thetravelingtyper

[thetravelingtyper]

Moment

Just different ideas (SGR X Reader)

Masterlist

Mellow notes haunt the dive, oaken floors scuffed from too much wear. Light streams clouds in the haze of smoke in your eyes, Johnny downs another whisky next to you, an arm sliding from around your shoulder as he leans back into the bar booth. The leather of the seat brushes your fingers as you adjust your position to prevent yourself from slumping over.

Kyle laughs something smooth, and it's rich down your spine as your captain raises a brow in surprise. Your hand lifts to the table, reaching for your glass, then there is a brush of gloved fingers against yours.

“Sorry, love,”

Comes quietly from your other side as Ghost reaches for his glass. You follow suit, and the burn of liquor settles your nerves as a jean-clad thigh rests against yours.

It was something you noticed recently, the space, or lack thereof, between you and your lieutenant. Recently, after missions, you would notice his presence on the sidelines or within sight. Upon your eyes meeting, he would give a nod and remain.

You cannot place when it first began, only that his silent presence was reassuring in some why.

The moment shifts when Johnny slides out of the booth to return to the bar. The notes shift to something more energetic, and he sways a bit to the beat on his way. You take the moment to move a little, giving Ghost some more space.

- As Johnny lingers at the bar, you see him flirting with the bartender, his laughter echoing in the room, and you sigh.

“We’re gonna head out.”

Kyle and John shuffle out of the booth, Kyle following his lead to grab their glasses and finish their drinks.

“Make sure you bring Johnny home, Simon.”

Your captain's voice is humored as you wave your goodbyes and watch them leave.

There is a moment of silence as you lean back into the booth, exhaustion nipping at your senses as the warmth of the alcohol settles your mind. You turn and watch Johnny for a moment.

“He’s gonna be late.”

It's less a question and more a sure statement as you watch the man try to put on a show, but he was failing miserably. You chuckle and turn back to your glass. You feel simon shift,

“You want some more space, LT?”

Your head turns to him, and you find his eyes on you intently,

“Simon is fine, Love.”

He says lowly, head tilting towards you.

“Sure.”

You are taken a little aback but decide not to linger on the formality. He goes to say something else, but a hand at your elbow startles you. You and Simon look to find that Johnny has returned.

“Come on, Love-” Johnny smiles at you, and you bite your lip in a laugh at the affection in his eyes. He pulls your arm gently, and you slide out of the booth to humor him, stepping forward into his space.

“Let's dance-” You roll your eyes, about to reply, before a voice rises behind you.

“Sergeant.” You feel Simon rise to his height behind you, and Johnny stands up straighter, his eyes looking behind you at Simon.

“Sir?” Johnny questions, confused, his senses buzzing as Simon gives him a look he cannot decipher at the moment. There is a slightly tense moment as you shift, a little confused and unsure, standing between the men. Johnny finally seems to understand something as a stupid grin lifts to his face, and he steps back from you.

“I'll head home, Love, we’ll save it for next time.”

You raise a brow,

“Should we get you home?”

Johnny looks between you and Simon before waving a hand nonchalantly.

“I can see myself home.”

He starts towards the door with a sudden urgency. You huff a laugh at his antics and leave him be as he heads into the night, making a mental note to shoot him a text to make sure he got back safely.

You watch the door for a moment before turning to face Simon. You find his eyes on you again. His eyes are warm, softer than normal in the lights of the bar. You watch him, something rising in your chest, and you take a small step back, but one of his hands raises to hover over your arm. You freeze, breath hitching in the moment, and the sounds seem to blur.

He murmurs something soft before his hand touches your arm. Your breathing resumes, and the sounds rush back in with the contact as your eyes dart down to where his hand rests on your arm, and then to his eyes. You exhale softly, tension in your body loosening.

SImon then takes a careful step forward into your space, eyes watching your, his other hand reaching to his face and puling off the surgical mask that he was wearing. You watch, shocked, tracing a scar on his lip that is revealed with your eyes before catching the upturning of his lips.

He watches you calmly, his hand lifting and tracing over your arm, then to your shoulder and neck. You can feel the warmth of his hands over you and swear he can sense your heartbeat because as his fingers settle near your ear and chin, he smiles, and it takes your breath away.

“Simon?”

You finally ask, leaning into his hand. Your hands seek his other as it lowers, mask still in hand. Your fingers grasp his hand in the glove. Taking the motion, he leans down and his forehead hovers over yours. The closeness is enough to set your heart running, but you give him a shy smile.

“Do you want to dance, Simon?”

You ask suddenly, and he chuckles, a rich sound that reverberates in your mind.

“Sure love.”

[thetravelingtyper]

Ideas - notes to self take 1

So I've been consuming a lot of media and music, how about some ideas for Simon?

“Icarus laughed as he fell.

Threw his head back and

yelled into the winds,

arms spread wide,

teeth bared to the world…”

From Rewriting Icarus by Fiona (@wearealsoboats)

“How the most dangerous thing is to love…”

Achilles Come Down - Gang of Youths

“Your Albatross, let it go, let it go,...”

Weight of Living Pt. 1 - Bastille

“Blindly the uncertain soul asks to continue

when it is the lives of others that will make that happen,

as you yourself are the mirror and image

of those who did not live as long as you

and others will be (and are) your immortality on earth.”

From Inscription on Any Tomb - Borges

[thetravelingtyper]

Poppy

Warnings: Death, Angst?,

Just some ideas, part number IDK at this point.

Delicate lines lead to the earth as you kneel in reverent whispers, and the rest of the world falls silent. Then he is there, the omen of death and the stench of blood. Copper on your tongue. Under his umber eyes, you rise to your feet in a trance.

“You did all you could, Sergeant.”

His voice is cold, but not unknowing.

At your feet, the body crumples, head lolling to the side as acid fills your throat.

“What are we, Ghost?”

Your lieutenant shifts his rifle, his voice a gruff hum.

“We are the souls of the damned.”

His answer catches you off guard, and you turn to him as dust kicks up with the winds of a setting sun. You think of the woman at your feet, a flower seller in the market only hours ago. You reach down as the fading light catches a glimpse of color, and you pull a poppy from her breast pocket.

Its tender petals bruised by the fall, but the brilliant crimson shines.

You turn your head down in remorse, but steps approach you and a hand finds the small of your back in tenderness.

“She will find peace on the other side.”

It’s Simon who spoke, then you realize, and you reach down and set the lone flower on her lifeless chest.

“Perhaps we are harbingers,” You speak then, more to yourself than to him,

“We’ll all find peace in the end.”

AN: I am not dead, more writing to come soon!

[thetravelingtyper]

Happy pride month specifically to folks on the asexual and aromantic spectrum who oftentimes feel isolated and left out of the conversation. You belong here as much as the rest of us and I hope that you are all loved in a way that is comforting to you.

[thetravelingtyper]

The moon is a dove,

There is a certain madness in the longing for enlightenment

Some archaic figure, the gifts of god to men,

But the answers in the dark, stormy waves of her,

My love by the moonlight.

If the sun is a lion, the moon is a dove,

Swooping with love to cradle her stars to sleep.

But this thorn in my chest,

Inhibits me by day.

But the dancing night,

With the churning of stars,

Space lit from the far, cold stars.

It is a beacon.

My white star, you my love,

Will eventually be my forever,

As the men march into eternal sleep,

We will carry their heavy hearts until the end. 

May the fates hold me ready,

Ready for the fight that lies under modernity

The old days and ways,

Silken voices of the fae. 

You, bright curiosity, you lead humanity,

The souls left from the carnage,

The disparaging army,

And the lost land. 

She is enlightenment,

The cherished star,

My love,

May you want to be found. 

(This may turn into a fanfic)

Written by me.

[thetravelingtyper]

Treasure (? Reader x Mer! Simon Riley)

"I don't believe in God, but I believe that you're my savior."

-Sailor Song, Gigi Perez

Masterlist

The feeling runs through your heart like a fracture. It rears its head to the bow of the storm, waves crashing upon your bare soul. In the storm from the stern, you see a shape sink in the sea. The outline of the reef crumbles in the dark swallowing mouth of the ocean. The captain yells, and you know it's time. 

Terror dies to the hopelessness, thunder cracks the waves, and it was time to go home. The sleep of death cradles your body as the waves throw you from the ship. The noises mellow out as you sink, and you see the end of the world to the abyss, a loveless life lost to the depths. 

You laugh in your mind as your senses dull, reaching a hand through the water, to the last glimpses of the loving moon, her light all you ever loved. The sun of his love scorched into your skin like wax and you welcome the darkness of the sea in your death. 

And as the ship finallly sinks, and the pearls and golden treasures return to the cusp of the sea there is soon another. Webbed fingers skim your skin as you float in the current beeneth the surface, the storm calming in the night. Lips meet yours and then there is life.

Your eyes open beneth the waves, lit from within with cool fire. You panic first, thrashing in the water but hands take yours and there are tears then, dark eyes ringed with gold peering into yours.

You awaken to your senses, finding the panic for breath alleviated by the strangest feeling at your neck. You feel to find slits and you understand then. 

Its true!

Back in your chained love you would sneak into the royal library to find the lore of the sirens. Beings hunted to extinction, or so many scholars thought. 

His hands skim your arms, the fresh bruises brushed gently, a brush of his fingers and he pulls you gently to his exposed chest, pale skin light by the gentle moon. He held his own battle scars, and he makes a motion with his hand, gills flaring out as he tilts his head when you make no reply. He frowns, the curls of his short hair floating, he then ducks his head to yours, and with a powerful push of his tail he spins around you, observing. 

You loosen your muscles as the terror passes, and you find your mind drifting in the current, wanting to sleep as the exhaustion hits. The mer clicks his tongue, and he is then drawing you to his chest like a prize, and you allow yourself to be carried away.  

[thetravelingtyper]

Gifts

Just another practice shot Masterlist

It was just a coincidence with the waves of life, right? The flowers tucked into your hair. Umber eyes following your form throughout the town. As you dance, he is there. As the others clap and you sing to the beat of oaken drums, he falls in step with you. The mask comes off in your lightened presence, and he trusts himself to the waves.

His arms circle yours in a claim no other would dare make. As the music slows, you look up to Simon, breathless, an eyebrow raised in challenge. His smile answers all of your questions, as do the flowers in your pockets and the ribbon in your hair. Little gifts from the silent man had always remained. Ou take the following notes to press your yearning lips to his. 

AN: Took a bit of a break from writing, but the next chapter of Letters from Nowhere should be up this week.

[thetravelingtyper]

God rest his soul

Me: Do you understand how much you mean to children? Do you understand how much you alone boost our circulation numbers? Sometimes I feel like you're the single toothpick holding up childhood literacy at a vital transitional stage.

Our Library's Copy of Dog Man: Someone slathered me in spaghetti sauce and threw me in the book drop again. :)

Me: You are my brother in arms, Dog Man.

[thetravelingtyper]

@breakawayresin me

This is how the world should be ❤️

[thetravelingtyper]

Precipice (Or The Other Side)

Just a practice shot (My favorite so far) Masterlist Ghoap x reader

“All the hope I had when I was young, I hope I wasn't wrong…”

Dream of Micky Mantle - Bleachers

The other side or precipice

It had all come to this, the precipice before you of a new world coming to meet your eyes. Flashes of your old life, the music blending into silence, some deafening sound behind your ears and heart. It was time…

You rush up to the surface with a gasp as the others yell out for you. You then register the flash in the distance as Johnny grabs your combat vest and drags you out of the river. He throws himself over you as the fire starts again.

Your senses come alive then, the smell of sweat and sweet copper, the ringing comes, the other world bleeding out of your mind. “Flashbang!” A voice sounds as two hands come and drag you both up and forward. Then there's Simon, worry shining under the rage in his eyes as he draws you close to him and throws Johnny towards evac.

You look back at paradise as the blood runs down your forehead, and you pass out. 

-

You awake from the medical sleep with a weight draped over you. Johnny is on your bed in the barracks, draped over you like a mastiff, and you blink. He senses the movement and burrows his face further into your neck. There is a quiet huff, something soft, an afterthought. Your eyes turn to Simon, leaning back in a chair, his balaclava missing, and your eyes widen, but before they can shift away, he captures your eyes with his. 

There is the deep amber of his eyes, the color of the earth to Johnny's ocean. His eyes shine, and he gets up, his hands falling to his sides as if he doesn't know himself in the moment because there is softness that follows. He lifts the chair behind him and sets it easily at your bedside.

“We thought we lost you, Sergeant.”

There are always the formalities, and you start to frown with shame, but he lifts a hand and brushes your bangs out from your forehead, brushing back into your hair. The motion hurts your ears, and he murmurs something soft, to which Johnny responds in his sleep, always tied to his Simon. Then Johnny digs further into you, the fluff of his hair in the crook of your neck. 

Simon sits quietly, his other hand reaching to take yours, and it's then you see the sincerity in his eyes, pooling like honey, his heart leaking out of its walls, shimmering through the cracks. Your mouth goes dry when his head dips and he presses his forehead to yours. Johnny stirs at the movement, but you run a hand through his hair to settle him back asleep.

You realize then you were going to be ok. 

[thetravelingtyper]

Just Smoke

Just a practice shot. Masterlist

AN - This one is a little close to my heart, inspired by Just Smoke by Mumford & Sons

I'm not ready, I'm not strong enough

To cradle the weight of your love

Just Smoke - Mumford & Sons

Your fingers kim the keyboard as you curl into the pale light of your laptop. Another restless night in college, your flat dim in the rain. You didn't know what you did to deserve this quiet. Humbled by your inner thoughts, your whimper comes muffled in the night as you push your laptop away to cry into your knees.

Voices in the hall hush as they pass, then there is the opening of the door you dont hear. Heavy steps quiet when they hear your soft cries. He is there then, somber in the night as lightning flashes.

His arms come around you and lift you from the chair as you slump under the weight of your mind. He kisses away a tear.

“Si?” You awaken at the affection, with watery eyes staring up at him.

“I’m home,” Chases all the shadows away.

[thetravelingtyper]

Petals

Just a practice shot (I wasn't too sure about this one; I just needed it out of my system)

Masterlist

Music played out from the store speakers as you spun on your feet, broom in hand as you dance to the music in your store. You had brushed and knock over a few roses and their petals scatter like crimson blood over the floor. As you twist your body there is a ding at the door you don’t catch until you're dumping the petals into the trash and you jump, broken out of the beat of the song.

“Im sorry I didn't-”

“It’s alright love.” Whisky eyes soften at you, tracing over the curve of your form in the apron. Its the amused grin that tells you he had been watching, heat fluttering up your chest and to your cheeks. He isnt mean about it though, instead winking when you meet his eyes again and you bite your lip as he turns to the flowers. 

You set the broom aside and walk to join him, realising how tall he is, he towers over you and the display. You huff quietly, his height would be useful for your shop. As you eye his he turns back to you,

“Could I get a dozen Azaleas? I like this fuschia,” he brushes the petals gently. You nod to him with a smile. 

“Anything else hun?”

His lips turn up, 

“Your number if I can.”

You blink at him, and he seems to second guess himself and the shyness is cute to you.

“Sure”

It comes out without though, and he grins.

[thetravelingtyper]

Late Night

Just a practice shot Masterlist

Streetlights bleed into the shadows of the park as you run. The metal beat is drummed out by the pounding of your heart as you run over the shattered pavement. Above you, the stars beam wearily, true friends in your plight. But as you take a heavy seat on the steps of the playground equipment, the world seems to set in a burning haze. Your choked-out sobs finally come to fruition as the pain of the last few hours sweeps through your system. 

As you cry, your senses dull, unattuned to the overgrown wilderness of the city around you.

Across the street, from a lively pub emerges a pair of men. 

First, it started with your now ex in bed with your best friend. Then you got a flat and were late to work. After a long day, your boss pulled you aside only to fire you due to “losses in the company budget.”

“Bullshit.” 

You whisper to yourself, arms crossing in the chilling weather as you bring your chin to your knees and watch mulch of the playground. What you dont hear in your music laden state is the sound of footsteps, not until there is set of boots at your feet.

You blink, muting your music and looking up. There is a jacket in your face, worn leather lined with fleece, smelling of cologne and the faintest scent of smoke. The hand that holds it connects to a toned forearm and to a handsome face. Dark skin with brown eyes that shine in the faded light. It is then when you finally hear him.

“You alright, love?”

You blink again, taking in the other man who watches just behind, scoping the area before turning to you, ocean eyes peering through a puff of smoke. A cigar with the hat makes you laugh suddenly. You start to giggle at the ridiculousness of it all, and the other man smiles.

He leans down, moving to drape his jacket over you, and then takes the seat next to you.

“The names Kyle.” Your giggles subside and you reply with your name, then thanking him for the jacket. 

“Can’t have a lovely thing like you out in the cold.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you gape at him. The other man, John, chuckles.

“Ever the smooth talker, sergeant.”

“Can we see you home, love?” He asks gently, and you nod, having a good feeling about him, 

“I’d like that.”

[thetravelingtyper]

Electric

Just a practice shot (Ghoap x reader) Masterlist

Warnings: Suggestive content

Soft strums of a guitar drown out in the rowdy bar as you seek shelter from the dances spinning away and the laughter. Your friends had all abandoned lonely little you for their partners. The music slows, and you turn to the stage. The set changes, and you are mystified as the announcer introduces a duo from the English Isles. You hear a Scottish-accented man take the mic, and he raises a glass of an amber liquor to the announcer.

“This is for all the single lads and lasses out there.” he then downs the entire glass as the crown claps and laughs. He turns to another man, a behemoth with broad shoulders swathed in a dark leather jacket. He says something to the Scot, and the pretty man nods, the hair of his outgrown mohawk curling. 

His eyes are electric when they roll over the crowd a full time. But just as you turn to scurry away, they catch you, and you gulp. You clutch your drink tighter as he seems to appraise you, and you hold his gaze. The moments pass, and a smirk pulls onto his face, and he winks at you. You squeak before finally disappearing into the back of the crowd as they begin to play.

- 

The act lasts a solid 45 minutes before the vocalist stops for a break, stepping away from the crowd despite the collective awwing of the crowd, especially a group of women up front. He just gives a cheeky wave and heads down the side stairs, followed by his partner. The group of women is quick to follow, but the bigger man steps in to take up their space as the front man slips away into the crowd.

-

You find shelter with a group of men playing pool, finding easy conversation in a tall Austrian with a crooked nose. He smiles at you, sipping a lager that looks tiny in his hands. His partner makes a shot and sinks a ball. Konig frowns and leans up to his full height to take his turn when you lean to watch. 

“You want to try Schatz?”

You warm at the nickname but nod, and he allows you in front of him, the hard planes of his abdomen coming to your back as you take the shot, sinking in a stripe.

“Good, they are better than you.” His voice rumbles through you, and you smile, face lighting up at the praise. You turn to face him, and his arms cage you in as he leans down closer to your face. You look up at him with big eyes, the warm light reflecting the flutter in your heart and-

Someone clears their throat, and the moment is broken as Konig comes to himself, irritated, and turns to the sound as you peek around him and your brows raise in surprise. 

Its the front man, Johnny, you remember hearing. He leans easily against the door frame of the room, arms crossed and a simple grin on his face, as if he was pleased with himself. When your eyes fall on him, he pulls his shoulders back and pushes off of the door frame.

 “Been looking all over for ye, though you had left.” He addresses you easily, strolling into the room as if he owned the place. He makes it to a few feet from you before Konig rises to his height menacingly, even taller than the Scot’s partner. This doesn't faze Johnny, though, as he only rolls his eyes up to Konig.

“They make them big where you're from, huh.”

The Austrian doesn't take the bait, though, the corner of his lips turning down in displeasure. You, however, not wishing things to escalate, sneak out from behind him to look up at the Scot.

“These lads bothering you, Bonnie?” He asks sweetly, a hand reaching out to take a strand of your hair adoringly, and you shift on your feet, a little nervous.

“Just a bit of pool, sir-”

“You, love, can call me yours. But the name’s Johnny hen.” With this, he grasps one of your hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles before easily pulling you from the other man's side to his own.

“Wait-” Konig is moving, but then the other man is there, Simon. He is a wall between you two and Konig, silent as a cat and fluid.

“We were just leaving.” His voice is stone, turning his back on Konig before the Austrian can reply. As Johnny begins to leave, his arm comes around to your waist, guiding you out gently. You look over your shoulder, but Simon’s chest blocks your view, and you look up to meet his eyes. 

His eyes are umber, shining with a silent satisfaction at the defeat of the taller ma,n who gives you a final look before turning back to the game. Your eyes widen when Simon winks at you, making you gulp nervously. 

“We don’t bite, Bird,” Simon’s lips quirk up as he speaks, “not unless you want us to.” 

You flush, closing on to yourself at the attention, but Johnny is quicker. He stops in the darkened hall away from outside viewers and leans against the wall, pulling you to him as Simon stands behind you both. You can feel the warmth emanating from their bodies like this, and you find yourself trying to relax into the heat. You seem to remember yourself at this in a shock and start to move, but Johnny’s hand comes to the back of your head and leans it against his chest. 

“Easy, hen, we mean ye no harm.”

“Why?” You mumble it against his chest, finally relaxing, and you feel him smile into your hair, taking in the smell of your shampoo and then pressing a kiss to your hairline. Simon is there then too—hand tracing up your back to your shoulder and then to the back of your neck gently. Johnny chuckles as Simon pulls you back from the Scot and spins you around to face him.

“Wha-” lips are meeting yours suddenly, and you melt into the kiss, hands finding his bicep and squeezing the solid muscle. The action seems to awaken the Sot behind you because his arms wraps themselves around you, and he presses himself flush against your back. SImon deepens the kiss then, tongue working wonders for your nerves. He parts from you with a chuckle, 

“Good thing we found you, Dove.”

You blink up at him a flush on your cheeks,

“Right?”

His eyes shine at you, and he smiles. He's handsome, and you swoon, but you then remember your friends. You push gently against Simon’s sturdy chest, and he frowns.

“My friends may be looking for me.”

Johnny's head is next to yours, and he is kissing right above the shell of your ear. He releases you, and Simon moves aside, letting the Scot move to your front. 

“We’ll see you out. Let's go find them, Hen.”

You swallow, and Johnny traces the movement with a glint in his eyes and they brighten, electric in the warm aura around you three.

You feel the words on your lips dissolve, and then he's kissing you. He’s hotter than Simon, you realize, as he tilts your head to coax your mouth open for him, and you taste the sting of scotch on his tongue. He parts, nipping your lip in a claim. 

“I think we’ll keep you.”

[thetravelingtyper]

Dance

Just a practice short Masterlist

His gaze only hardened as the crowd engulfed you, the whisky in his glass warming in the tightening grasp of his hand. He tolerated a lot from others, much less than his men would with their lovers. But it was your eyes meeting his that had the Captain standing from his seat abruptly, whisky glass slammed onto the table so hard others near him thought it would shatter. 

He strode forward with a vengeance as the man curled around you, oblivious to the discomfort etching itself onto your face. Just as the man leaned into your neck, a large hand clamped firmly down on his shoulder, making him spin. The man’s face paled on seeing the collected calm but stern eyes of his superior. 

“Move along, sergeant.” The man all but scatters with his tail between his legs. 

The sight of the Captain in formal attire takes your breath away. The crown, having parted with his approach, steadies and to not lose you he steps forward into your space, a hand coming to your waist and pulling you to him carefully. 

Your breath hits his chest in a sigh as you take in the smell of him, the forest, spice and gunmetal, with the faint hit of cigar smoke. He speaks with a low growl, 

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

The dark blue of his suit darkens his eyes as they scan over you, taking in every little detail of the tight number you had to wear for the event. He had a drink but was still sharp, watching your eyes take him in with a beautiful flush rising on your face.

“I had a date.” Your voice comes out small.

The Captain only circles his arm around your back and takes your other hand to lead you into a waltz. 

“I don't see ‘im.” He makes the comical point of scanning the room, finding no one paying them much attention. You puff out your cheeks and turn away from your Captain, but he squeezes your hand,

“Eyes on me, Love.” 

It is spoken warmly, smooth like Kentucky bourbon, and that sends a bolt of heat through you.

He then chuckles and leans forward,

“I'll kill anyone that looks at you.”

Before pressing his lips to yours. 

[thetravelingtyper]

Hear me out divorced!John price and reader

"But the wreckage of you, I no longer reside in"

- Halloween Noah Kahan

Reader moved on but John can't and he'll get you back...

[thetravelingtyper]

Patch-up

Just a practice short Masterlist

Warnings: Blood

His head lulls back with a groan of pain, exhaling with a hiss as the bourbon courses through him hotly, a sickly sweet heat on his skin. His finger twitches around the needle as he rolls forward to sit better and stitch himself up. Dragging oneself miles in the cold dirt would do damage. Viscous blood taints his tanned muscle, the shirt discarded in a lump on the floor.

He hears someone come in the room next to him, and it is a moment before you open the door,

“Jesus Christ.”

He rumbles with a chuckle at your exclamation before you move forward to patch him up. 

“Good to see you to-”

You flick him on the stomach, and it stings, but he makes no reaction other than to huff. As you lean into see better he acts.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” His accent drips down your spine as his arms come around you, his face seeking your neck.

“You don’t get to act all clingy Si, You just keep on disappearing-” He nips at your neck playfully, and you feel his body react to your presence as you finish the stitch, your fingertips staining red. You try to step back, but he holds you still before he stands, moving you backward until you hit the wall.

“I need to trim this.”

He begrudgingly moves an arm to the table and passes you the scissors and you snip the remaining thread before he takes then from you and tosses the tool to the side.

Your back hits the wall, and a hand takes your chin.

“Pretty thing.” His eyes trace your face, the stress staining your skin, the bags under your eyes, and the signs of your bitten lip. He kisses you then. Slow and sweet before his other hand is threading into your hair and tilting your head back for more access to your mouth. He becomes more eager then. He only parts for a breath before he nips your lip, kisses the side of your mouth, and trails kisses down your tender jaw to your neck.

“Happy to be home.”