#haha oops

[loubella77]

I’m gonna do it. I swear. I’m gonna

[amateur-weatherman]

[jingsyuans]

Hiya, saw that you're taking requests for Jing Yuan :3

I've read through a few of your fics and absolutely love the way you portray him <3

So I wanted to ask if you could write something with him where the reader is struggling with insomnia due to either nightmares or stress overload? (preferably sfw with fluff overload ples :3)

If you're not comfortable with that or don't get an image in your head is totally cool and u can ignore this, have a cookie for your troubles and great work 🍪

a/n: you’ll actually find there’s little I’m not comfortable with, anon! This turned out longer than I thought, I’m still in the stage with Jing Yuan where everything rambles on into a full story because I like him so much and my muse is strong HAHA

Themes: oneshot, prior to any relationship, late night vulnerability and Jing Yuan being smitten. Unedited.

⚝──⭒─Jing Yuan ; 3am ─⭒──⚝

Jing Yuan was no stranger to stress and sleepless nights. It comes with the job, fortunately or unfortunately. He has no trouble falling asleep- he’s proven that quite enough with how he dozes off at inopportune times. His problem is more along the lines of having too much to do at night so it keeps him busy.

He isn’t sure what your version of sleepless nights looks like. He knows that you have them- he can tell from the drag in your step and the heaviness of your eyelids. He also knows that there might be several factors as to why you haven’t been getting much sleep lately, the sudden jumpy nature you have while at work is proof of that. But how to approach the subject? That’s something that requires some thought.

Your relationship was almost nothing outside of a work environment. Jing Yuan had made the steps to possibly progress it further, but his process was always step by step and rather methodical. Which, to put it simply, means that he’s rather slow. He doesn’t like to rush into things. You’ve taken his interest and he doesn’t want that interest to run out, so he ever so gently coaxes new information out of you every so often as to satiate his interest but still keep him hungry for more.

Your change in behavior as of recently presents on opportunity for the two of you to grow closer. Presents an opportunity for Jing Yuan to show he cares about you more than just a subordinate, but doesn’t hint at anything too excessive. A gentle nudge is what it is.

So he takes his opportunity once the two of you are alone in the Seat of Divine Foresight. Some would call it his office, which he supposes it is, but the room is too open and broad with Knights, secretaries, and officers always moving around inside and out. Really, the Divine Foresight is too public in a lot of ways.

But people must go home eventually to retire for the evening, and you usually leave with the crowd. But these past few nights you’ve been keeping him silent company in the large office, scribbling away at papers and clearly keeping yourself busy with things that could be done the next day. So it’s on one of these evenings that you share with him yet again that Jing Yuan decides to retire early. Early for him, anyhow.

He wraps up messily- his desk is always full so he never bothers to clear it off, leaving scrolls open and scattered. He at least has the decency to cap his inkwell to make sure it doesn’t spill, but that’s about all before he’s silently walking down the steps where his desk is and heading for you.

You don’t notice him hovering from behind. Your hand is in your hair, slightly tugging on the strands as you tap your pen endlessly on the desk. Clearly, you’re reaching a dead end. But you’re making no signs to stop your work just yet.

He’s careful, but perhaps not very thoughtful as he places a hand on your shoulder and watches as you jump. The smile is already on his face by the time you turn around, eyes wide open before seeing it was merely your general.

“Evening, ___,” he says your name carefully. It isn’t often that it’s after hours and there’s barely anyone around so he can drop the formalities. “Why don’t you wrap up here? It’s late, as I’m sure that you’re aware.”

“Ah, yes, general,” your eyes don’t meet his for long before you’re looking back to your desk, lips pursed. He doesn’t mind that you don’t reciprocate his casualties— clearly you have more prominent things on your mind. “Yes, it’s late. But I’ve still got work to do, so-“

Without asking- because in all honesty he doesn’t really need to, he’s your boss- Jing Yuan picks up the scrolls you were staring holes into. You splutter and hold up a hand to try and stop him, but freeze when he reads the work aloud.

“Curfew laws, scuffles with civilians, signing off on trade and market…” All rather unimportant affairs that don’t justify you staying late. He looks down at you and doesn’t say anything more, and by the way you sigh and look to the ground, he knows his point is proven. Putting the scrolls back down on the desk, his touch returns to your shoulder with a squeeze before he brings his hands behind his back. “I’ll lead you out.”

Jing Yuan at least lets you wrap up by yourself, gathering your coat and other things that you’ve been bringing with you to work for your late nights. He stands by the large doors until you’re ready, and when you begin to walk toward him, expression bitter, he chuckles aloud and opens the door for you.

“Thanks, general… I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” you mumble tiredly when the two of you exit the Divine Foresight, already heading off to the sky jetty where a Knight stands ready to take the both of you back. Jing Yuan doesn’t say anything as he follows behind you, letting you slowly clue yourself in. You give him a strange look once you notice he’s not heading back to the Divine Foresight. “It’s still rather early for you, general. You’re already headed home?”

The Knight boards the jetty and opens the sliding doors for you to enter, Jing Yuan sitting down inside first as you continue to hesitate and stare at him from outside.

“I’m not headed home just yet,” he tells you, answer vague and surely frustrating from the face you make at him. His smile just grows wider as he pats the seat next to him. “Come on, then. You shouldn’t make your general wait.”

That at least spurs you into action, your bag in your hands moving to your lap as you make yourself comfortable in the jetty beside him. The airship takes off in a smooth movement, and the trip is silent as it brings you back to the Exalting Sanctum. There’s a few times that your eyes flit over to Jing Yuan during the ride; each time he’s already looking at you and you quickly look away, posture tense.

Once the jetty pulls into the drop off spot, you basically jump out of your seat to get out first. Jing Yuan isn’t sure if it’s because you couldn’t wait to get away from him, or you were still being uptight because of the fact he’s your general and you didn’t want to make him wait since he was in the seat away from the door. Either way, he laughs at you.

“You know, from the way you’re acting I would say you don’t like me very much. But surely that isn’t true.” Jing Yuan cannot help but tease, continuing to stick to you like glue as you both walk away from the jetty’s drop off.

Your jumpiness that he observed before still proves true as you jolt at his accusation and shake your head, eyebrows tensely drawn. “No, you know that’s not it, general! Sorry- I… just wasn’t ready to go home yet.” Your shoulders sink with your sigh.

Beside you, Jing Yuan hums. “Understandable. But you don’t have to go home yet, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Looking at him, you purse your lips again. “I’m not going to just mill around aimlessly at this hour. I don’t need the Knights thinking I’m some suspicious figure and then I have to deal with the report at work.”

Jing Yuan laughs, quirking his brow at you. “That’s not what I’m suggesting, but it’s amusing to see where your mind goes. No, instead of stirring up more trouble for yourself tomorrow, I was thinking of dinner.”

“Dinner?”

You don’t realize where Jing Yuan has led you during your short conversation until you’re already there, the late night restaurant catching your eye with its lights still buzzing. The lanterns for dining are still on as well, dimmed with the late hour and reflecting red across your skin and dancing across your eyes as you look back at him.

It feels like a piece of you is slowly crawling back as you smile at him, laughing discreetly through your nose. “You’re not asking me out, are you general?”

Jing Yuan leads you to a seat, pulling it out for you with his own eyes gleaming with mirth. “Depends on how you look at it,” he comments, and once you’re seated he pats your shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I’ll order for the both of us. I skipped lunch this afternoon in order to go to a board meeting and I’ve never regretted something so immensely.”

Another piece molds back into place as you outright laugh at him and relax into the chair. “Alright, go ahead. I still remember when the rumors were going around about you eating pounds of exotic meat all by yourself, and now I’m wondering if they’re true.”

“The Gluttonous General,” he recalls, “yes, I remember that. I’ll leave it up to you and your own judgement, but I should remind you I have a two hundred pound cat, if that sheds any light on anything.”

“Oh, Mimi! How’s she doing?”

Jing Yuan smiles and startles you when he taps your nose, teasing as ever. “I’ll tell you once I’ve ordered.” He watches as you blush, visible or not it’s clear as day that you’re flustered and it’s his turn to laugh at you, albeit not unkindly.

Ordering is a quick affair. He’s already thought this evening through and knows exactly what he wants. Taking you out to eat isn’t exactly new to him either; there’d been a few times in the long years you’ve worked for Jing Yuan that you’d both have lunch together. Sometimes there’d be a third or fourth party, and sometimes it was just the two of you. From those times, though, he’s learned your tastes and has a fair amount of confidence as he orders your plate.

He comes back with a tray of brewed tea in hand. You look a little surprised that he’s carrying it himself, which he explains once he’s sat down across from you and places the tea on the table.

“I didn’t want to wait.”

The way you giggle at him is downright adorable, but he keeps such thoughts to himself as he pours your cup first and then his own. You hesitate before taking the cup he’s offered, and he shakes his head.

“It’s not caffeinated, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Your shoulders sink and you’re clearly disappointed, lifting up the cup to drink anyway. “Sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t want to contribute to your long nights more than I already have. Someone has to look after you.” He mutters that last part, perhaps revealing more than he should and how he feels- but he forgets that you’ve been sleeping horribly so you barely catch wind of his implications. The expression on your face is reserved, clearly a facade as you clear your throat.

“No, that makes sense. Thank you, general, I-“

“You know, it’s long past office hours.” Jing Yuan can’t help but interrupt you this once, bringing the steaming cup of tea up to his lips and blowing softly before he lifts his gaze to you. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t address me by rank. I understand the need to keep yourself at a distance, but there’s no harm in opening up at this moment and letting us speak as two individuals rather than subordinate and general.” He smiles once he’s finished. “It would make me happy to talk to you without those restrictions.”

Again, maybe he’s stating too much. But Jing Yuan has observed a lot in his time and he recognizes that there’s certain moments that call for vulnerability in order to show a favorable outcome. Of course, vulnerability is a tricky thing, which is why he’s normally so hesitant. There’s no honest way to predict emotions like there is fact and logic, so predicting how you might feel to his vulnerability is like taking a shot in the dark.

But in an odd way, Jing Yuan trusts you, and you haven’t proved him wrong to trust you just yet. Especially not when you finally open to him like a flower that hasn’t yet bloomed, your expression loosening and no longer trying to hide like before. It’s a beautiful process to watch.

“I can understand that… Jing Yuan,” you’re shy as you say his name, but your smile overrules that. You try to hide it by taking another sip of your tea, but he sees the edges of your lips upturned and the crinkle in your eyes and he counts himself as satisfied. “I guess I never realized how holding titles can keep the atmosphere stiff.”

“It’s subtle,” he nods along. “But I believe it’s there. Anyhow, you wanted to know how Mimi is doing?”

Your eyes light up, and he’s caught you- hook, line, and sinker. Your conversation becomes a lot less filtered and a lot more genuine as the night continues to tick by, becoming later and later and yet earlier and earlier, depending how you looked at the clock. The food comes by and he knows he made the right choice in your order- just like him, you essentially ravage your plate. That in itself is something not a lot of people get to see- at one point Jing Yuan scoops up some food with his hands and you catch it instantly, your eyes shining with the knowledge as you make eye contact and yet saying nothing at all as he licks his fingers clean.

He wouldn’t dare to be so untidy and messy around anyone else, but it’s all part of the process to show you that you’re unique to him. Around you, he does a lot of things he wouldn’t normally do around others. You’ll come to realize this and what it really means as more time goes on.

It’s once your meals are finished and you’ve got a fresh pot of tea as a palette cleanser that he strikes again, true intentions for tonight coming to light.

“So, my dear ___, tell me. What is it that’s keeping you in the Divine Foresight so late?”

At this point, you’ve relaxed considerably. The possibility of opening up to him has increased dramatically, and Jing Yuan knows you’re about to tell him by the way your demeanor shifts. You’re finally letting yourself look as tired as you feel by just the question alone and knowing you were about to answer it.

“It’s hard to talk about,” you start slowly. “But I guess it’s because I’m trying to keep myself busy.”

Jing Yuan nods along, helping you ever so slightly. “Because you don’t want to go home. And why is that?”

“Um… well, if I have to go home, I have to go to bed eventually. And… I can’t go to bed. I can’t sleep.” Your lips twitch as silence washes over the two of you. He doesn’t want to interrupt you this time, instead offering you the silence so you can gather your thoughts and how you want to communicate them to him. It’s a careful process. “Sometimes it’s just a product of my own design. I stimulate myself too much before bed with work or other things, and it keeps my head awake. Other times, it’s… a lot of nightmares.” You finally let the problem slip, eyes drifting down to your teacup as you smooth your fingers over the rim. “I’ve thought about getting things to help, but… mm.”

Jing Yuan takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding once to show his understanding. “I see. Nightmares are tricky things. And you’re right, I’m sure you’re already aware of the ways you can try and make them disappear, but… it’s a different story if you don’t want them to.”

Your eyes flit up to his, an inch of surprise on your face that he merely smiles at, his eyes soft.

“I’m no stranger to nightmares either. It can be easy to convince yourself that you deserve them. That you need them in order to remember what you don’t want to remember. What you feel guilty over, responsible over, fearful over.” Jing Yuan takes another sip of his tea, letting the flavor sink into his tongue before he swallows. “I have a lot of fears myself. A lot of troubles that could haunt me if I let them. I understand the frustration that you might be facing.”

Setting the cup down, he inches forward into the table just a little bit. “Perhaps this is unwarranted, but may I offer you some advice?”

You seem surprised. Still, you nod, allowing him to continue with interest painted across your features. He notices how you’ve inched along your own seat and says nothing.

“We live long life spans, longer than what was ever intended. With that comes a lot more burdensome and troubling memories than maybe we were designed to handle. It’s natural to have your mind caught up in the excess every so often, considering the circumstances.” His tone is gentle and unwavering as he speaks. “My advice to you is to not be a stranger. I may not know exactly what your nightmares are about, but I can see how they’re affecting you. Do not forget the life in front of you now, the ground you walk, the people you see.” His eyes wander as he talks, to the overhead lanterns that create a soft ambiance to the small creek that lined the Exalting Sanctum and split the land with bridges. “There are a lot of wonderful things waiting for you. Always, day to day. It might not cure your heartache, but that was never the intention. It’s not always about the cure, the end all, erasing it from existence. It’s about nurturing it, forgiving it, loving it, and making peace with it.” Jing Yuan looks back to you, tapping the surface of the table with his fingers. “As long as we are living and breathing and trying to make our way in this universe, I believe it’s our duty to keep an open mind to our pain and know that it’s not always a bad thing to bear as long as you understand the cause, the purpose, and the meaning behind it.”

The silence that follows is long and thoughtful, at least from his own perspective. There’s a chill of wind that blows by, the creek continues to babble, and you look at Jing Yuan like you’re putting together your own puzzle pieces for him just like he is for you.

“Yanqing is right,” you finally speak up after some time. “You speak in a lot of riddles and nonsense, Jing Yuan.”

His eyes widen at your comment, at first too surprised to do anything except state. But then he cannot help the way his head throws back, laughing a little too loud for this time of night. You laugh along with him, eyes squinting with mirth and teeth showing through your smile.

“But still, with that being said,” you continue after the first wave of his laughter has subsided, “I appreciate you a lot. Though what you’ve said doesn’t make sense to me quite yet… I think your actions speak louder than your words.” You hum as you look down at the table with empty plates and tea saucers, laughing to yourself as if it were funny. “Thank you for taking me out tonight. Thank you for noticing. It’s kind of you, Jing Yuan.”

“Well, I’m happy I’ve at least done something right tonight,” he says, scooting out his chair. You look a little surprised before you move to do the same thing, standing up with him as you take your tea cup and finish what was left. “Let me escort you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” of course, to be polite, you refuse. Just as he knew you would. So he sighs in defeat.

“Alright,” he says. “I suppose I’ll just walk right behind you and be the suspicious figure you have to file a report for tomorrow.”

Jing Yuan thrills in the way you practically squawk with laughter, and just like that he’s walking beside you away from the restaurant, bill being paid for a long time ago. “You really don’t give me a choice then!”

“Mm,” his eye crinkles. “No, not really.”

“At least you’re honest about it.”

“I’m always honest.”

You laugh at him again, rolling your eyes without even trying to hide it from him. “Sure, general.”

The rest of the walk is filled with just as spirited chatter. It’s refreshing to Jing Yuan- while its true that he tends to prefer a mutual, comforting silence, it doesn’t mean he cannot enjoy the moment. He greatly enjoys it- seeing you become so unfiltered around him makes him hopeful and happy, though he tries not to show just how much. By the time the two of you arrive at your home, things finally quiet, and you thank him genuinely as you stop in front of your door.

“There’s no need,” he waves off your thanks easily with a smile. “It was a pleasure to be with you tonight. And I hope you know that while we cannot do it every night, I will always be open to the idea of doing it again.” He hums before continuing, smile dropping a fraction. “And I hope you know I don’t mind your late nights. It’s been nice having the company, but it would be better if I knew it wasn’t at your own expense. Take care of yourself, ___.”

He seems to tie your tongue completely, because you merely stare at him in response. Not that Jing Yuan minds- he always likes when your eyes are on him, especially like this- when you look so soft and precious that you could break without proper care.

He wants to take care of you, he does. But he’ll try his best to reveal that to you along with everything else later on.

“Thank you, Jing Yuan,” your voice is soft once it manages to leave your throat. “I… well. I-“ you seem to be holding something back, expression debating before you visibly steel yourself.

And then, beyond all his expectations and planning, you take a step toward him and wrap your arms around him, closing the space between you. What’s unfair is that you don’t even give him any time to recover from his surprise, don’t give him the time to reciprocate and hold you tenderly and take notice to how your body feels against his-

Because as soon as you came, you’re gone. Face flushed adorably as you avoid his eyes and move toward your door, muttering a wish of goodnight to him. And then he’s suddenly all alone in the chill of night, staring at your front door.

Once Jing Yuan recovers, he can’t find it in himself to even be disappointed. No. No, he can only smile, perhaps he is even beaming as he slowly walks away from your door and back to the station of jetties so he can head home himself. But he’s not so sure he’ll rest all that well tonight, not when his mind is busy going over the night with you. He thinks about everything you said and the opportunities birthed from your honesty. But of course, more than any of that, he’s thinking about what else he’ll have to do to get you to surprise him again. If all it takes is a little vulnerability,

Than Jing Yuan thinks it’s worth it to be vulnerable with you.

[danibee33]

i gotta go.

[raevulsix]

Which bad batcher is your favorite to draw? Doesn’t have to be your fave character or the one you draw the most btw.

Here’s a WIP of these two, they are my favorites! (:

[stelar-time]

Rewatching Scissor Seven was a mistake

[ruelin024]

as a simp, I humbly request nightmare in your style (only if your comfortable) because damn your art is good.

@superbfirnacho My fellow certified simp, I've received your humble request. Now I shall serve you some drawings of Grandpapi Goopy Nootnoot. 🤭

*cough-cough* I dunno what art style I have, I'm inconsistent.

(There's also a suggestive one in there, yeah. (¬‿¬)

I also make drawing for your Main OC, Ivy. ヾ(•ω•`)o ✨💕

[fly-the-pattern]

[olmoonlight]

🤣 I got rid of my ex 🤣

funny scene 😂

[toasty-broski]

I’m finally okay with admitting this and I don’t care about the backlash this might get but I’m being so serious when I say that Castiel does nothing for me. He was good in seasons 4/5. Tolerable at best in seasons 6/7. They really amped up his storyline in season 8 but to be honest I cared more about Sam and Dean (obviously) than anything, and by the end of the season he just annoyed me. Season 9 was the confirmation I needed that I just did not like him 💀. He’s more annoying to me than likable and that just takes me out of the show a little bit and why I (sometimes) skip some parts that he’s in. (Like the whole storyline of him sleeping with the possessed angel woman while he was homeless, that just gave me weird vibes LMAO)(to be fair he didn’t know but it was just so fucking WEIRD).

I have a list of reasons why I don’t like him and why I probably never will but oh well.

[whereifindsanity]

Merry Christmas 🎅

[danibee33]

Part III of undercover!Ghost 🩶

ghost x reader (callsign: Hela)

word count : 4.7k

>>> [PT 1] [PT2]

You aren’t avoiding Ghost. Not really..

Ok, maybe you are.

The week since the undercover mission had been busier than usual, so it’s not like you don’t have an excuse for your absence- you did have other duties and responsibilities to attend to collaterally to the one-four-one. But were you using said collaterals to possibly steer clear of a certain person..? Well, that’s not important.

“Been awhile, lil’ LT..”

You return Soap’s grin, looking up at him as you both take tentative steps- him reaching out first, and you deflecting,

“D’ya miss me that much, sergeant?” You say, eyes skimming his form, looking for any weakness in it, waiting for the right opening.

It wasn’t a planned meet up, you just needed something to do- you’ve been so restless lately, like no matter what you do, it’s never quite enough to stem the relentless flow of thoughts. Which is how you found yourself on the sparring mats opposite the equally restless man at such an ungodly hour.

“Always miss ye, hen..” Soap grunts just before lunging for you, attempting to swipe your leg but inadvertently opening himself up for you to get your arms and legs wrapped around torso- using your body weight to bring him to his knees,

“Steamin’ Jesus, lil LT- worse than a fuckin’-”

Whatever insults he might’ve tried to spew are cut off when you suddenly readjust, but he recovers quicker than you expect- lifting up and bringing you along with him,

“If ye wanted to cuddle, ye could’a just said so..” Soap says, that flirty little lilt at the edge of his words, the same one you’ve heard him use at the bar a hundred times now. And the lopsided smirk on his lips is all too familiar as he tightens his grip around your waist–

God, he’s such a fuckboy…

With a breathless groan, you switch your hold again, crossing your arm over his face in order to put distance between you while still keeping him mostly trapped,

“Shut it, MacTavish. I’m still winning, aren’t I?”

You go back and forth like this until you’re both struggling to breathe and your muscles begin to quiver with fatigue- throwing jokes and jabs easily. It had always been effortless to talk with Soap, banter with him came naturally, but you think it’s only because you two are alike in that way. Never at a loss for words to fill a silence.

And by the time you’re both thoroughly exhausted, all sweat and panting breaths as you stick uncomfortably to the mat, does he roll to his feet, brushing his hair back in the same motion,

“Always a pleasure, ma’am.” He grins, dwarfing your hand in his own as he tugs you up, “And we’re, uh, we’re goin’ out tomorrow night- or well, tonight, I s’pose.” he fumbles over his words in that adorable way he does sometimes, like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher, “If ye’d like to come.. I can have LT text ye the details.”

At the mention of Simon, you feel the very tips of your ears begin to burn. The sergeant’s prompt too quickly bringing back all the thoughts and memories you had been trying to purge yourself of by coming here,

“Um.. Sure. No promises, though. It’s been busy, ya know..” You say, fighting to keep your tone flippant and casual- but John MacTavish is more keen than you might have given him credit for.

He walks by your side out of the gym, obviously searching for the right way to bring it up, until finally it’s almost like you can feel his own curiosity win over his better judgment,

“Ma’am.. Did somethin’ happen? On the last mission?” The next few seconds are filled with him trying, and somewhat failing but it’s amusing nonetheless, to explain why he’s asking- mostly due to your unusual absences since returning that night. The way you’ve been avoiding the entire team in favor of doing paperwork in your office-

Which you never did because you said you hated being back there on your own.

No, you always preferred to take care of those things in the common spaces, where the chances of having company were always high.

“Was it seein’ LT’s mug? I ken that’s always a bit of a shock for first timers, but-”

“What?” You interject, eyebrows raised in surprise, “No.. no, it has nothing to do with that..”

Well, that’s also not entirely true, is it? But you don’t think it’s for the reasons Soap’s imagining.. It’s more about the fact that everytime you even catch a glimpse of the giant man, you’re reminded of how handsome he was on his knees in front of you, how big his hands felt over your thighs, how his tongue-

“Well, just think ‘bout joinin’ us, won’t ye?”

The sheer amount of hope in Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your reverie, replacing the memory of amber eyes with bright cerulean ones, and that signature fucking smirk,

“Fine! Just chill out with the puppy dog eyes, MacTavish.. Begging like a damn dog.” You concede, waving him away and turning toward your hall without waiting for his reaction. But he doesn’t let you get far before you hear his chuckle, husky and chocked full of guile, bounce off the concrete walls,

“Woof, woof, lil LT..”

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

He doesn’t like being unfamiliar with his surroundings, because he spends too much fucking time being unfamiliar in nearly every surrounding he’s sent to. He doesn’t like leaving things up to chance, doesn’t like how much more stress accumulates around his shoulders and neck- it annoys him, the ache.

But Johnny and Gaz had just been so damn adamant about trying out a new pub. One on the opposite end of town, and he can admit it’s nicer than their usual hole in the wall, but still.

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

Well, that was until he caught sight of you. And then he found himself slightly more drawn to the low lighting that danced over your skin, the way it glowed in your eyes as your survey the bar-

“Hel’s ‘ere?” He asks, downing the last nip of bourbon in his cup.

Johnny’s head whips up then, spotting you in an instant- and there’s something about his response that causes Simon’s gaze to narrow at the shorter man. It’s too… giddy, too reverent for his liking.

“Aye! Invited her the other night.”

That ache in his neck returns but somehow significantly worse.

The other night? You had been with Johnny the other night? When this entire fucking week he hadn’t been able to get three fucking seconds alone with you-

Ok, no, he hadn’t worked up to trying to just call or text, that felt too impersonal. He was shit at all that anyway, he needs to see your body language, needs to analyze all the little expressions that give away so much more than words do. But you had somehow found a way to beat him at his own game. You turned into a ghost, only ever catching your silhouette from the corner of his eye, hearing your voice but never being quick enough to be within a few meters of you.

And possibly the worst was when he would enter a room you had been recently in, the smell of you permeating the air, causing his heart to stutter just so with every deep breath.

Fucking hell..

But here you are. And at Johnny’s request, no less.

Ghost despises new places.

Yet, he does think he could learn to like the overly enthusiastic beat of the music when he sees your hips sway to the rhythm as you wait for your drink. You’re in tight jeans and a black leather jacket that fits your figure like a goddamn glove- and he swears he can feel the silk of your skin by just memory alone, the curves of your body already etched into his mind.

“Gonna get a refill.” He grunts, already walking away from the table with the empty glass in hand.

The sound of a cup being sat on the bartop snaps you back to the present, followed by a heady rush of chills when you hear the baritone of Simon’s voice far closer to your ear than you expect,

“So, she lives.”

You let out a small breath, turning to find the burly breadth of his chest taking up nearly your entire field of view- clad in black from head to toe, which doesn’t surprise you one bit, but it’s not his usual hoodie and jacket. No, this time he’s in a black henley that fits more like a second skin, the fabric deliciously stretched over his pecs and shoulders, the top button left open to give you just a peek at the silver chain glinting underneath and… is that a tattoo?

“She does..” You say, meeting his eyes.

And you really should know better, with too many of your nights haunted by the deep amber of his irises- but the instant it happens, it���s like you’re back in that damned office all over again. The music grows faint, and the people around you turn into little more than blurs at the edge of your vision. He’s all you can feel, the heat of him, the intensity behind his gaze, the way his head tilts softly to the side, studying you as if he might be recommitting your features to memory- not that he needs to.

Because you’ve haunted him just as much. You’ve been the bane of his existence this last week, and somehow the only thing he can see when he shuts his eyes. The sole focus of his loathing and his desire-

“Ma’am, your whiskey sour-” The bartender announces from behind you, effectively breaking the spell you’ve been so wrapped up in right before you hear another small clink, “and a bourbon, neat.”

Without hesitation, Simon leans closer, big arm reaching around you to pull his glass from the bartop and the black surgical mask covering his mouth and nose down in the same motion. He keeps that same heavy gaze on you, your own eyes growing wider at the sight of his face, his crooked nose and scarred lip. You watch him take a short sip, but just as quick as it happened, his mask is back in place, and he’s stepping back,

“C’mon. Table’s over ‘ere.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt whiplash quite like seeing Ghost turn his back on you, easily carving a path through the patrons that fill the space-

But you are damn sure the infuriating Brit isn’t going to get the last word in this.

Ghost can feel your stare, feel how it’s directed right at the back of his skull. A perfect kill shot if he were a betting man. But he can also hear the quiet click of your boots following after him, the tightness in his jeans growing more noticeable with every step-

Fuck.

“Lil’ LT! Glad ye’ could make it out!” Johnny shouts over the crowd, blue eyes cast in mischief and that open sort of admiration that Ghost is sure the man couldn’t hide even if he tried.

You round the table, looking up at the Scot with a devastating smile on your lips before nudging his shoulder with your own,

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure your ego wasn’t too damaged after kicking your ass this morning, sergeant.”

“Ach! -”

Ghost can hear Johnny sputtering on and on in that terrible mashup of English and Scottish slang that’s always grated on the lieutenant’s ears- but whatever he’s saying doesn’t quite register. Instead, he can only really hear the way your laugh brightens the dim room, see the way your head tips back as you take another sip of your drink.

And it’s only then he realizes that he just wishes you would look at him like that. Wishes that he could draw the melodious sound from you, that he could be the reason you smile so brightly-

“Well, well, well-” the group looks over to see Gaz and Price meandering through the throng of bodies, the younger man with outstretched arms, “Hela! Thought you’d up and left our sorry arses!”

All Simon can do is grit his teeth as Gaz embraces you in a quick side hug, Price close behind with a warm grin even on his bearded face,

“And miss out on all the fun? You know me better than that, Garrick.” You say, raising your glass to the Captain in greeting.

So, no, Ghost doesn’t like new places.

But he can’t deny that as the next hour passes he’s smiled more than a few times at his team’s antics. And he certainly can’t say that he hasn’t missed the way you bring them all a little closer, your bubbly brand of forwardness allowing them to each get out of their heads, even if just for a little while.

“What’s this about you handin’ MacTavish's arse to him?” Price’s voice booms over the music, which has only seemed to get louder the later it gets-

Ghost watches you down the rest of your whiskey sour without so much as a flinch, your cheeks flushed such a pretty pink from the alcohol,

“I mean, is that really a surprise?” You shoot back, the man in question all but slamming his glass down on the table in rebuttal-

“Ooh- yer arse is oot the windae! I want a rematch!” Johnny’s words slur together just enough to give away how good he’s really feeling, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “Watcha say, lil LT? And this time we’ll have a proper judge, right Cap? No cheatin’-”

It really isn’t fair how you lean into him as you chuckle, that ache in Simon’s neck creeping up again at the sight.

Christ alive, why can’t he just get it together? Why does he care? You’ve never been one to shy away from physical touch… but fuck all if it doesn’t eat at him.

“Oi, who wants another round?” Gaz, thankfully interjects, drawing everyone’s attention with a collective and resounding sound off.

The others waltz away through the crowd in the direction of the bar, everyone but you- standing across from Ghost at the table, toying with the toothpick in your glass,

"Late night spar, huh?" You don't miss the added gruffness in his tone, or the fact that he refuses to look at you now, staring somewhere over your head.

And if you were a better woman, you wouldn't feel the need to play into his offputting display of jealousy- but you're you after all.. and he's Ghost. So, you give a little hum before plucking the tiny skewer from your cup,

"Couldn't sleep.." You shrug, looking up at him under you lashes, his eyes already on the maraschino cherry that drips down your fingers, "Figured I'd do something a little more productive since I was up anyway-"

Simon tracks your hand, falling right into your terrible little game as you bring the fruit to your lips- it's tooth achingly sweet when you finally bite into it, mixed with the burn of whiskey. And it's when the juice runs down your chin that you meet his gaze, swiping up the liquid on your thumb, he watches with a severity that sends a dangerous chill up your spine- not even daring to blink as you suck the digit clean.

You know he's keenly aware of exactly what you're doing, but that doesn't stop the lust and satisfaction from rushing through you at his deep growl- those coppery eyes darker than you've ever seen.

All too innocently, you flash him a smile, "I think I'll have one more.. you want anything, sir?"

Ghost thinks he can feel the crystal glass in his hand begin to splinter under his grip, unable to tear his eyes away from the red stain on your lips- it's enough to drive him mad.

He gives you a curt shake of his head, knowing that if he had another drink, he might lose whatever vague sense of self-control he's clinging onto so precariously.

And instead of watching you walk away, he turns toward the pool tables, needing something to do with his hands- because if he clenched them any fucking tighter he think he might draw blood with the way his blunt nails dig into his calloused palm.

Without waiting for the others, he racks the balls before picking up a cue stick and breaking the formation- moving around the table just as Johnny sidles up to him,

"Did’nae take ye for a billiards guy, LT.." He says, quickly working to chalk up his own cue.

Gaz and Price follow soon after, eager to join in on teams- and it works, for a short time anyway to distract him. If he can just stay focused on making each shot, then he won't have time to think about you. But, that's a rather silly notion, isn't it? Because sure enough, just as he leans in to take a shot, he spots you bump elbows with his Scottish counterpart.

"Here to give me some good luck, lil LT?" Johnny looks down at you with a lopsided grin, both hands wrapped around the cue stick as he leans on it.

You take a slow sip of your drink, just enough time to glance at Simon- sleeves now pulled up to expose the thickly corded muscles of his forearms and the faded black ball cap on his head turned backwards. He's calculated in his shot, efficiently knocking a striped ball into the nearest pocket-

"I don't think you want any of my luck, sergeant.." You drawl, eyes flitting up to see his deep blue ones already on you, "Can't say I have the best track record when it comes to that."

Soap's chuckle is warm and laced with silk in your ears, watching him copy his superior's movements, finessing his own cue to score a bankshot. Gaz is next, followed by Price, and you follow them ardently, moving around the table as they go until it's back to Ghost-

"Aye, LT-" Johnny calls, "Why don't you show Hela how to do a jump.."

You've managed to get close enough to the towering man now that he has to look down at you before glaring back at his sergeant,

"'m sure she can figure it out on 'er own, Johnny."

"I've actually never really played." You say before your better judgment can stop your mouth from moving- maybe you have had a little much to drink.

And the way Simon's jaw clenches, having taken off his mask as the other patrons slowly dispersed, makes your core tighten- biting the fleshy inside of your cheek between your teeth. You shouldn't push it. You’ve done enough of that already, haven’t you?

Yet, in one swift motion, Simon's hand is on your hip, the other taking the half-empty cup from your grasp before positioning your body in front of his. It isn't exactly gentle, there's a roughness to his movements that put you on edge, a stiffness in his voice that only stokes the the fire in your belly,

"Hold it 'ere.." You take the stick in your hand, the wood still hot from his touch, "and 'ere."

When you grab it this time, he covers your hand, easily repositioning it further down- "Like that."

Very suddenly, you're regretting putting yourself in this situation, so swept up in the feeling of Simon all but dwarfing you, his proximity far more intoxicating than any of the alcohol you've consumed tonight, that you don't notice the sly smirk on Gaz's face- nor the knowing looks shared between your teammates.

In your defense, Simon makes it hard to concentrate on much of anything with the way he slowly leans into you, urging you to bend forward- his hold light but still strong enough to make the slightest adjustments to your stance,

"Lift your elbow now." He mutters, his breath tickling over your exposed shoulder, your jacket left slung over the nearest chair. But it's his hand that catches you off guard, because unlike every other movement he's made with purpose and intention, a man simply doing a job; when he moves now, it's slow, his fingers grazing up your side before softly caressing the skin of your arm,

"Good."

You shift on your feet, your body feeling like it might combust at any moment, the one word spoken in his brassy accent threatening to unravel you on the spot.

The next few moments seem to pass in a blur, you feel him lean in just a bit closer, his left arm bracing over you on the edge of the table as his right hand lands right behind yours on the stick. Whatever he does after is more like a magic trick than logic, rushing the tip downward on the ball with enough force to nearly jerk you forward, but with enough finesse that the little sphere hops off the table- knocking what you assume was the intended target into its pocket.

It takes longer than you're proud of to recover, scrambling to put a bright smile on your face, moving when he does and hoping to whatever deities might exist that it's dark enough to hide the red hue of your cheeks,

"Look at that, a natural, ma'am!" Gaz shouts, clapping a wide palm over your back- and you try to force out a laugh, try to keep your eyes away from the dark form that's moved back towards the table now.

Away from you.

And you wish it didn't make your stomach twist, seeing him pull his mask back on and fixing his ballcap again so that the bill sits low over his eyes-

"Headin' out, Simon?" Price speaks up, an unlit cigar propped lazily between his lips now.

Simon gives his signature nod, which barely a perceptible gesture, but you're all used to it enough by now. The captain, already out past his bedtime, is happy to begin rounding up his own belongings as well, urging the sergeants to get it together and get to the truck,

"I call shotgun!" Soap calls over his shoulder, already barreling towards the exit, Garrick hot on his heels,

"Fuckin' hell.." Price grumbles, looking back at you, "Need a lift, love?"

"No, I'm good. See you tomorrow, Cap." You say, a tired smile reassuring him enough that you would get home-

And just like that, the once bustling pub is more like a ghost town when you step out into the crisp night air, watching the tail lights flicker away. You had gotten a taxi here, but you feel too wired to call for one now- your body felt like it was vibrating, still so lost in the fading memory of what happened inside. But maybe you were just imagining it.. maybe you had let those lines between reality and fantasy blur a little too close for comfort.

Simon climbed into the driver's seat, his hands hitting the steering wheel before ripping the hat and mask off and throwing them onto the dash-

"Fuck."

What was he thinking? He should have never given into it, never touched you the way he did, held you, gotten close enough to feel you against him again. Should have never fed the monster.

God-fucking-damn MacTavish and his annoying fucking antics, never knowing when to quit. Ever since the undercover mission, the man had been a hound with a scent. Testing and prodding and sticking his damned nose in places it didn't belong-

Simon loathes new places.

But there you are. Standing under the milky glow of the street lamp, your hands tangled in your hair and your cheeks puffed in frustration. And so fucking beautiful he can't stand it.

He should leave. He needs to go back to base, needs to take a shower so cold it hurts, needs to bury himself in work just like you did. He needs, he needs, he needs.

Yet, he doesn't do any of those things.

No, like the awful, depraved man he is, he steps out of the truck and makes a beeline right for you- which, looking back on it, might not have been the best course of action because the instant you see his hulking frame he watches how you go on the defensive. Your posture stiffening and your hand reaching for one of your many concealed weapons if he knows you like he thinks he does.

That's ok though, he imagines you could stab him right here in the parking lot and he wouldn't mind one bit. Hell, you could slit his throat and he would smile as he bled out at your feet.

Thankfully, you do neither of those things.

And as soon as you're within reach, he's got those big hands framing your face, crushing his lips to yours.

Shock is all you can register at first. Your mind and body flooded by adrenaline, ready for a fight when you initially saw the shadowed figure coming for you. But in those same few seconds, you recognized him, recognized every purpose driven stride, the steady sway of his shoulders-

Though him kissing you hadn't necessarily been on the list of things you had expected.

You're pulled to your tiptoes, and for a moment you think it might be a dream, the way he audibly groans when your lips begin to move against his. But he doesn't relent, and you don't want him to. So you lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as your muscles can catch up to your thoughts.

You feel his tongue gently glide over your bottom lip, a gentle urging for you to reciprocate- which you're more than happy to oblige. The kiss turning somehow more heated, sloppy even, something you had never experienced yet something that you never want to end.

But all too soon, he does pull away, his fingers threading through your hair, "I'm sorry-"

Again, hearing Simon Riley apologise was just not on the bingo card for tonight.

He presses his forehead to yours, your heavy breaths mingling with his, remnants of whiskey and bourbon filling your nostrils,

"Sorry?" You look up at him, eyebrows tightly knitted, "For what?"

"The mission.. I shouldn't have- I didn't-" --he stumbles over his words, scarred lips finally pulling into a grimace, "Hel, is it true?"

The way his gaze bores into you feels intimate, like he's trying to peel you apart, "Gonna have to be a little less vague there.. I'm smart, but I can't read minds."

Your breathy chuckle helps to ease the tension, if such a thing were possible with how close he still holds you,

"That you've never been with anyone, like that.."

Oh. GOD FUCKING DAMN YOU, MACTAVISH.

When you take a step back, he reluctantly lets you go, his expression faltering for a moment- and you hate it. Hate that you had possibly hurt him- but you just needed space to put it all together, to try to explain.

"Yes.." his face falls even more, and it's like you can feel the shame that radiates from him, your hands reaching for him on their own, fingers tangling into the fabric of his shirt, "But I wanted it.. I wanted.. you. I want you- jesus, fuck- I'm so bad at this."

"You didn't say anythin'.."

You shake your head, a laugh huffing through you as you look to the inky sky above, "Would it have changed anything?"

"I wouldn't have-"

"You wouldn't have done what you did? Why?"

That seems to stump him, his mouth opening and then closing, opening again, "You deserved more."

"Simon, just because I've never had sex doesn't mean I'm completely naive.." You initiate the kiss this time, mimicking the way he had held your face, pulling him closer, "I'm under no illusion that it's suppose to be this magical moment-"

He eagerly returns your kiss, an arm wrapping around your waist as you continue, "And, let's be honest, having 'The Ghost' on his knees was waaayy better than sex."

You feel his smile right before he bends down and hoists over his shoulder,

"Simon!"

But, your shrieks and giggles fall on deaf ears, hands smacking at his back in a lame attempt to wiggle free, "Mm.. no, no, keep screamin' my name, sweet girl. I like the way it sounds."

a/n: this one got away from me… but your honor, they’re down so bad for each other 😭 thank you for reading!!

[PT 4] (coming soon)

[transformednhappy]

You can’t keep the weight off forever.

[okiyukiyo]

pls be so fr right now

[amethyst-skiez]

Gonna be late to work cause I spent the morning making myself cum x4 instead of getting ready right away 🤪