Slow Burn - Blog Posts
New series!!!
CRIMINAL MINDS FANFIC
Parings: fem!reader (she/her) x Hotch
Warnings: general canon criminal minds related violence (guns, blood, killers, etc.) talks of mental issues, childhoods trauma, the mafia, tiny pinch of angst and ofc ✨fluff✨
(btw this is an enemies to lovers!!!)
*THIS IS IMPORTANT!!! Your triggers and absolutely 100% valid regardless of how silly you think it is! if I ever miss anything please tell me!
Also this is a slow burn and this chapter is really just a build up and into for the reader!
Does it Have to Be Your Eyes
I Drown in?
Beautiful orangey and yellow rays peek through
your blinds as the sun begins to rise. They engulf parts of your room with warmth and those rays come and directly land in your eyes alerting you that it’s morning.
“Ugh! Bro I just fell asleep!”
You blink a few times and then squint. The sunlight had temporarily blinded you. You stare at your window, processing the fact that you now had to get up and go to work. You sigh and let you head fall into you hands.
“They should pay me more…”
You go on under your breath about how you wished you got to sleep more. Then finally you shove your covers off yourself and climb out of your bed sort of ready for a new day. 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙. 𝑀𝑜𝑚 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠sing.
Little did you know how much of a blessing this
day was just about to be…
You had a simple desk job at the fbi and helped out
whoever needed help. It was almost funny, someone as qualified as you with a desk job? If it wasn’t such a waste people might laugh but instead it was tragic. The thing was you never liked attention. You didn’t really want a lot of fame or glory. Maybe a long time ago you did but not anymore. You preferred the quiet paperwork and solitude. It was peaceful and even therapeutic to you. And you never wanted more and never had any dreams or desires…. Right?
No. Not at all. The truth was the reason why you were so over qualified for your job. You were both smart and strong. Back in high-school you were in a dual-enrollment program meaning that you took college classes in high-school. Subjects ranging from philosophy to math to the arts. But your personal favorite the very thing that got you hooked to and what you studied in college, Psychology. You were part of multiple clubs in and outside of school too. Your favorite their being mma (mixed martial arts). You managed to graduate early with flying colors and great SAT scores and even scholar ships to many schools. You were so excited to study criminal psychology and more you didn’t even take a break, not for a moment. It was your area of study. But it was something you didn’t like to mention to people. Was it ridicule you feared? You did face being made fun of a lot before or was it expectations you felt you may not be able to fulfill that scared you? Whatever the reason the thought that you could be a profiler right now would sometimes creep up on you. You would shake them off. It was a far away dream that would never happen, a dream you were to scared to try and go for. That’s the type of person you were. Cautious and timid regardless of the fiery passion for profiling inside you. Or at least that’s what you thought
Oh, and one final thing a thing that you couldn’t exactly put on a resume….You had literally been trained to kill since you were a kid. It was pretty unbelievable. Your personality wasn’t exact what people expect when they think “raised to kill.” What on Earth you may ask? Well the thing was your uncle was in the mafia and you were part of the family business. Emphasis on were. He taught you everything you may have needed to know. Since he never had any kids of his own you were next in line. He made it pretty clear he didn’t trust your father with much. You had quite a bit of skills under your belt. But you ran away. How could you so easily run away from that life? From the family business? You changed everything but you know it wasn’t enough and the fact you didn’t actually have a criminal record kept law enforcement away. But you always suspected to only reason you walked away so easily was because your uncle had let you…
“How ironic, honestly. Now I work for my enemies.”
The thoughts of your past were like trick candles they just kept coming back no matter how hard you blew them away. You shook your head desperately trying to eat your breakfast in peace. Eventually you decided it was enough and grabbed your bag and car keys. 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘. 𝐸𝑥𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔! You sarcastically say in your head. You truly didn’t know what fate had in store for you…
A/n: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I don’t usually write FanFiction and this is my first criminal minds fanfic so please go easy on me. And to the writer out there if you have any writing advice then please let me know!
Lance looks through the binoculars again and finds Keith at the same time Adam calls Keith’s name and points at where Lance is standing. The other boy glances up, caught between a laugh from watching Pidge and Hunk write a lewd message in the sand. He flips him off and Lance’s hand-painted skull grins back at him. Keith’s cheeks are pink from the chill, his eyes bright and mischievous as the wind catches on the edges of his hair.
Lance mechanically waves back as he pulls away from the binoculars, Keith becoming a tiny figure against the sand as a blush begins to stain Lance’s cheeks. He hikes the collar of his jacket up, glancing furtively back at Shiro and then down at the shore below.
Oh.
Fuck.
——————————————————————————————
this was an excerpt from chapter 10 of my fic! here's some more info if ur interested:
title: looking out for you
platform: ao3 only
rating: t
genre(s): slice of life college au
ships: Keith Kogane/Lance McClain, Adam/Shiro
words/chapters: 187k/18 chapters
status: completed
summary/elevator pitch: wholesome queer vibes and healthy communication a la voltron. found family shenanigans include: paintball, halloween parties, laundromat trips, beach episode, family dinners, video game tournaments, awkward confessions, grocery shopping, and some good old angst and character development. also, lance may or may not get possessed by a ghost but it's not pidge's fault.
i was reminiscing on this fic and decided to just promo it bc why not? drop me a comment/kudos if u check it out and like it!
for anyone who has already read it or is planning on reading it, i've done faqs between the three acts. i recently updated my faq here for act iii if anyone is interested (i finally got around to putting in some more details!)
excerpt from the last (!!!!) chapter of looking out for you:
“SHIRO THEY’RE BEING FREAKS AGAIN,” Pidge yells downstairs because they are evil and have some sort of 6th lesbian sense where they know when two dudes are about to kiss.
i'm posting the last chapter at 10am EST tomorrow babey so remember to tune in!
ch 17 update
highlight reel includes: garrison trio grocery shopping, keith and krolia meet for the first time (lots of angst), the author projects very heavily onto this chapter, sweet moment in the end where keith realizes he's loved, that little fucker
excerpt:
“This is my order,” he says, dumbly. He looks at Lance because of course it’s Lance. “You remember my order? We’ve been to that place, like, twice.”
“Um, duh. It’s like, weirdly specific. How could I not?” Lance makes a tsk sound and suddenly avoids his gaze, picking at his shoelaces.
edit: im a dumbass and forgot to include the link
when they go from this:
Keith tries to keep his elbows tucked to avoid making contact with Lance but it’s increasingly difficult because when Lance talks, he uses his hands as an extension of his mouth....
to this:
Their fingers intertwine, and Lance internally marvels at the feel of Keith’s gloves, the soft worn leather smooth against his palm.
“Is this… is this okay?” Keith’s words almost fade into the night.
Start of Chapter 8, “Sins of the flesh”
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1359337904-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-8-raised-once-more Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/121978735 ----
Tension hung heavy in the air as Dean and Sam ate their breakfast of homemade pancakes and breakfast sausage; vegan breakfast sausage, in Sam’s case. Although Castiel found no reason to eat anymore as he didn’t have to pretend to be able to taste it, he still insisted on sitting with them.
Dean chewed slowly and methodically, eliciting high levels of nervosity in both the angel and his brother who sat nearby. Their forks and knives clinked against their plates, the light tapping and scratching sounding all too loud in a space that had once been constantly filled with noise when the three of them were together.
“So, erm… I’ve found a case for you two,” Sammy told them cautiously as he pulled a file off his lap and sat it down on the breakfast table, breaking the extremely awkward silence.
“For ‘us two’? What, you’re not coming on the first hunt we’ve had since Cas got back?” Dean asked, lowering his fork and knife to rest on his plate. “No, I need a break the hunts,” Sam told his brother truthfully as he took a breath followed by a bite of his pancakes.
“Have there been any reports on this case?” Castiel questioned as he put down the day’s newspaper dated December 17th, 2008. He took the file and opened it, watching uninterestedly as a map and a few pages slipped out of it.
“Yeah; a handful of people have gone missing in Virginia, in the Shenandoah national park,” Sam told them, watching as Castiel placed five pages in a line, each a different missing person’s report.
“Isabella Morake, Catherine Hilltower, Elizabeth Chinadora, Maxwell Carlem and Stephen Mystarn had all gone missing within two months of each other around the same area; each had been travelling in a group of two to three people when their teammates called the police to report that they had heard screams from the woods. There was blood splattered on the ground and on trees near where they had heard the yelling coming from,” Sam explained moving his hands in explicative motions as he spoke.
“Each scene had claw marks in the dirt, leading any police on the investigations to assume that they were bear attacks and the victims must have upset the bear or bears in some way.” The younger Winchester finished, waiting for Castiel to stop reading the file and reports.
“Five bear attacks in the same area at the beginning of winter? That’s ridiculous,” Dean muttered as he picked his fork and knife back up and stuffed a sausage in his face, chewing slowly to avoid having to speak again.
“Exactly why I think it’s something else; a wendigo, maybe? It matches up; seasons might be a little weird, but it’s possible it’s just stocking up on a bit more food before winter comes,” Sam suggested as he gently pushed his plate away, no longer feeling hungry enough to continue eating.
Start of Chapter six, Sins of the Flesh
Start of chapter four, Sins of the flesh.
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1281199235-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-6-castiel-angel-of-the Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/107196657
---- A few calm weeks went by as the temperatures dropped, whatever green was left on the trees shifting to bright fiery colours as they approached the end of October. Winds began to pick up and frost collected on the grass in the early mornings, days shortening as the sun began to lower in the sky earlier and earlier in the evenings. On October 23rd, Dean found himself hunched over a bible, trying to memorize a script for the Sunday sermon, one which his father had always taken very seriously because of the approach of Halloween. John had always been unnecessarily strict about the fact that Halloween was the devil’s work, that ghouls and demons would be invited into your home if you celebrated it. He wasn’t completely incorrect as both a priest and a hunter; many idiots tended to summon things nearing Halloween as a sort of daring and spooky activity, although the celebration itself had no attachment to any sort of gateways, as his father so-called them. Nonetheless, the priest still found himself in the dark of his kitchen, fingers gliding over the same imprints in the paper over and over in a desperate attempt to memorize them all by the 26th. He had, of course, memorized hundreds of passages in the past few years he had been carrying on the family business, but Dean preferred to preach new lectures and teach new things each year instead of simply repeating what he had already said; although there had been a few times he found himself repeating himself when he wasn’t able to think of anything new for that week. Dean barely noticed the passing of time as he worked for hours on his memorization, his mind began to wander as he remembered the happenings only just under four weeks prior; he had heard from Sam that the matricide had continued, and in some sick way, Dean felt guilty for leaving so many people to die. Plagued with guilt and the need to make his father proud, Dean carried on with his memorization and only stopped when Castiel entered the room and lay a gentle hand on his left shoulder. The priest flinched, startled out of his concentration at the sudden touch; he hadn’t even heard Castiel’s footsteps. “Jesus, Cas! Warn a guy before you touch him,” Dean grumbled as he fixed his terrible posture, raising his arms above his head as he stretched. “I apologize, Dean, usually I don’t have to,” Castiel apologized softly as he placed a mug on the table in front of Dean, the thick glass clunking against the table as it was set down. Dean picked up the mug and took a careful sniff of it before taking a sip, his brow creasing in confusion as he recognized the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue. “Why are you giving me coffee so late?” The priest questioned as he set the mug back down, careful not to spill any on his bible. “Late? No, Dean, it’s early. It’s five am,” Castiel informed as he sat down beside his friend at the table and sipped at his own coffee, made with cream and sugar.
Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Bellatrix Black Lestrange Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Retelling, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Remus Lupin, Pack Family, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Trans Ron Weasley, Coming Out, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Mental Health Issues, LGBTQ Character, Black Hermione Granger Summary:
Draco wakes in old familiar surroundings, but has no memory of how it happend. He wakes in his childhood room in his 11 year old body, but even as it seems like he traveled back in time his body is not unmarked of the war he went through. Old scars remain on his skin. How will he handle this new challenge? Will he fall into old habits and keep history repeating itself or does he step in and take destiny in his own hand.
I plan this to be very long and spanning over all years of the war. And very slow burn.
PLEASE PLEAAASE don’t say a fic is slow burn if the characters are fucking on chapter THREE omg I need REAL slow burn, the agonising one, slow burn so slow you think they’ll never end up together ‼️‼️ slow burn where the TENSION is building up so BAD the eye contact is as good as smut PLEASE
I just… I don’t want things to be weird with all of us.
JORDAN & LAYLA All American — 5.01, “Ludacrismas”
chile im like 98% sure i got ghosted LMAO 💀💀💀 imma be over her in a couple months and ik it aint my fault so oh well 🤷🏾♀️ ts is funny asf to me tho
do i love the slow burn trope? of course i do! but do i like experiencing it for myself? absolutely fucking not!
oh to be loved like a hozier song
well here’s an update no one asked for THE SLOW BURN IS SLOWER NOW ????
do i love the slow burn trope? of course i do! but do i like experiencing it for myself? absolutely fucking not!
do i love the slow burn trope? of course i do! but do i like experiencing it for myself? absolutely fucking not!
Me: I love fanfiction with slow burn and slow built relationships, I love the pining and I want to wait 1628 chapters and three eternity before they get their shit together and end up dating
Also me, two lines into the fanfiction: WHY DON’T THEY JUST KISS OH MY GOD THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING IT’S SO OBVIOUS THAT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER! JUST KISS ALREADY!!!
Reading a slow burn and there’s finally romance: impossible whopper, ‘cause it should be impossible to look this good!
It ends in angst: when is it my turn to be happy
Don’t mind me, just crying over Matt and Mello fanfic again
My Fellow Tarnished I still don't know how to bloody use this App so forgive me if I maketh a mistake! But consider mayhaps to check out my Tarnished x Messmer Slowburn Fanfic on Ao3
Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Its is a truly a work that I'm proud of! And It is still in continuation
https://archiveofourown.org/works/59368852/chapters/151410670
I would love to see Ye thoughts on it and expectations! But for now have this! *throws badly drawn Messmer and runs away to write chapter 8*
Longing in Love Starters
❥ I notice everything about them, and I hate how naturally I’ve memorized the way their laugh curves at the end.
❥ Every time they look at me, I forget whatever clever thing I was about to say. Which is probably a blessing.
❥ I don’t know when it happened, but they’ve started showing up in the spaces between my thoughts.
❥ I sit closer than I need to. Not close enough to be obvious, just close enough to feel the warmth.
❥ They touched my hand for a second. A blink. A breath. And I’ve been replaying it for hours.
❥ I tell myself it’s nothing, but my heart keeps writing poetry anyway.
❥ Sometimes I think I hear their voice in a crowd and my chest tightens before my brain even catches up.
❥ I want to tell them. God, I almost do. But the fear of losing what we have keeps my mouth shut.
❥ There’s a tenderness in the way they say my name that makes me believe they see me.
❥ I don’t want to fall for them. I just want to stay where we are forever. And maybe that’s worse.
The tiger and Tame Masterlist
PART 1 PART 2 PART 3
The Tiger and The Tamer P3
Sorry for not posting much everyone, my brain got overwhelmed with some personal shit but here it is for part 3. Hope you all will like it. oh, a side note on the last part: I said Horangi is 163, but I found out he was 188, so I will change that. TW: Violence, blood, a bit of possessive Horangi Word count: 1,359 Part 1 <- Part 2 <- Masterlist <-
The dragon hybrid let out a snarl at Horangi, Horangi didn’t seem faced by the growl but retaliated with a low and deep growl. He was the first to launch at the dragon hybrid, landing a flurry of punches on the other hybrid's scale-covered arm. The dragon hybrid let out a loud pant before hitting twice as hard at Horangi with his fire breath. Opening his mouth to launch a giant fireball at Horangi.
Horangi got pushed back as the smoke from the fire slowly disappeared to reveal Horangi unharmed by the fire. I watch these 2 punches, drop kicks and even try to bite the other. Writing down what skills he has improved and which needs more training, I can't help but admire how handsome he looks as he fights, sweat slowly dripping down his hair and skin. The doctor beside me seemed unimpressed by the combat happening in front of us behind the tempered glass.
Then, he stood still for a moment. I can tell that they were talking before but something felt off, I can see from his expression. I can’t really see his expression but from his body language I could guess that he is tense, my guess was right when I heard him roar. My eyes tried to help my brain make sense of what was going on as Horangi turned into his tiger form, Golden eyes gleaming with anger. Whatever the dragon hybrid said royally pissed Horangi.
"Didn't know he could do that, but I admit he looks less intimidating than before." I gave the doctor a confused side glance as his eyes never left the scene in front of us. My attention was quickly grabbed by the sound of pure pain. My eyes widened as I saw Horangi trying to kill the subject by stabbing his horn right at the chest.
The doctor quickly clicked on the mic and ordered Horangi, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, DON'T KILL HIM YOU IDIOT." Horangi turned his head, letting a roar at the doctor he tried to continue but only to be shocked by his collar. Falling limp onto his side as the dragon hybrid crawled away from Horangi holding his stab wound. I called guards to quickly escort Horangi back to his cell and bring the other hybrid to the medical wing.
As Horangi was carried back in a stretcher to his cell, my eyes filled with worry as my brain tried to figure out why he randomly tried to kill the dragon. Usually, he just knocks them out, he sees other subjects as his friends so this is an odd occurrence. "What the FUCK, WHY DID HORANGI TRY TO KILL SUBJECT 78?!"
"Sir calm down, I don't know either, usually he only knocks them out."
"You told me he would be a good sparring partner for newer subjects." My nose scrunched up and eyebrows knit in annoyance, "Look I will try to find a reasoning from Horangi and I will tell you later." The doctor gave me a scoff before speeding walking towards the medical wing.
I finally reached Horangi's cell, opening to reveal him already awake and now randomly in his human form, probably changed into it before I arrived. His eyes glinted with drowsiness as he turned into his tiger form. I clicked on the mic to ask him the question, "Horangi what happened, why did you try to kill him?" He didn't answer for a while as the tension in the air rose like steam.
"I would rather not tell." he growled, I gave him a nod and let go of the mic button. I quickly scurried towards the file Dr Valentin gave me, I opened it with worry and fear coursing through my blood. I checked the list of warning signs.
"Aggression towards others, more open or closed than usual, stalking behaviour.." I started to cross out the ones that Horangi had shown but right now the only one he has shown is aggression. I let out a sigh, I have to keep an eye out for any more. "Heyy Dr Y/N wanna go to the cafeteria to take a break with me??" I nearly jumped up but quickly realised it was just Dr Choon-Hee again. "Yeah sure I gotta do something first." She gave a thumbs up as the metal door closed. I grabbed a walkie talkie that was on its stand in the shelf and called for my assistant to come and watch Horangi.
I turned to Horangi after setting the walkie talkie down, "Okay, Dr glacial will take over and she will guide you to the gym in 10 mins have a good break.." with that I left the observation room and on the way to the cafeteria.
Horangi's pov
During the fight
I gave the dragon hybrid a strong kick on the leg which caused him to fall, I can tell by the way he fights he just came here. God I wish I could fight konig or Alejandro. They both give me a better fight than this. I continued punching him and blocking his attacks, turning my head to see Y/N watching me with almost pure admiration, I suppressed a smirk as I sparred.
The dragon also looked at Y/N and turned to me. "What a pity, putting a dragon against a mere tiger." He spat with a shit eating grin, I stood up straight. Staring at him, “What the fuck did you just say?” . He let out a snicker, “What can’t hear me? No wonder you are just a pathetic hybrid.” My eye twitched in anger as he said that, did he just call me a pathetic fuck. Oh OH CALL ME WEAK THEN I WILL SHOW YOU, I let out a roar before transforming into my tiger form.
I pounced at his head first so my horn could stab him right at the chest, I could feel the warm blood of the dragon hybrid streaming down from the top of my head and down to my chin. I was about to bite or scratch him with my claws but I got snapped out of my bloodlust by the other doctor’s scream. I glared at the doctor with no mercy, but as I was about to continue my work then I felt like my muscles were forced to stop working by the electricity from the shock collar. I collapsed with a loud thud and everything turned black but not before I gave one last glare at the dragon hybrid.
After the fight
I woke up with a hiss as i tried to lift up my arm to wipe my eye, my muscles hurt like fuck. Looking around for a while, I realised that I am now in my human form. I naturally jolted a bit as I heard the metal door opening, I looked over at Dr Y/N with tired eyes as I turned into my tiger form to conserve energy.
“Horangi what happened, why did you try to kill him?” “I'd rather not tell.” it was total bullshit but it’s better than admitting the real reason. As she turned around to leave to do something, my eyes couldn't stop itself from wandering up and down her stature but then my eyes finally found a target. I stared at her for a good 20 seconds, I felt something in me like I needed her to be here. In this cell with me where I can be close to her but I again yell at myself, why am I starting to get these feelings from. Look I admit she is pretty hot but why do I feel like I have Be with her something isn’t right. I felt the tiger me yearn to taste her but I kept pushing it away. I know it’s not normal lust but it's something more Primal..
I watched her leave with Dr. Choon-hee, and I felt jealousy striking my mind. I stared at Dr. Choon-hee as if I wanted to rip her into shreds, I felt some primal instinct to just Mark Dr y/n. Is it me or my tiger thinking now?
*starving victorian child*: please, sir? may i have some more?
(please work at your own pace and prioritize your physical and mental well-being over everything. this was fantastic and i’m ecstatic to read more! please tag me in any updates)
See the Devil in I - Michael Myers x Reader
Masterlist
Prologue ~
Summary: Dr. Loomis knew Michael was dangerous, but the day had come where Michael had to be let out on good behaviour. When Laurie was told she had a brother she never knew about that could be placed in her care if she consented, Laurie’s roommate y/n decided to stay and live with Laurie and the notorious Michael Myers.
"Laurie Strode, are you aware why you're here today?" Asked a lawyer, formally.
The lawyer sat at a table in the centre of a white, plain, clean-looking room. On the lawyers left was a Smiths Grove Sanitarium doctor, and on his right sat famed killer, Michael Myers.
Michael sat there quiet as ever. Thick leather straps kept has arms and legs tight to the chair. Guards with batons lined the walls and door, watching and waiting for him to so much as lift a finger.
Two people sat across the table, one of which was Laurie.
"Yes I know why I'm here, it's kind of what we've been working towards." Laurie replied slightly incredulously.
"Yes I know, but it's a formality. I have to know that you know the situation, just so we can avoid any misconceptions or gaps in understanding."
It was then that the doctor took over, explaining things that Laurie already knew, as a 'formality'. "Laurie, over the last six weeks you've been coming here and meeting with your brother, Michael Myers. Over this period, there have been no incidents and no reports of Michael displaying violent behaviour. Now I know you knew this from the start, but we've now reached the point where if you feel ready and comfortable, Michael can move into house arrest and probation under your care as his only living relative, as you are of legal age."
"Now Laurie," the lawyer continued with a professional smile, "unless you have any objections, please sign here, here, and here, to complete your end of the process!"
With a deep breath, Laurie decided yes, she was really doing this and taking a known killer, and apparently brother, into her home. So she signed at each line with a speedy hand.
"Wonderful!" Grinned the lawyer, hurrying everything along. "Now! Ms l/n! As Laurie's housemate, you've decided to continue living with her with the addition of Mr Myers, correct?"
"Yes sir," replied y/n, suddenly unsure now that she'd actually met Michael. Well, 'met' wasn't really the word. They haven't been formally introduced yet - while Laurie met Michael over those six weeks, y/n never did. Now here they sat, and y/n could see Michael's cold stare, tense muscles, and quiet, dangerous demeanour.
"Are you aware of Mr. Myers past crimes of murder?"
"Yes sir." The dead eyes of a murder stared at her, how could she not?
"If you consent to living with Mr. Myers as Ms. Strode's housemate, just sign here."
And she signed.
-
A/N: ok! So that concludes the prologue! In this story, the Halloween films did take place, but not with Laurie, so she doesn't have a past with Michael - sorry for the confusion, but it works better for the story this way. Hope you're enjoying thus far, and feel free to comment any ideas for the story!
Hope you have a great day/night,
~ trick-or-fucking-treat
Echoes of Salvation: The Deal (Part I). Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab reader (Zombie AU)
Part II
The story starts after the dash.
Warnings: some gore, some mistakes, some bad writing (eh… we all have to start somewhere), not proof read, some independent woman surviving on her own without the need of help from men (cause I like self reliant women and people in general, they are a great inspiration to us all, really).
Disclaimer:
Dear readers,
Please be kind. This is my first fanfiction ever that I wrote and posted, so please be kind and overlook any potential inaccuracies, mistakes, grammatical errors as I’m not a professional writer and also English isn’t my native tongue. Though I have studied British English I am sure I haven’t really managed to accurately portray the British way of speaking, so please, feel free to point out anything that might poke you in the eye while reading this.
Also, I would like to tell you that this fan-fic is the love child of my obsession with our favourite masked man Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, and my love for anything zombie apocalypse or world-ending alternate universe or actual universe. Tbh If I wasn’t a poor student I would probably be a prepper, just like Frank from HBO’s TLoU. Most likely will be. I’m a little weird like that, you’ll see more in the future.
To close this little rant, I hope you’ll enjoy it, even if it’s short, I would really like to continue this if you deem it worth it enough. This will probably be a slow-burn kind of romance: 1. because I’m a sucker for the kind of slow-burn strangers/enemies to lovers fanfics, and 2. because it’s more realistic, let’s calm the whore-y instincts and be reasonable people that don’t climb masked 6-feet-tall strangers like trees.
With everything said I do not own the Call of Duty character Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley (*whispers*Though I wish I did*) BUT I do own this piece of fanfic. Please don’t steal it. Repost it but please do give credit to other people’s work. You may notice some similarities to other fanfics, cause duh, I also read a lot of that, (isn’t that one of the incipient stages to becoming a fanfic writer?), but I would really like to give a shout out to the fanfic author that really inspired me to put fingers to keyboard and a fanfic into Tumblr, please, *drum rolls* a round of applause for @nsharks with her lovely fanfic ‘Bleeding Blue’. She’s really wonderful and you should really check her out.
Have fun reading and don’t forget to leave a comment or a heart. I wouldn’t mind suggestions of what to name Simons’ daughter. That would really make my day 😊
P.S. Sorry to all the fishing loving people out there, what I said was based on my impression of the fishing experience and should be taken with a grain of salt.
Yours truly <3
Synopsis:
It’s been five years since the outbreak happened. Five years ago, in London, a terrorist group released a virus in the city center. 24 hours later, people start developing flu-like symptoms. 48 hours later the infected turn into mindless ghouls biting healthy people and spreading the infection. Everything happened so fast. The army came in and tried to contain the outbreak but soon chaos engulfed the whole country. You learn that similar attacks happened all over the world: New York, Beijing, Moscow, Athens, and Tokyo. City by city, the whole world is ending.
You survived thanks to your mid-twenties life crisis that made you move into a cottage house by the lake in Lake District. The land you own is surrounded by thick lush forest that offers perfect cover for the tiny brick house that is your safe haven. With a water source close, off-the-grid energy, and a garden full of plants, fruit trees chickens, and whatnot, you live a comfortable life tucked away, far from the dangers of the cities. You are so far out of reach that in the past years you only saw a handful of infected, survivors that traveled far to escape and distant neighbours that got infected in the towns nearby. You can’t remember the last time you saw another person. But you are used to your loneliness. The end of the world brought only a mild inconvenience, now that you can no longer order things online and watch movies on Netflix or HBO. But with a library full of books, a homestead to keep you active and your Border Collie companion, Bellamy, life is good. Life is peaceful.
One day, while you are out fishing, a masked man, armed to the teeth and carrying a young girl in his arms threatens to kill you if you don’t provide him with medicine for his sick daughter.
-
The sky is cloudy above but some sunbeams break through to warm the crisp air this fine early spring morning. It’s a good time for fishing now that the water is warmer, they come closer to the bank in search of food. It’s a boring task after you arrange all your tools and launch the line in the water. It’s a game of waiting and watching for any small tugs or movement of the neon-coloured fishing line. You picked up fishing after a couple of months into moving here, when everything was a mess and so many repairs and renovations had to be made around the house. The guy from the tutorials you used to watch on YouTube talked about the calmness and relaxation fishing brought to him. Maybe you weren’t cut out to stand all day on shore and gawk like an idiot for hours at the thin plastic line submerged in the lake water. But you cannot deny the proud feeling catching a fish brought to you when the line finally went taught.
You try and ward off the boredom and instead try to focus on the warmth that spring brings after months of endless cold. The birds are singing in trees, preparing nests for future offspring, and the lake is calm, with bubbles on the surface indicating the abundance of fish. Life is good. Bellamy enjoys sunbathing next to you rolling in a patch of grass. Everything is peaceful. Nothing really happens here anyway. You close your eyes basking in the good feeling that overtakes you.
A branch snapping behind you wakes you from the meditation you have fallen into. You raise and turn from where you are crouched over your equipment. You come face to face with a strange figure.
‘Show me yer hands’ he tells you in a thick British accent, eyes focused on you and handgun aimed at your chest. He wears all black and a haunting white skull mask. He is tall, at least 6 feet tall, body poised to kill. In his other arm, you can see a little girl hugging his neck.
You slowly raise your hands. At your foot, Bellamy growls baring her teeth at the stranger sensing danger. You shush her grabbing her by the caller to keep her from attacking the armed man. You stand still watching in apprehension as the man studies you. You look at the ground where you left your backpack and your hatchet.
‘Don’t even think about it’ comes the gruff order. You nod trying to convey that you understand the situation. ‘There’s nothing in that bag worth a bullet’ you tell him in an even tone despite fear creeping down your spine. He hums in agreement. ‘And if you wanted to kill me you would’ve done it by now.’ He watches you like a hawk its prey. ‘So…’ you pause carefully measuring your words, ‘what it is that you want from me?’ he gestures you to take a few steps back and you drag Bellamy by her collar.
He kicks at the backpack spilling the contents. A bottle of water and a half-eaten sandwich, a hunting knife, and a rectangular box in which you keep the hooks, lures, fishing lines, and other small fishing equipment. He turns his gaze back at you and nods toward your dog. ‘Put a muzzle on it or I’ll shoot it’. your blood runs cold at the thought of losing your sole companion. You scramble to untie the scarf you keep tied around your wrist that you use to wipe away sweat from your forehead. You wrap the piece of cloth around the dog’s snout tight enough to not slip away. Next, the dark-clad man tells you to pack your fishing gear and collect your backpack, with one hand keeping it outstretched to the side and the other one grabbing at Bellamy’s collar guiding her forward. ‘Move. Eyes forward. Any sudden moves and I drop you.’
He walks a couple paces behind you. For how big he is you can barely hear him walk on the path. You can feel his gaze burning in the back of your head and the gun pointed at your back. As you start down the path you can make out the roof of your small house. Once you get at the gate you stop. ‘open it’ he instructs. ‘The key is in my right pocket’ you say slowly gesturing to said pocket. ‘Mhm,’ you hear him grunt. You slowly release Bellamy and fish for the key in your jacket’s pocket. You slowly take it out and put it in the keyhole turning it and opening the gate.
The familiar sight of your front garden does nothing to appease you in this situation. Bushes full of colourful flowers hug the narrow path toward the house. The wind catcher hung above your porch clinks melodically as a gust of warm wind catches on it. you take a few more steps on the stone path before you and you hear the gate closing behind you. What once was your safe space now traps you in with a stranger ready to shoot you or worse.
‘Tie the dog to that pole’ he orders you again. On your right, there is a small pole stuck in the ground. He throws a roll of paracord next to you. You don’t move at first. You had never tied Bellamy down before. You can’t even remember when you last put a leash on her. She likes to roam free and run around. The click of the gun behind you tells you that you have no choice. You drop the backpack and start to drag her to the pole. She tries to resist but you shush her and urge her to move. Once you finish tying her you turn towards the stranger. He nods towards the house and you start walking hands raised on either side of your head. Once you open the door he urges you inside.
‘Where do you keep the medicine?’ he grumbles urgently. ’Bathroom.’ you nod to the right of your living room. ‘Go get it!’ you don’t wait around you spring toward the white door. After a couple of minutes grabbing most of what you keep in the over-sink cabinet you emerge hands filled with gauze of all sizes and different bottled pills. You return to find the man placing the girl on the couch. She appears to be asleep. You almost forgot about her. She looks about 8-years-old. Brown hair is chopped short in a pixie cut. She’s wearing blue-washed jeans and a dark green hoodie that’s too big on her.
You watch as he peels the hoodie from her limp body. Underneath she wears a striped t-shirt, but what catches your attention is her left upper arm. Red stained gauze is wrapped around. You are still in your approach keeping a safe distance. ‘Was she bit?’ the words rush out in apprehension. From where he kneels next to her his eyes snap at you. ‘No’ he denies the implication of your words. ‘Put that on the table and go sit by the door’ You do as you're told eyes darting between the girl and the man. You drop everything on the coffee table and go sit by the entrance door hugging your knees. You watch as he works on bandaging the kid. Your eyes are glued to the girl’s arm.
Even though you lived so far out into the wilderness you saw pictures on the internet of bites from the infected. You read the posts of the survivors and heard the news broadcast on all channels. Then everything went quiet. The cable didn’t work and your phone had no signal. You knew shit hit the fan and that it was serious. Then, a few weeks later you saw your closest neighbour, Neil, an elderly farmer who lived about half a mile further up the river’s bank, growling and stumbling trying to catch Bellamy who was running scared towards you. You tried to talk him out of the trance-like state but to no avail. He kept stalking towards you, ready to take a bite out of you. You tried to tell him to keep his distance and warned him that you would protect yourself. The rest was a blur. You faintly remember grabbing the hatchet that you used to cut down logs for your stove. And then the struggle with the man, Bellamy barking, you crying out pleas for him to stop. In the cacophony of noises, you hit him with the blade right in the neck. The next thing you knew, your neighbour lay in a pool of dark blood hatchet still. It took you a while to register what you have done. You just killed a man. You couldn’t forget the way he lay there, on the gravel, hands stretched outwards bloodshot eyes staring emptily at the sky. That was the first time you encountered an infected. You distinctly remember the fear and adrenaline that took hold of you. The feelings that gripped your heart so tight and that made you take a life take over you as you watch the little girl, possibly infected, unconscious but on her way to the same madness that turned Neil into a savage monster all those years ago.
'She's feverish. You got meds or something to bring the fever down?' his question brings down from your rising panic at the thought of being stuck inside with a possible infected. ‘There should be some anti-inflammatory pills and some antibiotics. They are out of date but they could still work.' He grabs hold of the med kit you brought. He sorts through the drugs checking the expiration dates. When he comes across the antibiotics, he studies the pack carefully, his eyes darting back and forth from the label to the girl. 'How much can I give her?' he asks with a hint of concern his stern facade crumbling slightly.
You look at him unsure what to say. Those pills have been bought before the start of the outbreak. You doubt expired drugs have any effect anymore. You refrain from saying that though. He is stressed, he might take his anger on you. ‘She’s a kid, you mumble, so, about half of each.’ He carefully considers his next action. ‘She’ll need water to take them, you add from down the floor. And some food…’ He nods in understanding. ‘May I?’ you don’t know why you offer this stranger help. First, he disturbs you from catching dinner, next, he threatens to kill you and your dog, now he takes over your house and medicine. But you can recognize the desperation in his look, the way he fumbles with the packaging. He is a parent trying to save his kid. Even though you don’t have any of your own you recognize the parental instincts, the same ones you exert on Bellamy.
He looks at you unsure of what to do. He surrenders in defeat and nods at you to go on. You rise to your full height, which doesn’t add up to much compared to him. You walk past them all the way to the back of the living room where you disappear behind a white door. After a couple minutes, you reemerge from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of steaming vegetable soup you made this morning. You slowly approach the couch watching him for any sign that you might cross a line. Instead of any aggression he takes a step back and allows you to go closer to the girl. You place the bowl and the glass on the coffee table and kneel next to the couch.
The girl opens her eyes and looks at you with distrust. Like father like daughter… you think to yourself. But you try to smile at her try to reassure her. ‘I brought you some soup, love’ you say in your most sincere and kind voice. ‘You must eat a little and then take some pills that will make you feel better’. You try to persuade her. She stares at you for a minute then at the man. They are suspicious of you and they have all the reason to be. You are a stranger to them as much as they are to you. Funny you are in the position to try and win their trust in your own home. You take the spoon you brought for her and dip it in the bowl. You take a spoonful and hover it close to your face blowing a little over it and then you swallow it. You can’t help the little moan of appreciation for your own cooking skills. ‘See? It’s good.’ You look at her with a small smile.
You don’t know where this came from; you blame it on the 6-foot-tall armored stranger whose stare drives daggers at the back of your head and your desire to keep your head on your shoulders and all your blood in your body. You don’t outright hate kids but you were never good around them. With a sigh, she sits upright and takes the spoon from you. She eats slowly. You keep watching her. She is a pretty kid. She has blue eyes and freckles on her small button nose. You wonder if she looks anything like the man behind you. She is pale and sweat collects on her little forehead most likely from her fever. She eats half of the soup you brought her and then turns her gaze towards the man. He hands her the two halves of the pills. She takes them in her small hand and grabs the glass. She hesitates. ‘It’s okay’ you reassure her and with a nod, she puts the half tablets on her tongue following up with large gulps from the glass. She scrunches her little nose in disgust at the chalky taste. ‘Atta girl’ you hear him utter from behind you. ‘Now lay down and rest.' he says to the girl in a stern yet gentle voice. He watches her nod and lie back on the couch her eyes half-lidded. He sighs, 'Good for now. ' he mutters under his breath. His eyes are fixed on her as he gestures to you. 'Come with me.' You rise from the floor and follow him outside the front door.
He leads you outside. When you cross the threshold, he takes a deep breath and a look of relief washes over his stern features. He gestures for you to sit on the front porch with him. 'We need to talk...' 'Yeah' you say crossing your arms defensively over your chest and standing as far away as the length of your porch allows. you take a moment to study him as he fixes you with a cold stare. You notice the many pockets on his vest and belt. A patch on his chest reads S.A.S. He's ex-military, you muse. His uniform makes much more sense now. But the mask still unnerves you.
He leans against one of the wooden porch support beams right hand hovering on the pistol holster. You think it's an act to intimidate you, to remind you that he is still armed and ready to strike you down in your own home. You stare at him a little defiantly. You’ll be damned before you let this weirdo intimidate you on your turf. He studies you from head to boots and back up. You sigh and square your shoulders showing him you are not afraid of him. ‘I’ve been watching you.’ He tells you in a matter-of-fact tone. You try to suppress the surprise on your face. You look down at his boots avoiding his icy gaze.
He’s been stalking you, and the realization dawns on you. You didn’t even notice his presence around the house. Stupid, you think to yourself, I’m growing complacent. But not even Bellamy caught his smell and she usually barks when someone or something comes close to the house. But earlier at the lake, he took you both by surprise. He’s good at keeping his presence concealed, you have to give it to him. You nod to yourself in understanding. He probably knows the layout of your house by now, he knows you are alone, and he waited for you to be outside and ambush you. You start imagining all the horrible things he could have done to you. But no, he instead approached you, gun pointed at you, nevertheless, when he could have already killed you and taken over your house by now. You hum and make eye contact with him.
‘Why keep me alive then?’ you ask him without beating around the bush. You study his mannerisms trying to catch something, anything to prove you he’s human. But he’s as unreadable as a statue. His gaze remains fixed on you, unblinking and stoic. You feel him studying you, taking in every detail of your person. He seems intent on reading into your every move.
In an even tone, he answers, 'Because you’re not a threat.’ His response catches you off guard, ego a little bruised at that, but you can’t argue with his logic. If he wanted to, he could have killed you by now, that’s for sure. You remain silent for a moment, processing his response. ‘But that doesn’t mean I trust you.’ He adds kicking off the beam and taking a step closer to you. He looks down at you tilting his head a little like a bird of prey watching a mouse, waiting for it to give chase and make the hunt more fun. You don’t give in to the urge to run inside and hide in your bedroom. Instead, you take a step towards him and look up at him ‘Because you need me’ you speak quietly. You can imagine a raised brow under that mask. You smile in triumph; even though he acts tough he needs help and all the intimidating façade was in a desperate attempt to get it.
‘I get it’ you continue having him figured out. ‘Your kid is sick and out there dangers are lurking at every turn. You need a place to stay until she gets better.’ You finish voicing your theory on why he’s really here having this conversation with you. His eyes closed in defeat. Gotcha, you smile even more widely at your deduction. ‘You can stay, you say as you turn and walk down the three steps of your porch heading towards the gate. ‘On one condition, you add stopping in your track. You turn fully towards him and he watches you curiously as if you’d have any power to demand him anything. ‘No harm comes to me or my dog’ you say remembering his earlier threats of him offing you both. ‘Do we have a deal?’ it’s not unreasonable, though it irks you that you have to bargain for your safety with a stranger. ‘Deal.’ He says in his usual gruff voice nodding to you in sign of respect for your demand.
‘Good’ you say as you stalk off towards where Bellamy lays muzzled and tied like a prisoner of war. You free her and she jumps at you happy to be in your proximity. She must have been worried sick here all alone. Poor thing. You then go to the gate and slide the too-large bolts meant to keep any unwanted guests outside. Or inside in your case. ‘And to think nothing interesting ever happens around her, right, Bell?’ your rhetorical question is met with a bark of agreement.
Royal guard
Note: I got the idea from a prompt on Pinterest
Ghoap but Soap is a energetic, bored prince and Ghost his stoic, quiet body guard
Soap huffed and rolled his eyes, looking at Ghost in his stupidly body shape enhancing armour. „Would it kill you to relax?“, he teased, knowing Ghost would either not say anything or give a short answer to make him shut up.
„Probably“, Ghost replied, eyes still trained on the wall in front of him. „Likely it would kill you too, that’s rather the point“. Soap let out a groan. „Why do you always act like you got a stick up your arse?“ Silence. „It’s my job to protect you. Not entertain you“. „Why not both? You definitely look like you could be….fun“, Soap shamelessly flirted.
Ghost visibly tensed up at his comment. „Oh, stop clutching your pearls, Ghost.“ He grins. „I‘d know a way or two how I could get you to relax“
Ghost cleared his throat. "This is highly inappropiate" Soap strolled towards Ghost, who stood there as still as a statue. "Oh come on, relax a bit", he grinned. He held out his hand. "Dance with me"
Ghost looked at him with a uncertain expression, but didn't take his hand or made any movement in general.
Soap rolled his eyes and took Ghosts hand in his.
"Now, do you really want to disobey the princes orders, guard?"
Alive / Part XII
Trigger warnings: Explicit sexual content in the form of a handjob. (I pray that my parents will never find my blog, Annie, ich weiß, dass du das hier lesen wirst. Kein. Einziges. Wort. Sonst werf ich dich ausm Fenster. Das gilt auch für dich, Milena. :)) Notes: This is my first ever attempt at smut, so sorry if it's awkward to read. I also have no idea how to conjugate "Lay", so sorry to all the English majors out there. Word count: 668
They stayed on that hill for hours. Barely talking, just looking at the sky and sea in silence, enjoying the moment together.
The sun started to set, the sky painted in a deep gold, the sunrays making the scene look etheral, like sunlight pouring out of a hundred broken urns.
When they got home, the house was still empty (Molly knew they'd need some time to get it going, so she made sure they'd have their peace)
"I'm gonna take a shower", Ghost announced. Soap plopped down on the bed. "Have fun"
Ten minutes later, Ghost stepped out the bathroom, blond locks wet, his bare torso bathed in the golden sunlight, a towel slung over his hips. "Looking good, lt", Soap smirked. Ghost grumbled and sat down on the bed. "Shut it" He lay down next to Soap, the towel dangerously low on his hips. Soap peered down. He was unsure, but he really wanted to. "Can I?", he asked quietly. Ghost swallowed, then nodded. Very, very slowly and gently Soap pulled away the towel, eyes fixed on Ghosts cock. "Not bad, lt". It was already half hard. He looked at Ghost again, checking for any sign of discomfort. He didn't find any, his eyes half lidded and it seemed like he was holding his breath. With a featherlight touch Soap ran his fingertips over it, cataloging every ridge and vein. Ghost let out a shuddering breath. "That sensitive, huh?", Soap teased. Ghost just nodded. "Please, stop teasing me", he whispered. Soap raised an eyebrow. "Yes sir" Soap leaned over the bed, grabbing a small bottle of lube from the nightstand, squirting a bit on his hand before wrapping it around Ghosts cock. He really was sensitive, letting out a small gasp at the sensation. Soap took this as a sign to take up the pace, tightening his hand and rubbing his thumb over the red tip. "Does it feel good?", he looked at Ghost whose eyes were fixed on Soaps hand around his cock, biting his lower lip to supress the sounds threatening to escape him. "Simon?", he asked again. Ghost nodded, eyes lidded. Soap chuckled. "Usually I'd have you say it loud, but I'm gonna let it slide". He continued at the same pace for a few minutes, letting Ghost get used to the sensation. He seemed to enjoy it quite a lot. A grin spread on his face as Ghosts subconsciously thrust his hips upwards, and he sped up and tightened his hand, drawing a small gasp from him. He gripped he sheets, his knuckles white. "Wanna hold my hand?", Soap asked, to which Ghost only nodded, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. His breathing got more erratic, and Soap could feel his cock twitch in his hand. "You're gonna come, Simon?", Soap cooed. "Y-yes", Ghost gasped. "Go on then", he whispered. Ghost let out a strangled whimper, squeezing Soaps hand tightly, white ropes soaking Soaps hand. His thighs trembled and he was breathing as if he'd run a marathon. Soap pressed a kiss on Ghosts forehead, getting up to get a wash cloth. Gently and carefully he wiped his body down. "Thank you", Ghost whispered. Soap grinned. "Did you like it?" Ghost nodded. "Then I guess it's a job well done, no need to thank me" He smiled. "I'm gonna shower" "Wait!", Ghost said, slowly getting up. "Give me a second, and I'll return the favour", he mumbled, hands shaking slightly as he reached for Soaps pants. "No no no, Simon, stop", Soap grabbed his hands. "There is no favour to return, you don't owe me anything", he looked Ghost in the eyes. "I want you to know that. I love you. You don't owe me. I choose to make you feel good. It's not a debt. We're not in a rush. We can take as much time as you want and need." Ghost nodded and sat back down on the bed. Soap smiled.
"Sleep a bit. I'll be there when you wake up"
Notes: Sorry that it took so long, I had to stop various times to stop cringing. It's also quite awkward writing this stuff in class. Anyway, I'm omw to bathe in holy water.
Alive / Part XI
Trigger warning: Talking and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 669 They started the hike in silence. An awkward silence. They both knew they'd have to talk about it, but neither of them knew how to start. They knew how to kill, but they didn't know how to love.
About an hour of silence went by before they stopped. It was a beautiful view from a hill down the valley on the one side, and a steep cliff looking down on the wind whipped sea on the other.
Ghost took off the backpack he was carrying, taking out a water bottle and handing it to Soap. "Thanks", he mumbled before taking a few sips.
After a few minutes of more silence passed. "We have to talk", Soap said. This one phrase made Ghost more nervous than he'd like to admit. Less nervous than when he was on a mission that could easily end deadly. "Yea...", he mumbled.
Soap seemed nervous too. "I'm sorry, Simon. I shouldn't have done that", he said awkwardly. Ghost wanted to tell him he didn't mind, but that wasn't the truth. At least not the whole one.
Soap sighed. "When I uh, when... The accident. I could hear you. You said you loved me", he looked at Ghost with those blue eyes of his. The same colour as the stormy sea, dangerouse but, oh, so tempting. Ghost wished he could live in them. Soaps words hit him. He hadn't expected him to hear them. Hell, he thought he was dead.
"You, you what?", was all he could say. Soap smiled. "You heard me. And I heard you." His gaze seemed to stare into Ghosts soul. "Do you love me, Simon?", he asked, plainly. Ghost was taken aback, not knowing what to say. Well, he knew what to say, but he didn't know if he could say it.
Ghost sat down clumsily on the grass, Soap sitting down a meter in front of him. "I thought if you liked me too, I could, you know, I thought you'd like it...", Soap tried to explain himself. Ghost wished he could tell him, tell him everything, but it hurt, it hurt so bad.
"I'm sorry, Simon.", he apologized. Ghost wanted to scream. "I love you", he mumbled. Soap looked at him with a mix of surprise, sadness and hope. He smiled. "Well, that's good. Because I love you too, you muttonhead". A quiet sigh of relief escaped Ghosts lips.
Soap seemed to be contemplating what to say. Ghost leaned back, lying down on the green grass. Soap did the same thing, lying next to him. "If you like me too, then why'd you seem so.... Averse?", he asked.
Ghosts mouth opened and closed like a fish. The words, the truth wanted to rip out his body so desperately. But he knew it'd rip him apart. But if he left it unspoken, it would eat him from the inside.
"They hurt me....", he whispered. "They touched me, they made me do things", he got choked up. "I had to, I had to, I had to survive, it wasn't my fault", he got panicky. "Hey, hey, Simon", Soap tried to ground him. "It's alright, I'm here, I'm right here", he placed a careful hand on Ghosts side. "You're safe now"
Slowly Ghost started to calm down a bit. "I just want you to know that we don't have to do anything. I'm just happy to be here with you" Ghost wanted to scream yet again. He didn't deserve this, he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in many things. Pretty much nothing.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?", Soap asked. Ghost gulped. "They touched me... I didn't want them to, I didn't want it", he breathed heavily. "They forced me on my knees... I couldn't breathe". Soap sighed. "I'm so sorry that happened, Simon".
They just kept lying in silence. It was a comfortable silence. The memories still hurt. But it felt like they couldn't quite reach him. He felt safer.
He felt safe. For the first times in ages.
Notes: I know that this description of deep trauma is pretty unrealistic, but this is for the sake of the fanfiction, since I don't want to write a hundred parts of unlinear healing and therapy until they finally bone.
Alive / Part X
Trigger warning: Mentions and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 459
The rest of the breakfast was tasty, but awkward. Ghost felt like Molly knew. (She does). She kept glancing at him and Soap, who were sitting next to each other, a mischevious smirk on her face.
After finishing eating, they helped clean the dishes and went up to their bedroom to brush their teeth. Ghost was quiet, but he could feel Soaps eyes on him the entire time. He wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy what happened, not at all. It just felt so.... Weird. Unfamiliar. He's had his fair share of experiences, but it has been years. And in the mean time there were some.... Rather unpleasant events. He stood in front of the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He could feel their hands on him, doing whatever they wanted to with his body, forcing him to go on his knees and please them. He wanted to puke, nausea overcoming him. "I had to , I had to, I had to survive", he repeated over and over in his mind, a tear rolling down his cheek. It had taken years before he could even touch himself again without having a panic attack. Since then no one had touched him in that way. He didn't want them to. Sometimes he missed the intimacy, but he was afraid to crave it, knowing he wouldn't be able to allow someone so close to him. But now there was Soap. Ghost damned himself for it, but he trusted the man. Fuck, he loved him. And for the first time in what seemend like a lifetime, he craved touch. His touch. His hands dug in his neck, knuckles white and leaving small, red shapes in his skin.
"You ok in there, lt?", Soaps voice sounded from outside the door. "Er, yea, 'm fine", Ghost hurried to answer, voice a bit choked up. Soap didn't say anything. Quickly wiping his wet eyes and putting on his stoic expression, he stepped out the bathroom. He was certain Soap could see that he had cried, but he luckily didn't say anything.
"So, you wanna go for a hike?", Soap asked lowly, inching closer to Ghost, putting his hands on his waist. Ghost suddenly felt claustrophobic. He loved his touch and hated it at the same time. He stumbled backwards. Soap looked confused at a bit hurt, no, more regretful.
Ghost cleared his throat. "Yea, why not. Lovely weather", he mumbled. He began to look for his cargo pants and a shirt. Soap was awfully quiet. Ghost wanted to slap himself for repulsing. He craved him so much it hurt. It scared him.
He turned around, wanting to say something. "I'm sorry, Johnny", he said.
But Soap was already gone.
Note: I did not plan for this to turn out this dark, but I wanted to bring in an explanation for Ghosts mixed feelings on intimacy, since his sexual abuse and rape are canon. I've personally never read the comics, so this is just my interpretation. I also want to mention that the reactions to sexual trauma are extremely subjective, how I described it here is just my personal experience.
Alive / Part IX
Word count: 156
The walk down the stairs was rather awkward. Soap was grinning to himself, Ghost desperately trying to make his boner go away.
The table was set with fresh bread, strawberries, cheese, sausage and all kinds of delicious food. Ghost suddenly felt how hungry he was.
"I don't know what you boys planned to do today", Molly said between bites, "Callum and I are going to the fair, and Isla and Alec wanted to go to the city and buy some new clothes for the kids, they are growing so fast", she gently pinched Archie's cheek.
Soap thought for a moment, smirking at Ghost. "We're gonna take it easy today, mum. Maybe go for a hike later, yea?", he looked at Ghost. A million thoughts raced through Ghosts head, most of them on how much he wants Soaps hands on his body again. "Yes, sure, hiking. Love that", he said awkwardly.
Molly grins. She really loves weddings.
Alive / Part VIII
Word count: 666
Ghost was used to not being able to sleep at night, nightmares and night terrors keeping him awake. But tonight was different. He and Soap settled down on the bed next to each other, laying in comfortable silence. He could feel the heat radiating off Soaps body. Every fiber in him wanted to scoot closer to him, curl up in his side, which he of course didn’t do. Soap was his sergeant, after all, and he didn’t want to give himself the embarrassment of making a move only for Soap not to feel the same. (Ghost is an oblivious idiot).
Ghost hated the feeling of fabric on his skin at night, at base he usually slept only in boxers, today opting for joggers, but no shirt. He wiggled on the bed, trying to get comfortable. „No disrespect, lt, but stop squirming around like a worm“, Soap grumbled, already half asleep. Ghost didn’t say anything, laying down on the side facing Soap, who was facing towards the window.
It took while for him to fall asleep, but for the first time in a long while he slept through the night, no nightmares violently ripping him out of sleep. He woke up to the sound of birds chirping, slowly opening his eyes to see Soaps side empty. He was still sleepy, taking a few sips of water form the nightstand before rolling onto his back with his arms under his head, staring at the ceiling.
The door opened, and Soap stepped back into the room, dressed in boxer shorts and an oversized shirt. He sat down on the bed next to Ghost. „Morning, lt“. Ghost closed his eyes. „Morning, Johnny“. A few moments of silence passed, before he felt a warm hand on his side. His breath hitched and he opened his eyes. Soaps gaze was focused on the skin beneath his fingers, fingertips slightly grazing over a big scar, caressing the raised, silver skin. It burned, but oh God, did it burn good.
„How’d you get this?“, Soap asked, genuine curiosity on his face. Memories flashed in front of Ghosts eyes and he gulped. „Uh, I got captured. Cartel. They hung me up on a hook“, he mumbled. „Must’ve hurt a bitch“ Soap gently rubbed his thumb over the scar. Ghost nodded, closing his eyes again, the memory painful. He didn’t want to admit it, but Soaps touch on his scars felt holy.
„Do they hurt?“, Soap asked. Ghost shrugged. „Sometimes. Not all of them. They feel weird when it‘s cold though. And they’re really sensitive“ Soap grinned, continuing to gently caress the scar.
It stopped for a second, before Soaps fingers grazed the skin right above his waistband. Shivers ran over his body as Soap caressed a faint but long scar that went from his side over his v lin down to his crotch.
„And here?“, he asked, his voice low. Ghost took a moment to answer, his thoughts in a haze. „Torture…. They wanted intel“, he smiled weakly. „They didn’t get it“. Soaps gaze was sad. „I‘m so sorry, Si“, he whispered. Before he could say anything, Soap bent down, pressing his lips on the scar. Ghosts mind went blank.
Soaps lips lingered on the scar, before he slowly, very slowly began to tug the waistband down, revealing a small happy trail. He kissed lower and lower, stopping every few seconds to check in with Ghost, who was looking at him with wide eyes, but the bulge in his pants said enough.
Soap grinned before pulling down his joggers completely, his plans obvious. Ghost stared at him, his mind racing. Was this really happening? He felt like he was on fire. Soap liked him too. This was wrong, so wrong. But fuck did it feel good. It had been ages since someone last touched him like this, at least with consent. He had to hold back a whimper when his fingers grazed over the bulge.
A loud voice suddenly boomed through the house. „Boys! Breakfast!“