ask around.”

She beamed. “That’d be very nice.”

“I do know a bakery a few blocks away with wonderful loaves though. I always buy there.”

While the both of you chatted about the area, Simon was wordless. In fact, he almost didn’t make a noise at all, but at least he’d stopped staring which allowed you to finally relax your back you didn’t realise had been tense. You thanked her again for lunch, and she promised to return the pie pan as soon as she could.

Later that evening, the knock on the door took you away from your laptop. You expected Melanie, but were instead greeted by Simon. Standing a respectable distance from the doorway, he didn’t look like he was trying to scare you this time even that his gaze was as stony.

“Thanks for the pie. Was mint.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his flat tone, taking the pan from him. “I’m glad you liked it.”

He grunted, averting his gaze. “I wanted to thank you, for how nice you’ve been to my mum.” He looked back up at you. “She’s having a bit of a hard time adjusting.”

Your shoulders relaxed. “I understand. It’s not always easy going somewhere new.”

“If you ever need anything, feel free to drop by.” He gave you a half smile before turning away.

The blond Mancunian was the last person you expected at your door on Wednesday night. You’d just taken your coat off as you arrived back from work.

“I got greedy and bought too much takeaway. Would you like to join us for dinner?”

You laughed. “Really? Too much food?”

“I’m not fond of leftovers.” He shrugged, inadvertently emphasising his size.

“Well, I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Mon’ then.” He tiled his head towards his flat, his hands now shoved in the pockets of his black hoodie.

“Glad you could join us, luv.” Melanie smiled as she set the table.

“Hard to resist takeaway.” You chuckled as you approached. Takeaway boxes almost covered the entirety of the table. “Wow, this is a whole spread.”

“I said the same thing!”

“What can I say, I’m a hungry man,” he said gruffly behind you.

You turned to him in amusement. He gave you a shrug, but this time his eyes didn’t look as hard. In fact, you thought you saw a whisper of a smile on his lips.

Later that Saturday as you lounged around on the couch, you looked up from your book at the knock on the door. It was once again Simon in his hoodie, his posture impressive as always.

“My mum told me to run to the shops because we’re out of salt. Any chance you’ve got some to spare so I don’t have to?”

“Salt? Of course.” You headed to the kitchen, leaving the door open.

His fingertips brushed against yours as you handed him the ceramic container.

“She’s cooking pasta. Fancy some?” He tilted his head towards his flat.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He raised an eyebrow.

You gave him an amused smile. “I’m starting to feel like a freeloader.”

“It’s the least we can offer in return of the salt.”

“It’s just salt.”

“We wouldn’t be eating without your salt, if I’m honest.”

The smile remained as you shook your head.

“Come, she’s waiting.”

At the stove, Melanie thanked you for the ‘life-saving’ salt when you should be the one thanking her for her hospitality. By now, you knew where the tableware was and started setting the table, but this time Simon trailed, grabbing glasses and closing the cabinet doors after you.

“It’s brilliant, really,” you said after the first bite of the tomato pasta. “You’re feeding me too well.”  

She smiled proudly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m not a culinary prodigy at all, but please let me return the favour and make the meal next time.”

“Don’t wor-“

“When?” Simon piped up.

“Next weekend sounds good?”

“Can’t do.”

You hummed. “Well, I won’t have enough time to cook anything fancy on weekdays.”

Melanie swatted her hand. “Oh, you really don’t have to, luv.”

“But there’s still tomorrow. How does lunch sound? I’ll do the shopping today.”

“I’ll drive. Need to pick up a few things too.”

You smiled at him and turned to Melanie. “You want to come with?”

She shook her head. “You kids have fun.”

Simon cleaned up while you got ready before leaving in his SUV. In the sun, his eyes were gorgeous glimmers of deep caramel framed by long, blond lashes. He’d pushed his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his toned forearms – the left one inked.

It flexed as his hand rested atop the steering wheel at the red light. You could see the details from here – skulls and rifles over fire adorned his pale skin. You wondered how far up the monochrome sleeve extended.

He still hadn’t said anything since he picked you up at your door. At this point, you couldn’t tell if he was awkward or simply didn’t like to talk. You tried your luck anyway.

“How do you find the building so far?”

“No complaints. Been there over a year.”

“Really? I don’t think I’d seen you before actually.”

“I don’t really live there. Just on the weekends, if any.”

“Didn’t Melanie say she just got here weeks ago?”

“She’s visiting.” He turned to you. “I meant it when I said she likes your company.”

You smiled. “She’s real sweet. I hope she enjoys her stay.”

When you arrived, he beat you to the basket at the entrance.

“I’ll get it. On you, luv.”

You got called ‘luv’ all the time, but the way he said it made you look away. You couldn’t ignore the tickle that ran down your spine.

On the way to the produce section, the offer sign caught your eye as you passed the biscuit aisle. You reached for the goldfish crackers you hadn’t had in a while.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…” he started behind you.

You turned to him, a brow raised.

“One looks at the other and says ‘You know how to drive this thing?’”

Nothing prepared you for a joke from him, the brooding man in oversized hoodies who barely spoke. You cackled embarrassingly loud in the empty aisle. It was your first time seeing him actually smile. He had pretty teeth, and his eyes finally thawed, crinkles by them.

“That’s a good one,” you said after your laughter died down, chucking a bag into the basket.

The ghost of a smile remained on his lips as he looked ahead. You took it as a cue to move along. He stood behind you as you moved about and picked ingredients, telling you the reason he couldn’t do next weekend was because he was in the military and would be gone on a mission. You didn’t know it, but his gaze lingered on you the whole time.

Before long, you were ready to check out, grabbing a box of English Breakfast tea on your way there. In the queue, Simon stood a touch closer behind you than he needed to, his arm splayed on the railing next to you. You didn’t make a move against it. Instead you tried to make out the rest of his tattoo, but the way his veins budged under the ink from holding the basket distracted you.

It occurred to you people had joined the line when you heard giggles behind the wall of Simon. You couldn’t help tuning into the rather loud conversation. One of the girls was dared to skydive after losing a round of beer pong, and the instructor was “so fucking hot summer came back to Birmingham”. She very much looked forward to their date the following week.

You bit back a smile. You were oddly proud of the stranger. You go, girl.

Simon tapped your shoulder and leaned into your ear. “Why don’t blind guys skydive?”

You only managed to turn a fraction before coming face to face with him. Your breath hitched, not expecting the proximity.

“Because it scares the shit out of their dogs.”

Your laughter boomed before you slapped a hand over your mouth and turning to him fully. His warm eyes returned with his smile, looking absolutely pleased with himself.

The eye contact remained a touch longer, only broken by the cashier calling for the next customer. You whipped towards the lady, gaze cast down as Simon hoisted the basket onto the counter.

He didn’t give you a chance to pay as he already had his phone ready at the receiver, shrugging off your protests. You didn’t mention the fact that he didn’t even pick up anything for himself.

It wasn’t a lot, but Simon carried all the shopping up to your flat. You gathered the bags from him after you opened the door.

You pulled a box of salt from one of them. “Here’s for your mum.”

He quickly took it and looked away.

“Thanks again for the ride. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

He nodded, but stood unmoving. His boots only thudded away when you’ve locked the door.

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats

[cumikering]

Werewolf Keegan x reader 9 (end)

1.7k | fluff Well, yes, but if a wolf runs around unattended, they’re going to call animal control (part 1)

Keegan made good on his promise that he’d clean up after himself.

With the way he loved to cuddle you as a wolf, even the biggest lint rollers wouldn’t suffice so he compensated by vacuuming your place every day. But not without giving Raider the side eye, because of course he had to help out. Some of the fluff was his too after all.

You really spoilt him, didn’t you? The K9 only watched his handler as he panted among the avalanche of chew toys you got him (his favourite was still the phone one though), and wouldn’t even clean his own dog bed with the lint roller.

Keegan took a two-week leave to take care of Raider who was anticipated to take a few months to recover before he could get back in the field. Fortunately, he was healing fast, already standing the week after and moving about.

Keegan decided to crash at your place meanwhile. ‘It’s closer to the vet hospital,’ he reasoned, but he knew you knew it was more than that. You said you didn’t mind as long as he kept the floof in check.

It felt natural to be around you like this. Driving you to and from work, cooking dinner with you, watching the TV after. It was hard to believe he lived so long without this, believing he was perfectly happy too.

And to think this all started with his curse.

His wolf had never been happier too, being in your space. Head empty, no thoughts, just his peanut as he drifted off to sleep.

You said it was strange the first few times he spooned you in bed as a wolf and suddenly shifted back when he lost his consciousness to sleep. The floof disappeared in a split second, replaced by his heavy arm around your waist which startled you.

Even that he was hesitant at first, he was pleasantly surprised with how welcoming you were to his peculiarity. Like when he approached you with hot cheeks a few days into staying at yours.

“Peanut,” he said in a small voice, eyes not meeting yours. “Would it be okay, if maybe, you can play tug of war with me?”

Your brow rose.

“I mean, it’s totally fine if not! It’s just I need exercise and Raider can’t play yet,” he rambled.

“Of course! We can play fetch too if you want.”

His eyes brightened, thinking of that time when his first instinct was to run after the toy you threw for Raider. “Oh, I’ve never tried that before, but that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“We can have a run at the park too, so we don’t have to go on a hike. If you’ve got an owner, no one’s going to call animal control on you.”

He tilted his head. “I am not going to be leashed.”

“But can you imagine how big of a tranquiliser dart they’re going to use on your wolf otherwise?” You stifled a laugh. “Probably as big as my forearm.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. You knew he wasn’t a fan on needles. “We’ll go hiking when Raider’s better.”

Your laugh always made him happy, like when he pulled the rope toy too hard on purpose to wrestle you on the floor. You never won against the giant wolf no matter how much you tried, and he was glad of it because he loved nuzzling you from above, your giggles filling the room.

He sent his mum pictures of the both of you, some of your cooking too, always thrilled at every opportunity to say you were his. He was to visit her with you when Raider got better, but meanwhile video calls would have to do.

“Aw, look at the both of you! Aren’t you adorable, sweetie?” his mum cooed, the phone a little too close to her face.

“She’s a cheek pincher,” Keegan said. “Here, I’ll do it on her behalf.” He reached over to pinch you lightly.

Mrs. Russ laughed. “I hope you’re feeding him well. He eats like he’s still growing, but can barely cook. Make sure he does the dishes at least!”

You let out a chuckle.

“She does! She makes the best PB sandwiches.” It was true - they were better than his and he didn’t understand why. “When we visit, she’ll make you some.”

His mum was not a werewolf nor was she a fan of PB, but he firmly believed the love for it would transcend all.

Before Ghosts’ next mission, he took you out to meet his teammates for dinner. You were a little bashful from all the attention you got when they tried to get to know you. Especially from Ajax and Kick, who were mostly baffled by how you could spare “the creepy, frowning guy” a second glance.

“I can get you an angel shot,” Ajax said.

“Blink three times if you need help,” Kick whispered.

Regardless the teasing, Keegan grinned at the fact he got to call you his peanut.

However, the closer it was to the 7th full moon, Keegan grew restless, but not because of his urges. With how well and fast you fit into his life, he couldn’t even remember what it was like without you. He was terrified he bond wasn’t going to work and he’d lose everything again.

He didn’t doubt your feelings, even that he had to admit he felt clingy sometimes, wanting you to tell him how much you felt towards him. He was glad you never complained, but was kind regarding his needs, taking care of him.

The night of the full moon, he took you out on a date, somewhere special with a live cello player. At your door, he presented a bouquet of your favourite flowers. He made sure it was bigger than the one Blake sent and that the card didn’t fall off (not like you needed it since he brought it over personally). A little petty, he had to admit, but he had to show you he was cooler than your uni friend and could survive far more than a few punches.

You dressed up, your hair done, smelling wonderful and he couldn’t keep his hands off you. His peanut. Fuck, he still couldn’t believe you were his. Under the clothed table, he squeezed your knee.

The hours rolled past as you enjoyed the haunting performance, his arm along the back of your seat while your hand rested on his thigh. He started bouncing his leg, something he almost never did.

“It’s going to work.” You squeezed his thigh.

“I’m not worried,” he said through gritted teeth, eyes fixated on the cello player.

“You won’t be a wolf. We’ll visit your mum and have her cooking, and you’ll show me your band poster collection, okay?”

He gave you a crooked smile, hand gripping yours.

Outside, the moon beamed bright against the cloudless sky. Fresh out of the shower, you sat in bed next to him, his chest bare, soft from the hot water, lower half under the comforter. The bedside lamp shed enough light to illuminate the way your lips pulled into a thin line. His arms wrapped around you and you let out a shaky breath against him.

“You can tell me to stop any time, and… Just in case.” He reached for his blade on the nightstand, handing it to you. “I love you, okay?”

You nodded and he peeled off the comforter that covered him before shifting. You bared your neck to his wolf, brows furrowed as your eyes closed.

He whimpered, nuzzling your neck. I love you, peanut.

“Okay, I’m ready,” you mumbled.

He puffed out steady breath before positioning his fangs on your neck, feeling you shudder under him. You gripped his mane, yelping when he sank into you. Your blood was the best thing he’d ever tasted, and with your addicting scent filling him, it was too easy to stay put, but he shifted back immediately.

“You did good, peanut.” He kissed the corner of your eyes where tears had pricked. “Now we wait.”

In the dead of night, he jerked awake, breathing heavily. With the movement, you woke too.

“You okay?” You rubbed his chest, fingers ever comforting through the fuzz.

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Yeah, I think. Did you have a dream?”

“We were in the woods, at full moon.”

He held his breath as his heart raced.

“Your wolf and I were walking to the cabin in the distance. I was barefoot-“

“In a white dress,” he said under his breath.

You nodded, beaming.

“It worked.” He chuckled in disbelief, gripping your shoulders. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Your arms wrapped around him. “We’re mates now, Keegan. For life.”

Months later, Raider fully recovered and was back in the field with his handler. You and Keegan got a new place between your old places, somewhere without carpeted floors because he’d grown sick of the vacuuming. Life slipped into a rhythm.

He took you to his home and greeted his mum with a kiss on the cheek. You said her lasagna was as great as he always hyped it up to be. Much to his chagrin, she was swift, and vey excited, to show you his childhood photos. He groaned. The memory of him rocking a bowl cut for the entirety of primary school was humiliating, but with a giggle, you reassured he looked cute with his signature icy stare. He didn’t believe you.

Keegan carried your luggage up the stairs with Raider padding behind, nails clicking against floor. His mum never changed a thing in his bedroom since he left, his emo band posters still almost lined the entirety of the walls. He stared at the one behind the door and contemplated if you’d like him in one of those haircuts. There would be more to pat after all (and it surely wouldn’t be as hideous as a damn bowl cut).

At bedtime, in his cramped bed, you huddled facing each other.

“I guess we should have stayed at a hotel after all.”

He shrugged. “You know, if we were both wolves, we would fit perfectly fine here.”

You smiled, tracing your neck where his bite marks had faded. “Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all.”

Thank you so much everyone for reading my silly doggo story! I had mad fun writing this and I'm glad you stuck around until the end :D take care x

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @astraluminaaa @shadowlali @eve-lie @reelovesfictionalmen @writeforfandoms @milkteaarttime

[cumikering]

Werewolf Keegan x reader 8

2.4k | angst How many times can you run from someone before they run from you? (part 1) (part 9/end)

An enemy sniper’s bullet went straight through Raider’s leg.

Keegan performed first aid on the collapsed K9, forcing his hands to not tremble from the dread. The bullet had miraculously missed his bones, but the blood still poured from the open flesh. While everyone had taken their masks off, Keegan kept his on. No one needed to know how many ugly tears he shed in silence as he helplessly held his whimpering best friend for the whole ride. He was losing too much, too soon.

Back in the city, in the waiting room of the veterinary hospital, his stare burnt onto the unassuming clock which appeared to move slower by the second. He called you from the hospital’s landline, the only thing that could distract him from everything that was going to shit, but you didn’t pick up.

He had been waiting for what felt like hours, his huffs heavy as he paced the empty room. Empty because since he arrived, the other patrons seemed to prefer to wait elsewhere, away from the man with the storm brewing in his eyes who gripped the seats next to him like he was about to fling them across the room.

When Raider made it out of his emergency surgery, Keegan let out his breath as his shoulder sagged in relief. He knelt next to his kennel, petting the K9 as he lay on his side with a loopy stare, his tail swaying weakly.

“I know you miss her, buddy. I’ll get her, okay?” He took his handkerchief out of his back pocket, placing it next to Raider. “Keep this safe for me.”

The sun was setting when Keegan made it to your apartment. Ideally, he’d visit with a bouquet and a rehearsed speech; alas the stars hadn’t aligned at the slightest the past few painstaking hours. In fact, they had been blown out of the fucking sky because when he got out of his SUV, you were in the courtyard heading to your building, a man next to you.

He slammed his door shut and stalked towards you. He had no right to – perhaps it was the remnants of his agitation, but he wanted to punch the dude for standing so close to you, making you smile and laugh like that. He was walking you to your door, were you going to invite him in? When it was just him on your arm weeks ago?

“I need to talk to you,” he declared.

Your eyes widened momentarily before you walked past him. He didn’t relent, following you.

“You blocked my number. I’ve been trying to reach you the past week.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice was cold as you maintained your pace.

“Don’t think she wants you here.” The man stepped in front of him. “Why don’t you leave her alone, mate?”

Who the fuck was this green-eyed dude with the posh English accent telling him what to do? He might have been as tall as Keegan, but he didn’t look like he could survive half a punch.

“I’m not talking to you.” He didn’t spare the man another glance. “Raider got shot. He’s at the vet hospital.”

You stopped and turned to him. “W-what?”

“He made it out okay, but I thought you might want to see him.”

“Oh God,” you whispered. “Yes, I’d love to see him. Blake, I’m so sorry, I need to go.” You placed your hand on the man’s forearm.

“Are you sure?” He gripped your hand, wary eyes wandering to Keegan before going back to you.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll text you, okay?”

Keegan noticed the way you fiddled with your shirt as you rushed to his car. It was his first instinct to wrap his arm around you whenever you did so, but he caught himself before he made the contact.

“Who is he?” he asked as he drove off. “Was he the one who sent the flowers?”

“Why does it matter, Keegan?” you retorted, an edge in your voice.

“Just answer me.”

“Are you lying about Raider?” The venom dripped from your accusation.

“I’m not. Why would I do that?” He glanced at you. “You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I don’t actually. I don’t know you anymore.”

I’m jealous, okay? I want you all to myself. “Just… Tell me who he is and I won’t ask again,” he softened.

“It’s none of your business. And if you won’t shut up, let me out of the damn car right now because I’d rather walk on my own than hear your voice again.”

He decided it was enough of an answer who the man was.

During the silent drive to grab Raider’s things at his, the lump in his throat wouldn’t stop swelling, but he’d calmed down enough to not want to scream anymore. It didn’t matter if it was your date or your boyfriend. He’d accepted that he’d irrevocably messed up and nothing was going to change that.

You helped collect the K9’s favourite toys from the living room which was still a mess from him leaving in a hurry for his previous deployment. When he emerged from the bedroom, Raider’s blanket folded in hand, you were waiting by the door. As much as he wanted to stay in the delusion that there was still a sliver of hope of mending this, he understood he might never even get the chance to speak to you again with the way you wouldn’t look at him.

“I just… Can you hear me out? I just need 5 minutes. Please.” His fingers clenched around the soft fabric.

You spared him a glance. He took it as his cue to proceed.

“I wish I had the balls to say this sooner because this feels far too late now. I know you hate me, but at this point I’ve got nothing to lose. So I just… want to tell you I’m in love with you.”

Your stare didn’t waver.

“I want to parade you around to my teammates, take you home to meet my family, kiss you goodnight, every single night. I don’t know how you make me so happy, so alive. But I never said anything because…” He exhaled, arms dropping to his sides, fist clenching and releasing. “What happened to me was… You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m a w-”

“Is this a joke?” You scoffed. “I told you I won’t stop you if you wanted to leave, and you did. I only asked you to be honest and you couldn’t even do that. So save your sorry excuse for someone who’d buy it.”

His gaze fell to the floor. “It’s not an excuse,” he said lamely.

“What are you doing this for? Was it not enough that you left me hanging for a whole week? And- and I heard how you rushed out to leave that morning.” You swallowed. “You’re unbelievable. I shouldn’t have gone out with you, shouldn’t have kissed you. Shouldn’t have forgiven you or let you stay the night!”

Your words, like daggers to a bleeding wound, made it hard for him to breathe. His chest felt bound, icy, his fingertips tingled as his heartbeat echoed in his ears.

So he walked past you and left, the only thing he was good at - running away from problems. Because it hurt less than to see the anger, the disappointment in your face, knowing it was his fault.

In the hurry, he took Raider’s blanket with, but his buddy would have to wait. His skin scorched as he drove to the mountains, but this time, the pain didn’t dissolve after his transformation. He ran aimlessly, wailing and howling the pain away in the woods, blinded by the hot, white fire. Having had experienced nothing as agonising, he wished he had a weapon to just end it right there and then.

He didn’t even make it up the mountain when his legs bucked and he collapsed onto his side, heaving, like breathing through shrapnel impaled through his chest. His eyes didn’t stay open much longer, and he succumbed to the burn.

Keegan didn’t know how long he was out when he woke to his own pained scream, tears down his face in his human form. He ran his calloused hands down his body, but discovered no injury. With the ache in his chest, like a hole had been blown through it, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was reality. He got dressed and dragged his unsteady legs to his car, not feeling like he was all there.

It was in the dead of night when Keegan got to the vet hospital, but as Raider’s handler, the staff cleared him to visit anyway. At the clink of the kennel opening, the K9’s eyes flicked open to him, tail swaying twice before slumping to his side again.

He dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry, bud,” he whispered, rubbing his head. “I can’t do anything right. I couldn’t even get her to see you without fucking everything up.”

He reached behind the pooch, tucking him under the blanket, but his hand bumped onto something. It was his phone chew toy, the one you were supposed to bring with him.

You’d been there for Raider, despite how much Keegan had hurt you. You still cared even when you didn’t have to. You weren’t allowed to be this kind to someone like him.

Truly realising how much he’d lost, the gravity of it all, he choked out a sob. He didn’t care about having to live the rest of his days as a wolf, but losing you… He couldn’t handle that, yet the situation was the bitter fruit of his cowardice.

The city had long settled when the door to his apartment slammed shut. He didn't care if anyone screamed at his face for the noise at the hour either. He didn’t care about anything, but-

Wait. He smelt you.

You sat up on the couch, rubbing your eyes as they adjusted to the florescent lighting. He dove to his knees, arms around your waist.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he choked. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Why can’t you just be honest with me?” You stroked his hair.

“I’m always too scared. Of messing up, of losing you.” His embrace tightened, not caring if he smelt like earth and moss. He didn’t want to let go.

“You keep running away.”

He pulled away, puffy eyes meeting yours. “Can I show you? Do you trust me?”

You nodded. He went to the bathroom, leaving the door ajar before emerging in his wolf form. At the sight, you gasped, frozen in place. He took slow steps towards you, tail between his legs.

“You’re… You’re the wolf from the woods.”

His tail rose. You met him halfway, dropping to your knees to embrace him. He leaned into your hair, accepting that this could very well be the last time he could smell you like this. He pushed you onto your back, standing over you, nuzzling your neck he stained with his tears.

“I want to work things out, but… You keep making me feel like you don’t want me, when you can be kind to me.”

It took a blink of an eye for him to shift above you, now caging you under his body. “I do. I’ve never wanted anything as much. I’m sorry I don’t know how to handle myself and I keep hurting you.”

You cupped his face, wiping the tears off his cheeks.

He closed his eyes. “But I’ll be better. I have to be. For you.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, arms around his neck. The weight on his shoulders released, he could breathe again as the bound around his chest loosened. When you smiled against his lips, he pulled away.

“I’m not looking, but are you… Naked?” Your eyes stayed on his as you tried to bite back your laugh.

He gave you a sheepish smile. “I forgot again.”

You scratched the back of his head.

He sighed. He’d missed your smile beyond words. “I like it when you do that.”

“I know. Your tail told me as much.”

In bed, with you in his arms as the sun rose, he told you about the recon duty. How he had no idea what was happening to him for the first few months, how he could run faster and further, and healed from his injuries in no time at all. He recounted how he eventually got the hang of it until he met you.

“You smelt so good, better than peanut butter, but I didn’t think much of it. I thought it was impossible for me to have someone, a mate. Until that morning, I saw your birthmark, just like my scar.”

He explained the concept of mates, voice hushing as he detailed how the bond worked. His grip on you tightened without him meaning to - he wasn’t ready to know you didn’t feel as deeply towards him for the bond to seal. He braced for you to rip yourself off him, a scream, anything, at the ridiculous lore he told.

The air stilled. “Do you believe all this?”

“I don’t want to, but at this point everything feels more than a coincidence.”

“Then we should bond,” you stated. “The 7th full moon is less than two weeks away.”

“How do we know this is the right thing, or what’s going to happen to you?”

“We don’t, but I don’t care as long as it’s with you.”

“I’m not dragging you into this, peanut. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I love you, Keegan,” you mumbled.

Eyes wide, he sat up, gripping your shoulders. “What- what did you just say?”

You averted your gaze, biting down your smile.

“I love you, peanut. So fucking much.”

His heart soared. Your words melted his fears away, like balm on tender flesh. You cradled his face as he leaned into the smile that he wanted to worship every day.

The wolf fixed his mess after all, and all he had to do was be honest to his peanut, and trust that the universe wasn’t out to get him. With his yearning for you in his bones, maybe this time, he thought, it paid off to be a fighter of his own fate.

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @astraluminaaa @shadowlali @eve-lie @reelovesfictionalmen @writeforfandoms @milkteaarttime @blackthorncrown @dekitora

[cumikering]

The way i obsess over these men... If i lived in the 1800s I'd be sent to an asylum

[cumikering]

Werewolf Keegan x reader 7

2.3k | angst, suggestive Keegan was the common denominator (part 1) (part 8)

Keegan felt like he was losing his fucking mind.

It was a full moon that Friday night, but it had been long since he’d learnt to control his urges, and they were never about chasing or biting. Even when he felt “alright” the day after, he didn’t trust himself. He locked himself home that weekend, not wanting to find out what other shenanigan his body was doing to him.

Of course you’d texted and called, but in his panic, he barely wanted to talk, still ashamed of what he did to you. It was an understatement to say he freaked out. His short texts only assured he was alright, but couldn’t meet.

The week dragged on, unbearable, like nails on a hundred chalkboards. Instead of you, his hoodies and beanies you wore were his only company. He couldn’t keep you in the dark, hell, he always knew this. The dagger was his silent promise, but what happened made him think twice if it was a good idea that you were involved with him. He didn’t know what he was capable of anymore.

On the couch, as the TV played quietly in the background, he stared at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. Raider curled up by his feet, the bland takeaway dinner half-eaten on the coffee table. He lamented the past few months, that he got damn close to getting what he wanted. How it had perched in his palm, but before he could grasp it, it had floated away.

Perhaps it was just as well he never met your girlfriends, saved you the shame of being involved with someone like him. A weakling who couldn’t even tell you what he felt towards you.

“Guess it’s just you and me again, buddy.” Like how it’s always meant to be.

His phone dinged. He knew it was you from the custom tone he’d set. He reached for it, dread lodged in his throat from having to give you another sorry excuse when what he wanted to do the most was to touch you, hold you in his arms.

It’s obvious you’re not into this anymore. I would appreciate it if you’re honest so we can both move on from this.

He sat up so fast, his head spun as his heart pounded against his ribs. No, no, this isn’t how it’s supposed to end.

I’m heading to yours right now.

When Keegan got to your door, he was panting from sprinting up the stairs.

For the first time, understandably, you didn’t answer with a smile. You let him in wordlessly and he followed you to sit at the dining table where a huge bag lay. Judging by one of his jackets poking out of it, you had packed his stuff. His stomach twisted.

You stared at him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so scrutinised, disgraceful. He averted his gaze to his clenched fists under the table.

“I’m not asking for a reason, but I hope you know what you’re doing isn’t fair.”

He swallowed. “Yes, I know. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t want to be your second choice.”

He looked up at the wobble of your voice. “You’re not. There’s never been anyone else, only you.“

“Good.” It was your turn to look away, brows furrowed as you blinked hard. “Okay. Well, thanks for showing up.” You voice cracked as you pushed the bag towards him. “Here are your things.”

“Pea-“ He caught himself, sighing heavily as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t come here to say goodbye, but if you could hear me out… I’m not ready to talk about it, but something happened last year on a mission and I haven’t been the same. Last Friday, I got really scared when I hurt you. I’d never done that before and I’m terrified of doing it again. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I do.”

Your gaze stayed on him.

“I’m still into you. Fuck me, I’m still so fucking into you.” He laughed to himself. “I hated not seeing you, but I’m stuck. I don’t know what’s happening to me and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared you’d leave if I tell you.”

Your eyes softened. He’d missed you so much, your eyes, your smile, your voice. The past week had been truly horrible.

“I don’t know what happened, and I’m not going to make you tell me if you’re not ready.” You paused. “But if you’re worried my feelings would change, no, I don’t think they will, if you’re the same Keegan I’ve been spending my time with the past few months. Are you?”

“I am,” he said breathlessly.

“Then I don’t see what you need to be scared,” you whispered, a tear finally slipping.

“I never want to see you cry, peanut.” He knelt beside you and wiped the stray tear with his thumb. “Especially not because of me.”

“Don’t make me feel like I’m the only one who wants this,” you said in a small voice, eyes closed as you tilted towards his touch.

“I won’t, I promise.” He pressed his face onto your shoulder, arms wrapping around you. He felt like the biggest idiot for making you feel like he didn’t want you. “I’ll tell you what happened-”

“Just hold me.”

Later, upon your request, he carried you to bed as the heat crept up his neck. With the lights off, you pulled him with you when he laid you down, sighing as he finally tasted your soft lips again. Despite the dark, he saw your silhouette, the way you bit your lip as you lay bare for him, under him. You were hopelessly beautiful, the way your lips parted, the way your body shivered under his touch. Your hooded gaze made his breath hitch.

All for me.

He pressed against you, feeling everything he always wanted, your thighs soft against his hips. His chest was going to explode at the noises filling the room, the lovely cries of yours that had been a mere fantasy to him.

“My pretty, pretty little thing,” he panted against your temple between kisses as you clung desperately to him, your back arching.

He’d tell you tomorrow, he swore to himself. He wanted all of this and he’d get his heart shattered into a thousand pieces trying to keep it.

Keegan wished he didn’t wake up from the best sleep of his life for a few more hours, but the soldier in him thought otherwise. You were in his arms in nothing but a t-shirt, the comforter kicked halfway off the bed. His gaze lingered on you. With the early sun caressing your flawless skin, you couldn’t be more beautiful to him.

“I love you, peanut,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

He thought he saw your lips curl into the softest smile. He let out a small chuckle before pulling the comforter over you and that’s when he saw it. From your hip down to your upper thigh ran a set of tan birthmarks resembling scratches.

Just like his scar from that night.

Fated mates share scars and/ birthmarks… Rejection would cause the werewolf to stay in his wolf form permanently by the 8th full moon…

His body went cold. You were his mate. If he thought your addicting scent was an amusing coincidence, it was undeniable now with the scar you shared. He counted, that night he bit you was the 6th full moon since he first saw you in the woods.  The clock had started ticking long ago and he was none the wiser.

It dawned on him it wasn’t his imagination that his sight and smell became better, reflexes faster, that these bizarre impulses had been tormenting his mind as he neared his curse of eternal savagery.

He got dressed and left as fast as he could, being careful to not wake you. Back at his, he sat on the couch with a blank stare, Raider next to him, confused by his grave handler.

Am I dying?

Okay, no, he wasn’t, but he was turning into a wolf. He knew he said being a wolf wasn’t bad at all, but that was before you. Now he just wanted to be normal, to be with you.

What the fuck was he going to say to you? ‘Yeah, if you don’t return the feelings of the huge wolf from the woods who’s hopelessly in love with you and won’t let him bite your neck at the next full moon. Well, I’ll be that wolf forever and foam at the mouth from a broken-heart.’

What about his mum? His friends? ‘Last year a wolf attacked me in the field and I’ve been able to turn into one ever since. Oh, and because no one loves me, I won’t be human anymore so goodbye forever! Don’t come visit me in the woods if you don’t want rabies.’

What would he do as a wolf, nap all day? He needed a job. Would Elias consider a wolf a K9? If not, his deployment in two days would be one of the last. He’d never be able to hold a rifle ever again, cook grenades or toss flashbangs, or bark orders and scare the scrawny recruits.

What would he eat in the woods? Warm, raw meat sounded irredeemably revolting and riddled with pathogens. He wouldn’t be able to eat PB sandwiches anymore, nor his mum’s lasagna. It had been too long since he saw his family and had his mum’s cooking too. He missed them, and you hadn’t even met them yet.

It hit like a ton of bricks to realise how much he came to appreciate in the past months, how much he held close to his heart now. A striking contrast, when for years he gladly took risks, unattached to his life, ready to go to hell any day. But after you… With your laughter and company, the world seemed to not be half as bad at all.

Keegan was fucked. He didn’t deserve you. To have you return his feelings was too tall an order when you could have anyone. His chances were in the negatives.

But he had to tell you, even if you didn’t feel the same and he’d turn into a wolf next month. At least you had to know how he felt for you.

Consumed by his thoughts, he didn’t realise it was way past noon. He left without saying a word. Guilt-ridden, he reached for his phone to call you, but it rang in his hand instead.

It was Merrick, calling for an emergency shipping out. Immediately, Keegan packed and rushed to base with Raider. After a thorough mission brief and preparations, the Ghosts boarded the plane at sundown. It was then he realised he never got to call you. A text would have to do for now.

Peanut, I’m shipping out right now. I’m sorry I didn’t get to say bye. I’ll call you the first chance I get.

Close to 24 hours later, he finally made it to the safe house, but no message was waiting for him. He must have upset you for leaving. It was his fault for bailing whenever he panicked. He sat outside in the chilly night next to Raider and called you. Despite multiple attempts, they all went straight to voicemail. He sighed and the pooch licked his hand as if to soothe his handler.

Call me back, peanut. I miss you.

Another day passed and there was still nothing from you. He checked – the reception was good enough. His calls went to voicemail again.

Still waiting to hear from you. Please reply?

On the third night, still empty-handed, he borrowed Ajax’s phone. When asked what for, he glared at his friend who immediately dropped his teasing smile and averted his gaze. He dialled your number as his heart raced, clutching your handkerchief. He lingered before pressing call, dreading to confirm his suspicion. The call went through although unanswered.

You’d blocked him. It sent a pang to his chest. He understood what it looked like. After giving you the cold shoulder for a week, apologising and spending the most memorable night with you, he was gone again without a word before you even woke.

He realised he was the bad guy here, the fool too fucking stupid for his own good. He saw it now. He was the common denominator of all his failed relationships after all.

He tossed Ajax’s phone back to him, not caring that it landed on his ribs making him wince.

“Why, did you get dumped?”

He had no energy to respond. With a heavy sigh, he buried his face in his pillow. The lump in his throat sat uncomfortably. He wanted to scream, to go home and fix all this with you.

In his rush to leave, it slipped his mind to pack anything apart from your gift which he always kept with his gear on base. It had been months since you’d handed it to him, and despite his better sense of smell, there wasn’t much at all to satisfy the ache, his craving for you. He could only bare a few days without your scent – he knew the buzzing would be back soon and it was going to be torture.

He prayed he could hold on until the end of the mission. He had to, to not lose his shit and land himself in more trouble. Your gift would have to do.

Days later, when evac arrived at the LZ, Keegan was near to tears at the thought of finally finishing the mission, even that he had no idea what kind of mess was waiting for him at home. He was going to make things right, once and for all.

His relief was short-lived. As Raider jumped onto the helo, a bullet made home in the K9.

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @astraluminaaa @shadowlali @eve-lie @reelovesfictionalmen @writeforfandoms

[cumikering]

Werewolf Keegan x reader 6

2.6k | fluff, angst It didn’t end up like how it was supposed to (part 1) (part 7)

Keegan was officially Raider’s handler.

A single day in the field showed how proficient the K9 was, assisting in explosives detection and hostiles tracking. Coupled with Keegan’s seemingly ever-accelerating reflexes and sharper sight in the dark, they became a formidable pair, working in tandem on taking out opponents and clearing paths for their teammates.

The rest of the team appreciated Raider’s presence too, not only a service in the field, but also in the safe house during their down time, when he was in a good mood. He still didn’t like people for the most part, preferring to mind his own business chewing on things and shooting people dirty looks when he was bothered. Exactly like his handler, the team decided.

Keegan was lucky the toy phone he got didn’t squeak, or else Merrick would have shot it. He especially despised high-pitch noises.

He’s trying, really, but his thumbs are a bit short, he texted you, along with a picture of Raider on his belly, paws on his toy as they waited for their ride back home.

Can’t wait to see my fave boys!

He was flying back a day earlier than expected. You, however, had already made plans for a night out with your girls that Friday.

I’ll pick you up later. Don’t forget to take my gift and jacket.

He smiled to himself. My gift.

The morning after his rut, he’d made up his mind to come clean to you. Before his deployment, he gifted you a small push dagger with his initials engraved onto the handle - one of his favourites in his collection - as a commitment to himself.

He knew he couldn’t ride the whole ‘no label’ thing forever, and he didn’t want to either. There was no way around it: either you wanted him despite his terrible secret or you didn’t. His brain knew he shouldn’t be this scared of telling you, but even the slightest chance of you leaving made his stomach knot into a tangled mess.

So he gave himself a deadline. 30 days to grow the balls to tell you. 30 days to prepare himself of the possibility of never seeing you again, suffering the memory of his sweet peanut much longer than you were in his life.

But if you were to stay, which he desperately wished you would, he couldn’t even begin to think how ecstatic he’d be. He couldn’t wait for his team to meet you, the people the trusted the most, smiling at the thought of telling them how you met and how odd it was.

For years, Ajax poked fun at him for his seemingly permanent scowl, saying no woman would want to spare him a glance when he constantly looked offended, like one insulted his mother and his grandmother in the same sentence. Well, he could finally rub it in his face that his resting bitch face landed a beauty like you anyway. Perhaps Ajax should smile (and snore) less.

Hell, maybe soon enough he could take you home to his mum. He knew she would love you. In the future, she might even give her blessing in the form of an heirloom and finally stop worrying about his son dying miserable and alone.

He was still smiling to himself when he pulled up in front of the club, the moon full in the sky. When you saw him, you hurried over. You wore a sheer off-shoulder top paired with skinny jeans and heels, showing off your soft curves.He bit his lip. You were gorgeous and he knew you were going to smell amazing.

“Keegan!” You hugged him over the console.

“Hi, peanut,” he said lowly against your temple. Yes, you smelt fantastic. From the backseat, he pulled out a stalk of red rose.

You beamed, leaning in for a peck. He, however, had different thoughts in mind. He pulled you into a deep kiss, a hand on your waist, the other trailing up your arm.

Fuck. He punched way above his weight. He couldn’t believe he got to pick you up, touch you and kiss you, more than once.

“Oh, people are looking!” You pulled away and leaned into his neck, hiding your face as you let out a giggle.

He looked out the windshield, at the couple giving him dirty looks a few feet away. He smirked. He kind of liked that, he realised, when people knew you were with him. His.

As soon as the door to your apartment shut, with his hands on your waist, he backed you up against the wall.

“Missed you too much,” he said between hasty kisses.

It was easier to kiss you now with the added height from your pretty heels. You hummed, tugging on his hair as his lips trailed along your jaw and neck before abruptly stopping.

“Did someone touch you?” he growled. “Did a man touch you?” He didn’t need to ask. He could smell it on you, clinging on your skin like acrid smoke, tainting what was his.

“We were on the dancefloor. It was just the shoulder.”

“No one’s supposed to touch you.” He continued kissing your exposed collarbones and shoulder. “I told you to wear my jacket.”

“But it doesn’t go with my outfit.”

“I don’t care.” He nipped at your skin. “People need to know you’re mine.”

“Am I?” He heard the smile in your voice.

How dare he have the audacity to want you all to himself. It was his fault that he hadn’t made you his, that you went around thinking you weren’t. But he couldn’t keep you in the blind. You needed to know who he was entirely before he could, in good conscience, make you his.

He pressed against you, trapping you with his body with a hand under your chin, the other kneading your hip.

Mine.

He sucked and nipped and licked and savoured, his grip on you ever tightening as his chest heaved against yours. You hummed in delight as your hips bucked, breathless as you tried to keep up, hands roaming, pulling him closer by his belt loops.

Mine, mine, mine.

“Ow- OW!” You yelped.

He jerked away. You frowned as you brought your fingers to your lower lip. It was bloodied. His body ran cold as shame poured over him. He hurt you.

“I…“ He took a step back. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.” You reached for him, but he pushed your hand away, harder than he intended.

“I need to go.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

With that, he rushed to his car, heart racing. Hands grasping the steering wheel, an attempt to regulate his breathing, but the burning of his skin wouldn’t let him. He raced to the mountains, shifting in the bushes, giving him immediate relief from his scalding body before taking off to the top. He basked in the grace of the full moon as he ran and ran. Beneath his large paws, twigs and leaves crunched, the tension melting off his aching muscles.

The movement in the corner of his eye brought him to a screeching halt. He turned. It was a brown rabbit, ever bountiful in the expanse, but for the first time, it wasn’t merely a passing sight. It was an invitation, and he wanted a chase. Desperately.

With no hesitation, he took off and it didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to pin the rabbit down under his deadly claws. His nostrils flared, snarling as he leaned in, heart thumping from anticipation. The poor animal, like a deer in headlights, looked up the unforgiving predator with its doe eyes.

At the realisation of what he was about to do, he pulled away, the bunny scurrying away instantly. Wide-eyed, his breath caught in his throat as he staggered back. His stomach turned in utter disgust as he raced to his clothes before shifting back. On his knees, his breath came in pitiful gasps as he stared at his trembling hands.

You said he didn’t mean it. But what if he did? What if he wanted to? What if your blood was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted?

The memory sent chills down his spine. What was happening to him?

After that night, Keegan went quiet. You didn’t know what happened, or if it was something you did. His texts had slowed to a few a day, hours apart. He was in town so he had no reason for his absence.

You’d asked multiple times if he was alright, demanding some sort of explanation, but his long awaited answers were dismissive, withdrawn. You felt more like a nuisance than joy to him, like you felt you once were.

Apparently, with him, it was too easy to forget where you stood. It took you a week to realise and accept that what you’d always feared was happening, like what always happened: he, too, decided you weren’t enough to settle down for.

You thought he was different. You wanted him to be different. When you let him kiss you, when you let him stay the night. As it turned out, it didn’t mean anything for him to leave the way he did.

It was glaring now, how he hadn’t let you meet any of his friends. What about those nights he was radio silent, only replying in the dead of night? It was one thing if he didn’t like you enough, but the thought of another woman made your stomach turn.

Suddenly, Keegan was a stranger. The secrets you shared didn’t feel sacred, the stories of his childhood told under the covers didn’t ring sweet anymore. Or that time he ran your hands over the scars of his beautiful body, and when your gaze locked and he held you like he was never letting go.

In moments like those, you witnessed how his lips parted, breath held, like he – you hoped – was finally going to say something about this, but always swallowed whatever it was at the tip of his tongue. It all felt like a trick of the mind.

No, you weren’t about to cry. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You swore you never would again when someone you thought was special left at the first inconvenience. As if you weren’t worth enough to fight for, as if the moments shared were all in your head.

Were they? Your friends had warned you, that these military men were trouble – riddled with holes in their souls which might never heal up. Built different with no more space for sentiments, no one could make them change their mind except themselves.

It was your fault you didn’t press for exclusivity, for certainty. You knew he was closed up, probably heavy with baggage you couldn’t even fully comprehend, but you didn’t want to push him away. You were willing to wait for him. He was worth it, you thought. Yet it was your fault you got yourself hurt at the end. Always too worried about asking, for being too much, taking up the space you needed.

It was easier if he completely stopped texting, stopped pretending that he still wanted to have anything to do with you. He might as well block you, because how could you stop wanting more at this point.

You didn’t understand why you were so drawn to him from the start, the quiet, unsmiling man with the icy stare. Was it the eventual bloom of his smile, the way he whispered and purred into the phone those nights he was away? Or was it the way he held you, firm and strong, safe as he looked at you like he’d never say no to you?

That late Saturday afternoon, when you decided to stop moping around, you found yourself mindlessly walking too far from your neighbourhood. You sighed. A cup of hot chocolate sounded like exactly what you needed, but you didn’t want to be alone. Not that day.

You pulled up your contacts. You weren’t calling any one of your girls - seeing them would reduce you to a pathetic puddle of tears - especially not Lauren. You weren’t ready to tell her she was right all along.

You found yourself calling Blake instead. You’d texted occasionally, but never got to meet up again after Nick’s dinner. None the wiser about your heartache, he would make you feel normal even for a bit.

At the quiet coffee shop, he slid your drink across the table for two.

“I’m surprised you wanted to meet,” he said, his English accent gentle as he sat.

“Why would you say that?”

“Well… You never said anything about my gift.”

You frowned. “What gift?”

He let out an awkward chuckle. “The flowers? I sent them to your work.”

“Wait,” you said as realisation dawned on you. “The bouquet last month?”

He nodded.

“There was no sender, no card. I didn’t know it was you.”

“I did write you a card.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I figured when you didn’t say anything it was enough of an answer that you weren’t interested.”

“Oh, Blake.” Your shoulders sagged with guilt. “You know I would have said something if I knew it was you.”

A hopeful smile graced the Brit’s face as he met your gaze. “Does that mean- Can I take you out? I’d love to get to know you again.”

With his brown hair styled, perfectly trimmed stubble lining his sharp jaw, he was still as handsome as you remembered, still kind with his twinkling green eyes. Yet you felt nothing towards him.

“I can’t,” you breathed, the words heavy. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause before he swallowed. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“There’s… Someone I really like, but I don’t think I’m the only one.” You laughed humourlessly.

“Talk to him. You deserve your closure.” He let out an empathetic sigh. “If I’ve learnt anything from this, from you and I… I’m guilty of leaving like that, like there was nothing between us. It was unfair for you, and I owe you an apology.”

You didn’t want to, but your lips quivered.

“I wish I’d told you how much you meant to me, and that I’d been more daring about the things I wanted instead of just wishing for them to turn out.” A resigned smile flickered on his lips. “I think it would have been worth it.”

You choked out a sob. He dragged his chair next to you, pulling you into a bear hug. He rubbed your back as your tears spilt onto his shoulder.

You didn’t know you needed that. Blake soothed that little piece of you, you never knew was bruised. To know you meant enough for an apology even years after, even when the feelings were but a memory to you.

You deserved your closure.

“Thank you so much for saying that.” You pulled away, wiping your face with the serviette he handed you.

Your hot chocolates had long gone cold. It made you smile through your drying tears when he got two glasses of ice. Like those times you waited for your teas to cool as the both of you studied, but inevitably forgetting them entirely. He turned them into iced teas instead.

Even if it doesn’t become what you want it to, it can still be as nice, sometimes even better, he always said.

“Just like old times?” He raised his glass of iced chocolate.

“Just like old times.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @astraluminaaa @dead-cipher @shadowlali @reelovesfictionalmen @eve-lie

[cumikering]

Toxic Phillip Graves x reader

3.4k | angst, suggestive The commander with plenty of years ahead of you never saw you like you saw him, not even close

Next to the large window of the coffee shop, you sat with your book, sipping your latte that tasted closer to milk. Your cousin wasn’t a coffee drinker evidently.

“’Scuse me, miss. Would you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up at the owner of the smooth, southern voice. The man wore an easy smile – too easy, like he knew he looked good. Your eyes wandered past him, to the many empty tables before meeting his blue ones again.

“Sorry, I’m Phillip. I couldn’t help noticing your read.” He held out his copy of the exact same book. This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper.

You gave him a polite smile. “Go ahead.”

“Not my usual read, but it resonates with me.” He sat and placed his cup of tea on the table before cracking his book open where his steel bookmark lay. “He shouldn’t have led her on,” he commented.

“But her story wouldn’t have started otherwise.”

He smiled. “That’s true.”

Phillip ordered you another drink as you discussed your common interest in literature. Before you could finish the tea, the alarm on his phone went off.

“It was such a pleasure meeting you, miss, but I’ve got a plane to catch.” He placed his bookmark back in his copy.

It was then that you noticed the scar across his right cheek. Whatever caused it seemed like it had a full intention of ripping him off the Earth – like a personal vendetta, but divine intervention let it bolt past, catching the cuff of his ear instead.

“Would it be alright to call you sometime? Maybe we can meet again when I find myself in town.”

You put your number in his phone, not expecting anything to come out of it. Not from a chance meeting with a charming man more than a few years older than you.

But days later, Phillip asked if you’d finished the book. You spoke on the phone for half an hour, listening to his analysis of the characters. He was sharp, brilliant, eloquent. It showed that he was well-read and took pride in it.

He was initially vague about his job, saying he travelled a lot. You didn’t think it mattered at all what he did. He was an online friend who was into the same things as you were. A month later when he told you he was the CEO of a private military company, you weren’t surprised at all. It was plain in the way he carried himself, his poise and decisiveness. The way he filled a room to the brim even when he didn’t try to.

Over the months, he mailed you books to read and discuss once a week. Then twice, and thrice and the calls grew more frequent, longer, later. Quieter, deeper.

He became more than a name on your screen, more than a voice at the other end of the line at nightfall. Your conversations bled into the daylight. You felt less like a secret, more like a part of his life. Like an affirmation that, maybe, you were not the only one in the liminal space.

Thinking of you, sweetheart.

Always love hearing from my woman during the day.

Your man is having some good lunch. Wish you were here to share it with.

You make me feel like I may be close to some, but never close enough.

I’ll show you how much you mean to me when we meet again.

“You promise?” you asked one day.

“I make guarantees,” he affirmed without missing a beat. “I’ll have the last week of this month off.  Why don’t you fly here? I’ll take care of your flights and hotel.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve never done this before… Flown to meet anyone.”

“No pressure, darlin’. You mean a lot to me, you know that? Don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to.”

You booked your flights and hotel. You weren’t going to be a freeloader even that you knew it would have meant nothing to him judging by the suit he showed up at the airport in. You wanted to cry when you saw him and his boyish smile, carrying a large bouquet of roses and a sign of your name. You ran into his open arms.

“What are you doing dressed up like that?” you asked with a chuckle when you pulled away.

He kissed the top of your head. “Taking my darlin’ out on a dinner date.”

He helped with your suitcase to his grey SUV and waited for you to get ready in your room before taking you to a skyscraping French restaurant. Sat next to the floor-to-ceiling window, you couldn’t take your eyes off the view, the shadows of the city dainty against the gold seeping into deep purple.

“Gorgeous, huh?” He placed his hand on yours, making your turn to him. “I knew you’d like it. We can come back whenever you want.”

“I love it, Phil.” You beamed. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for my darlin’.” He took your hand to his lips before raising his champagne flute. “To us.”

You clinked yours against his.

At your door, he asked if he could kiss you. You nodded, not meeting his blue eyes as you bit down a smile. He called you when he was in bed, and when you both refused to hang up, you wondered what kept you from staying at his instead.

Phillip spent the next two days taking you around the city and walking you to your room at the end of the night with a kiss, which lasted longer each time.

Darling, I need to take care of something on base. Would it be fine if you’re on your own for the day? His text read the next morning.

Instead of brunch with him, you wondered around the city on your own, reveling in the tall buildings and how friendly the people were. With a sweet Southern drawl, the older women called you honey, darling and everything else Phillip had called you. It made you miss him more.

As you enjoyed your dinner, your phone buzzed with his call. It didn’t take him long to pull up at the restaurant and give you a peck in front of his SUV. You’d seen photos of him in his full gear, but seeing him in his combat uniform in real life made your cheeks heat up as you held onto his biceps. With vivid eyes and a smirk like that, he was dangerously handsome.

His touch seared when he pushed you against the wall of his entryway, fingers grasping your jaw, as he licked and nipped.

“You kiss better than last night,” he mumbled against you.

You paused at the comment, but he didn’t relent. He hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hands roamed. He carried you to his kitchen, setting you on the counter, icy against the backs of your thighs.

His mouth trailed down the side of your neck, sucking harder at the base than you’re used to, but it hurt so good. You shuddered as a small gasp escaped you. He pulled away with a satisfied smile before setting you down on your feet, turning to open his French door fridge.

You took in his kitchen, All-black, with spotless marble countertops and seamless cabinets.

“What would you like, darlin’?”

“J- Just water, please.”

You were breathless with your cheeks warm when he led you to his living room which looked equally as lavish with the large TV in front of his plush leather couch. When he pulled you onto his lap, you let out a small squeak, making him chuckle.

“You’re always so adorable.” He kissed your cheek.

He put on some football on as he held you close, his hot, wide palm on your mid-thigh, exposed from him pushing your dress up. Every so often, he’d give it a squeeze as he sipped his beer, making your breath hitch.

“Darlin’, it’s getting late. Let’s get you back.” He patted your thigh. “Unless you want to stay? You can pick any room you want.”

He gave you a quick tour of his place, and you picked the room next to his. He gave you toiletries and his clothes for the night, and told you to come to his room when you were ready for bed. You opened his door to him on his bed in sweats, a book on his lap. He motioned for you to sit next to him, and you did, leaning onto his bare chest. You read with him, his arm around you, thumb rubbing your arm occasionally.

“Phil?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I just- Well-“ Confidence eluded you as fast as it graced and your heart raced. “Nevermind.”

He laid his book down and turned towards you. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

You felt small having to ask, embarrassed that it was even something that bothered you. But when you looked into his eyes, welcoming with that warm smile, you thought maybe it was alright. It was Phillip after all.

“I wanted to know… What are we?”

He kissed your forehead. “Whatever you want us to be. I’d love to be your man if you let me.”

You smiled, relieved as you nodded.

“Anything for my woman.”

Phillip wasn’t in his room when you woke in his bed the following morning. You figured he was in his office, and he was, with the door open.

He looked up from his computer with a smile. He’d put a t-shirt on, his light brown hair tousled now. You noted he didn’t have his usual cup of coffee with him.

“Good morning, darlin’. Sorry I didn’t mean to leave the bed so early, but I’ve got reports to send.”

“That’s okay.”

“I hope you slept well. Feel free to use the kitchen. I’ll join you when I’m done in a bit.”

You went to his kitchen, the counters lustrous in the morning light. Next to the fridge, something glinted. It was a bottle cap of his favourite beer from the night before, a foreign brand you’d never seen. You put the cap into your sweats pocket - a keepsake of your first visit to his. You made coffee for the both of you, and when you were scouring the cabinets for some sugar-

“Sorry, sweetheart, who are you?”

You gasped, turning to the kitchen entrance where the voice came from. It was a middle-aged woman, carrying grocery bags. She blinked, her smile polite but confused.

“Uhh, Phil?” You looked straight at her with wide eyes, at a loss for words.

“What is it, darlin’?” he replied from a distance.

“Phillip Graves?” the woman called out, voice thundering.

In a second, he rounded the corner.

“Mum. Hey, I wasn’t expecting you.” He took the bags from her hands, placing them on the counter before giving her a hug. “This, uh- this is a friend.” He gestured to you.

“Hi, Mrs. Graves.”

“Good morning, sugar.” She nodded at you, her eyes warmer as she unpacked the bags. “I stopped by to drop off some fruits. I was at the farmer’s market.” Her eyes flicked to you, a playful smile on her lips. “He never has anything in his house other than beer, does he?”

You let out a small laugh, and he had an amused smile as he shook his head.

“I’m still in the middle of something. I’ll finish up real quick.” He left again.

“He’s married to his job,” she commented as she opened the fridge, stocking it with the colourful produce she brought.

“Um, do you know where the sugar is by any chance?”

She turned to you and glanced at the two mugs on the counter. “If he hasn’t had his coffee yet by now, that’s probably because he’s out of sugar.” She smiled. “And you know how much of a sweet-tooth he is.”

You did.

She continued lining the fridge with apples. “He really does run on coffee. He never learnt to cook, that boy. Lucky he’s got you taking care of him.”

Your heart swelled. Did he tell her about you already?

“All done now,” she said, closing the fridge. “Tell him I say bye, will you?”

“Okay.”

She gave you a squeeze and pinched your cheek. “I’ll see you again soon, sugar.”

You beamed as you walked her to the door. She didn’t hate you, and it made you irrationally happy.

“Phil?” You stood at the door to his office. “Your mom just left, told me to tell you bye.”

He beckoned you to come in, and he pulled you to sit on his lap, his hand squeezing your thigh.

“You know why I said you’re a friend, don’t you? I promise I’ll tell her soon.” He gave you an easy smile. “It’s like introducing vegetables to a kid. You gotta do it in small doses.”

“That’s okay, I understand.“ It didn’t bother you seeing how warm she was towards you. Still, you held on to his words.

“Okay, I’m almost done now. I’ll drive you to your hotel to get ready and we’ll go out for lunch.”

As well as the day went, you went ahead of yourself, like you often did when things felt too good. It dawned on you this was a little dream, a fleeting paradise in your ordinary life. Like a ticking bomb, it was going to detonate into a million pieces, and you’ll wake up with nothing but little mice, a pumpkin, a tattered dress and the sweetest memory.

The demon lingered in the backroom of your mind, pounding relentlessly at the door, begging to be set free. You felt like you’d gone too deep, like you shouldn’t even have started with all this.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm, darlin’?” Phillip asked when you entered his house, tossing his keys into the entryway bowl.

You couldn’t even fake a smile.

“Did I do something to upset you?” He rubbed your arms and led you to the couch.

He turned your body to him, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. You couldn’t drown the riot in your head.

“Please. If it’s my fault, let me fix it.”

“How is this going to work?” Your eyes flicked to his, continuing in a smaller voice. “We don’t live close at all.”

“Got me worried there,” he exhaled, pulling you to his chest. “You can move here, of course.”

“It’s not that easy, is it?”

“I know it’s not. If I’m honest, I don’t have an answer for that yet.” He sighed as he caressed your hair. Silence lingered before he continued, “You know what my drill sergeant used to say? You can’t fly when you keep worrying about falling out of the sky.”

“You told me.” A smile flickered on your lips.

“We’re just a two-hour flight away from each other. As long as you still want this, don’t think too much of what’s going to come. It will work itself out.” He tilted your face to him by the chin. “We’ll work it all out.”

Perhaps he was right. You just needed to focus on what’s right in front of you. When you asked if you could extend your stay for a few more days, he gave you a peck on the lips.

He held you wordlessly for a long time until he got a call for an emergency meeting. He told you not to wait up if he wasn’t done in an hour. You hadn’t planned on staying the night, but you still had your toiletries from the other day. You got ready for bed and rescheduled your return flight, extending the timer on the proverbial bomb, even just for two more days. You wanted to float in this dream a little longer.

It was past 2 in the morning when your door creaked open. You turned, the dim light from the hallway bleeding into the dark.

“Why are you still up?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“I should ask you the same thing.”

He turned the bedside lamp on and sat on the bed, holding your hand.

“I’ve been thinking. You’re really special to me, darlin’. I want to work this out. I promise we’ll find a way, okay?”

You choked out a sob. His words like balm to your burning chest. You sat up and wrapped your arms around him.

“You’re so emotional. It’s adorable.” He let out a small laugh as he stroked your back. “I love you.”

When your tears stopped flowing, he laid you down, caging you between his forearms as he kissed you. Your arm wrapped around his neck, a hand cupping his lightly stubbled jaw. You fell into the kiss, into the sensation of his perfect lips. His hand wandered, pinching, squeezing, rubbing, his lips unrelenting, ever intensifying.

You squirmed under him. “Phil, that’s- you’re being a bit rough.”

He pulled away. “My ex liked it this way.”

You appreciated his passion, but the comment didn’t sit right. He stilled for a second before lying beside you in silence. You didn’t know how long you lay there, but in the dark, your eyes blinked open at the click of the door.

Your heart drained, hollow, hanging by a thread like it was going to float away out of your gaping chest any second. What you thought was going to be a comforting night turned unkind, instead leaving you feeling less than. You let out an uneven breath, pulling the comforter closer around you, willing it to drown the ache.

The next morning, Phillip was quiet, not even meeting your eyes as he told you to get ready. It was jarring, when for days it was as if he couldn’t keep his hands off you, but that day felt like he didn’t even want you anywhere near him.

Perhaps he had a lot in mind, maybe something about his meeting the night before – you knew it happened sometimes, but this time, the stillness made you nervous. Rejected, unwanted, out of place. Something was brutally wrong and it hung heavy in the air, it made you hard to breathe.

He finally broke the silence when he pulled up at the hotel lobby. “This isn’t working out.”

You turned to him, not believing your ears. “What?”

“This is a mistake,” he declared.

“But… Last night, we just- You said you loved me.“

“Why are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation? It’s not.”

The harsh tone sent chills down your spine. He’d never used that voice on you.

“I thought you liked sex, sweetheart. Why’d you wear those cute outfits otherwise?” His smirk turned to a frown. “Also, you laugh too loud. It’s off putting.”

You froze in your seat, like you wanted to scream but your voice a prisoner in your throat. Your stomach churned, bitter, singeing.

“You didn’t think this was real, did you? Don’t worry, it’s not like I don’t want to see you again. We’ll get coffee when I visit, okay?”

Your lips quivered as you blinked your tears away, but you were not going to let yourself cry.

“Oh, come on! Don’t start crying now. You’re making me look like the bad guy.” He threw his hands up in exasperation.

Was he not? When he told you all those things, some of the kindest words anyone had ever said to you. When the gold he gave you was brass at heart.

“Fuck you, Graves.” You got out of the car, slamming the door shut. Your tears stained your cheeks as you walked away.

It was the last time you saw or heard from him until two months later.

Hey, just wanted to let you know I’m attached now. We’re visiting next month. Want to meet up?

You regretted not blocking his number. You wiped away the tear that slipped.

Three years later, the universe sprinkled chaos and stirred its pot. You met another Phillip. Your cousin asked if it was the Graves variety. You said no, with a smile brighter than you ever remembered smiling.

This one held your hand and brought you home to meet his mum. This one didn’t bring up his exes when you didn’t ask. This one laughed harder when you cackled.

This one didn’t have to lie about his intentions, because a few years later, his promise of forever came without you even having to ask.

Thanks @shadofireshinobi for making me write this <3

@tiredmetalenthusiast @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats

[cumikering]

Werewolf Keegan x reader 5

3.2k | fluff, suggestive You threatened Keegan with a good time (part 1) (part 6)

Guess who didn’t wipe off your lipstick smudge the rest of the evening. Keegan was into the whole claiming shenanigan more than he thought he did after all.

He smiled to himself as you hiked to the cabin in his jacket. ‘It’s warmer than yours,’ he said, and he was a few seconds away from offering you his beanie. How soon could he make you wear a shirt that said Keegan’s without it being weird?

As part of Raider’s handover process, he had started his training with Gabe. The K9, however, stayed with his handler that weekend because Keegan was taking you on an overnight trip. He figured the cabin was too small for the three of you. That, and he couldn’t find blindfold for dogs.

On the deck next to steaming cups of tea, you had wraps you packed that morning. You leaned onto his shoulder, looking over the city in the distance.

“I miss Raider,” you said longingly. “He’d keep me warm.”

How dare you think he couldn’t keep you warm. Was this a challenge? He pulled you closer. “Are you cold? We can go inside.”

You smiled. “In a bit. Want to watch the sunset with you.”

He moved you to sit between his thighs before putting his beanie on you, tugging it past your eyes. You giggled as you repositioned it.  He held your hands and stuffed them in the pockets of your (his) jacket, chin resting on your shoulder.

Against the textured pink backdrop, the sun inched towards the horizon. Keegan nuzzled your neck, his strong arms wrapping around you. The night fell as the golden flares fizzled out and he flicked on the LED lantern. He laid you down on the deck, his hand behind your head, kissing all over your face with his fingers lacing between yours.

“We need to get in! I don’t want the wolf to come by again.”

“Leave some PB sandwiches out as a peace offering,” he said, rubbing his nose against yours.

You laughed. “No, they’re mine and I’m not sharing with anyone.”

“Not even with me?”

“No, all mine.”

He let out a mock gasp. “I’ll have to eat them all when you’re sleeping.”

He got up to his feet before taking your hand to help you up, leading you into the cabin.

“This is the bed?!” you exclaimed, gesturing at the mattress, which was more of a glorified yoga mat, if he was honest.

“I thought I’d warned you.”

“Well, yes, but you didn’t tell me it was this small. How are we going to fit in there?”

We? He melted a little. “It’s yours. I’m taking the floor. There’s an extra blanket here somewhere.”

“You know I won’t let you do that, right? But… I can’t sleep pressed up to you without a shower either!”

Silly you, threatening him with a good time. “I don’t mind. Not at all.”

You got cleaned up and climbed into bed in his hoodie and your thickest sweats. With your back against the wall, you lay on his chest.

“You know, the first time you stayed at mine,” you began.

His heart skipped a beat. Oh shit, did you-

“I dreamt of my childhood dog, that he was next to me in bed.”

Oh, thank fuck. “What’s his name?”

“Jake.”

Huh, so that’s what you said.

“He was a huge Newfoundland, fluffy jet black fur, like your hair.” You smiled. “Now you know why I like touching it so much.”

It was official. He wasn’t going to cut his hair ever again.

He slid your hand under his shirt. “You sure it wasn’t just me? I’m pretty hairy too.”

You laughed, pinching his stomach.

“Hey, peanut,” Keegan said, fingers twirling your hair.

“What did you just call me?”

“Peanut, like peanut butter.” My favourite fucking thing.

“At this point the P in your name should just be Peanut.”

He chuckled. “Would you still like me if I was a dog?”

“I think the question is supposed to be worm, not dog.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got no plans of becoming a worm. Dogs though, they chill and nap. It’s always a good time being a dog.”

“You’re making it sound like you do plan on becoming a dog.”

“Look at Raider. He’s always happy, isn’t he?”

“That’s true.”

“So? Would you still like me if I was a dog?”

“Yes, I will. Maybe even more.” You paused. “But don’t shed too much!”

He pressed a kiss against your temple. “I promise I’ll clean up after myself with an industrial-sized lint roller.”

He knew it was silly banter, but the words lulled that little part of his brain, that you’d like the other him anyway. He wanted to soak in it, fantasise that you were staying despite his demanding schedule and sullen silence, that maybe you liked him enough to make it work.

Would you, he wanted to ask. If you wanted to bear it with him, make you promise you’d never leave and be the end of all of this, give him what he never knew he wanted.

But that’s not how life worked, so he didn’t. Not now with his terrible secret anyway.

Comfortable silence filled the room. Your hand was still under his shirt, warm against his fuzzy stomach.

“I might go out for a walk later tonight, so don’t be worried if I’m gone, okay?”

“Don’t get lost.”

He chuckled. “No, you don’t get lost.”

“Touché.”

Keegan held you close as your breathing eventually deepened. When he was sure you were asleep, he carefully removed his arm from under you before tucking you in, kissing you on your forehead.

Outside, the night was still with the crescent moon high in the cloudless sky. He stepped out onto the deck and took a deep breath of the fresh cold air before shifting behind the bushes.

With a content sigh, his wolf rolled on the ground, the dried leaves tickling his back making him pant. He jumped to his paws before running through the woods, revelling in the breeze in his fur. He’d missed this. It was nice to finally stretch his legs after so long.

And that better-than-peanut-butter scent filled him again. He stopped in his tracks and turned back towards the cabin. Uh oh, did he wake you?

Sure enough, you sat on the deck, arms wrapping around your legs as you gazed at the moon with a small smile. He sighed. Oh, you were so pretty. He could, and would, look at you all night. He’d love to come up to you, but you were scared of his wolf. As quietly as he could, he crawled behind the bushes. He could settle for the next best thing for his peanut.

As he pushed his snout against the leaves to peek between them, a twig crunched under him. Your head whipped to his direction, and he ducked and froze in place. Dog logic: if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either.

You leaned back again and began combing through your hair with your fingers. He held his breath, letting your scent breeze pass, but it wouldn’t, and it was his undoing. The leaves rustled as he sat up, panting behind the bushes, front paws padding in eagerness. Why did you have to make it so hard for him?

“Keegan?”

His tail swayed faster. With a whimper, he stuck his head out.

“Oh God, it’s you,” you gasped.

Yes, it’s me!! He hopped out, tail wagging.

“Okay,” you said breathlessly. You stood as slowly as you could. “I guess it’s my fault for going outside. Keegan said you’re friendly, but you’re huge and I’m still very much scared.”

His head tilted. Why did his name sound so good coming out of your mouth?

You backed towards the door. “Respectfully, I don’t mean to be rude at all, but on the off-chance you understand this, would you mind terribly if you keep your distance? Please?”

It was hard to register your words when your scent made his head spin. He crawled towards you, making himself as small as he could as his tail continued to fan behind him. When he got to you, he rubbed the top of his head against your stomach.

“Please don’t bite me,” you said under your breath.

I won’t! At your feet, he rolled onto his back, blocking the door. Give me belly rubs NOW! He waited, his paws folded in front of him, panting. When nothing happened, he lifted his head.

You stood there frozen. He whimpered, high-pitched and desperate. I promise I won’t bite! With a shaky breath, you tentatively reached for his belly. He boofed, tongue lolling.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “I suppose you’re pretty friendly after all.”

I told you! He huffed. Now keep going, please, miss.

You sat down, still scratching him. When you stopped, he lifted his head again. This time you had an amused smile on your face. He flipped over and licked the back of your hand before splaying over your lap.

“You have no idea how big you are, do you?” You laughed, scratching the back of his ears.

He sighed, tilting towards you. Yes, yes, right there. On the brink of falling asleep, his eyes fluttered. I CAN’T. You’d get a heart attack if he shifted back to his bare human form right there.

He straightened up, sitting on your lap as he stared you down with his bright yellow eyes, unblinking, face inches away from you.

You looked away. “C- Can you not do that, please? It’s rude to stare, and I feel you’re going to bite my face off.”

He whimpered, looking down at his paws. It was hard being a misunderstood wolf.

“Thank you.” You ran your fingers down the fur of his neck. “I know Keegan would be laughing if he sees me talking to you.”

His tail trashed again at his name.

“Do you know him?” You chuckled. “Keegan?”

His paws padded on your thighs.

“You do, huh?” You patted his head. “You’re such a sweet boy, very smart too.”

You called him a sweet boy! Could he sprain his tail from excitement? He was going to pass out.

A gust of wind rushed between you, fresh, smelling like dawn. He walked over to the edge of the deck, snout in the air. The rain was coming. Sure enough, the first drop fell.

“Oh, I hope he’s not too far away. I don’t want him to get sick.”

That reminded him. He needed to secure his clothes behind the bushes before they got wet. He nuzzled your neck and licked your hand one last time before disappearing into the woods.

You stood on the deck with your hood drawn tight when Keegan rushed to the cabin with his lantern, rain splotches on his shirt.

“What are you doing out here?” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, guiding you back in. “It’s cold out.”

“You went for a walk with no jacket on.”

“I don’t get cold, you do.”

“Well, then you should have stayed in bed and kept me warm.”

He smiled. “Sorry. I won’t leave again.”

You told him about your encounter with the wolf-dog before quickly falling asleep in his arms.

“Would love to see that handsome boy again. His fur is so soft, like your hair,” you’d mumbled.

It made his imaginary tail wag.

When he left for his next mission days after, Keegan took his beanie and hoodie you wore that night. Sleeping on floors of differing textures didn’t feel so bad when he felt like you were there next to him (on the rare occasions he could tune out Ajax’s snoring). In the field, your handkerchief stayed in his pocket. On his phone, there was now a peanut emoji next to your name.

It was a luxury that he arrived back in the city during the day and finished his debrief before it got dark. With a racing heart, he waited outside your work to pick you up for dinner. It had been too long since he saw you last.

“Keegan!” You gave him a chaste kiss and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you so much. I love, love it!”

He chuckled, his hands on your shoulders, looking you over. “What?”

“The flowers. They’re my favourite.” You held out the small bouquet, the smile on your face too sweet as your eyes twinkled.

He blinked. “Those aren’t from me.”

“Oh,” you said in a small voice as you took a step back.

He didn’t mean to break your heart, but bitterness pricked.

“There’s no sender, but you got back today and I thought-” You didn’t meet his eyes.

He pulled you to him, kissing your temple. “No, I’m sorry. I should have got you something.”

He didn’t know who those flowers were from, but he could fight. The dude would have to go to war with this jealous spec ops soldier before even dreaming of snatching you, because he sure as hell wasn’t about to let that happen.

He should be flattered you thought it was him when it could have been anyone. He had to step his game up the following weekend. You deserved it.

Time to find new date spots and get you more jackets.

But as luck would have it, that Friday afternoon the familiar heat crawled up his spine. He groaned. His rut was approaching and he knew it was only going to get worse for the next day or two.

I’m coming down with a fever. I don’t think I can meet you tonight, and I might have to cancel the reservation tomorrow. I’m sorry

Bare in bed, Keegan buried his face in one of his beanies you wore, his hips squirming in discomfort, skin damp with sweat. With you in mind, for hours, he did what he could to nurse the distress but as he’d expected, to no avail. It could have been worse really - at least this time his rut came while he was home. Still, he wanted to scream at the thought of the weekend without you.

Fuck this rut. He was supposed to be cuddling on your couch watching a movie, making you laugh with his lame commentary. He should be sleeping next to you, nuzzling your neck with your back pressed to his chest, but there he was instead, stuck at home with his body on fire.He just wanted you. Was that too much to ask for?

He groaned pitifully, not even registering the knock at the door until-

“Keegan?”

He stilled, thinking he was imagining your sweet voice, but you called out again.

“Peanut?” he said to himself. He sat up, swiping his boxers from the floor and stumbling to the door, eyelids heavy.

There you stood in your clothes from work, holding a bag of takeaway with a smile that immediately dropped when your eyes travelled down his flushed, shirtless body.

“Oh dear,” you muttered, looking away. “Am I interrupt- Are you with someone?”

Confused by the crack in your voice, he looked himself over. He wanted to die when he realised what you saw. Fuck. This. Rut.

He pulled you in by the wrist and slammed the door close before bolting into his bedroom. “Give me a second!”

Behind his door, he took deep breaths and willed the situation to go down (it didn’t, of course). But he did his best concealing it in his sweatpants and the baggiest hoodie he owned that felt like the sauna cranked to infinity.

When he emerged out, you were sitting at the table.

“Are you o-“

“I’m so sorry. I swear that happens whenever I get a fever.” He knelt beside you, gripping your hands.

You stared at him for a few seconds before letting out a chuckle. “You don’t look good.” You pushed the clumps of hair off his wet forehead.

His head thumped, skin scalding, but your scent swirling around him dulled the ache. Ever the sweet little thing, you surprised him with a visit, even brought him food to his den. Did you know you were playing a dangerous game?

His fingers grasped your chin as he leaned in. Thinking it was a peck, you pulled away after a beat but he pressed on, arm wrapping around your waist, making you giggle. You were intoxicating even that your shirt carried faint scents of others too. What a nuisance. You needed that off.

He led to his bed and pulled you on top of him, cupping your cheek.

“It’s your fault if I get sick too.” You smiled against his lips.

He knew you wouldn’t, but he couldn’t help wonder what would happen if you did magically catch the same illness, and if you’d be able to keep your hands off him, if he would be able to keep his off you if you couldn’t. His fingers dug into your waist at the thought.

“I think about kissing you a lot. Way too often,” he said breathlessly, eyes closed.

You pulled at the fabric stuck to his skin. “Do you want to get changed? You’re sweating so much.”

He pulled his hoodie off in a swift motion, not caring where he tossed it. “Miss you too much.” His eyes flickered close again. “Just… Stay. Need you here.”

You lay next to him with your head propped up, wiping his face and chest with the small towel on the nightstand. Your fingers went to his hair.

He let out a satisfied sigh.

“You love scratches, don’t you?”

“Love when you touch me,” he rasped.

Your fingers trailed down his neck and chest, dancing over the rise and fall of him, slowing the closer they travelled south. He could feel his own heartbeat as chills ran down his spine, his breath growing shorter. Eyes half-lidded, he tugged your fingers just a hair lower.

An invitation. A plea.

Keegan woke with your back to him, wrapped tight in the comforter you hogged all night. You’d changed into one of his shirts and sweats, your feet sticking out from the burrito you’d rolled yourself into. He got up to grab a pair of socks, and as he put them on you, he realised his head had stopped spinning. His fever was gone.

Last night, he recalled, with the blush over your face and the way your chest heaved, you couldn’t meet his gaze. Even through fluttering lids, he didn’t miss how your eyes raked over him, over and over, your lips parted. Your touch lingered the rest of the night until sleep took him: breathless, but floating with the glow in his chest.

He chuckled softly at the sight of you sleeping so peacefully, leaning in to kiss your temple, and he lingered over you. The morning had started spilling into the room, golden against your perfect face, your pretty lashes fanned over your cheeks. The lips he never got tired of kissing curled into the faintest smile. He sighed.

Keegan chose this path to make use of soul he was granted, for a purpose. He put his life on the line to fight, to protect what he loved. He never knew what it was until then.

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @astraluminaaa @dead-cipher @synnicall