ximmortalis

[ximmortalis]

Emmrich/Rook: Loss

Summary:

Emmrich unravels with the loss of his beloved Rook.

The night was heavy with a dreadful silence, it gnawed at his mind and soul. Emmrich paced the dimly lit room, heart a tempest of emotions, each beat was a painful reminder of the uncertainty that plagued him. Rook, the woman he loved, his beacon of life in a dark world, was gone, and he was consumed by a fear so profound it threated to unravel him.

Each tick of the clock was a cruel and painful reminder of the passage of time, each second seemed to stretch into an eternity. He could not eat, could not sleep; his mind was a whirlwind of dark thoughts and unimaginable scenarios. Where was she? Was she hurt? Or worse, was she no longer alive? The questions were relentless, each one more harrowing than the last.

He thinks of her, the memories a bittersweet solace. He clung to the image of her smile, the sound of her laugher and the warmth of her embrace. Her absence was a gaping void, an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. He recalled how she had absolutely captivated him, the mischievous glint in her eyes and how she was utterly fearless.

Indomitable.

It seemed a lifetime ago, and the fear of never experiencing being with her, was suffocating.

He replays the last time he saw her, the look of determination in her eyes as she fought to get to the dagger, he had told her to remove. His instance is what caused her loss, an action he shall never forgive himself for.

Emmrich prayed to any deity that would listen, his pleas desperate and raw. ‘’Please, let her be safe. Let her come back to me.’’ The words were a mantra, a lifeline he clung to in the storm of despair. He was a man of logic and reason, but in this moment, he was driven by faith and hope, the only things that kept him from succumbing to the darkness.

The nights were the worst. In the stillness, his mind conjured images of her in peril, each one more horrifying than the last. He would wake in a cold sweat, her name a desperate cry on his lips. The world outside continued its indifferent march, but for Emmrich, time had stopped. His existence was a purgatory of longing and dread, each day a battle to maintain his sanity.

His companions offered their support, but their words were hollow, a mere echo in the cavern of his fear. The depth of his anguish was to far, the visceral pain of not knowing. He appreciated their presence, but their assurances were a cold comfort in the face of his uncertainty.

In his more lucid moments, Emmrich would consult the spirts of the Fade and beg them to search for any signs of her. He would throw himself into the many books he brought with him, searching for anything that would help him in his desperate search for his beloved. Hoping that he might find a clue, a whisper of her existence. Each day ended in bitter disappointment, but he could not stop. The need to find her, to know her fate, was a fire that burned within him, driving him forward even as exhaustion threatened to claim him.

The fear of losing her was a weight he could not bear, a shadow that darkened every moment of his waking life. He imagined her calling out for him, needing him, and the thought tore at his soul. He would give anything, endure any pain, just to know she was safe. The not knowing was a torment beyond words, a cruel twist of fate that left him teetering on the edge of despair.

Yet, amidst the fear and agony, there was a glimmer of hope. Love, after all, was a powerful force, and he believed in the strength of their bond. He held onto the hope that she would return, that their love would guide her back to him. It was this hope that kept him moving, kept him fighting through the darkness.

And so, Emmrich waited, a man caught in the grip of fear and hope, his heart a fragile vessel of longing. The fear of losing her was a constant companion, but so too was the belief that they would be reunited. Until then, he would endure the agony of uncertainty, driven by a love that refused to die.

He would bring her home to him, if it was the last thing he did.

[ximmortalis]

Gossip and Scandal, My Dear: A preview

A little snippet of my current WIP, enjoy.

His breath catches in his throat as she kneels before him.

‘’I want to taste you, will you let me? My love.’’

She gazes at him, in a way beyond mere appreciation; he could see the lust and desire that was held within. He finds himself getting lost in her eyes, his own arousal taking away his ability to speak. Slowly she crawls up his body, breasts pressing into his cock and his hips buck seeking friction. Her eyes stay locked onto his, now face to face her lips so enticingly close. Emmrich leans in but she cheekily pulls away at the last second.

‘’Please? Emmrich.’’

His name tastes like honey on her tongue.

‘’Dearest, yes.’’

[ximmortalis]

A peak into the life of Ingellvar: Lucanis and Spite

Rook should mention to Lucanis that she could hear Spite in close proximity but there is something about the once Spirit of Determination, now turned Demon, navigating the world outside of the Ossuary. It’s dare she say almost endearing the way he is curious of most things. He is surprisingly chatty, and it’s become a guilty pleasure of hers to listen in.

The dynamic between Lucanis and Spite shouldn’t exist; Lucanis isn’t a mage and possesses no magical abilities, yet due to the extreme circumstances he managed to work out a deal with Spite. It’s fascinating, it takes everything she knows of abominations and turns it upside down.

She’s lounged in the common room book open in her lap; recently Rook has found it difficult to sleep it’s no surprise considering the weight on her shoulders. Rubbing the back of her neck to alleviate the tension stuck there, she sighs and takes a sip of tea. Chamomile with vanilla and a touch of honey for added sweetness, it was her go to drink when she was a student back at the Necropolis; a way to help her relax during her studies.

The door creaks open stealing her attention it’s Lucanis.

More accurately, it’s Spite.

He looks much like a child being caught doing something they shouldn’t, no doubt making another escape attempt.

“Hello, Spite.”

The spirit grumbles annoyed that he’s been spotted. Spite could easily make a run for it; wearing only her night clothes and without shoes, Rook isn’t prepared for an outing in the crossroads. However, Spite seems to linger and is watching her with interest; seemingly waiting for her reaction.

Rook pats the cushion next to her, “Would you like to join me?”

Spite moves in a way she would describe as predatory, fluid like and with grace, footsteps near silent. He’s nimble and appears in front of her within a blink of an eye.

“I. Want. To. Leave.”

She smiles softly, “I know, but Lucanis is needed here and so are you.”

There is a flicker of confusion on his face, “I. Needed?”

‘’Of course, may the Gods perish swiftly and painfully by your hand.’’

Face lighting up in sadistic glee, ‘’YES. GOOD!’’

Eventually she manages to convince him to sit with her and she places the book she has been reading between them. It’s nothing to fancy just a tome on the different types of magical properties of crystals for enchantments and spells. She doesn’t expect for him to take an interest, but he does pointing to the different crystals on the page and listens with rapt attention at her explanations.

‘’Jade, for protection and to repel negative energies.’’

‘’Taste. Like. Mint.’’

Rook hums, ‘’I suppose it could.’’

They go from page to page and with each one Spite has a guess on the flavour of each crystal. A garnet would be spicy, obsidian like liquorice, Citrine is citrus – obviously. He was particularly proud with that one, it seems he had a sense of humour, very dry but it was there. Rook has no clue how long they are at it, but she is more than happy to feed his interest, as she turns to another page; Spite tenses and then goes limp and a very groggy and confused Lucanis is with her.

‘’Rook?’’

Lucanis glances around the room, ‘’How did I get here?’’

‘’Spite tried to leave,’’ She explained, ‘’Don’t worry he didn’t get far; I’ve been teaching him about crystals.’’

‘’Amber. Taste. Like. Honey.’’

Rook tries to hide a grin as Lucanis pinches the bridge of his nose, ‘’No. We are not eating crystals.’’

Spite grumbles unhappily protesting loudly like a child throwing a tantrum; Lucanis makes a valent effort to ignore him, but the longer he does the louder Spite becomes.

‘’Now, now Spite; you’re going to give poor Lucanis an aneurysm.’’

Lucanis looks towards her with only what she can describe as look of pure horror and Spite goes silent. Rook on the other hand keeps her eyes on the page of her book, a smile on her face.

‘’You can hear him?’’ Lucanis questions.

‘’When you are this close, yes.’’

‘’I am so sorry.’’

No longer able to contain herself she laughs; Spite is clearly more delighted at this news than Lucanis. The Crow collapses further into the couch and slings an arm over his face and curses. He looks like a man in mourning at her admittance, a part of her feels slightly guilty at not telling him sooner but her Mourn Watcher ways had wanted to get to know Spite better, she wanted to see how he saw the world around him and how it influenced him. Rook pats his shoulder in sympathy and Lucanis removes the arm from his face, there is a small barely their smile breaking out on his face.

‘’Well, at least you can hear what I have to deal with.’’

‘’Rook. Rooook. The crystals. I want to. Eat!’’

Oh dear.

Rook isn’t too sure yet but she thinks she might have bitten of more that she can chew.

[ximmortalis]

Emmrich Volkarin/Rook: Revelation.

Part one.

Summary:

They stare at one another for what feels like an eternity; normally she would have conceded by now but this time she isn’t going to let Viago walk all over her. She’s had enough of that.

‘’You wouldn’t have to, if I could trust your judgement.’’

Just like that the embers of her rage sear once again; Rook stands her body tense and jaw clenched tightly. Viago has the audacity to look relaxed; a smug look on his face knowing that he’s pissed her off and gotten a reaction out of her. He just can’t help himself but twist the knife even more.

‘’Going to stop mid battle so that he can plough you against the nearest surface? Like that night?’’

The burn inside of her turns to ice.

Rook feels like she can’t breathe.

A/N: Mentions of past non-con.

Teia watches as Viago paced back and forth an amused smirk on her face as she takes a sip of wine. She lounged comfortably, listening as Viago rants, from what she can gather he’s talking about Rook – when is he never talking about Rook. Contrary to belief despite his cold exterior, he’s nothing more than a big softie and cares about the young Crow. Teia had been with him when Rook had no choice but to leave and saw how badly it affected him, his mood had been soured for months, and many were at the receiving end of his venomous tongue.

‘’A Mortalitasi!’’

‘’Come now Viago, she is a grown woman.’’

‘’He might as well had snatched her from the cradle!’’

He stops abruptly with his hands on his hips and stands silently, Teia bites back a laugh clearly enjoying being witness to his crazed outburst. Viago lets out a grumble before turning on his heel and walking away.

‘’Where are you going?’’

‘’To see Rook!’’

Teia puts down her wine and follows him. “Idiota!”

Rook and her companions are sharing a rare evening of peace, an assortment of meats, cheeses and wine spread on the table. She’s sat on the floor, back resting against Emmrich’s legs, he never did understand her preference to do so. Taking a hearty sip of her wine, she’s engrossed in one of Davrin’s stories. Assan curled in her lap lets out a purr as she strokes his feathers. Manfred hisses loudly enjoying playing out his role of an angry Hurlock, full of dramatic flair that he’d clearly picked up from Emmrich. Davrin is about to deliver the killing blow, when the thudding of footsteps sound from the stairs.

It’s a very flushed Viago who is closely followed by an apologetic looking Teia.

“Rook, a word.” When she doesn’t move his jaw clenches, “Privately.”

With a roll of her eyes Rook stands and hands her wine to Emmrich, their fingers brushing as he gives her a concerned look. She smiles at him sweetly, hand grazing his shoulder as she walks by. Sauntering over to Viago, her arm sweeps in the direction of the stairs.

“After you.”

On her way up the stairs, she catches Lucanis ‘what’s up with him’ look and she shrugs her shoulders. She hopes that its nothing serious but for him to venture through the crossroads to get to the lighthouse, it’s a cause for concern. However, his frustration is clear, and it’s aimed in her direction. She ushers him inside her room, he strides inside and stands in the middle of her room like he owns it. His silhouette illuminated by the aquarium. Rook stands behind the sofa, arms crossed against her chest; they both stare at one another for a while. Tension building in the air, Rook waits wanting him to show her the cards he holds.

‘’The Mortalitasi.’’

She doesn’t care for his tone; the way he says it with such repugnance. Regardless of her relationship with Emmrich, she will not tolerate it.

‘’Emmrich is a Mourn Watcher, a Senior one at that and an expert of the Fade. I will not stand for disrespect towards any of my team.’’

Viago laughs, ‘’Senior is the correct way I would describe him.’’

And there it is.

Of course, once again Viago comes to judge her for the choices she makes; Rook is sure that he forgets she is a fully grown woman.

‘’Who I choose to be in a relationship with is of no concern to you.’’

‘’He is twice your age!’’

Rook shrugs, ‘’Your point?’’

Her dismissive tone is like a flame to a barrel of gaatlok and the tension between them explodes. It’s a battle between them and Rook isn’t backing down. They stand toe to toe; she can feel the spittle from his words on her face. An inferno blazes between them burning with intense rage and the long-standing feud fuels it.

Outside, her companions sit shocked. They’ve never heard Rook lose her cool like this, even in times of high stress where she’d had spoken in a cold and calculated manner; her voice raising only a few octaves when her frustration gets the better of her. This is a whole different level, it’s a clash of outraged voices, words spat at each other with no care of how they land. The colourful words coming out of Rooks mouth is enough to make even the most stoic of persons’ blush.

‘’Ten gold that Rook kicks his ass,’’ Davrin offers with a smirk on his face. Bellara cringes when Rook uses a particular vulgar swear, much to Taash’s delight.

‘’CROW. HAS. FANGS!’’ Spite cackles.

‘’We should check on them, right?’’ Harding full of concerns asks to which Taash shakes her head, ‘’That’s like fighting a dragon in her den, you’ll just get mangled.’’

‘’Taash is right,’’ Neve speaks, ‘’Wouldn’t want to get in the middle of that.’’

Emmrich would like if the Fade swallowed him up whole right now; he’s actively avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. With the term Mortalitasi being thrown around it doesn’t take much of a detective to work out who they are talking – well screaming, about.

‘’Why does it matter so much to you,’’ A finger jabs into his chest, ‘’Of who I chose to be with?’’

Viago pushes her back while shooting her a look of disbelief, ‘’A man like him couldn’t possibly- ‘’

‘’Love me?’’  

Rook lets out a humourless laugh, ‘’You don’t think I question that myself? How possibly a man such as him, a man who is kind, gentle and patient could even spare a glance my way?’’

Her anger deflates and she lets out a breath as her body sags down onto the couch, Viago stays standing arms crossed against his chest.

‘’If anything, he is more than what I deserve,’’ Rook looks at Viago, ‘’I don’t have to explain my choices to you.’’

They stare at one another for what feels like an eternity; normally she would have conceded by now but this time she isn’t going to let Viago walk all over her. She’s had enough of that.

‘’You wouldn’t have to, if I could trust your judgement.’’

Just like that the embers of her rage sear once again; Rook stands her body tense and jaw clenched tightly. Viago has the audacity to look relaxed; a smug look on his face knowing that he’s pissed her off and gotten a reaction out of her. He just can’t help himself but twist the knife even more.

‘’Going to stop mid battle so that he can plough you against the nearest surface? Like that night?’’

The burn inside of her turns to ice.

Rook feels like she can’t breathe.

All her instincts tell her to move as the panic inside of her builds; her mind screaming at her to run, to find safety, to go to Emmrich. She fights against them, she won’t let Viago take her place of safety away from her. Breathing slow and deep to quell the fear that nips at her heels, just like Emmrich taught her but it’s not working; the more Viago speaks the worse it becomes. She wants to yell at him to shut up, but the words are lodged in her throat. The sound of his voice no longer reaches her ears, replaced by a buzzing.

She wants – no needs Emmrich.

He can make it better.

Make her feel safe.

But she can’t her body won’t move pinned in place by the look of disappointment on Viago’s face. It all feels scarily familiar; she isn’t in the safety of her room anymore; she’s back at the night her life was effectively taken from her. Back with a furious Viago who she just wants to look at her and see the marks that litter her body, the pain she feels. How she wants to just be held and told that everything will be okay.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me!

Rook opens her mouth to tell him to stop but the words that come out are not by her own choosing.

‘’I was raped.’’

Viago freezes at her words and the air around them becomes stagnant; for a long time, he just stands and stares directly at her, expressionless. He looks at her, sees the dissociated look in her eyes. Rook might be looking directly at him, but she is looking through him.

‘’Rook.’’

‘’That night, on the recon mission. I was watching for the target.’’ She whispers, ‘’He grabbed me from behind.’’

In slow and brutal details, she recounts the events of what happened speaking in a whisper throughout. She looks like a small, traumatized child and it makes Viago’s heart clench painfully in his chest. How could he have missed this? The answer was obvious he had been too furious to hear her out, when she’d hadn’t turned up at the agreed meeting spot with the information, they needed to complete the assignment, he remembers the white-hot rage that churned in his stomach. When she finally showed he released holy hell on her, it was clear that his anger had blinded him.

He calls her name as he slowly approaches her, but she’s too far gone locked away in the prison of her own mind. Breathing sharp and fast, afraid so very afraid. This is new territory for him, Viago has seen her express many emotions but fear; his Crow has always been undeterred and has stared death square in the face and smiled. Now, she stands in front of him adrift in a sea of terror; with silent tears streaming down her face.

Once again, he calls her name and she doesn’t answer, so he tries one last attempt.

‘’ Piccolina.’’

Like a flipped switch the light returns to her eyes, and she looks at him.

‘’You haven’t called me that in years.’’

Rook wipes the tears from her face taking a moment to press the palms of her hands against her eyes, her head pounds with each beat of her heart. Mostly taking a moment to gather herself, she had no intention of telling Viago the truth of what happened that night, despite it not being his intention he’s forced it out of her. She feels utterly exhausted and can’t gather the energy to be angry anymore. A silence has filled the room, but it feels suffocating, uncomfortable even; yet she finds herself unwilling to break it. Viago looks at her with sadness in his eyes, there is a guilt there embedded within.

‘’You,’’ He licks his lips, ‘’You never told me.’’

‘’You never gave me a chance to.’’

It comes out harsher than she intended but she can’t bring herself to care.

‘’I was embarrassed, let someone get the drop on me.’’ Rook looks down a scowl on her face, ‘’Some crow I am.’’

Viago pulls her in for a bone crushing hug which for a moment startles her, his hold on her tight. The aroma of his aftershave assaults her senses, but she finds a familiar comfort in the smell of it. He murmurs in his own language as his hand pets down her hair. His mind reels as it puts together everything, how her behaviour changed so dramatically, he understands now why she was so angry and disobedient and why she held no respect for him. He recalls each violent spat between them; Rook had been showing him that something was wrong for years, but he ignored her, favouring to be blind to it all.

If he had only gone further back in into his investigation of that night.

Rook had given him no reason to not trust her, he should have known that something had gone wrong.

He failed her.

‘’You are my best, a pride to House De Riva. I failed you as your Talon and for that I am sorry.’’

Its words that she’s wanted to hear come from him for years, although it doesn’t take the pain away, doesn’t solve the issues that they have in their relationship. It’s a step in the right direction.

Viago takes a small step back keeping a loose hold on her upper arms and keeps her close.

‘’The Mort- ‘’ She shoots him a point look and he clears his throat, ‘’Emmrich.’’

‘’Yes, he knows, and he’s helped me a lot.’’

Viago nods, ‘’What can I do?’’

‘’You listened Viago, there is not much else you can do.’’

She knows that he isn’t satisfied with her answer, but he accepts it, nonetheless.

‘’Teia will know something is wrong, you can tell her but nobody else.’’

‘’Teia wont –‘’

‘’Please,’’ Rook interrupts, ‘’The woman knows you better than you know yourself.’’

The offended look that he gives her makes her break out into a fit of giggles and he can’t help but smile.

‘’Go home Viago, let me know of any troubles back home.’’

He squeezes her arm as a way to say goodbye before making his way to the door; he pauses for a moment looking over to her once more. ‘’Don’t die out there, Rook.’’

It’s as close to an ‘I love you’ she will ever get from him, a bit to sweet of an ending for her tastes so she can’t help but mess with him just a little.

‘’Don’t worry, I’ve left my corpse to Emmrich.’’

Viago looks at her in utter horror, stumbling over his words before he finally raises his hand waving it at her, ‘’I don’t want to know.’’

He can still hear her laughter as he reaches the top of the stairs.

All eyes are on him as he descends but he pretends not to notice; he keeps his head held high. Like Rook said he can’t hide from the knowing look that Teia gives him, he shakes his head and motions with his hand as if to say ‘later’.

Emmrich keeps his eyes on him, now stood with his shoulders squared; poised with a look of discontent on his face. Despite his age, he looks intimidating – not that he frightens Viago, but it is clear that he isn’t happy. It’s eerily like he knows what transpired upstairs. Just before Viago leaves to go down the stairs to the Eluvian he sends a knowing nod Emmrich’s way; which the Mourn Watcher returns before making his way to Rook.

Emmrich finds her lied on the couch an arm slung over her face; he isn’t quiet on his approach to avoid startling her.

‘’Dearest?’’

Her arm moves from her face, he can see the redness in her eyes and the tightness in her brow. She reaches for him guiding him to where she wants him, he’s sat down with her head in his lap; a hand pressed to her forehead as he lets his magic slowly seep out to ease the pounding inside. Rook relaxes and lets out a satisfied hum as the pain dissipates.

‘’I told him.’’

‘’How do you feel about that?’’

Rook shrugs her shoulders, ‘’I don’t know, better? Kind of.’’

She isn’t lying she does feel better but it’s not the same lightness from when she told Emmrich. More will come from this, and she knows it; as Emmrich sees this as something that happened, Viago will see it as something he needs to fix. However, he can’t fix this, it isn’t a contract that he can finish.

‘’His intentions although misguided, come from a good place my love.’’

Rook smiles, ‘’Reading my mind, are we?’’

‘’Of course not, just an educated deduction.’’

She smiles up at him, one of her hands finding the back of his neck and she gently pulls him closer, meeting him halfway for a soft kiss. Rook sits up so she can better sit in Emmrich’s lap, and they stay like this for a long while; with no words exchanged between them, just intertwined, sharing feather soft touches.

Upon the return to Treviso, it’s evidently clear that something still plagues Viago, he’s pacing, running his hands through his hair and talking to himself. There is a tension in his posture that unease’s Teia; the last time she saw him like this was when Rook had to be sent away.

‘’Whatever is the matter, Viago?’’

He stares out of the window, ‘’Do you remember the contract we had for the commissioner, the one I sent Rook out on for recon?’’

Teia approaches him a look of confusion on her face but nods; of course, she remembers that contract and how badly it had gone due to them not having the information that they needed.

‘’She got hurt,’’ He croaks out, ‘’A man, put his hands on her.’’

Her hand clutches his shoulder, and she shakes him, ‘’What do you mean Viago?’’

Viago doesn’t speak his eyes bore into hers and the longer he stays silent the more frantic that Teia becomes.

‘’He-,’’ Viago takes a deep breath, ‘’He forced himself on her.’’

One moment she’s stood eyes wide looking at him and then the next she is on him like a wild animal. Landing several smacks on his face; fists pounding into his shoulders and chest, throwing insults at him. Her anger isn’t unjustified; Teia had told him that something was wrong, but he had ignored her. He overruled her decision to set out to look for Rook, causing her to leave. They didn’t speak for weeks after. She moves away from him; collapsing on the couch and finds her abandoned glass of wine and chugs the contents in one go. Viago joins her pouring his own glass and refills hers.

‘’She’s kept this to herself for years,’’ Teia speaks emotion in her voice, ‘’Dealt with it alone.’’

Her statement is full of blame, and it’s aimed towards him.

They sit in silence, but Viago’s mind is loud as he thinks of a way to do something about this. He was the one who train Rook, she was perfect, and he wasn’t selling her short when he said she was the best. Rook had always thrown herself into training with enthusiasm.

It couldn’t have been just anyone.   

‘’Teia, who else was on that contract?’’

As sharp as ever Teia is on the same wavelength as him, ‘’I’ll get the names.’’

She leaves him and he goes back to the many unanswered questions; there is a lot that he doesn’t have the answers too.

However, Viago knows one thing.

Only another Crow could be responsible.  

[ximmortalis]

Emmrich Volkarin/Rook: Confession.

Summary:

Rook harbours a secret keeps it hidden under lock and key in her mind; the secret of the dark figure that forced her down to her knees.

With a blossoming relationship with Emmrich; Rook lies and finds herself burning with the need to confess.

Warnings: Mentions of past assault/non-con, suicidal thoughts.

A/N: Second part in the works.

Joints in her fingers cracking as she wrings her hands over and over, breathing slow and deep an attempt to starve off the panic building in her chest. Rook should be happy; she is ecstatically so. She’d just returned from a romantic evening with Emmrich in the Necropolis, sharing an exquisite meal fit for royalty. Rook had confessed that she had never been with someone romantically that he was her first. Emmrich for a moment looked taken a back but a gentle smile followed, he told her they could go as slowly as she liked, there was no need to rush. His acceptance made her giddy and a short walk around the gardens ended with a sweet kiss.

She should be on cloud nine, but she finds herself in her room feeling guilty.

When she told Emmrich that she’d never been with someone romantically it was the truth. Never been on a date, never been wined and dined or handled in such a gentle way like a cherished object. Soft touches are a rarity in life for a Crow; Rook is used to the harshness that comes with it.

Rook harbours a secret keeps it hidden under lock and key in her mind; the secret of the dark figure that forced her down to her knees and stole her purity, ripped her insides with sadistic glee and left her on the cold wet floor, broken. She had no idea how long she’d laid there alone and afraid unsure if her attacker would return.

Viago was waiting for her for the intel she had been sent out to gather, a fledgling at the time her training had begun only a year ago, only recently being sent out on actual assignments. Viago was furious when she finally turned up, he was relentless with his verbal assault and Rook had stood there and took it. She couldn’t tell him; the embarrassment was too much. It was shameful that a crow had let someone sneak up on them, it was her job to become one with the shadows; to remain undetected and she couldn’t even do that. It was enough to have her crow status stripped and kicked out of House De Riva. If Viago was paying more attention he’d see the angry red marks that littered her body, fingertip shaped marks around her throat and the welts around her wrists where she’d been held with a punishing grip. Rook said nothing when he asked for an explanation, infuriated by her lack of response he turned around and dismissed her. He spared her not even a glance but if he did, he wouldn’t have missed the limp in her step and the crimson stain blooming on her pants.

Waiting for the dead of the night to sneak her way to the bath house, letting out a breath when she found it empty. It’s a slow process stripping out of her clothes. When she pulls her underwear down, they’re stained with her blood and the stranger’s seed. She isn’t stupid, Rook knows the consequences that can come of this. Her stomach lurches violently as she throws up the contents of her stomach and she doesn’t stop until her lungs burn and ribs ache from dry heaving. Rook scrubbed her body raw until her arms ached, and the water scorched her skin. No matter how much soap and scented oils she used, the smell of him wouldn’t leave it was cemented in the pores of her skin.

Mind numb she sits in the water until it turns frigid.

In the morning, she goes to the apothecary, hood pulled over her head as far as it can go to conceal her identity. Face burning with embarrassment as she explains to the woman at the counter that she needs something that will stop conception. Without judgement the woman pulls out a potion of Silphium, explains the potential side effects and hands it to her. Drinking it all in one go she cringes at the bitter after taste and now she had to wait to see if it worked.

Throwing herself into training, Viago is keeping a close eye on her. She keeps a low profile, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention. It works Viago slowly stops breathing down her neck and it seems that everything starts going back to normality.

That’s until a furious Viago bursts into her room.

“Want to tell me what happened that night?”

Time halts.

He knows, he knows, he knows!

‘’Nothing.’’ It’s a weak denial and she knows it and with the look on Viago’s face he doesn’t believe her.

‘’So, the trip to the apothecary and the Silphium was nothing?’’ His head cocking to the side, ‘’What? You didn’t think I’d investigate this?’’

Again, when she doesn’t answer it pushes Viago over the edge and she finds herself at the receiving end of another verbal assault. He couldn’t believe that she had jeopardised a whole operation for a quick fuck, asking if she was proud of herself. Once again, she sits and takes it, she already blamed herself for what took place; why not accept his blame as well?

 ‘’This stays between us; I’m not doing this for you.’’ He spits before taking a moment to catch his breath. He turns on his heel to leave but not before twisting the knife in her already shattered heart.

‘’You bring shame on House De Riva.’’

She feels numb again, out of tune with her emotions; she feels nothing but absolute emptiness. It’s strange, she thinks; there hasn’t been a single tear shed. Disconnected from her mind and body, she feels like an outsider looking in. Her body doesn’t feel like hers anymore, it feels dirty.

Desecrated.  

It’s clear that this event is what starts her downfall, when she does finally become a full fledged Crow. Her risk taking behaviours increase, the contracts she takes are dangerous; ones that she couldn’t possibly survive. She’s not careful about them either but yet she seems to pull through each time. The relationship between her and Viago deteriorates and it was common place to find them exchanging verbal blows.

Viago thinks she has a death wish.

It’s not a wish, it’s a promise.

She wants to die; doing what she’s worked so hard for, then maybe she can claim some of her lost honour back.

It’s funny how her last death charge is what saves her, a patrol of Antaam herding captives. She didn’t even think, just leaped into action. She saved lives that day but the disappointment that she didn’t meet her bitter end was palpable. Unknowingly she had compromised a larger Crow operation. Her superiors were incensed and punished her accordingly. She’s sidelined and forced out of Antiva.

On the road she meets one of the captives she saved. Varric, the man who undoubtably saved her life.

Rook shakes her head a feeble attempt to push back the memories, it was years ago; it shouldn’t affect her as much as it did. Rook had spend many years lying to herself, shying away from relationships; starving herself of the loving touch of another. She was far to damaged no matter how good of a facade she put on, it wouldn’t be long before the cracks of her broken psyche would start to show.

If she stayed alone no one could take the opportunity to harm her again.

But, Emmrich appeared.

And he turned her world upside down.

Older, distinguished with an air of authority – a senior Mourn watcher.

A professor she expected for him to be harsh and critical of almost everything. Instead, he was softly spoken, gentle and his presence kept her calm. He respected her; not because he had to but because he wanted to. He indulged her when she had questions about his work, his patience unmatched. Rook would watch how he interacted with Manfred. Emmrich is an incredibly powerful necromancer, it would have been very easy for him to treat the spirit of curiosity as nothing more than an object to do his bidding. Instead, he treated the spirit as if he was human, teaching and nurturing him as a father would his own child.

It was safe to be around him, and it didn’t take long for her to fall head over heels for him.

Their relationship new and blossoming and she was already building the foundation on a lie. How would he react if he found out that she hadn’t told him the truth? But, what would he think when she told him what happened? It made her nauseous thinking about it.

She needs to confess.

No matter how painful it might be, no matter if he walks away from her. He deserves to learn of her failings – her sins.

Outside the door to his room her hand outstretched to knock, hovering in the air. She pauses, there is no going back after this and with a deep breath she knocks. A muffled permission to enter comes from within and she follows the voice inside. Emmrich is sat at his desk, the flicker of candlelight casts a hue against his features, he looks handsome in such lighting. He glances up and his face fills with warmth when he looks at her, but it quickly shifts to a look of concern. Emmrich stands and makes his way towards her, resting his palm against her forehead.

‘’My dear you look unwell, it wasn’t the food was it?’’

Savouring the warmth of his hands for a brief moment, looking up at him; the deep look of worry in his eyes almost brings her to tears. She converts this moment to a memory she will hold dear. Sensing her distress Emmrich cradles her face in his hands; hers come up to wrap gently around his wrists.

‘’My darling girl, what ever is the matter?’’

He guides them over to the couch and Rook sits with her legs crossed, her hands once again held tightly together. “I need to tell you something,” She looks down at her clenched hands knuckles turning white, “But I’m afraid you’ll not look at me in the same light.”

The air in the room changes as Emmrich senses the seriousness of the conversation. His hand slides over hers gently prying them apart, he keeps it there; lets her trace her fingers over the rings. He waits patiently, watching her facial expressions, the pinch of her brow, how her eyes dart back and forth, her mouth opening before closing again.

“When I said I’d never been with anyone, I wasn’t entirely telling the truth.”

Emmrich lets out a breath, almost wanting to chuckle at how his little darling had worked herself up over something so trivial. The relief he feels is short lived as the next words out of her mouth steals the air from his lungs.

“Years ago, I was doing recon on a target.” She begins, “I was in an alley keeping an eye out, when I was grabbed from behind.”

Like the flooded canals of Treviso, the words pour from her mouth an overflow of a long-kept secret. She spares no details. The fact that she hadn’t fought back and allowed him to do what he did. How she bled for days after, spent weeks worrying about being possibly pregnant and the relief when she wasn’t. Viago’s fury and sheer disappointment, how he had reduced her to a common whore. The deep shame and embarrassment. How she had sought death around every corner. Words coming out chocked as she tries to breath, she doesn’t realise she’s crying until she is pulled into Emmrich’s arms, he gently shushes her.

The lock on her emotions ruptures and she wails; loud and anguished.

It was gut wrenching to see her like this, all he could do was embrace her and let the torrent of tears soak his shirt. Her hands clutching at him as she near suffocates with each breath. He holds her tighter as his body shakes from the force of her sobs, his hand holding the back of her head, he tries to ground her, and he can’t help that a few of his own tears escape.  

She lets the tears fall, each one washing away a little bit of the pain she’d been holding onto all these years. Grieving for the person she used to be, before that monster had stolen her away.

‘’It’s my fault,’’ It comes out as a harsh croak, ‘’If I had – ‘’

‘’No,’’ Emmrich interrupts he coaxes her to look at him once again his hands cradle her face, pushing the hair out of her face. ‘’It is not your fault.’’

Rook tries to shake out of his hold, but he doesn’t let her.

‘’The blame is not yours to carry my love, that sorry excuse of a man had no right to put his hands on you.’’

As her sobs subsided, she was left with a lingering headache and a rawness in her throat. But amidst the physical discomfort, she felt a strange sense of relief, felt a lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Emmrich takes care when putting Rook back together, her emotions like an open nerve;  he doesn’t stray too far from her side; leaving for a moment to make tea; making it to her liking and adding a spoonful of honey to ease the soreness of her throat, he brings a bowl of warm water and a flannel. Softly he cleans her face, wiping away the snot and tears. She curls up in his lap once again and they sit in a comfortable silence, the only sound to be heard comes from her sipping the tea.

He can’t help the bubble of anger that simmers within; he’s never been a man of violence, but he prays to never come across the man that cause her suffering.

‘’I’ve never told anyone before,’’ She delicately speaks not wanted to disrupt the soothing calm around them, ‘’I never wanted to let people see me so broken.’’

Emmrich places a kiss on the crown of her head his lips lingering there, ‘’You are not broken dearest, bruised, yes. But, not broken.’’

She looks up at him, eyes reddened and puffy from tears; still even like this she is the most beautiful woman he’s laid his eyes on. He can’t fathom how he managed to get her attention, but he doesn’t question it in the slightest.

‘’Indomitable is how I see you, unpredictable in the best of ways and most importantly of all; a survivor.’’

Survivor.

She’d never seen herself like that, frankly she hadn’t seen herself in years; now it’s time to let go of all the guilt she’d carried. To break down the walls and soothe the frightened girl that still lives within, to let go of the crushing guilt, show her the kindness that the world can offer, to feel the love of another.

‘’I feel safe with you.’’

A warmth blooms in Emmrich’s heart; this was more than a confession of love, she had come to him unknowing how this would go, gone against her judgement to remain silent. Shown him the parts of her that she had longed to keep hidden, she had put her trust in him, opened herself up to the potential of more judgement and disappoint. He knows that the events of that night will never fully leave, their will be times that she remembers, and the fear will come back, and she’ll fall.

She’ll never be alone as he will catch her every time.

‘’You’ll be safe with me always, my love.’’

[ximmortalis]

Emmrich Volkarin/Rook: Confession.

Summary:

Rook harbours a secret keeps it hidden under lock and key in her mind; the secret of the dark figure that forced her down to her knees.

With a blossoming relationship with Emmrich; Rook lies and finds herself burning with the need to confess.

Warnings: Mentions of past assault/non-con, suicidal thoughts.

A/N: Second part in the works.

Joints in her fingers cracking as she wrings her hands over and over, breathing slow and deep an attempt to starve off the panic building in her chest. Rook should be happy; she is ecstatically so. She’d just returned from a romantic evening with Emmrich in the Necropolis, sharing an exquisite meal fit for royalty. Rook had confessed that she had never been with someone romantically that he was her first. Emmrich for a moment looked taken a back but a gentle smile followed, he told her they could go as slowly as she liked, there was no need to rush. His acceptance made her giddy and a short walk around the gardens ended with a sweet kiss.

She should be on cloud nine, but she finds herself in her room feeling guilty.

When she told Emmrich that she’d never been with someone romantically it was the truth. Never been on a date, never been wined and dined or handled in such a gentle way like a cherished object. Soft touches are a rarity in life for a Crow; Rook is used to the harshness that comes with it.

Rook harbours a secret keeps it hidden under lock and key in her mind; the secret of the dark figure that forced her down to her knees and stole her purity, ripped her insides with sadistic glee and left her on the cold wet floor, broken. She had no idea how long she’d laid there alone and afraid unsure if her attacker would return.

Viago was waiting for her for the intel she had been sent out to gather, a fledgling at the time her training had begun only a year ago, only recently being sent out on actual assignments. Viago was furious when she finally turned up, he was relentless with his verbal assault and Rook had stood there and took it. She couldn’t tell him; the embarrassment was too much. It was shameful that a crow had let someone sneak up on them, it was her job to become one with the shadows; to remain undetected and she couldn’t even do that. It was enough to have her crow status stripped and kicked out of House De Riva. If Viago was paying more attention he’d see the angry red marks that littered her body, fingertip shaped marks around her throat and the welts around her wrists where she’d been held with a punishing grip. Rook said nothing when he asked for an explanation, infuriated by her lack of response he turned around and dismissed her. He spared her not even a glance but if he did, he wouldn’t have missed the limp in her step and the crimson stain blooming on her pants.

Waiting for the dead of the night to sneak her way to the bath house, letting out a breath when she found it empty. It’s a slow process stripping out of her clothes. When she pulls her underwear down, they’re stained with her blood and the stranger’s seed. She isn’t stupid, Rook knows the consequences that can come of this. Her stomach lurches violently as she throws up the contents of her stomach and she doesn’t stop until her lungs burn and ribs ache from dry heaving. Rook scrubbed her body raw until her arms ached, and the water scorched her skin. No matter how much soap and scented oils she used, the smell of him wouldn’t leave it was cemented in the pores of her skin.

Mind numb she sits in the water until it turns frigid.

In the morning, she goes to the apothecary, hood pulled over her head as far as it can go to conceal her identity. Face burning with embarrassment as she explains to the woman at the counter that she needs something that will stop conception. Without judgement the woman pulls out a potion of Silphium, explains the potential side effects and hands it to her. Drinking it all in one go she cringes at the bitter after taste and now she had to wait to see if it worked.

Throwing herself into training, Viago is keeping a close eye on her. She keeps a low profile, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention. It works Viago slowly stops breathing down her neck and it seems that everything starts going back to normality.

That’s until a furious Viago bursts into her room.

“Want to tell me what happened that night?”

Time halts.

He knows, he knows, he knows!

‘’Nothing.’’ It’s a weak denial and she knows it and with the look on Viago’s face he doesn’t believe her.

‘’So, the trip to the apothecary and the Silphium was nothing?’’ His head cocking to the side, ‘’What? You didn’t think I’d investigate this?’’

Again, when she doesn’t answer it pushes Viago over the edge and she finds herself at the receiving end of another verbal assault. He couldn’t believe that she had jeopardised a whole operation for a quick fuck, asking if she was proud of herself. Once again, she sits and takes it, she already blamed herself for what took place; why not accept his blame as well?

 ‘’This stays between us; I’m not doing this for you.’’ He spits before taking a moment to catch his breath. He turns on his heel to leave but not before twisting the knife in her already shattered heart.

‘’You bring shame on House De Riva.’’

She feels numb again, out of tune with her emotions; she feels nothing but absolute emptiness. It’s strange, she thinks; there hasn’t been a single tear shed. Disconnected from her mind and body, she feels like an outsider looking in. Her body doesn’t feel like hers anymore, it feels dirty.

Desecrated.  

It’s clear that this event is what starts her downfall, when she does finally become a full fledged Crow. Her risk taking behaviours increase, the contracts she takes are dangerous; ones that she couldn’t possibly survive. She’s not careful about them either but yet she seems to pull through each time. The relationship between her and Viago deteriorates and it was common place to find them exchanging verbal blows.

Viago thinks she has a death wish.

It’s not a wish, it’s a promise.

She wants to die; doing what she’s worked so hard for, then maybe she can claim some of her lost honour back.

It’s funny how her last death charge is what saves her, a patrol of Antaam herding captives. She didn’t even think, just leaped into action. She saved lives that day but the disappointment that she didn’t meet her bitter end was palpable. Unknowingly she had compromised a larger Crow operation. Her superiors were incensed and punished her accordingly. She’s sidelined and forced out of Antiva.

On the road she meets one of the captives she saved. Varric, the man who undoubtably saved her life.

Rook shakes her head a feeble attempt to push back the memories, it was years ago; it shouldn’t affect her as much as it did. Rook had spend many years lying to herself, shying away from relationships; starving herself of the loving touch of another. She was far to damaged no matter how good of a facade she put on, it wouldn’t be long before the cracks of her broken psyche would start to show.

If she stayed alone no one could take the opportunity to harm her again.

But, Emmrich appeared.

And he turned her world upside down.

Older, distinguished with an air of authority – a senior Mourn watcher.

A professor she expected for him to be harsh and critical of almost everything. Instead, he was softly spoken, gentle and his presence kept her calm. He respected her; not because he had to but because he wanted to. He indulged her when she had questions about his work, his patience unmatched. Rook would watch how he interacted with Manfred. Emmrich is an incredibly powerful necromancer, it would have been very easy for him to treat the spirit of curiosity as nothing more than an object to do his bidding. Instead, he treated the spirit as if he was human, teaching and nurturing him as a father would his own child.

It was safe to be around him, and it didn’t take long for her to fall head over heels for him.

Their relationship new and blossoming and she was already building the foundation on a lie. How would he react if he found out that she hadn’t told him the truth? But, what would he think when she told him what happened? It made her nauseous thinking about it.

She needs to confess.

No matter how painful it might be, no matter if he walks away from her. He deserves to learn of her failings – her sins.

Outside the door to his room her hand outstretched to knock, hovering in the air. She pauses, there is no going back after this and with a deep breath she knocks. A muffled permission to enter comes from within and she follows the voice inside. Emmrich is sat at his desk, the flicker of candlelight casts a hue against his features, he looks handsome in such lighting. He glances up and his face fills with warmth when he looks at her, but it quickly shifts to a look of concern. Emmrich stands and makes his way towards her, resting his palm against her forehead.

‘’My dear you look unwell, it wasn’t the food was it?’’

Savouring the warmth of his hands for a brief moment, looking up at him; the deep look of worry in his eyes almost brings her to tears. She converts this moment to a memory she will hold dear. Sensing her distress Emmrich cradles her face in his hands; hers come up to wrap gently around his wrists.

‘’My darling girl, what ever is the matter?’’

He guides them over to the couch and Rook sits with her legs crossed, her hands once again held tightly together. “I need to tell you something,” She looks down at her clenched hands knuckles turning white, “But I’m afraid you’ll not look at me in the same light.”

The air in the room changes as Emmrich senses the seriousness of the conversation. His hand slides over hers gently prying them apart, he keeps it there; lets her trace her fingers over the rings. He waits patiently, watching her facial expressions, the pinch of her brow, how her eyes dart back and forth, her mouth opening before closing again.

“When I said I’d never been with anyone, I wasn’t entirely telling the truth.”

Emmrich lets out a breath, almost wanting to chuckle at how his little darling had worked herself up over something so trivial. The relief he feels is short lived as the next words out of her mouth steals the air from his lungs.

“Years ago, I was doing recon on a target.” She begins, “I was in an alley keeping an eye out, when I was grabbed from behind.”

Like the flooded canals of Treviso, the words pour from her mouth an overflow of a long-kept secret. She spares no details. The fact that she hadn’t fought back and allowed him to do what he did. How she bled for days after, spent weeks worrying about being possibly pregnant and the relief when she wasn’t. Viago’s fury and sheer disappointment, how he had reduced her to a common whore. The deep shame and embarrassment. How she had sought death around every corner. Words coming out chocked as she tries to breath, she doesn’t realise she’s crying until she is pulled into Emmrich’s arms, he gently shushes her.

The lock on her emotions ruptures and she wails; loud and anguished.

It was gut wrenching to see her like this, all he could do was embrace her and let the torrent of tears soak his shirt. Her hands clutching at him as she near suffocates with each breath. He holds her tighter as his body shakes from the force of her sobs, his hand holding the back of her head, he tries to ground her, and he can’t help that a few of his own tears escape.  

She lets the tears fall, each one washing away a little bit of the pain she’d been holding onto all these years. Grieving for the person she used to be, before that monster had stolen her away.

‘’It’s my fault,’’ It comes out as a harsh croak, ‘’If I had – ‘’

‘’No,’’ Emmrich interrupts he coaxes her to look at him once again his hands cradle her face, pushing the hair out of her face. ‘’It is not your fault.’’

Rook tries to shake out of his hold, but he doesn’t let her.

‘’The blame is not yours to carry my love, that sorry excuse of a man had no right to put his hands on you.’’

As her sobs subsided, she was left with a lingering headache and a rawness in her throat. But amidst the physical discomfort, she felt a strange sense of relief, felt a lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Emmrich takes care when putting Rook back together, her emotions like an open nerve;  he doesn’t stray too far from her side; leaving for a moment to make tea; making it to her liking and adding a spoonful of honey to ease the soreness of her throat, he brings a bowl of warm water and a flannel. Softly he cleans her face, wiping away the snot and tears. She curls up in his lap once again and they sit in a comfortable silence, the only sound to be heard comes from her sipping the tea.

He can’t help the bubble of anger that simmers within; he’s never been a man of violence, but he prays to never come across the man that cause her suffering.

‘’I’ve never told anyone before,’’ She delicately speaks not wanted to disrupt the soothing calm around them, ‘’I never wanted to let people see me so broken.’’

Emmrich places a kiss on the crown of her head his lips lingering there, ‘’You are not broken dearest, bruised, yes. But, not broken.’’

She looks up at him, eyes reddened and puffy from tears; still even like this she is the most beautiful woman he’s laid his eyes on. He can’t fathom how he managed to get her attention, but he doesn’t question it in the slightest.

‘’Indomitable is how I see you, unpredictable in the best of ways and most importantly of all; a survivor.’’

Survivor.

She’d never seen herself like that, frankly she hadn’t seen herself in years; now it’s time to let go of all the guilt she’d carried. To break down the walls and soothe the frightened girl that still lives within, to let go of the crushing guilt, show her the kindness that the world can offer, to feel the love of another.

‘’I feel safe with you.’’

A warmth blooms in Emmrich’s heart; this was more than a confession of love, she had come to him unknowing how this would go, gone against her judgement to remain silent. Shown him the parts of her that she had longed to keep hidden, she had put her trust in him, opened herself up to the potential of more judgement and disappoint. He knows that the events of that night will never fully leave, their will be times that she remembers, and the fear will come back, and she’ll fall.

She’ll never be alone as he will catch her every time.

‘’You’ll be safe with me always, my love.’’

[ximmortalis]

Emmerich Volkarin/Rook: Miss me.

Summary:

Rook had sent letters to him, letting him know that she was safe setting his worries at ease. She wrote how desperately she missed him and how she couldn’t wait to be back in his arms. How she ached to have his hands on her body, wanting to feel him inside of her. It was nothing short of pure smut, he made the mistake of reading the letter before he started his lecture and now his mind his wholly focused on her.

He’s a love sick fool.

When Rook is away for a while, Emmerich looks back on how their romance came to be.

NSFW

There’s been plenty of talk around the Necropolis since Emmrich returned; after taking a sabbatical to kill two Elven Gods and having a helping hand in stopping the Dreadwolf from tearing down the veil. He’s been the main topic of conversation as well as the gossip. It’s not gone unnoticed that he’s returned with a woman, only a few know of his relationship. Most comment that he seems happier and clearly the sabbatical was much needed. He saw wonderous and learned truth’s that longed to stay buried, he put a ghost of his past behind him, looked death square in the face with barely a flinch and met someone who completely turned his world upside down.

Rook was a breath of fresh air that he didn’t know he needed.

Fierce and strong willed she dominated on the battlefield a whirlwind of blades and a dangerous precision with her bow a testament of her training as an Antivan Crow. When she and Bellera had first come to the Necropolis seeking his help as a fade expert; he had been captivated by her beauty. Emmerich kept that to himself, a beautiful young woman such as herself would have no interest in a man of his age. What he didn’t count on was her having the same thoughts that he did.

The first time she had said a flirtatious comment his way, his brain came to halt, and he must have looked like a complete fool. He didn’t take it seriously at the beginning she couldn’t have possible been interested in him, not when there were others such as, Davrin and Lucanis.

When she went with him to the memorial gardens for the first time to conduct a ceremony, she had listened intently to every word he spoke. Asked questions of his works wanting to learn everything she could of spirts and the fade. They shared an interest in botany, she taught him the many uses of different plants, admittedly mainly for poisons.

And she absolutely adored Manfred.

His little spirt of curiosity had taken a shine to her.

It was a common sight to see Manfred following her around the lighthouse; Neve had sweetly referred to him as Rook’s shadow. Even out in the field he wouldn’t stray too far from her side, when she picked herbs and plants Manfred would offer his backpack for her to store them and would walk with more cautious steps to not ruin them. On their return he would lift each one out of his pack studying them with a curious hiss; Rook would then take the time to tell him the names of each one, what they were used for and what did cause him some minor concern, how effective of a poison they could be. Manfred would gift her little tickets his found, shiny stones, seashells from the beaches of Rivain and once the skull of a bird. Rook had cleared out space in her room to house them all.

Their courtship was a slow dance, when it was clear to him that her intentions where sincere. Even more so when she timidly admitted that she had been with no other, a surprise to him; a woman of such beauty who had never felt the touch of a lover. It truly amazed him how she went from confident leader, one who wouldn’t think to throw a sarcastic one liner against an all-powerful enemy, to a bashful little thing. The blush that engulfed her cheeks when he leaned down for a kiss was simply wonderful.

Her lack of experience she made up for with the utmost enthusiasm.

Late night rendezvous in his room always ending with enthusiastic kisses, tongues sliding against each other’s. She made him feel like a young man again, like a lovesick teenager who couldn’t keep his hands to himself; she thrived under his attention. Rook loved to touch and be touched. Her fingers would trace over his hands and fiddled with the many rings that adorned them. He would watch with interest taking note of the slight blush, but it was the way she bit her bottom lip that gave her away.

Rook had a thing for his hands.

From then on, he started to be a bit more frivolous with his hand gestures and her eyes would track each movement. It brought him great pleasure knowing that something so small could unravel her.

The first time he touched her intimately started by accident, Rook had been perched on his lap while he responded to letters. Straddled over one of his thighs, her head resting against his shoulder, with one hand cupped against the side of his neck and her thumb stroking against his jaw. His arm wrapped around her back, hand resting on her hip as he traced random patterns with his thumb.

He absents mindedly shifted his leg which pressed against her.

Rook sharply inhaled and tensed the following breath shuddered against his neck; he froze unsure one what action to take next, but Rook answered that for him. With a tentative roll of her hips, he could feel the heat of her cunt against his leg. She sat up her gaze filled with need; he bridged the gap between them pulling her in for a heated kiss. Letting Rook take the lead, she rutted against his thigh with wild abandon with no proper rhythm, she huffed in frustration at not being able to feel what she wanted. He gripped her hips forcing her to stop her frantic movements.

‘’Slow.’’

He started a gentle and slow rhythm each time he rolled her hips down he would press up with his thigh. She gasped her hands clutching his shoulders, Emmrich could not help himself, his lips finding her throat and leaving trails of bites sucking what he knows will be deep purple bruises on her skin. The wetness of her cunt seeping through his pants as he works her closer to orgasm.

Rook begs for him to touch her to feel the ache deep inside of her that only his touch can sate. His fingers delving under the waistband of her pants, he groans at the first touch of her cunt. He rubs over her clit and is rewarded handsomely; her hips buck into his hand, and she moans loudly.

‘’In-inside, need to feel you inside.’’

Sinking two fingers into her with ease curling them makes her arch against him, she wraps her arms around his neck, one hand finding purchase in the hair at the base of his neck. He fucks his fingers inside of her with dangerous precision on that one special spot inside of her, Rook rocks against him with each thrust, he can feel that she’s close the tremble in her hips giving her away.

‘’So good for me darling, you’re close, aren’t you?’’

She sobbed out a garbled yes and more pleas followed.

‘’Come for me, my love; oh, you’re so good for me.’’

Her cunt clenches and she let out a wail as she falls over the edge; he keeps thrusting inside to draw out her orgasm until she falls against him spent. Soothing a hand up her back as her body works through the aftershocks. He can feel her heart racing, breath heavy and hot against his neck.

From then she’s an insatiable little minx.

They take every moment that they can to explore each other’s bodies, learn how to pleasure one another. The first time he had his mouth on her he pulled orgasm after orgasm from her until she was a whimpering mess, tears streaming down her face and drooling against the bedsheets. He was just as dishevelled as she was, hair a mess from her hands, moustache drenched from her juices and his pants ruined, his seed spilling inside of them from rutting against the bedspread. When she had gotten on her knees for him sucking his cock down her throat, worshiping him like a God and in return he praised her like a Goddess. The warmth of her mouth felt sinfully delicious, it didn’t take long before he spilled down her throat and she swallowed every drop of his seed. She released his cock with a lude pop pressing a loving kiss to the tip.

Emmrich was waiting for the perfect time to take his beloveds flower. Once the Gods were dead and the veil left untouched. He wanted to take her out again, have a fancy meal a night just for her to show how he cherished her. Wanting to take her to his home to worship her in his bed.

However, fate took an unexpected turn.

They argue before heading to Tearstone Island, Emmerich had his fear of death overwhelm him. They came to a stalemate just staring at one another before Rook let out a sigh and walked away, he yearned to follow but stubbornly remained in place and he regretted that choice. Despite this, Rook had chosen him to go into battle with her and before they reached Ghilan’nain he had a moment of sombre; if he was to die today did, he really want their last conversation together being a silly argument. He called out to her, apologises spilling from him. Rook smiled at him and promised that they’d talk once this was over.

But that didn’t come to pass.

After the death of Ghilan'nain he searches around the tarnished battlefield looking for his love but when he couldn’t find her his heart shattered. Rook had disappeared without a trace, it was only when the team found out that Solas had made an appearance in Minrathous that the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Solas had escaped the fade prison by making her the perfect substitute. For the three weeks she was gone Emmerich was inconsolable, lost in grief he took to locking himself away in his room searching for something, anything that could return Rook to him. When he crafted the imitation dagger, he let himself hope but that was quickly snatched away when it couldn’t cut through the simplest of enchantments.

Taash couldn’t take just sitting around and doing nothing the dragon hunter wasn’t versed in magic but wanted to help in anyway she could. Taash dragged him from his room not giving him a choice and with Lucanis in toe, they made their way back to Tearstone. Again, they searched and once more found nothing. They were just about to depart when he felt it, a thinning in the veil. He called out for her as did the others, hoping that she could hear them. Then finally after what felt like an eternity, he caught a glimpse of her from, without thinking he reached in when he contacted something solid, he pulled with all his strength. Taash and Lucanis joining him and with one final heave Rook was pulled out of the fade and into his awaiting arms.

After three agonisingly long weeks she was back where she belonged, safe in his arms he held her close when she crumbled to her knees. A heart wrenching sob left her, and his body shook with each one. Emmerich learned the true extent of the cruelty she suffered at the hands of Solas. All this time she though that Varric was alive and recovering from his injuries, but the reality was that he was dead.

The night before they leave for Minrathous he takes her to the Necropolis wanting to ensure whatever horrid enchantment Solas had put on her was gone.

‘’Darling… I thought I’d lost you forever in the fade.’’

‘’I wasn’t afraid I would die. I was afraid I’d be there forever.’’

‘’You’re not, you’re here with me.’’

Rook pulled him to his feet, ‘’I did have someone to come back too.’’

The kiss they share is filled with longing and the deep love that they share for each other, he gently guides her until her back touches stone, and she waste no time in climbing into the coffin, dragging him with her. In the mist of hungry kisses, they shed items of clothing until they are both bare. She opens her legs giving him room to slot himself between them. His cock presses against her cunt and he can’t stop himself from grinding against her. He worships her body pleasuring her in all the way he knows she loves using his hands and mouth. When he sits back on his knees prepared to lets things end she surprises him once more, wrapping her legs around his waist.

‘’No more waiting. I want to be connected with you in mind, soul and body.’’

He intertwines one of their hands, bringing it to his lips.

‘’You already have me, my darling.’’

Slowly he pushes himself inside and she takes all of him beautifully when he is fully sheaved inside, she looks down at where they are connected and moans. Her cunt is tight, warm and wet and feels positively divine his cock snug within her walls. Rook pulls him down closer to her clutches his shoulders. It takes a few thrusts for her to get used to the feeling the uncomfortable fullness blossoming into pleasure. A deep thrust has her throwing her head back, her pleasure echoing off the walls. They don’t take their eyes off one another the contact only breaking when their mouths crash together in a passionate kiss. Her cunt clenches around his cock as she comes with a cry and with one last deep thrust, he follows her, his come spilling deep inside.

Falling asleep embraced together, he wakes early with the good intentions of getting breakfast instead she coaxes him back inside the coffin with whispers of what she wanted to do to him. Who was he to say no?

The tables turn when he’s the one on his back while his love rides his cock for all it’s worth and all he can do is grip her hips and let praises fall from his lips.

Emmrich gets pulled from the past and into the present by one of his students calling his name. He clears his throat and apologises for being distracted, normally he isn’t so easy to distract but he hasn’t seen his darling for just shy of two weeks, currently out on an adventure with Taash in Rivain. He’d been invited of course, but since the world had been saved the vast knowledge that he had learned was needed back at the necropolis and thus he went back to teaching. Eager students had filled the seats in the lecture hall wanting to know of his involvement of helping stop the Gods. He fed them small titbits here and there, spoke of his companions in high regards.

Rook had sent letters to him, letting him know that she was safe setting his worries at ease. She wrote how desperately she missed him and how she couldn’t wait to be back in his arms. How she ached to have his hands on her body, wanting to feel him inside of her. It was nothing short of pure smut, he made the mistake of reading the letter before he started his lecture and now his mind his wholly focused on her. Finding himself looking back on their romance. He’s a love sick fool. But he is a professional he clears his mind and continues his teaching.

He's nearing the end of his lesson when the door flings open with a loud bang, revealing Manfred, dragging a very apologetic Rook behind him.

‘’Rook! Rook!’’

All his students stop what they are doing turning with star filled eyes, fascinated at seeing the woman who saved the world, the leader of The Veilguard. Manfred who is still chanting her name, clearly excited that she has returned. She looks over at him and smiles and calls Manfreds name to get his attention.

‘’I’m sorry Em, he got a little to excited.’’

Emmerich lets out a small laugh, ‘’That’s quiet all right my dear, I’ll be done soon.’’

Her attention turns back to Manfred, ‘’Let’s go, you wanna see the gifts I brought for you.’’

With an excited hiss they leave, his bony arm interlinked with hers. His students make no comment when he rushes through the last of the material, especially when in his rush to finish he forget to assign them work to study outside his lecture. He leaves the hall with a quick thank you to them and makes his way to his room. Opening the door, he’s greeted by the sight of Rook and Manfred sat on the couch, her showing him the many trinkets she brought back. She sends him off with a puzzle box, clearly an item to keep him busy for a good while.

Emmerich wastes no time sitting down next to her and pulling her into his lap, he’s waited for this moment long enough.

‘’My darling, how I have missed you.’’

Rook leans down to kiss him, ‘’I’ve missed you too, hopefully my letters help with my absence.’’

‘’Speaking of letters, you’re last one has landed you in trouble,’’ His hands squeeze the flesh of her thighs, and she lets out a breathy sigh before she smirks and rolls her hips against his readily hardening cock, ‘’Oh really?’’

‘’You absolute minx.’’

Her laugh turns into a surprised shriek as he stands, her legs wrapping around his waist. He carries her over to his desk. Hands making their way under her shirt to cup her breasts, thumb skimming over her nipple. Rook leans back on her elbows looking up at him through her lashes.

‘’Show me how much you missed me.’’

‘’As you wish, Darling.’’

[ximmortalis]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader: A solemn vow

Summary:

The man sitting in front of you isn't Simon, it's Ghost.

"Shut up," It's spoken in a hiss, "What makes you think you can help eh? You sit in blissful ignorance, you don't see what I see out there, the horror of it all."

A/N: Mentions of a past abusive relationship

After being away for six months. Simon had finally returned home to you. It was a complete surprise. He'd given no indication that he was on his way back. You hadn't heard anything from him for the last two months. It wasn't new; sometimes, when he was away on a mission, he would have to cut contact for a while. If you were lucky, he would pre warn you ahead of time.

This time you weren't so lucky.

Simon always called you, that was the rule and after three weeks of not hearing from him, you accepted that you probably wouldn't for a long time.

You know that you shouldn't worry, after all the two of you have a running joke that the only thing that can kill Simon Riley, is Simon Riley.

It doesn't stop the worry that seeps itself deep in your bones, holds your mind hostage in the dark of the night. His job is dangerous, he doesn't tell you the darkest parts of it but you get an idea from the many times you'd had to wake him from a nightmare that leaves him drenched in sweat.

So, when you walked through the front door to see him sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees with his head hanging low, wearing the black balaclava.

It stopped you dead in your tracks.

Simon never wore the mask at home.

The man sitting in front of you isn't Simon, it's Ghost.

You're unsure how to approach him, unable to get a read on him. He knows that you're there but he hasn't made any attempt to remove the mask or move for that matter. It unsettles you making you second guess every move you want to make.

Despite sharing the same body Simon and Ghost are two entirely different people.

Simon, who is a little rough around the edges and a behemoth of a man who has been through his own personal hell, from what you learned from whispered confessions in the dark of the night. A man who had to learn that he was deserving of good things and love; is soft and gentle.

He would die before he hurt you.

Fiercely loyal and protective, he loves with all his heart. Simon lets his carefully constructed walls down and trusts you intimately to not break him. At first you found it to be strange, but it became obvious that beyond his towering height and at first scary looking demeanor, he was fragile. He only trusted at most a handful of people and when he welcomed you into that group, you swear it made your heart swell beyond the walls of your chest.

You put him back together piece by piece and in turn he did the same for you.

Simon wasn't the only one that needed putting back together. You had also dealt with your fair share of demons and Simon had tenderly mended the parts of yourself that you'd deemed broken.

"Not broken love, just bruised is all."

Together, the pair of you had formed something nothing short of beautiful, relearning how to trust and how to love each other. Molding your lives around each other, becoming intricately wounded together. No matter how far he went, the red thread connecting your hearts went with him, never breaking.

However, Ghost, you don't really know him.

Simon doesn't allow for you to see that side of him. From what you're witnessing in front of you, this man isn't who you know. The unforgiving tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench almost rhythmically. He screams danger and it makes your heart jump into your throat.

Words fail you as you stand cemented in place. You can do nothing but watch as he gets up and walks away, without a word or a glance in your direction. It's only when you hear the lock of the door to his study do you release the breath you've been holding.

He doesn't have to say anything for him to communicate. It's clear that he needs space, needs time to decompress to peel Ghost away from his skin.

Simon disassociates from himself entirely to become Ghost, who is a weapon. The only focus is finishing the mission regardless of the cost. To make the calls that Simon Riley is incapable of making.

He cannot be Simon on the battlefield; he has to be nonexistent, so he slips on his mask to become that. It's a barrier between himself and Ghost. In a way he kills Simon each and every time he puts on that mask.

You'll just have to wait for Simon to dig himself out of his grave and come back to you.

It's been just shy of a week and the house is still eerily silent, you haven't seen Simon as he stays locked away. At least you know he's eating from the empty plates left outside the door.

The days are bad but the nights are worse as you lay and stare at the empty side of the bed for countless hours. His pillow no longer holds his scent and you mourn the loss of it. You miss him more now than you did when he was away. It's hard to describe like his namesake; it's like living with a ghost.

You don't know how to help him.

Not having him by your side is killing you, the ache inside your heart grows more and more each day. It's that burning need for him that leads you to take a very risky decision.

You call Johnny.

If anyone can help you know it's him he knows Ghost better than anyone.

Johnny knows instantly that something is wrong, his voice filled with concern, you're calling him in the wee hours of the morning of course something is up. You explain to him the predicament that you're in, how he came home wearing the mask and how he has closed himself off from you.

You find yourself almost pleading with him to help.

"Don't you worry Lass, I'll sort that eejit out for you."

"You can't tell him I called, he'll go mad."

Johnny laughs, "Mad at you? Never, but I'll not tell him, now get to bed."

"Thank you."

"No need to thank me hen, just let ol' Soap take care of it."

After a quick goodbye to him you settle yourself down, you can't help but worry you know you've crossed a line by calling Johnny but you found yourself with no other option. After almost a week with no change you're desperate for something, any small glimpse of your Simon.

You just hope he sees it the same way you do.

When the sun's morning rays peer through the window directly into your face, you scrunch your eyes together and roll over, like a bad habit you reach out seeking him but you're met with nothing. Just a cold and empty unforgiving space. The dam breaks and you can't stop the tears as they pour down your face. You feel ripped open so raw and vulnerable, he's here but he's not and it hurts.

Face burrowed in his pillow to quieten your sobs, you allow yourself to purge all the negative emotions you're feeling; unable to hold it back no longer. You're lost and incredibly lonely, the silence is driving you crazy; you've started talking to yourself out loud as you go about your day, saying anything to fill the empty void.

When you finally do calm down and get your emotions in check, you feel exhausted but you drag yourself out of bed regardless to start another day. You've been trying to keep yourself busy as best you can, today you've got on a cleaning spree. Even going as far to get down on your hands and knees and scrub the skirting boards.

In your spree you noticed that his duffle bag is still where he left it and you haul it into the kitchen to tackle the pile of washing that needs doing. As you pull out his dirty clothes, you make sure to check all the pockets. Simon has a habit of leaving items inside of them and you've accidentally washed his wallet at least twice. It doesn't take you long until you find something; a cigarette lighter. By the end, you've found a few more lighters, an almost empty pack of cigarettes and odd bits of change. You can't help but let out a small chuckle, it's not that it's funny, no, it's just so Simon.

You look inside the bag to make sure you got everything, opening the many zips to check for no hidden dirty socks.

"What you doing?"

His voice is tense and it startles you; when you turn he is standing in the doorway his face still covered by the black mask.

"I'm just-" You stutter, looking anywhere but at him, "Washing needed doing."

"Really? Looks like you were rifling through my shit."

You shake your head, "N-no, just making sure I got all the dirty clothes."

The duffle bag is clutch close to you subconsciously using it as a barrier between you and him.

"Sure, you were." You can feel the building animosity from his tone alone, warning bells start ringing in your head.

"I was-"

"Liar," He snarls and within a blink of an eye he's in front of you, roughly snatching the duffle from your hands with such force you almost fall forward, fabric burning your fingertips. You're frozen in place; he's never spoken to you like this before. Even during past arguments, you've both spoken to each other in calm tones; taking small breaks when it gets too much.

He's so close that you can feel his body radiating heat, usually comforting but this time you find it suffocating, the heat rolling off him is coated with rage. You risk looking up at him and your heart stops, he's staring down at you with dead eyes, it makes you think if this is what his enemies see before he kills them.

Your heart thunders in your chest and he stalks away from you, pacing around the kitchen with quick steps, his chest heaving with each step.

"I've told you before, don't touch my shit but you don't listen do you?"

"I'm sorry."

He whirls on his heel and you don't need him to take the mask off to know he's baring his teeth. You take a step back the counter top digging painfully into your back, you've never seen him like this before and it scares you.

No, it terrorizes you.

"You called Soap."

It's said with no emotion it's not a question, he knows that you did. Lying about it will get you nowhere, you know that first hand it just makes things much worse.

"Yes," You whisper and you see all his muscle tense, his breathing once more heaving as his rage boils to the surface once more.

"What," He spits out, "Gave you the fuckin right?"

You can't speak, fear has you in a chokehold, your head is shaking rapidly from side to side pleading for him to stop but he's lost to the anger that your plea is unseen. He barks the question out at you again, it's a clear order to answer; like you're nothing more than a soldier who messed up.

"I was just trying to help you."

It does nothing to pacify him, it does the complete opposite in fact.

"Help?" He sniggers at you as he slams the duffle down on the kitchen table. "I don't need your fuckin help."

"Si-"

"Shut up," It's spoken in a hiss, "What makes you think you can help eh? You sit in blissful ignorance, you don't see what I see out there, the horror of it all."

It's an angry confession he has let you in only slightly but his anger isn't allowing him to open up fully. He's releasing so much unadulterated pain but the rage is clouding it, mangling it as it comes out, twisting it so that it can only leave his body as pure fury.

You watch helplessly as he paces once more, his hands are gripping at the fabric of the mask. Nausea churns in your stomach, acid burning the back of your throat. Tears burn your eyes as you follow his every move, trying to anticipate what he's going to do.

He picks up the duffle bag and turns in your direction, he lifts it slightly and your mind goes blank.

At this moment, you don't see Simon.

You don't even see Ghost.

All you can see is him.

The man you thought was banished from your mind. The man who hurt you, who broke you all those years ago. Bracing yourself for the hit that is going to come but it doesn't. The sound of glass breaking cuts through you, it's loud more so than any of the words that have been screamed.

The sound makes you whimper and plead.

It's your sound of fear that pulls Simon out of his red mist. When he finally comes down enough to actually look at you and the sight breaks his fucking heart.

You have your arms in front of your face in a defensive position, shaking violently. He can hear you sobbing; broken pleads repeating like a prayer.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please I'm sorry.

Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me.

Won't do it again, please just don't hurt me.

You're begging for him to not hurt you, but it's not his name you're saying. No, it's the monster of your past that you're pleading with.

It's like ice water is poured over him.

Simon has done the one thing he promised to never do; he broke you.

He rips that mask from himself, finally burying Ghost deep inside. Something that he should have been able to do long before he stepped through the front door.

His throat feels raw, a testament to how loud he was shouting. All the anger that he was feeling is very quickly defusing, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of regret and bone chilling guilt.

"Love-" It's the first softly spoken word from him since he got back and he takes a tentative step towards you. Simon calls your name trying to pull you out of the personal hell he put you in.

It doesn't.

It just makes you worse.

You flitch somehow managing to curl more in on yourself, as if you're trying to make yourself disappear. Your hands buried in your hair, twisting the strands around your fingers, clawing it out.

He moves towards you at a pace too fast, wanting to stop you from hurting yourself more.

Big mistake.

The scream you let out is nothing short of gut wrenching.

It freezes him in place.

And in the blink of an eye, you're moving.

In your haste to escape you slip on the broken glass that litters the floor but it does nothing to slow you down. Stumbling to your feet, he hears as the front door opens - slamming against the wall.

By the time he reaches the front door before he can even call your name, you're gone.

"Fuck, you fuckin bloody idiot."

It's raining and you've left in nothing more than a t-shirt and sleep shorts.

"You absolute bastard Simon."

Now isn't the time for him to wallow in self pity, he has to find you. Get down on his hands and knees, beg for your forgiveness. He just has to hope that you'll find it in your heart to forgive him.

Simon is going out of his mind. He's been looking for over an hour and he hasn't found you yet. His coat doing nothing to protect him from the ever present gloomy Manchester rain.

It isn't called the rainy city for nothing.

His fingers flex nervously against the steering wheel as he waits for the traffic lights to turn green. There is one last place that he hasn't looked yet, he'd hoped that you'd found refuge somewhere inside, out of the rain. Really, he should have gone here first after all, it is your happy place. There is something that you love doing more than anything else, you had very proudly admitted it to him, not one ounce of shame.

You love to feed ducks.

Even going as far to have your favourite duck.

"He's a mandarin."

"An orange?"

"Don't be silly Simon, he's a duck. Been through the wars that one only has one eye."

When he finally lays his eyes on you it feels like he can breathe again. You're sitting on the bench that overlooks the pond, hair plastered down flat, heavy from the rain. Learning from his past mistake he approaches with caution, but loud enough so that he doesn't startle you. His knees hitting the hard unforgiving ground as he submits to you, ready to beg.

You're shaking and breathing too fast for his liking, teeth chattering loudly. He takes off his coat and drapes it across your shoulders and you pull it closer around yourself.

"No orange today?"

It's a weak attempt to reach out and rebuild, but he can see from your eyes that they are devoid of all emotion, just empty pools of nothing. He needs to bring you back before he can apologize.

"He-he thought it was stupid."

Barely a whisper but he hears it loud and clear.

"Said it was childish."

He doesn't need to ask, he knows what you're talking about. Simon only knows little about your ex but it's enough for him to despise him. How a man could take someone like you, with all your kindness and unbridled love and nearly destroy you.

It makes him want to set Ghost free.

"He's all I can see, can hear him in my head," Your hands cover your face, "Over and over and over."

Every over is punctuated with a fist hitting the side of your head. Simon decides that now is the time he needs to bring you back. He's gentle when he takes hold of your wrists but you still make a feeble attempt to fight the hold.

"No- no, stop. Look at me love, I need you to look at me."

Despite the pouring rain he can see the fresh wave of tears rolling down your cheeks. Yet, you still won't look at him and it kills him, hurts worse than any bullet he's taken. He makes a desperate attempt to reach you, placing your hands on his face.

"Feel me, please- love just feel; it's me. I'm here."

When you do finally look at him, the world around you comes to a stop. For the first time since he's been back you finally see your Simon.

Not Ghost. Not him.

Simon.

You see him along with his scars, you feel the scruff of his growing beard. How the raindrops cling to his lashes and he is simply beautiful. Sorrow and grief fill the pools of his eyes, he's open and raw showing you everything that you've wanted to see since he got back.

"Welcome home, Simon."

He collapses into you burying his face into your stomach. His body hitches with each breath a concentrated effort to not break to keep himself together, the warmth of it only remind you of how cold you actually are.

When he looks up at you, his eyes are red and he looks exhausted. His hold on you is tight; desperate even - as if you would disappear if he let go.

"I'm sorry," It's blunt and to the point but it's spoken softly, "I'm so fuckin sorry."

He presses a delicate kiss on the inside of your wrist; the first time you've felt his lips against you since he's been back.

"Please," A whispered plea, "Never again, I- I can't."

Calloused fingers brushed against your cheeks cradling your face, thumbs brushing away stray tears. He looks you straight in the eye.

"Never."

A solemn vow.

One he will not break.

Slowly inching his face closer towards you, studying you carefully. His intention is clear but he waits ever so patiently for you to close the gap. He doesn't have to wait long. You move quickly to close that miniscule space, craving the feeling of his lips on yours; fill your lungs with him and only him. The kiss is desperate; a perfect representation of how you've been feeling, you've yearned for this for six long agonizing months. It pulls a needy whimper from you and Simon holds you close.

When he pulls away he doesn't go far tucking his face into your neck, each exhale like a feather. Simon needs this to know that you're there, when you ran to escape him for the first time in a long time he felt fear. He felt vulnerable and he didn't like how it made him feel. The ache in his knees is bordering on painful yet he takes it, punishing himself.

The cold has made you numb and the little warmth that Simon had you've quickly sapped away, once more leaving you shaking.

"Let's go home, yeah?"

You nod eagerly and Simon slowly rises; knees protesting the movement. You go to stand but instead with no effort, he picks you up, arm under your knees, the other around your back, your arms wind around his neck.

It's the warmth that hits first as you walk back into your home. At first it feels wonderful as it starts to chase away what felt like a persistent chill but that quickly fades, the wet clothes that cling to you feel horrible against your skin, you're stood awkwardly, arms slightly out to avoid them touching your wet shirt. Simon is gentle as he guides you towards the bathroom. He turns the shower on and gets it to the right temperature, steam quickly gathering in the space. He strips out of his wet clothes, leaving them a pile in the corner.

He stood just in his boxers and bizarrely you cast your mind back to when he would hide his body from you, he didn't want you to see the abundance of scars that covered his skin. You've traced everyone of them with your fingers, pausing while he'll tell you the story behind them.

"Sneaky bastard tried to gut me, missed the vital parts. Lucky for me, unlucky for him."

"Stabbed myself with my own knife trying to show off."

Some scars when you've grazed over them he goes deadly still. Only letting you get a glimpse of their history.

"Dad like to smoke."

That one sentence spoken in such a monotone way, like it almost meant nothing, painted a picture of some of the untold violence he'd experienced. It's clear that the memories of them are painful and it makes your heart ache for the small defenseless boy that's trapped within him.

You're brought back when you feel his fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt, he looks at you asking for permission and you lift your arms in reply. He takes care as he removes each piece of clothing, keeping you steady as he takes down your underwear. It's not the first time that he's done this, usually it's in the throws of passion and even after countless times he still chuckles when you squeak when your back meets the frigid tiles.

This time is different, he's gentle and taking his time, treating you like fine porcelain. When he's done, he guides you under the warm spray of the shower, the heat of it chasing away the cold. You take a moment, savoring the feeling as the water cascades over you. Simon slips in not long after, wrapping his arms around your torso holding you close to him; your back against his chest, the steady beating of his heart reverberating against yours.

Calling to one another.

The silence that surrounds you both isn't uncomfortable, it's soothing.

"Lemme take care of you, eh?"

He reaches for your shampoo, it smells like strawberries. The scent is uniquely yours, and every time he smells the sweet scent regardless of where he is, he's reminded of you. It's hard when he's away, makes his heart clench as he longs to be back home. Simon has magic hands and makes you purr as he lathers it into your scalp. Perfect pressure as he works, paying special attention around the sides. You're practically half asleep by the time he's done, leaning against him. He's careful when he rinses ensuring none of the soapy water enters your eyes.

You take it in turns caring for one another, he has to crane his neck down so you can properly reach to shampoo his hair. The normally soft stands feel dry and rough and Simon melts as your nails work to get rid of the dirt and grime, letting out a satisfied groan. With each act of care, you're stitching yourselves back together, mending the parts that have frayed, the bond that you share pulsing with nothing but love and adoration.

Even after you're both washed and clean you stay under the warm spray embracing one another. A gentle sway in his movements as he clutches you to him, when his cheek brushes against yours, the short and sharp hairs prickle your skin.

"You need to shave."

Simon huffs a laugh, it's the first words you've spoken to him since leaving the pond.

"Thinkin' of growing a beard."

You laugh out loud and it's like music to Simon's ears. "Wouldn't cope with it under your mask, you'll itch like mad."

"Good point," He hums, "Best sort it out then, yeah?"

Knowing what he wants, you reach over and turn the shower off, he follows you out of the shower. You wrap yourself up in a towel, you grab all the items that you need lining them neatly on the bathroom skin before hopping up to sit on the cabinet. He stands in between your legs, perfectly still as you work the shaving cream over the lower half of his face.

Simon loves it when you shave him, perfectly capable to do it himself but there is something intimate around it when you do it. Having your delicate hands so close to his throat, a place that his enemies aim for makes him feel vulnerable in all the right ways. Plus, he gets to see your adorable concentration face, how the tip of your tongue peaks through your lips. It's no wonder that sometimes he couldn't help but ravage you on the sink cabinet you're sitting on. You've become a professional over time, your once shaky hand now steady as you work the razor over his skin. Your skilled hands never leave him with any nicks or razor burn and he's grateful for the time and attention you pay to it. By the time you're done, his skin is practically glowing from the gentle care.

"Skin care is important Simon, all that paint is just clogging your pores."

When you've finished applying the soothing balm, you finish the routine the same way you always do, pulling him down for a soft kiss.

You hum, "All smooth again."

"Thank you, love," He leans in again, stealing another kiss, he can feel you smile into it, "You're welcome, Si."

"Let's go to bed."

"It's the middle of the afternoon."

"And?"

You roll your eyes playfully but you can't deny the fact that you're tired, "Okay then."

Simon still doesn't let you lift a finger as he dresses you in the fluffiest pajamas you own, he even carefully blow dries your hair in the way you like. When you finally do get into bed you plaster yourself against him, throwing a leg over his hip, laying your head on his shoulder. His hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly.

"I missed you," He confesses, "Not being able to hear your voice."

"I missed you more when you came home," You swallow the lump in your throat, "Being so close, yet so far away."

He squeezes you tighter against him; he isn't saying anything but you can hear as his mind turns over, searching for the right words. Simon has always struggled when it came to talking about how he felt, so used to just being alone and ignoring his emotions. It takes him a while when he finally starts to explain, you listen intently and patiently when he takes long pauses.

Putting together the parts of his jumbled story, the picture starts to become clear slowly. The mission had been in his words a 'shit show' from the beginning, the Intel they were working with hadn't been the best, going in practically blind. How he and his team had spent months in the desert, the unforgiving heat during the day and the freezing temperatures at night had destroyed the team morale. They'd risked their lives to save a captured squad and in return they betrayed them.

They lost four good men in that fight, one of them had a pregnant wife waiting for him at home.

He didn't want to cut contact with you but he had no option. They had been compromised and ultimately he had to keep you safe, keep you away from falling into the dangerous part of his life. Simon spares you the violent details, he never shares that.

The mission was a failure.

They found out that they were just chasing their own tails. Intel was wrong and in the end, wasted months of time for nothing and that left him furious.

"Six months for fuckin nothing, men lost their lives for nothing."

"Not your fault," You soothe rubbing your cheek against his shoulder, "You know that right?"

Simon knows that the job he has is dangerous and people dying isn't anything new, it comes with the work. Still, he struggles where to draw the line, where the blame should lie. At the end of the day be did his job, followed the orders given like a good soldier, it wasn't his fault that the information was wrong but men died under his watch.

Still angry when he returned back to home base, he was going to stay for a couple of days to get the mission out of his system but the overwhelming urge to come home to you, beckoned him like a siren song. He should have stayed on base, decompress and strip Ghost away from himself, but he needed to see you. It was a bad decision and he knew as soon as he walked through the front door, the air smelt too clean and the couch was far too soft. It felt wrong. His home was his safe place but in that moment it was far from it, he felt like a caged animal. He was going to leave but then you walked through the door.

He didn't want you to see him this way, so he locked himself away. Attempting desperately to dig himself back from the grave, but he couldn't and the harder he tried the more Ghost stubbornly remained.

Then Johnny called him and he knew that you had reached out to him. The reasonable side of him saw your side, the desperate situation that he had put you in and that it had pushed you to make this choice. Unfortunately, he got blindsided by rage and in his fucked up brain a line had been crossed. He was going to leave just for a few days but then he'd seen you with his duffle and his mind just snapped.

"You were scared of me."

You shake your head, "Never, I didn't see you Simon, it wasn't you I was afraid off."

"Still, it was my actions."

Sitting up so that you're sitting on top of him, you look down at him, staring deep into his eyes.

"I love you," You speak softly, "You're my safe space, taught me what real love feels like. You don't scare me Simon, I know the real you, sometimes more than you do."

His eyes become glassy and his breath hitches in his throat. Large hands finding your waist and squeeze ever so gently, as he grounds himself.

"I don't deserve you."

You smile, "You deserve nothing but good things Simon Riley."

"Come ere."

It's a kiss that fortifies your bond, one that it's filled with both an apology and forgiveness. Soft and slow, you hold one another tightly and when it ends you stay just basking in each other's presence.

The red thread connecting you to each other now has a kink within it. It'll be a reminder of a difficult time but that's all it will be, like a scar it carries a story, one that doesn't need to be told but it shows that the two of you not only survived but prevailed.

He made his solemn vow and in turn you make yours, you'll remind him everyday just how much he deserves to be loved.

[ximmortalis]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader: Till the end of the line

Summary: White noise fills his ears; it was over, the mission completed. He'd watched you get on the chopper, he had let you go with a gentle touch of his finger tips, a whispered promise of later.

It shouldn't have happened, yet it did.

Screaming.

Who is that, why are they screaming?

This must be a dream, you were asleep, right?

Why can't you remember?

Your throat is burning, the thick taste of blood fills your mouth. It's you who's screaming. Loud blood curdling screams ripping from your throat. Every neuron in your body is on fire, red hot pain flows like molten lava through your veins.

Pain, pain, pain.

It's all you can feel and you beg for it to stop, salty tears trail down your temples and hit the cold hard floor beneath you. You attempt to look around but agony explodes in your head with a blinding whiteness. It made you dizzy. It made you reel.

Remember, remember, why can you remember?!

You can do nothing but scream.

So you do.

White noise fills his ears; it was over, the mission completed. He'd watched you get on the chopper, he had let you go with a gentle touch of his finger tips, a whispered promise of later.

It shouldn't have happened, yet it did.

They were clear.

How did he fuck up this bad?

Moments ago, Soap had clapped him on the back for a job well done. The next he heard the frantic call.

"Incoming RPG!"

Flares deployed but it was a pointless effort. It wasn't aiming at them, it was aimed at you. Ghost watched as it hit, a direct hit. He watched as the aircraft plummeted to the ground, watched as it burned.

"Land us, now!" He left no room for argument.

"Steamin' Jesus." Soap spoke in disbelief, casting a worried look Ghost's way, "Yer gotta find her L.t, we'll deal with the rest."

As soon as his boots hit the ground he was barking orders. He shouted for emergency evac to be called, sent out Soap and a team to search the nearby buildings, to find the fuckers.

To kill them.

He would do it himself, hunt them down and make them bleed, but he needs to find you.

The crash site is a mess of twisted metal and smoke, it makes his eyes burn. Apart from the roaring of the fire, he can't hear anything. It unsettles him how silent it is.

Heart pounding as he checks each body he comes across. Mangled corpses and dead eyes stare at him, even after all these years of being in the field, it still haunts him.

Those eyes plague his dreams, wake him up violently in the dead of the night. You'll be there, clutch him to your chest like you would a scared child and somehow curl yourself around his behemoth form. Your heart slow and steady forcing his beat to fall in line with yours. Whispering comfort into his ear as his hands grasp at you. He only allows you to see him vulnerable.

Ghost is a man who is unfazed by the death and destruction, his men look up to him as if they need the cold stoic attitude to get them through, to calm them.

You on the other hand, no, you just had to be different. Had to carve yourself deep in his bones and heart.

Fresh faced when you joined the 141, so fresh that you didn't even have a call sign yet.

Everyone on the team expected to have to carry you, however you quickly proved them wrong.

You're a pure force of nature on the field.

Mowing down enemies; cracking jokes as you did.

He remembers watching you perform a flawless take down, watching as you twirled a blade over your fingers, before effortlessly ripping out the man's jugular; blood spraying everywhere.

When you looked up and saw him staring, you gave him a cheeky smile and a wave, as you wiped the knife free of blood on your pants.

You had him right then, he just didn't know it.

It was him who bestowed your call sign to you.

Valkyrie.

He comes out of his memories to a scream; of pure anguish and it rattles his teeth.

Your screams.

He's moving towards the sound before he can think, charging into what's left of the aircraft and that's where he finds you, lying on the ground, blood seeping from an ugly wound on your stomach.

Ghost crouched by your sides; you're still screaming only silencing when his hands cup your face.

You're alive, badly injured but alive.

He takes you in, the nasty gash across your forehead, it'll leave a scar, a reminder of this time, but it will tell the story and will show you survived.

You'll still be beautiful.

He'll tell you everyday, kiss away any insecurity you'd feel.

"I'm here love."

Unfocused eyes meet his and you smile up at him, one filled with pure love and adoration and it makes his heart skip a beat.

"Hello handsome, is it time to get up?"

You're in a state of shock, completely disoriented. He calls your name softly, with tenderness you've come accustomed to, whispering it the same way he does when it's just the two of you in the dark of the night, lost in a tangle of limbs.

Flames lick dangerously close to you, he has to move you.

"Hurts Simon."

"I know love, have'ta move you."

You tried to swallow the sob that threatened to escape you; a mixture of a sob of relief of Simon's arm cradling you to his chest and a sob of pure agony as he lifted you.

Teeth clenching as Simon sets you down gently. The sky loomed above you, stars littering the sky, it didn't make sense, you were asleep right? So why can you see the stars?

"The stars, why?" You whispered, tongue peaking out to wet your lips, "Simon, why?"

He shushes you gently, "Easy love, easy."

"I don't understand."

Ghost was covered in your blood, his body stained in it. The wound in your stomach was pouring in a never-ending stream.

He had to stem the bleeding as much as he could, it was on him to keep you alive until medical care could arrive.

"This is going to hurt, eh love?"

His tone was laced with an apology as he shed his tac vest and jacket. Gathering the material in his hands, he covered your wound and pressed down. Hard.

Pain exploded and you screamed out, clawing at his shoulders, tears pouring down your face. His bloodied hand cradled one side of your face, leaned closer to kiss the tears off your cheeks.

"What happened, why does it hurt?"

"It's okay love," he assured you,"You're gonna be just fine."

He glanced up at you, wet eyes translating strongly the amount of pain you were in.

"Ghost, medevac five mins out." Soap spoke through comms, his tone shook slightly, he was worried. "How is she?"

"She needs medical attention," Ghost said bluntly, he didn't have time to go into details he needed to keep you awake.

Dizzy from the blood loss your head lolled to the side and you closed your eyes to fight back the nausea.

"Keep those eyes on me," He ordered, "You better keep those pretty eyes open you hear?"

When you didn't respond he shook you slightly, jolting your eyes back open once more, "That'ta girl eh, keep them open."

"Simon, what happened?"

"A RPG hit you; plane went down."

Oh.

Cold burrows deep in your bones, the air feels frigid as it coils around your body and it scares you, terrorizes you. Fresh tears falling down your face, "I'm scared."

Your voice shakes fear laced in your eyes and it fucking breaks him. He removes the skull mask, the crimson stain of your blood embedded in the nooks and crannies of it.

It'll never come clean, he will have to burn it.

You can see his eyes more closely and it settles most of the fear within you. The deep brown pools softly soothing you.

"None of that now," He chastised with no heat behind the words, "I'll keep you safe, yeah?"

"Till the end of the line?"

"Always."

You're falling in and out of consciousness by the time medical reaches them. Watching them whisk you away, he knows that you're in the right hands, it takes every inch of his willpower to stay where he is and not get in the way.

Soap reaches him as the last of the wounded are boarded.

"She'll be alright Lt, tough as nails that one."

He nods and squares his shoulders, slipping back into the Ghost persona.

"What happened Soap? Those buildings were clear."

The scotsman shakes his head, "Ney idea, don't see how they were missed."

"They dead?"

Soap nods, "Yer need t'ask that?"

"Good."

He's hyper aware of the blood that sticks to his skin. It makes him itch. Being covered in blood is nothing new, but it's yours. Needs to scrub himself clean, remove all traces of what happened.

With one last look at the burning wreckage he turns and leaves, Soap trailing behind him.

He leaves his mask behind to burn.

Waking up to the pungent smell of hospital disinfect, invading your nostrils. It was silent apart from your breathing and a very annoying persistent beeping. Opening your eyes, squinting at the lights.

At first you're confused as to why you're lying in a hospital bed, but the memories soon rush in.

The adrenaline rush of a completed mission, boarding the plane; being surrounded by your excited comrades exchanging banter.

Everything was fine then it wasn't.

An RPG that came seemingly out of nowhere.

You don't remember the crash, however you can remember the pain, how it was never ending and screaming your throat raw.

And Simon.

Like a moth to a flame your eyes seek him out and there you find him, arms crossed over his chest, head hanging low; fast asleep at the side of your bed.

His name is whisper as it passes your dry lips but he comes alive with a jolt. Instantly bridging the small distance between you, he's careful as his hand cups yours.

"Bout time you opened those eyes."

"How long was I out for?"

He brushes his thumb over your knuckles in a slow sweep, "Nine days."

Tears well in your eyes just thinking of him sitting by your bedside, how worried he must have been. The burning need to apologize scorches your tongue but Simon gently shushes you.

"S'not like I was alone," He juts his chin out to the other side of the room. Sat in a row are Price, Gaz and Soap; all sleeping.

Soap is leaning against Price's shoulder, mouth hanging wide open a trail of drool down his chin he never was a pretty sleeper.

It would be a shame to wake them, but Simon had other ideas.

"Oi!"

They all startled; Soap almost slipped from his chair. Hands reaching for hidden weapons ready to take on a threat. Old habits die hard.

Three pairs of bewildered eyes look over you, almost as if they can't believe that you're awake.

You give them a smile, "Hey boys."

Soap is up first of course he's positively beaming down at you, placing a quick peck on your cheek, "About time you woke up hen."

"Had us real worried," Gaz says as he wipes his eyes, the two of you sharing a bond close to siblings much to the dismay of Price, always getting up to dumb shit together.

Price brushing his hand over your head, in the same way a father would his child. He's always been that way, acts like such a dad, he jokingly refers to you all as his kids so in turn you've called him dad on more than one occasion.

"Gonna be the death of me kid," He scolds without heat, "How are you feeling?"

"Like my insides got rearranged," You answered truthfully, "Head hurts too."

When you go to reach for your head, you find that your hand is still clutched in Simon's. Normally in front of the guys it's subtle touches, a brush of his fingers on your shoulder. Him holding your hand in front of them, for him is huge. Makes your breath catch in your throat.

It's a small gesture but to you it shows so much.

He was afraid.

You squeeze his hand, I'm here.

Your relationship wasn't exactly hidden from everyone. It's not like you went screaming it from the rooftops, however to someone paying attention it was obvious.

Simon doesn't share his tea with anyone, but one morning during a briefing for a new mission. When he came walking in with two cups instead of the usual one he got a couple of raised eyebrows.

When he placed it down in front of you, it was enough of a hint.

Price knew first obviously, Gaz clicking on not much longer after but Soap; poor oblivious Soap it took him months to figure it out. Out in the field he's one of the smartest men you know, he can read into any situation but outside the field, not so much.

You all sit together swapping tales of previous missions and telling really terrible jokes. It's not long until you can feel your eyes growing heavy, it's a surprise given how long you were out for.

"Tired already Lass?" Soap chuckles and you nod, "Sorry guys."

"Don't be daft," Gaz scoffs, "You did just survive a plane crash."

With a grunt Price stands, "We'll let you get some rest."

You bid them a goodbye with a smile and a wave, when the door clicks shut you turn to look at Simon, who has been quiet which is nothing new but this time something feels a little different. He isn't looking at you, his eyes are downcast staring at your joined hands.

"Hey, what's wrong love?"

His eyes meet yours briefly before he tugs the balaclava over his face, leaving it lying on the bed. He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. Your fingertips brush over his face, cupping his cheek and he leans into the touch, his hand coming up to cover yours.

"I fucked up."

"It was an ambush, Simon."

He shakes his head, "I should have-"

"Simon."

"I almost lost you."

It's said so quietly that you almost miss the words. You swipe your thumb over his cheek, once more trying to quell the urge to apologize.

"Come here."

He's moving before you finish your sentence. Your lips meet in a soft kiss that spreads warmth in your body, makes your heart race. It happens each time he kisses you, it could be soft like it is now, or hot and heavy or one filled with desperation; it doesn't matter, each time it sets you ablaze.

You sometimes find it hard to believe that he's yours. Simon Riley could have anyone, you've seen the looks that he gets from the other women; men too - on base.

Yet he's yours, you're the one that he chose to open his heart too, he's joked before that he has a cold one but it's far from it. He gives it his all when he loves someone, his entire being.

His forehead touches yours, so close that you're sharing the same breath, your fingers thread through his hair. Simon lives for your touch after being incredibly touch starved for many years.

You press his hand onto your chest directly over your beating heart, "I'm here Simon, I'm here."

A choked sound leaves him and you pull him closer.

"I'll be here for you," You whisper and he moves just enough so he can peer deep into your eyes.

"Till the end of the line?"

You smile, "Always."

[ximmortalis]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader: Who is Simon Riley?

Summary:

Ghost is a battled hardened man, who savagely takes down anyone who stands in the way of his objective.

Simon Riley on the other hand?

Well...

Your name leaves his throat as a whisper that scorches the back of his throat.

Groaning as he buries himself deep inside of you. Your head thrown back, eyes squeezed together in pleasure. Later he'll feel the deep crescent marks in his arms as you claw into them to keep yourself grounded - but right now he couldn't care less.

You're beautiful, it takes his breath away. On dark days he wonders why him, you could have had anyone yet you chose him.

He did everything he could to distance himself, he didn't deserve you. Yet you wormed your way into his cold heart, taught him that he was deserving of love, more specifically your love.

Your mouth opens and closes, kiss bitten lips trying to form words, but you're far beyond that point. Mind taken over by pleasure, your can do nothing but take what he's giving you.

He takes a moment to look down where you're joined together most intimately; split open on his cock. Your cunt red and swollen from what he can only say is hours of making you scream, he'd taken you apart bit by bit with his fingers, curling the incredibly thick digits inside of you all the while whispering pure filth into your ear.

"Hear that? So wet for me pet."

"Such a pretty pussy, prettiest I've ever seen."

"I'm not stopping until you drench me."

Sheets drenched from your come and arousal, the scent of it fills the air he can taste it on his tongue.

Using nothing more than the tip of his finger he traces your pussy lips and you come alive with a wail, twisting in a half thumbled attempt to get away, but you can't he has you held down tight with one hand splayed over her stomach.

"Where'd you think you're goin, eh?"

He can feel his cock inside of you.

Fuck.

He almost blows his load right then.

"Simon."

Hearing you say his name is like a siren call, it beckons him. It awakes something deep inside of him. Your cunt clenches pulling a hiss from him, you're so tight, even after all this time; it reminds him of the first time he entered into your heat.

"There's my pretty girl."

Calling you that still makes you blush, it blooms over her face and chest. You tug at him weakly, he knows what you want, what you need. He molds himself against you, hands moving all over his back, up to his neck and they settle around his mask less face. You need him close, so close that he swears your trying to burrow yourself inside of him.

He'd let you too.

His lips found yours in a burning kiss, your lips were soft, almost silken, against his own. The soft tickle of your breath beneath his nose, fingers carding through your hair, breathing each other in. Hands finding his hair and pulling slightly tugging a little hard when he thumbed your clit. He smoothed his hand up you hip and you moaned a little, and rolled against him.

He was ready to pound you into the mattress and not stop until tears streamed down your face, but the tenderness you've displayed makes him change his plan.

In moments like this he isn't Ghost, he's Simon. Simon Riley. He's not a soldier, just a man who loves you.

He isn't a man of words, but of action.

So, he tells you in his way.

Interlacing fingers together he gave a soft squeeze as he pressed gentle kisses over your exposed neck and shoulder, you let your head rest heavily against the pillow.

When he reached your shoulder he rested his forehead against it for a moment, and closed his eyes. He brought your twined hands up to rest against your waist, and pulled in tight to himself, his whole body embracing yours.

You hummed, and regarded your entwined hands contentedly. Simon took his time running his hand over your body. You whimper, and needy roll against him, was enough to get Simon to move. He withdrew slowly, and then pushed back in, equally languid. Again and again. His strong body curving around yours, his hand tracing up your thigh to play with your clit.

His hips moved in slow lazy circles which built up the pleasure in your body slowly but it was good. His gentle fingers slipped deftly over your clit, spreading a tingling sensation all through your lower half. You felt him filling you up, pressing against your walls, and gliding over that special spot inside you that made you call out his name. Groans and grunts poured out of his mouth, along with gruff whispers of your name.

He pressed his lips against yours, and languorously pushed his tongue into your mouth. You reached up to grasp the back of his head, fingernails scratching against his scalp before tugging down in hair.

Simons cock pressed against your g-spot perfectly, again, and you fell back against the pillows with a soft cry. The slow roll of his hips practically sinful you moaned long and low, as his finger at least picked up the pace against your clit.

You moaned again, fingers clenching against the bed sheets. Lips finding yours once more his thrusts started to find and uneven pace He grunted you whimpered softly, cupping his cheeks and kissing him harder as you felt his pattern growing uneven. He snaked a hand down your body thumb grazing over your clit over and over and that’s all it took to send you over the edge. you called his name softly, a gasp pulled from your chest. Your stomach quivered as your whole body tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed.

Simon was still moving inside you, his hand having left your clit to grasp at your hip. His pace was even, but he was panting, clearly overwhelmed by sensation himself. You were boneless in the wake of your orgasm, his hand clenched rhythmically against your hip. He pressed inside you twice more, and then with a rumble like rolling thunder, he groaned your name, and came inside you. You felt his whole body snap tight with tension, and then ease as his orgasm left him.

When he comes to, he can feel your body shaking from the intensity of your orgasm, you're mumbling nonsensical words of praise, peppering the side of his face and neck with feather-like kisses.

He moves away and you whine feeling his loss; reaching out for him he catches your hand in his gives it a gentle squeeze, kissing the inside of your wrist.

"Easy love, gotta clean up."

As he eases his spent cock from inside you, he watches as his come spills out from your well fucked cunt, the primal side of him wants to push it back inside, use his fingers to place it where it belongs, deep inside.

Mark you as his.

The thought makes his cock twitch.

Instead he grabs a damp towel and wipes you down. You sigh in content, the cold towel easing some of the soreness. When you're clean, the towel is left abandoned on the floor.

Simon glances over your body, a coy smirk on his face at some of the marks he's left and he simply can't help himself when he bends down and places a kiss on your pussy.

He barely escapes before your legs close violently. He chuckles as you glare at him half heartedly.

"What? A kiss for a job well done."

"Simon Riley, you're lucky I love you."

He hums in reply as he reaches for his discarded t-shirt and helps you slip it on, he just puts on a pair of old gray sweatpants. When you stand to go into the bathroom, you walk on shaky legs which don't go unnoticed by him, he doesn't say anything, just smirks to himself.

While you take care of your business, he makes quick work of stripping the bed of the dirty sheets and replacing them with fresh ones. He was just finishing the final touches when you wrap your arms around him, nuzzling into his back.

"In you get."

You waste no time collapsing into the bed, curling around him when he joins you, throwing a leg over his hip. Sharing a few lazy kisses before you whisper a goodnight to him, it doesn't take you long to drift off into a deep sleep.

Simon lies awake for a little longer, just taking the opportunity to watch you. He's been gone a long time; four months. It's moments like this that has kept him alive, when it got difficult, he would think of you.

What were you doing?

What were you thinking?

He would picture you sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket, nursing a cup of tea in one hand, reading a book in the other.

It kept him going.

You kept him going.

He keeps a picture of you in the breast pocket of his uniform, right where his heart is.

Ghost is a battled hardened man, who savagely takes down anyone who stands in the way of his objective.

Simon Riley on the other hand?

Well, he's just a man who loves his misses.