quillcraftconquer

[quillcraftconquer]

Simon had no right to complain. 

Truly, he didn't. And he knew that.

He was the one, afterall, that had told you after asking him to go get a drink that he wasn't looking for anything serious. He worked too much, he was gone too long, and more importantly, you both worked together. 

“No worries,” you had said, a smile still plastered against your face, “I’ll still see you this weekend, yeah?”

And you did. 

But he knew that it was going to be different. The sex was still good, amazing even. He loved nothing more than sliding his thick cock in and out of you while you laid beneath him, head tipped towards the ceiling like you were praying. He loved when your small hands wrapped around his bicep, nails leaving tiny crescent marks. He loved when your pussy clenched him so tightly he had to pause for a moment and just relish in the feeling.

What he didn’t know he loved was the feeling after, both of you wrapped up in the blankets with his nose buried in your hair. He didn't know how much he loved waking up in the mornings with you still there, chest rising and falling against him. 

But those moments are gone now. As soon as he’s done fucking you senseless, you’d roll out of bed, already searching for your clothes. 

So, he really didn't have any right to complain when he saw you chatting with another sergeant, laughing and leaning forward with interest. He had just stepped off the terminal, duffel bag still in hand.

“Shite luck.” Johnny had said, clapping him on the back.

It was shitty. It felt even shittier when he was home later and his phone buzzed. He had ripped it out of his pocket, heart racing, just for it to drop when he read the ‘raincheck? (: ‘.

He sat there, TV remote in hand while he mindlessly scrolled through channels in the dark room. 

He had never expected himself to be the one to catch feelings, but god help him, he never expected himself to love you either.

[quillcraftconquer]

Happy pride month xoxo

[quillcraftconquer]

Watchdog (Simon x K9, Part 8.)

TW's: Alcohol use and intoxication, Sexual content / sexual activity (consensual but impaired), Implied power dynamics, Emotional vulnerability, Mention of PTSD-related themes.

WC: 2k

Simon leaned on the fence, his arms folded. The wood was warmed from the sun, heating up his forearms. The sunlight stretched across the field in golden lines, catching the dust and the tall grass. It was peaceful, aside from the darting motion of the border collie running through the pasture.

Ava stood barefoot in the middle of it, her sleeves pushed up. The dog responded to every command she muttered under her breath, barely loud enough for Simon to hear. One flick of her hand sent it into a fast-paced circle, another halted it mid-sprint.

Simon stepped closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path. 

“You’re good at this,” he said.

Ava didn’t say anything, calling the dog into a sharp heel at her side. Its tongue lolled out of its head, waiting for the next command.

He cleared his throat.

“What’s the dog’s name?”

Ava glanced over briefly. “Daisy.”

He nodded, though she’d already turned her eyes back to the field. “Is she yours?”

“No.”

“Family’s?”

“June’s.”

“She seems like a good dog.”

“She is.”

He nodded. “Does she bite?”

“No.”

Simon watched as Ava let out a whistle, and Daisy took off to the right of the pasture along the fence line.

Simon watched the movement. “Panzer do anything like that?”

“No.”

Daisy came back with something clamped in her mouth, a blue frisbee, scuffed and bent at the edge. She trotted up to Ava. Ava crouched slowly, taking the frisbee. Her fingers lingered on the dog's head for a second before she stood again and gave it a smooth toss. The disc sailed out in a high arc, and Daisy sprang after it.

Simon leaned back against the fence. “She bring it back every time?”

Ava gave a noncommittal shrug. “When she wants.”

They watched in silence as Daisy caught the frisbee mid-air with a snap of her jaws, then circled back, tongue flopping. She deposited the toy at Ava’s feet.

Simon let a moment pass before he spoke again.

“What kind of dog was Panzer?”

Ava didn’t answer right away. Her eyes followed Daisy as the dog sprinted after the disc.

“Shepherd mix,” she said finally. “Mostly Belgian.”

Simon nodded slowly. “Good dogs.”

Ava didn’t respond.

Simon watched the dog go, then glanced back at Ava. “You ever think about getting another one?”

“No.”

“Not even to train?”

“No.”

“What about a cat, then?”

Ava let out a scoff of laughter, the corner of her mouth tugging up as she flung the frisbee. The collie snagged it from the air and trotted toward the farmhouse, finally winded and satisfied with the game. Ava watched her go, then stepped up beside Simon and leaned against the fence, mirroring his posture.

Ava glanced sideways at him. “You like dogs?”

“Yeah,” Simon said. “Always have.”

She gave a small nod.

“Never had one, though,” he added. “Too busy moving around. Didn’t seem fair.”

She hummed in acknowledgment. 

“I do want another one,” she said quietly. “Sometimes.”

Simon shifted to glance down at her, watching as she picked at a hangnail. 

“But…” she continued, then stopped, focusing on a split in her nail. She pressed her lips together. “I don’t want to lose one again.”

“You know,” Simon said, “if you ever do get one again, it’d be lucky as hell to have you.”

Ava let out a breath of air that resembled a laugh. “Bit of a mess now.”

“Aren’t we all.”

Simon looked down at the dusty toe of his boot. “If I ever settle down long enough, maybe I’ll get one.”

“You should.”

He looked up again. “You’ll train it?”

“Maybe.”

He smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Simon looked out into the field, eyeing the distant spots of the cows near the horizon. “Not much happening around here, is there?”

Ava shrugged. “Most people go to the lake. Drink a little. Shoot empty cans off fence posts.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a decent way to pass the time.”

She smiled faintly. “Decent enough.”

Just then, a figure came flouncing across the yard.

“Ava!” June called out. “I’m throwing a bonfire tonight. You’re coming, right? I want to do it before you head back to the base.”

Ava glanced at Simon, then back to June. “Maybe.”

 “Maybe? That’s not good enough. You’re definitely coming. I even found some old music to play.”

Ava rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine.”

June glanced over at Simon with a teasing grin. “So, Simon, you know what a bonfire is, right?”

Simon’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Yes, June.”

June laughed. “Good. Because you’re coming tonight. No excuses.”

Simon raised his hand in a mock salute. “Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

The bonfire crackled warmly beneath the sky, flames casting flickering light across the gathered group. Ava’s aunts, uncles, cousins, and a few family friends drifted closer, their eyes flicking to her with a mix of concern and curiosity. One of her uncles clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Glad you’re home, kiddo. You holding up alright?”

Ava gave a small nod, her eyes briefly meeting her dads gaze across the fire. “Yeah.”

Her aunt smiled gently. “Good to hear. You know we’re all here if you need anything.”

Simon leaned back against a log beside Ava, taking a sip from the plastic cup. The whiskey burned, his eyes stealing quick glances at Ava beside him. She seemed more relaxed than usual, her own cup near empty.

Nearby, Daisy was wreaking havoc, darting between legs and nipping at shoes, sending a scattering of nervous cousins hopping aside. 

“Are you alright?” Simon asked, voice slurred from the drink.

Ava shrugged, watching as Daisy caught the tip of someone's toe in her mouth.

Rick’s voice called from the edge of the clearing, loud enough to cut through the hum of laughter.

“Ava! Can you grab some more beer from the house? We’re running low.”

Ava sighed, setting her cup down. “I’m going to put Daisy up first.”

Simon pushed himself up from the log. “I’ll help you with the beer.”

Daisy barked excitedly and dashed ahead, her paws skidding on the dirt as she rounded the fire.

Ava’s hand shot out to catch Daisy by the collar, halting her from going any further. Simon followed her as she dragged Daisy to the farmhouse, nudging open the backdoor with her foot. 

Simon reached for the case of beer on the counter, grunting as he lifted it in the air. The bottom of the box gave out, cans scattering onto the floor.

“Fuck,” Simon muttered, crouching to grab the nearest cans before they could roll under the cabinets.

Ava bent down beside him, her fingers brushing against his as they both reached for the same can. Simon’s eyes shot upwards to meet hers, the inches between them smelling faintly of whiskey as Ava’s lips parted and closed again softly.

“Sorr-” Simon began to say, but before he could get the word out, Ava leaned in quickly and pressed her lips roughly to Simon’s. Simon’s hand shot out to cup the side of her face, the other steadying himself against the cabinets as the cans clattered beneath them.

Simon rose slowly, pulling Ava up with him. He let go of the cabinet, pulling her in tightly until she was pressed flush against his body. Ava tilted her head, deepening the kiss as Simon felt her tongue run across his lips. Her hands looped around his neck, hand brushing against the short bristle of hairs at the nape of his neck. A shiver crawled down his spine as he felt her nails graze the skin. His hands moved lower, ghosting her waist as he lifted her and set her on top of the counter, her back bumping the discarded box. One hand left her waist, the other resting gently against the side of her neck.

Simon’s mouth trailed from her lips down to her jaw. He could feel the rapid thump of her pulse beneath his fingertips, matching his own. His tongue flicked over the hollow of her throat, her breath catching in a gasp.

With one hand now braced on the counter beside her, Simon slid the other beneath her shirt, pressing his palm flat against her stomach.

His fingers trailed upward, slipping beneath the edge of her bra. A low growl rumbled in Simon’s throat as Ava’s hands tightened in his hair, pulling him back to her lips desperately. Their teeth clacked, messy and uncoordinated, tongues chasing each other through the haze of liquor.  Ava didn’t stop him. If anything, she pulled him in harder, one hand slipping down to grab at his belt.

“Jesus,” he muttered against her lips, breathing hard. “You sure?”

Ava nodded. “Yes. Now.”

Simon fumbled with her jeans, drunken fingers unsteady, yanking at the button. Her hips lifted as he slid the denim down just far enough, Simon’s belt hitting the floor a second later.

Ava’s breath hitched, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other holding tightly to the edge of the counter as Simon thrust into her. Her moan was caught between his lips as they moved together, the cabinet behind her creaking under the force of their rhythm.

“This is a terrible fuckin’ idea,” he muttered, “I’m your lieutenant. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Ava let out a sigh against his throat, followed quickly by a moan as Simon punched his hips forward.

“This is mad,” he said under his breath, voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Price is going to kill me.”

Ava’s head snapped forward, a genuine laugh escaping her throat. “You thinking about Price right now?”

Simon paused mid-motion, looked up at the ceiling like it held answers, then back at her. “Unfortunately.”

Ava’s only reply was a firm pull of his shirt that dragged him down into another searing kiss. His reply came in the form of another sharp thrust that made her whimper softly into his mouth, her nails digging into his back.

Simon gripped her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter as his pace quickened, his head thrown back as soft pants left his mouth, sweat slicking both of their skin in the summer heat. 

Ava’s thighs tightened around his waist, her body jolting forward as she tightened around his cock. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, muffling the cry that left her. 

“Fuck…” Simon groaned, his cock twitching as he spilled inside of her, one arm wrapped around her back to hold her close, the other bracing himself against the counter. 

They both finally stilled, catching their breath. Simon rested his head on her shoulder, his hand still splayed on her bare hip.

Simon was the first to move, dragging a hand down his face with a low groan as if reality had just caught up to him. “Christ,” he muttered. “We’re a mess.”

Ava gave a small shrug, sliding off of the counter. Simon groaned at the disconnect, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Ava calmly pulled her jeans up, buttoning them and bending under his arm to continue collecting the cans.

Simon paused, eyes darting nervously between the scattered cans on the floor and Ava’s face. He ran a hand through his hair.

“Look… I’m sorry. This was a terrible idea. You’re drunk, I’m drunk... I don’t know what I was thinking. Price is going to lose his mind if he ever finds out. I feel like I took advantage of you. I’m your lieutenant. And you probably weren’t in the right state to-”

He stopped himself, his eyes flickering away as if searching for an escape from his own guilt.

Meanwhile, Ava stayed silent.

“And I know you don’t say much, which makes it hard to tell what you’re thinking, but… I hope you’re not mad. Or disappointed. I should be keeping things professional, keeping you safe. Not... whatever this is.”

Ava’s eyes flicked up briefly, just enough to meet his, and then back down to the cans.

Simon caught it and gave a nervous laugh. “Well, you’re looking at me like I’m a bloody idiot.”

She finally straightened, gathering the last of the cans into her arms. “Can you grab the box?” she asked, already heading toward the door.

Simon watched her go, an uneasy chuckle slipping from his lips. “Yeah... a bloody idiot,” he muttered to himself, bending to lift the empty box.

_

Tag list: @skeletonsucker, @trulovekay, @enfppuff, @cqerrz, @alex1011sdzfgh, @vmaxis

[quillcraftconquer]

New Updates for Simon x Reader

Hi everyone! I've been updating my stories and wanted to let you guys know that I have changed the title of my Simon x K9 fanfic to 'Watchdog'. Beneath Us remains the same, just new banners for each post listed below!

Ill be posting a continuation of each story this week!

Stay tuned!

[quillcraftconquer]

Hear me out? More like hold me back.

Put me on the table.

[quillcraftconquer]

Bout to start writing Yautja smut, I have no shame.

[quillcraftconquer]

Watchdog (Simon x K9 Part 7)

(K9 POV)

tw: graphic violence, animal death (dog), torture, captivity, ptsd, panic attack, dissociation, firearm discharge, gun violence, mental health crisis, vomiting

Part 6

The gravel bit into my knees through the fabric of my pants, sharp bits breaking the skin. My wrists were bound behind my back with something that burned, plastic cord, maybe, or metal. My arms had gone numb hours ago, but I didn’t dare move.

Panzer stood five feet away, his fur bristling and his teeth bared. He was snarling, pacing in tight little circles, his lip twitching every time one of the men got too close. His hackles were raised, his whole body straining against the leash looped through a rusted car door handle. He’d already bitten one of them. I could see the blood on the man’s arm.

They were yelling fast, angry words in a language I didn’t know. One of them pointed at Panzer, and another shook his head.

I turned my face just enough to see him. Young, maybe mid-twenties, hair cropped short and boots dirty. He was wearing some sort of tactical uniform, but I didn't recognize any of the writing on his sleeve. He spoke again, slower this time, even though I didn’t know the words.

Panzer let out a deep, throaty growl.

The man raised the pistol.

“No, No!” I screamed.

I lunged forward instinctively, gravel slicing my shins as I hit the ground chest first. The plastic cords tore into my wrists.

“Don’t you fucking touch him! Don’t-”

The muzzle flash bloomed like lightning.

Panzer dropped.

The leash slipped free from the car door and coiled on the dirt beside him. His legs twitched once, then nothing.

My scream didn’t even sound human. One of them shoved a hand into my mouth, fingers digging against my teeth and pressing my tongue down until I choked. Another hand wrapped around my throat, thumb pushing against the bruises already blooming there. The hand in my mouth forced it open, another man coiling thin metal wire around my head. 

The wire cut across my lip as they wrenched it into place.

A crude gag, twisted from fencing wire or maybe a coat hanger, whatever was lying around. It bit into the soft skin at the corners of my mouth until I tasted blood again. They wrapped it twice, once behind my head, once around my jaw, pulling until I couldn’t open my mouth even if I wanted to scream. 

My body jerked as the man holding me stepped back and let go. I crumpled forward, heaving dry sobs through my nose.

Panzer’s body lay motionless in the dirt, his eyes open, unblinking.

I woke mid-scream.

The sound tore from my throat without warning. My lungs seized, and for a split second I didn’t know where I was. I kicked out hard, legs tangling in the blanket I’d dragged into the tub hours ago. My arm smacked against the tile and my stomach lurched.

I threw myself out of the tub, knees crashing against the tile floor as I scrambled for the toilet, dry heaving before I even reached it.

My hands gripped porcelain and I pressed my forehead to the rim. I choked on bile, trying to swallow it down. 

I couldn’t tell if I was hot or freezing.

The handle to the bathroom turned, light flooding inside.

“Ava?” June’s voice called softly. “Are you-?”

The door opened, and my heart dropped in my chest.

I launched toward the sink, fingers scraping under the cabinet in a blind panic. My hand closed around the cold polymer grip of the pistol just as the door swung wider.

A single shot cracked through the room, deafening in the small space. Plaster exploded beside the door frame, splinters of wood raining down. June shrieked, stumbling back, her hands raised in panic.

“Jesus Christ! Ava, it’s me-it’s June! It’s-”

She ducked, scrambling back into the hallway with tears streaming down her cheeks.

I blinked. The recoil still buzzed through my arm. My ears rang. My chest convulsed with broken, hiccupping gasps. The shadow in the doorway was gone, but the threat wasn’t.

“Ava!” Dad’s voice rang out inside the room, and the door burst open again.

He stopped when he saw me, and his eyes went straight to the pistol in my hand.

“Put it down,” he said firmly.

I backed up on my hands and knees, the tile slick under my palms with blood. I couldn’t make sense of anything. The shape in the doorway wavered, waiting like the ones who used to come when I was weakest, half-naked, sick, and too tired to scream.

“Don’t touch me,” I rasped, the gun shaking in my grip.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said quickly, hands lifting. “You hear me? But I need you to give me the gun, baby. Please.”

I couldn’t feel my hands.

My body trembled as he took one cautious step inside. Then another.

When he reached me, he dropped to his knees.

“It’s me. It’s Dad. You're home. You’re safe,” he murmured, his hand closing around my wrist.

“Don’t-” I jerked, weakly pushing against him, but my limbs had nothing left in them. 

“I got it,” he said, and wrenched the pistol free.

It clattered to the floor, skidding under the sink.

I shoved hard against his chest, scrambling upright. My feet slipped on the tile as I bolted for the door. My shoulder slammed into the frame as I turned the corner, almost slipping on the hardwood. I could hear him calling after me, feet pounding behind mine.

I made it halfway into the yard before my knees gave out. I hit the ground hard, hands and jeans slamming into the wet grass. The taste of acid was already at the back of my throat.

I doubled over and vomited.

I curled forward with a choked sob, retching again even when there was nothing left. My palms sunk into the mud as I shook.

“Ava, baby-” Dad’s voice cracked hard. “Talk to me, please- just stop running- please.”

He crouched behind me, a hand gliding up to rest on my back. The feeling pulled another half choked scream from my throat.

“Okay, okay, I won’t touch you, I promise,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Jesus, I don’t know what to do, fuck-”

Light fingers prodded against my side, and I lurched forward. My father’s hand, fumbling with the zipper pocket on the side of my hoodie. His fingers were clumsy, and when the fabric caught, he cursed under his breath.

“Just need your phone, just your phone, sweetheart, I swear-” he whispered, voice thick with tears. “I need to call him-I need to get you help.”

He finally pulled it free, staggering back just a few paces, one eye still on me as the line rang.

“What the fuck do I do?”

I pressed my forehead into the grass, still on my knees in the yard. The blades were cold and wet. The leash was gone, and Panzer’s body still lay somewhere in the corners of my vision.

“She pulled a gun on her sister. She fired it. Blew a hole damn near through my wall. She looked right at her and, fuck-. She’s out here now pukin’ her guts out like she’s gonna die and I-I’m standing in the goddamn yard like an idiot because I don’t know whether to hug her or call someone to sedate her. She’s not even seeing me.”

He stopped. I knew he was crying.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

I could hear my dad pacing, the gravel shifting under his boots. He set the phone down gently by my head, pressing the speaker button.

“Ava.”

I flinched.

“Ava, it’s Simon. You with me?”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out except a ragged gurgling sound.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said quickly. “Just listen. That’s enough.”

I closed my eyes.

“Put your hand on your chest. Right now. Just one.”

I hesitated.

“Top of your sternum. Center mass. Feel it rise.”

My trembling fingers obeyed without thinking. I curled them lightly against my chest.

“That’s yours. That heartbeat’s yours. You’re not dead. You’re not theirs. You’re here.”

“Now,” he continued. “Right hand to the dirt. Do it slow. Press your palm down.”

I lowered my right hand. The grass gave way to damp soil, cool and soft beneath my fingers. My hand shook violently, but I obeyed.

“Feel that?” Simon asked. “That’s not concrete. That’s earth.”

Another sob crawled up my throat.

“You’re not underground. Not in a fucking van. You’re in your yard. In Kansas or whatever cow-fucked place this is.”

“Come on, baby,” My dad whispered from behind me. “I’m right here. You know me. I’m your dad.”

I wanted to reach for him, I did. But my body wouldn’t move.

Time twisted and my body ached. I could barely hear the mumbling voice on the phone, my lips brushing against the puddle of vomit under my face.

My knees hurt. 

I wasn’t sure if five minutes passed or twenty. I barely registered the distant sound of tires on gravel.

A shadow knelt down beside me. I heard him shift, one knee pressed into the dirt beside mine.

“I’m gonna take your hands,” Simon said slowly. “You can hit me if you need to. But I’m gonna help.”

I nodded, or maybe I didn’t, but either way, he reached out.

Gently, he took both of my hands in his and slowly pressed them down into the dirt with his own.

“Feel that?”

I nodded.

“Cold, wet. Got some give to it,” he said. “That’s not concrete. That’s not blood. It’s dew.”

His thumbs rubbed over the backs of my hands.

“This is real. You’re not there anymore. You’re on your knees in your front yard, and you’re safe. You’re not there anymore, Ava.”

“Your dad’s behind you,” Simon continued. “He’s scared because he loves you. But he’s not going to hurt you. You’re not in that room. You’re not a prisoner.”

I opened my mouth to tell him about the bathroom, about the shadow I saw, about Panzer, but all that came out was a strangled sound.

“I know,” Simon said. “I know it still feels real. But it’s not. That’s over. It happened. And you lived.”

I could hear the porch creaking behind us, the soft chirp of crickets, the breeze rustling through the tall grass at the edge of the fence line.

“Is she…” June’s voice was small, like she was afraid of the answer. “Is she gonna be like that forever?”

“No,” Simon said gently. “She won’t.”

June looked up at him, her face scrunched. “But she…she almost-”

“I know,” he said, cutting her off softly. “It’s scary. But it doesn’t mean it’s permanent.”

She didn’t say anything, just looked down at her shoes, her fingers tightening around her legs.

Simon shifted beside me, still crouched in the dirt. His voice was quieter when he spoke next, like it was just for me.

“It takes time,” he said. “Some days are good. Some days are shit. That’s how it goes.”

 I didn’t lift my head.

“She doesn’t even sleep in her bed anymore,” Dad said. “She sleeps in a goddamn bathtub. With a gun.”

“I know.”

“She can’t keep it,” He continued. “Not like this. Not when she’s-” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the yard, the dirt, to me.

His voice softened. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I can’t let you keep a gun if you’re not even sure where you are.”

Simon crouched beside me again, bending his head down until his eyes were level with mine.

“You ready to get up?”

I nodded.

He slid his arm under mine and eased me upward carefully. My knees wobbled, and for a second, the world tilted, but his grip tightened. Behind us, Dad let out a breath. 

“Will you stay?” he asked suddenly, his voice aimed at Simon. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know how to help her.”

“I’ll stay,” Simon answered. “As long as she wants.”

Dad ran a hand through his hair. “She’s not gonna sleep tonight, and neither’s anyone else if she’s in that tub again.”

We moved slowly up the stairs together, Simon at my side, Dad trailing close behind. My legs still shook with every step, but I was upright and present enough to put one foot in front of the other.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, watching as Dad and Simon examined the splintered wood. 

“Could’ve been worse,” Dad muttered, kneeling to touch the edge of the splintered door jamb. “But I’ll need to sand this down and get a new hinge in.”

Dad looked at me one more time, like he wanted to say something else, but all that came out was, “I’ll be up early. Holler if you need anything.”

He stepped out and down the hall. June followed, throwing one more look over her shoulder before disappearing into her own room.

Simon stepped forward and shut the door softly, turning back to face me.

“You want the bathroom?” he asked. “You can take it if that’s where you’ll sleep better.”

I shook my head.

Simon grabbed one of the spare blankets from the end of the bed and spread it across the floor, then lowered himself onto it. Flat on his back, arms folded beneath his head, like this was just another night.

“It gets better,” he said. “Eventually. Not all at once. Not in a straight line. But it does.”

I didn’t move, still planted at the edge of the bed, the tops of my feet gently pressing into his side.

“Sometimes it gets worse first,” he added. “Sometimes it gets worse for a long time. But even then, that’s still healing. Doesn’t always look like it, but it is.”

“I didn’t get better right away,” Simon continued. “Wasn’t some epiphany. It took years. I still have bad days.”

I shifted on the bed, tucking myself under the blanket and pulling it up to my chin.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” he added. “And you don’t have to pretend to be. But you will find your way back.”

I could still feel the gun in my hand.

I could still see June’s face.

If I could do that, if I could almost kill the person I loved more than anything in the world and not even know it was her, how was I supposed to trust myself again?

My teeth scraped against the edge of my nail.

“If you don’t get better,” Simon said, “if it takes years, or if it never looks the way it used to, that’s okay too.”

“I’m not waiting for you to be okay,” he added. “I’m just here. However long you need.”

My thumb slipped from my mouth.

“Okay.”

--

Tags: @skeletonsucker, @trulovekay, @enfppuff, @cqerrz, @alex1011sdzfgh

[quillcraftconquer]

Watchdog (Simon x K9 Series : Pt 6)

TW: PTSD, alcohol use, emotional abuse, trauma-related flashbacks, references to torture (graphic), guilt and self-loathing, mentions of human trafficking, strained family dynamics.

Pt 5 refresher, I made some edits to be happier with my writing. Other parts on pinned post

Simon woke to a drumbeat in his skull. His mouth was dry, his throat felt like sandpaper, and his stomach churned with leftover beer.

He groaned as he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, the roughness of his stubble scraping against his palm. The mask lay beside him on the cot. For once, he had forgotten to put it on.

He didn't forget last night, though.

He remembered every bit of it.

The bar. The drive to the base. His shouting. Her foot against his chest. His hands on her wrist.

Fuck.

Simon dropped his face into his hands, breathing deep like it could somehow erase the memory.

 It didn’t. 

All it did was bring back the image of her eyes when he grabbed her. 

Angry. Exhausted.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, standing on unsteady legs.

The barracks were quiet as he crossed to the kitchenette, bare feet scraping against the floor. It smelled like coffee, a single mug sitting empty on the counter waiting for him.

Johnny sat at the table, his legs stretched out and the chair tilted back. A half-eaten piece of toast dangled in one hand and a mug in the other. 

Simon moved to the counter, grabbing the mug and pouring himself a drink. The coffee sloshed against the rim, a droplet of the hot liquid landing on his knuckles.

“You look like shit,” Johnny muttered without looking up.

Simon grunted.

“Why’d you leave the bar?” he asked.

Simon kept his gaze down. “Tired.”

Johnny snorted. “Tired.” He leaned back in his chair, the legs creaking under him. “Had enough energy to come back and scream at her, though.”

Simon’s jaw ticked. “How do you know about that?”

“She told me what happened.”

Simon’s hand tightened around the mug. “What exactly did she say?”

Johnny’s eyes finally flicked up from his mug, his expression unimpressed. 

“Did you?”

Disappointment coated Johnny’s every word. It didn't matter that they were friends, didn't matter that they fought together. For the first time in his life, Simon felt small. 

“Yeah.”

Johnny didn't answer right away. He took another slow sip from his mug, the feet of his chair scraping quietly against the floor as he sat upright.

“First time she’s ever said more than two words. Shit thing to do,” Johnny said, scooting his chair back as he gathered his things. “Figured if anyone knew better, would’ve been you.”

Simon stayed at the table, finishing the bitter, lukewarm coffee like it was his punishment. Then, he grabbed the report folder and made his way to Price’s office.

Simon walked in and set the file down on the desk, sinking into one of the chairs across from Price. 

“Post-op,” Simon said. His voice sounded worse than he felt, which was saying something.

Price didn’t look up. “You and Cricket are flying out today.”

Simon blinked. “What?”

“K9,” Price clarified, flipping through a separate folder. “She requested leave, going home for a few weeks. You’re going with her”

Simon stared at him, deadpan. “The hell for? It’s home leave, not a fucking assignment.”

Price’s eyes remained glued to the paperwork in front of him. “You read all of this?”

Simon shrugged. “Enough.”

He slid it across the desk toward Simon, finger skimming the top lines.

Tier One trafficking network. Cartel-backed. Arms and personnel supplied by foreign intermediaries. Victims sold to terror affiliates across three borders.

And there, highlighted in bold:

Subject: ‘K9’ – captured during a failed extraction. Returned alive. High-profile asset. Potential retaliation likely.

Price leaned back. “We didn’t pull her out of some third-rate back-alley op, mate. She was in one of their markets. They lose products like her, they start looking for compensation. If they clock her anywhere alone, she won’t make it to the gate, let alone the plane.”

Simon grinded his teeth. “So I’m her bodyguard.”

Price leaned forward. “She’s not safe. Not yet. And neither are the people around her, not unless we keep her in our sights.”

“This isn't babysitting,” Price continued. I don’t give a fuck what you do while you’re there. Get drunk, get laid, I don’t care. I don’t give a shit if you two speak, or fight, or sit in silence the whole damn trip. But make sure she gets on that plane, and make sure she comes back alive.”

--------

The airport was crowded and loud.

Tucked into the far end of the terminal, curled into one of those molded plastic seats with a bag hugged tight against her knees, Cricket looked like she wanted to disappear.

Simon stood nearby, leaning against a structural beam with his arms crossed over his chest.

Simon glanced at the clock. Still thirty minutes to boarding.

He exhaled through his nose and shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms. He moved to the seat beside her.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck. He hated this, never knowing what to say, or how to start saying it.

“I’m not gonna bother you,” he said. “Not on this trip.”

Her fingers kept picking at the seam of her bag.

“Price set me up at a hotel a few miles from your folks’ place. I’ll drop you off when we land, and then fuck off.” He paused. “Won’t be near unless you call.”

Still no reaction.

“I mean it,” he added. “I’ll be close, but I’ll stay out of your way. I just… I wanted you to know that.”

A beat of silence passed. 

Simon leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“I know I made things worse the other night. You don’t owe me shit. But if anything goes sideways, or if it feels wrong… I’ll be there.”

“Okay.”

His head turned toward her just slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d actually heard it.

“…Okay,” he repeated quietly, like the word didn’t feel real.

She didn’t say anything else, just kept her eyes forward, hands folded in her lap now.

Simon looked away, staring down at his boots like they might offer some kind of answer.

“…Okay,” Simon said again, under his breath this time.

By the time they landed and cleared baggage, Simon’s nerves were fraying.

The drive was a little over an hour, and the whole way, he muttered under his breath about everything.

"Feels like I’m driving a bloody coffin,” he muttered, adjusting the seat again. “Everything’s backwards. Wheel’s on the wrong side, roads are too damn wide.”

Simon squinted at the GPS. “Take a left at what? That’s not a road, that’s a goat trail.”

Eventually, the roads narrowed into gravel. Trees lined the fields, and fencing stretched across long, open pastures. Faded tractors sat in the distance, flanked by hay bales and barns that had seen better decades. They passed a small cattle herd by a rusted-out silo before a two-story farmhouse came into view.

Simon slowed as they rolled into the drive. He saw the man on the porch before the engine stopped, a tall figure with thick arms crossed over his chest, posture straight as a board. 

She opened the door first, hesitating for only a second before stepping out.

The man’s eyes softened the moment he saw her. He moved down the steps in two strides, sweeping her into a hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” he murmured into her hair, holding her tightly. “Been waitin’ on you.”

After a few long seconds, the man looked up, finally noticing Simon climbing out of the driver’s seat.

“Name?”

“Simon.”

The man stepped forward, extending a hand. “Rick Callahan. I’m her dad.”

Simon reached out and took it, but Rick didn't let go right away. His grip tightened, studying Simon. The scars that curled up from Simon’s jaw. The one near his temple, half-faded. Finally, Rick’s eyes flicked down to the way Simon’s hand stayed near his hip, his sidearm tucked just out of sight.

“Military?” Rick muttered.

Simon released his hand. “Something like that.”

Rick gave a curt nod, but the studying didn’t stop.

The screen door slammed open and a voice rang out. “Is that Ava? Is that you?”

Ava.

Something in Simon's chest tightened at hearing her name.

A teenage girl came tearing down the porch steps, barefoot, a flannel tied around her waist and braces flashing in the sunlight.

“Oh my god, you’re actually here!”

Rick cleared his throat. “That’s June. My youngest.”

The teenager collided with her sister, grabbing her into a full-body hug, rocking her side to side.

“You ain’t staying, are you?” Rick asked suddenly.

Simon blinked. “No.”

“Good.” Rick crossed his arms. “She doesn’t need someone here telling her what to do.”

“I’m not here to do that.”

Rick gave him a long look. “Hope not.”

Cricket stood a few feet away, her duffel still in hand. Simon could feel her listening, watching the conversation unfold.

Simon took a breath and moved closer to her.

“You’ve got my number,” he said quietly. “Hotel’s ten minutes out. You don’t want to see me, you won’t.”

She nodded.

“But if anything feels off, call. I’ll be there in five.”

Simon shifted his weight, resisting the urge to say more. Without another word, he turned, boots crunching on the gravel as he made his way back to the car.

--------

Simon dropped his bag on the dresser and sat on the edge of the bed. His sidearm came off first, set neatly on the nightstand. Then his phone.

He stared at the screen for a long time. No notifications.

He turned the volume to max, then triple-checked it. Simon set the phone on the pillow next to him like it might vanish if he looked away too long.

It didn’t matter that Rick was with her. It didn’t matter that she was technically “home.”

“Safe” didn’t mean the same thing anymore. 

Not after you’ve sat in the dark with your fingernails torn out, ribs shattered, skin peeled back just enough to make breathing feel like torture.

Not after Roba.

Simon exhaled and let his head fall back against the wall, eyes slipping shut. He hadn’t meant to go there, but it crept in anyway. 

He remembered the sound of the chopper, the cold metal floor beneath him. 

The bandages. 

The blood that soaked through them. 

The way no one met his eye when he landed. No embrace, no “you’re home.”

He remembered standing at his brother’s grave, hands clenched so tight he’d torn the stitches in his palm.

He remembered the empty flat. The creaking pipes. The silence.

The anger.

He’d come back four months later and there was no one. His mother was gone. His brother was buried. 

But Ava…

Ava had a porch light left on. 

A sister who threw herself into her arms. 

A father who hugged her like he didn’t give a shit how long it took, as long as she was there.

She had people.

And for a moment, a bitter, selfish moment, Simon wasn’t sure if that made him feel relieved or furious.

Because he wanted that for her.

And because some buried part of him still hated that no one had wanted that for him.

-----

Tags: @skeletonsucker, @trulovekay, @enfppuff, @cqerrz, @alex1011sdzfgh

[quillcraftconquer]

Gaz x Male Reader

The pub was packed. Loud music, spilled beer, voices rising over each other.

You were standing at the bar, laughing at something some random guy said, leaning a little too close for Gaz’s liking. He reached out, fingertips grazing the sleeve of your shirt.

Gaz’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

From across the room, he watched. His beer was forgotten in his hand, every muscle coiled tight.

When the guy leaned closer, whispering something in your ear that made you laugh, Gaz slammed his drink down onto the nearest table and stalked across the room.

You barely had time to register him behind you before he was grabbing your wrist, tugging you away from the bar.

"Gaz-" you started, confused.

He didn’t answer.

He shouldered past bodies until he found a dark hallway tucked behind the bar, deserted except for the throb of the bass through the walls.

He pushed you back against the wall. Not hard, just enough to pin you there, one hand planted beside your head, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise it.

His face was inches from yours.

"You enjoyin' yourself, sweetheart?" he asked.  "Laughin' at his shite jokes? Letting him touch you?"

You opened your mouth to explain, to say it was nothing, but Gaz wasn’t interested in explanations.

He kissed you instead, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he had every right, and he did. You melted against him immediately, fingers fisting his shirt.

He growled into the kiss, pressing his body against yours. You could already feel how hard he was, grinding slow against your thigh.

"You’re mine," he muttered between kisses, "Not his. Not fuckin' anyone else's."

You barely managed a nod before he was kissing you again. His hands were everywhere, sliding under your shirt, palming your chest, dragging down your sides possessively. You gasped when his hand slipped between your legs, cupping you through your jeans.

"Hard already?" he teased, "Fuck, you like when I get rough, don't you?"

You nodded, hips jerking against his hand, desperate for friction.

He chuckled against your throat, biting just under your jaw, hard enough to leave a mark.

"You’re fuckin’ lucky we're still in public, mate," he muttered, squeezing you through your jeans. "Otherwise I'd have you on your knees right now... mouth full of me... showin' everyone who you belong to."

You whined helplessly, fingers clutching at his jacket, nails digging into his arms.

He kissed you again before pulling back just enough to press his forehead against yours.

"Now let’s get you home. Need to remind you exactly who you fuckin' belong to."

His words left no doubt that when he got you alone, you wouldn’t be able to walk straight by the time he was done.

And you couldn’t fucking wait.

The door slammed shut behind you the second you stumbled inside, Gaz's hands already gripping your hips, dragging you backward into him.

He backed you toward the bedroom, peeling your clothes off piece by piece, tossing your shirt somewhere over his shoulder, mouthing at the skin he uncovered.

By the time he shoved you onto the bed, you were half-naked, flushed and panting, your cock already straining against your jeans. You propped yourself up on your elbows as you watched him tear his own shirt off.

You couldn’t help it, a whimper slipped from your throat at the sight of him, his muscles flexing, cock already dripping.

"Fuck," you breathed, "You're…you're unreal, Kyle."

"Wait 'til I’m inside you," he said. "Then you can tell me how good I feel."

He crawled up the bed, hands forcing your legs apart and trailing kisses down your stomach.

He kissed lower, brushing his lips against your cock without warning, and you bucked into the touch with a moan.

"Fuck, Kyle, please." you gasped, begging.

He grinned, licking a slow stripe up the underside of your cock, keeping eye contact.

 "Could listen to you all fuckin’ night." he murmured. 

He wrapped his hand around you, squeezing just enough to make you gasp, and started stroking.

You choked on a sob, hips jerking uselessly.

"Fuck," you sobbed. "I need you inside me. I need to feel you."

The sound of your voice must have broken whatever restraint he had left, because suddenly he was stripping his jeans off, grabbing a condom from the nightstand, and rolled it on with shaky hands.

He grabbed your hips, dragging you down the bed toward him with a tug.

"Turn over," he ordered.

You rolled onto your stomach, moaning when his hands gripped your waist.

He pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, leaning down to kiss between your shoulders.

"You ready for me?" he murmured against your skin.

"Always," you whispered.

He pushed in slow, stretching you open until you were gasping his name over and over.

"Fuuuck," he hissed through his teeth, bottoming out, hips flush against your ass. "You were made for me, love. Tight little hole just fuckin' made for me."

"Kyle," you whimpered. "Feels so good, fuck, you feel so good."

You writhed under him, grinding your hips back, chasing every deep thrust.

He groaned, snapping his hips into you rougher, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the small room.

"Greedy," he muttered, biting at your shoulder. "So fuckin' greedy for me."

He bent over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth hot against your ear as he panted. He groaned deep in his chest, fucking you harder, deeper, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

His hand slid down your stomach, wrapping around your cock, stroking you in time with his hips.

"Come for me," he ordered.

It took only a few more strokes before you were burying your head in the sheets, body locking tight, spilling across the bed as you came hard.

Gaz cursed, hips jerking as he thrust deep one more time, grinding into you as he came with a desperate moan against your skin.

He stayed there for a long moment,  his arms wrapped tight around you, keeping you close. Gently, he pulled out, discarding the condom before dragging you into his chest, tangling your legs together under the covers.

[quillcraftconquer]

I have SO many drafts! Help me pick what to work on:

[quillcraftconquer]

TW: Pure smut

Captain Price’s cock drives into you again, the stainless steel table he has you propped up on scooting backwards another inch. Your body slides with it, disconnecting him just an inch to where he isn't seated full inside of you.

His hands immediately grab your hips, pulling you back down. Your skin squeaks against the metal, your fingers curling around the edge in an attempt to ground yourself.

"No runnin'," he muttered, lining himself up again. "You're takin' every fuckin' inch."

He thrust forward again, so deep you swore you could feel him inside your stomach. Before you had time to gasp, he was already dipping his head down, tongue slipping inside your mouth and swallowing whatever desperate sound you were going to make. His beard was still wet from being in between your thighs, the taste of you on him making your toes curl. You arched your back up to him, and his hands slid to the small of your back, changing his thrust to an angle that had you seeing stars.

"You wanted this," he hissed through gritted teeth, "Didn’t you, love? Thought I wouldn't notice?"

Fuck, you did want this. You’d brush up on him, bending to pick up supplies, or smear a little sauce on his lip when you made the men taste what you cooked. 

You just didn't think he’d act on it. 

It was supposed to just be some light teasing, banter.

You never thought you'd be bent over your own kitchen counter, ruthlessly fucked by him.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You cried out, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming feeling.

His head dipped down again, lips gently brushing alongside the shell of your ear. His thrusts slowed for a moment, antagonizigly so.

“You’re not sorry yet, love.”

Captain Price pulled out slowly, your arousal glistening on his cock. He turned you over with a surprising gentleness, your feet landing on the top of his boots as he slid back into you. 

"Good girl," he purred, "Doing so fuckin' good for me, love. So perfect."

His hand clasped the back of your neck, holding you down as he continued to fuck you. One hand came down on your ass, the sharp sting flushing your skin.

"Look at you," he growled between long, filthy strokes. "So ready. Bet you’ve been drippin' for me all day, haven’t you, love?"

Each thrust knocked the breath out of you, Price's hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise and dragging you back to meet every brutal drive of his cock.

Teeth sank into your shoulder blade, causing you to jolt forward in surprise. 

"Say it," he snarled against your skin. "Tell me who fuckin' owns you."

“You do.” You moaned.

“Again. Say my name.”

“Fuck- You do, John.”

He groaned and slammed into you harder, driving you up the table with every thrust.

Your orgasm hit, knees buckling as Price’s hand caught you, holding you against the table for him as he fucked you through it.

Price cursed, grinding deep inside you, hips jerking as he came with his forehead pressed against the middle of your back.

He pulled out slowly, a soft, almost pained sound catching in his throat at the loss of you. His hands skimmed down your sides, soothing touches that chased away the last tremors of aftershock.

"You alright, love?" he murmured.

You nodded weakly, unable to find your voice yet. 

He pressed a kiss into your hair, murmuring against your scalp:

"Did so fuckin' good for me, sweetheart. So perfect."

[quillcraftconquer]

Beneath Us Part 6 (Ghost x Reader)

Sorry everyone, I'm on a roll with this series lol. I'll update the K9 series next. Also, this one has smut in it, so TW!

Pt. 5

The clock on the far wall blinked 03:13, casting a faint red glow across the room. I shoved the blanket off and swung my legs over the side of the bunk, the concrete floor cold against my feet even through my socks. Grabbing my sweatshirt off the bedpost, I slipped it on and made my way out.

I rubbed my hands together for warmth as I padded toward the kitchen, already craving a mug of tea.

I lifted my eyebrows in surprise when I entered. Ghost was flat on his back, half under the sink, his boots braced against the floor and a wrench in hand. The dark hem of his shirt rode up slightly to reveal his pale skin.

"Didn’t think anyone else was stupid enough to be up this early," I said, leaning against the doorway.

Ghost let out a grunt.

I padded across the room and hoisted myself up onto the counter. The old wood creaked under my weight, but I stayed there, swinging one boot idly in the air.

"You always get up early to fix sinks?” I asked.

Another grunt.

"I get it." I said after a moment. "Maverick does the same thing. Stays up late and works on shit. Not really a morning person."

The wrench clattered loudly against the pipe, and Ghost pulled it free with a muttered curse under his breath. He shifted to adjust his grip, his boots scraping lightly against the floor.

"You and Maverick seem close," he muttered.

“"Yeah," I said, shrugging even though he couldnt see me, "he’s my brother-in-law."

“What?” Ghost blurted, letting out another curse as he shot up too fast, the front of his head cracking hard against the underside of the sink.

I winced as the sharp metallic clang echoed through the kitchen.

"Since when?" he snapped.

"Since when what?" I asked, frowning.

Ghost dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head. 

"Not… not since when," he muttered, "I meant how long have they been married?"

"They’ve been married seven years now," I said. "Got a one year old son. Little hellraiser already."

He just sat there on the floor, staring up at me, wrench limp in his gloved hand. Then, as if snapping out of it, Ghost dropped his gaze and grunted. Without a word, he shoved the wrench back into the tangle of pipes and slid under the sink again

"You got any kids?"

"No," I said. "Just a dog."

"Would’ve figured you for a cat person."

"Close enough," I said, leaning back on my palms. "He's a Pomeranian, basically a cat. I always thought about getting a cat, but my boyfriend back then, Simon, was allergic. I guess after that I just never really thought about it again.”

Below the sink, Ghost went completely still.

I glanced down, expecting some sort of grunt in response, but the only thing I saw were the worn soles of his boots, unmoving.

"You alright down there?" I asked, trying to joke. "Need me to call for backup?"

"Fine," he muttered, the wrench clanging against the pipes again. "They make allergy shots now. For cat allergies."

"You have a cat?" I asked, unable to hide the smile tugging at my mouth.

He shrugged, or at least it looked like a shrug from where his boots jutted out. "Stray. Found her a couple years back. Couldn’t leave her."

"What's her name?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"Smudge."

Ghost pushed himself up from under the sink. He rotated his shoulder once, flexing it like the cramped space had stiffened him up, and reached out to turn the tap.

Water gushed cleanly from the faucet, the earlier leak nowhere to be seen. Ghost tested it carefully, running his gloved fingers under the stream. Satisfied, he gave the knob a small twist to shut it off.

He grabbed the battered metal kettle off the stove, filled it under the newly-fixed faucet, and set it back on the burner with a clatter.

"I’m gonna grab a shower," I said, pushing myself off the counter. "Before the rest of the base wakes up and the hot water’s gone."

Ghost didn’t say anything, just nodded once.

The shower room door creaked as I pushed it open. Someone had put up a row of shower curtains. They hung from rusted metal rods hastily rigged across the stalls, thin but enough to give a little privacy. The smell of damp concrete and industrial soap filled my nose as I stripped down, tossing my clothes into a loose pile by the wall. The water sputtered when I twisted the knob, then rushed out, filling the stall with a thick cloud of steam.

I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the cool tile, letting the water roll over me. My mind kept slipping back to the way Ghost hands had closed around my waist yesterday, the heat of him bleeding straight through the fabric of my sweatshirt. To the way his shirt had ridden up when he twisted under the sink. A shudder rolled through me, this one having nothing to do with the heat of the water.

Ghost's face materialized in my mind, those piercing brown eyes boring into me. I felt my nipples harden, my breath quickening as I imagined his gaze on me. My hand drifted down my body, fingers trailing over my skin as I pictured his hands doing the same.

“Fuck,” I muttered, My fingers found their way between my legs, and I let out a soft gasp as I began to touch myself. “This is wrong.”

Simon was gone. This wasn't cheating. It wasn't wrong.

Still, it felt wrong.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to picture Simon’s face. 

Simon hovers above me, his breath hot against my neck as he eases inside, inch by inch, filling me with a stretch that makes my toes curl. 

"Fuck, you're so tight around me," he whispers, his voice husky, eyes locked on mine like I'm the only thing that matters. His hands roam my skin, one cupping my breast while the other grips my hip, pulling me closer. "That's it, love, move with me," he urges, his lips brushing mine. "Fuck, you're driving me wild."

My fingers moved faster, my body responding to the scenario playing out in my head. I could almost feel Ghost's - No, Simon’s, tongue tracing the curves of my breasts, his teeth nipping at my nipples, gloved hand roaming over my body.

No, not gloved. 

Simon.

My back arched, my hips bucking against my hand as I chased the orgasm building inside me.

“Fuck, Ghost.” I whimpered, a moan escaping my lips as I came, my back collapsing against the tile. I laid against it for a moment, trying to catch my breath. 

My chest ached. I stood there, the water still pounding down around me, staring up at the ceiling through burning eyes.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

Simon was dead. Gone.

And here I was, touching myself to the thought of a man I barely knew. I slammed the water off, grabbing the thin towel from the hook outside the curtain and roughly dried myself off.

I lifted my head, confused. I glanced back at the shower. I knew I had turned it off. 

Another shower was still running.

I wrapped the towel tightly around myself and stepped out, my bare feet slapping against the concrete floor. There, folded neatly besides my pile of clothes I had discarded, was Ghost’s mask.

Panic and mortification clawed at me, but before I could do anything,  the sharp squeal of a knob twisting off echoed through the empty shower room. Ghost emerged from the mist, a fresh, dry mask already pulled down over his face. The rest of him was completely bare except for a towel slung low across his hips, water still clinging to his skin. Scars marked deep into his flesh, old wounds crossing his ribs, his shoulder, and curling up along his abdomen. Parts of his skin were warped, the flesh darker in patches where it was burned. 

"I'm…" I stammered, cheeks burning, "I'm sorry, that was... that was unprofessional, I-"

"Could've made it even better for you, love. All you had to do was ask." Ghost interrupted me.

I let out a weak laugh and blurted out the first stupid thing that jumped into my scrambled brain.

"Guess I'll... uh... put in a request form next time?"

Jesus Christ. A request form? What the fuck was wrong with me?

“Bring it to me yourself. Might need a demonstration."

I stood there frozen, staring at him like an idiot as my brain refused to process what he just said.

He reached for his clothes and dropped the towel from his hips. It hit the concrete floor with a wet slap.

My mouth opened and a half-gasp, half-wheeze escaped my lips. I slapped my hand over my eyes like it would somehow erase the sight already burned into my retinas.

"Oh my God," I gasped, the sound high and strangled. I spun around so fast my towel nearly slipped, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the rustle of him dressing behind me.

My face was burning, my entire body vibrating with embarrassment. 

"Could think about me just fine in the shower, but can’t handle the real thing, huh?"

I spun around and found him sitting on the bench, fully dressed. He leaned back, arm thrown across the back of it casually.

“Get dressed.”

“Here?” I choked out. “In front of you?”

Ghost tilted his head. “Yeah. You’re not shy now, are you?”

Swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, I bent down to grab my clothes from the bench. My hands fumbled awkwardly with the fabric. I opened my mouth and let the words spill out without thinking.

"So, uh," I said brightly, “I heard Ethan and MacTavish are trying to smuggle some alcohol on base. I mean, if they get caught, I am not bailing them out, I don’t care how drunk they are-"

I yanked my underwear up, heart racing so fast it made me dizzy. I grabbed my pants, forcing one leg in, then the other, nearly tripping over myself in the process.

"Honestly," I rushed on, tugging the waistband into place with frantic movements, "They’re all probably gonna regret it tomorrow when Price chews their asses out, but hey, morale’s important, right? Nothing boosts morale like terrible whiskey."

I pulled my shirt over my head, my hands shaking so badly it took me two tries to get the sleeve on properly. My damp hair stuck to my neck.

"And technically," I said breathlessly, yanking the hem of my shirt down, "technically I think they’re only breaking about...three base regulations? Maybe four if someone ends up shooting someone, but honestly, that seems pretty unlikely, right?”

Ghost was still sitting on the bench, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped between them. His mask was tilted just slightly towards me, digesting every word spilling uselessly from my mouth.

“I mean, the last time that happened was in Karskaya and it wasn’t even our fault-"

“Your shirts on backwards.” Ghost interrupted me. I glanced down at the front of my shirt, the tag hanging out the collar. 

Before I could even think of a response, Ghost rose from the bench, turned, and walked out, his boots thudding softly against the concrete as he disappeared into the hallway.

[quillcraftconquer]

Beneath Us (Ghost x Reader) Pt. 5

(All other parts featured on my pinned post.)

My arm locked under Ghost’s, twisting it toward his spine as I planted my boots into the mat. His body was heavier than mine, but I had the leverage, and I wasn’t about to give it up.

The fabric of his jacket strained under my grip as he shifted, testing my hold. His breathing was calm and maddeningly controlled.

"Let go," he warned.

I gritted my teeth, tightening the pressure. "If you're gonna tap, tap."

Ghost didn’t tap.

Instead, he twisted hard to the right, using brute strength and technique in one movement. I felt my balance slip, then felt the world tilt as he hooked my leg and wrenched free.

For a split second, I knew what was coming.

He was going to slam me into the mat. Hard.

Instinctively, I braced for the impact, squeezing my eyes shut.

But it never came.

Instead, I felt him catch me mid-fall, one hand braced firmly between my shoulder blades and the other catching the back of my thigh. He lowered me carefully. My spine barely kissed the mat before he stepped back, releasing me.

I pushed myself upright, wincing when a sharp twinge lit up my lower back. Ghost stood over me, his chest rising and falling and his hands loose at his sides.

"What’s wrong with your back?" he asked.

I shook out my hands, brushing invisible dust from my cargo pants.

"Old injury," I said, "Years ago. It’s nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing," he muttered.

I stiffened, pushing myself upright. "It doesn’t affect anything."

He tilted his head slightly, the skull mask shifting and exposing a small sliver of skin on his neck.

"You shouldn’t be active duty if you’re carrying an injury," he said.

"I manage it," I said evenly. "Been managing it for a decade."

Before he could say anything else, a sharp yelp cracked through the gym.

I turned just in time to see Ethan go flying across the mat, landing hard on his back with a wheeze as Sergeant MacTavish straightened up with a grin.

"Christ," Ethan groaned, sprawled across the mat like a broken toy.

Maverick let out a bark of laughter from the sidelines. Garrick shook his head, amusement flickering across his face.

"Keep your guard up, Hooch," Maverick called, barely containing his grin.

"You said we were keeping it light!" Ethan wheezed, pointing an accusing finger at MacTavish as he struggled to sit up.

MacTavish just shrugged, unbothered. "Light for me, mate."

Price called a break a few minutes later and we filed out of the gym, boots scuffing against the concrete as we made our way toward the mess.  Maverick and Ethan were already throwing jabs at each other across the table when I sat down, tray balanced in one hand. 

MacTavish, predictably, zeroed in on me.

"So," he said, stabbing a sorry-looking piece of chicken, "where you from, Lieutenant?"

I sipped my water before answering. "Georgia. Born and raised."

His eyebrows lifted. "Bit far from home, innit?"

"A bit," I said, picking at my food.

"And how long you been in?"

"Long enough," I said casually.

"How long you known these two idiots then?" he asked, nodding toward Maverick and Ethan.

"Bull and I went through basic together," I said, nudging Maverick’s boot under the table. "Met Hooch later when he was a Sergeant."

"Hooch?" MacTavish echoed, grinning at Ethan.

Ethan shrugged. "Hooch. You know, alcohol. Moonshine. Booze.

MacTavish turned back to me. "And you?”

Maverick’s face lit up with excitement. "We call her peaches."

"You’re takin' the piss," Soap said, shaking his head.

"Peaches," Ethan repeated. "Georgia's the Peach State, y'know."

He squinted. "The Peach State?"

"Yeah," Ethan said around a mouthful of food. "Whole thing. State fruit. License plates. Festivals. You name it."

I just shook my head. "I hate callsigns," I muttered, "Don’t use it."

MacTavish and Ethan kept laughing, trading stories across the table. I pushed my tray away, my appetite gone. Maverick glanced up at me, catching my eye as I left the mess hall. He followed me out, waiting until we were out of earshot from the others before speaking.

"You good?" he asked.

We leaned against the side of the building, the silence stretching between us. I watched the chain-link fence in the distance rattle in the wind, my arms crossed tight over my chest.

"It's been worse," I said finally. "It'll pass."

After Simon went missing, there hadn't been a grave to visit. No ceremony, no folded flag. I had poured myself into work. Into the next mission, and the next, trying to fix what they hadn't been able to save. Recovery missions came later. Searching for the missing, the lost, the presumed dead.

Trying to bring someone, anyone, home when they couldn’t bring him back.

Maverick had followed me into it without question.

"We've done good work," Maverick said quietly, like he could hear the thoughts clawing their way through my skull. "You know that."

I nodded again, staring down at the cracked asphalt.

"Bull," I said dryly, "you’re getting sentimental."

He grinned. "Someone’s gotta."

I gave him a shove toward the door with my shoulder, and he laughed as he went.

It was raining again.

Shocking, really.

Maverick and I were soaked to the bone after a morning spent hauling supplies across the base. My boots squelched miserably with every step.

We ducked into a side building, half-supply shed, half-break room,  shivering and cursing the weather.

Inside, Corporal Riley was already there, crouched by a battered table and fiddling with an old electric kettle that looked like it might electrocute someone at any moment.

Maverick shook out his jacket like a wet dog, spraying mist everywhere. "Place looks like a cemetery."

Simon didn’t even glance up. "You're not wrong."

Maverick grinned, already gearing up. He elbowed me lightly, then sauntered closer to Simon.

"Oi, Corporal," he said, putting on his worst British accent, "fancy a spot o' tea, mate? Maybe a crumpet? A bit o’ rainwater to wash it down?"

Simon finally looked up, giving him with a stare that would have frozen a lesser man.

"You're an idiot," he said dryly.

Simon shook his head and went back to the kettle. The thing rattled ominously but eventually clicked off. He pulled three battered mugs from a shelf and started pouring without another word.

Maverick crept closer and clapped Simon hard on the back, a solid, jostling thud that made the tea slosh dangerously.

"Good man, Riley. Saving American lives one cuppa at a time."

Simon scowled over his shoulder but didn’t actually push him off.

"You spill it, you’re drinking it off the floor," he muttered.

I dropped into a battered chair, peeling my wet socks halfway off my heels just for some relief.

Maverick grabbed his mug. "Proper British hospitality. Where’s my bloody scone, mate?"

Simon ignored him entirely, settling by the table with his own tea.

I blew across the mug’s surface and took a sip, expecting nothing.

It was good.

Annoyingly good.

Maverick slurped his loudly, grimaced, and gave Simon another solid thump on the shoulder. "Tastes like wet garden dirt. Top notch."

I smirked into my mug, finally muttering, "It’s good."

Simon caught my eye over the rim of his cup, one eyebrow raising, the faintest tug of amusement pulling at his mouth.

Maverick plopped into the seat beside me, knocking his knee into mine with a grin.

"Admit it," he said loudly, "we’re practically locals now."

Simon huffed and leaned back against the wall, his eyes slipping half-shut.

Maverick set the mug of tea down in front of me, fanning the surface with his hand like it would cool the contents.

“I was going to call the family tonight, you want to join?” He asked, already pulling up the video app on his tablet and settling onto the floor next to me.

“Yeah.” I answered, leaning across the room to shut the door. I caught Ghost’s eye as it swung shut. His eyes narrowed as he watched Maverick and I before giving a quick shake of his head, walking off.

“When does our southern hospitality start to rub off on others?” I muttered.

“Doesnt.” Maverick answered, grinning as his wife popped up on the screen. “Hey, baby. I had to drag Peaches out of the gutter to come and talk to you and little man.”

“Hey, sis. How’re you guys?” I asked, waving.

I let Maverick talk for a few minutes, letting him tell his son goodnight. 

"Hey, tell little man we’ll be back in a week or two. We got some bad weather coming in but it’s supposed to pass before we get back," I called out, patting Maverick on the shoulder.

"I’m gonna get out of here. Love you," I waved at the screen, pushing up off the floor.

Maverick grunted his acknowledgment, too focused on arguing with my sister about another animal she wanted to bring home.

I pulled my sleeves down and turned toward the hallway, only to slam face first into someone.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I gasped, rubbing my nose.

Two gloves hands held my waist, steadying me. Deep brown eyes stared back at me, framed by the black fabric of his mask.

My stomach sank.

I knew those eyes.

I shook my head, blinking rapidly. That was insane.

Not just insane, impossible.

I didn’t know those eyes.

The longer I stood there, caught in that stare, the harder it became to breathe properly. A sharp ringing in my ears blocked out the sounds around us.

"You alright?" Ghost asked.

I forced a quick nod. "Yeah. Fine."

His grip loosened almost immediately, like he realized he was holding on too long. I pushed past him before I could embarrass myself further, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.

When we pushed into the barracks, the first thing I heard was Ethan’s voice, complaining.

"There's no fucking coffee," he announced from his bunk, sprawled out like a man on death row. "None. Not a bean in sight. Just goddamn tea."

I snorted, grateful for the break in tension.

"You're on a British base, dumbass," I said, tossing my hoodie onto the end of my bed.

Below me, Ghost sat down on his own mattress, not saying a word.

I stretched out on the thin mattress, staring up at the ceiling and letting Ethan's endless complaining rattle around the room. I squeezed my eyes shut, rolling onto my side and pressing my face into the scratchy pillow, trying to force the unease to drain out of me.

It was nothing. It had to be nothing.

Still, long after Ethan had gone quiet, I laid there wide awake, haunted by the feeling.

[quillcraftconquer]

I feel like one of them has those terrible nautical stars and it is definitely coloured in wrong.

Humour me, what're the T141's 'embarrassing tattoos'

[quillcraftconquer]

Humour me, what're the T141's 'embarrassing tattoos'

[quillcraftconquer]