JDFM

Just a wee 21yo writer and enjoyer of many things

[joelydfm]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x male reader, war torn/dystopian AU

(Second installment of taking prompts people are using for AI bots and making my own fic out of them. This one has been in the chamber for a while actually. this one is for you @generalgoldfishldrm )

Words: 6076

tags: Simon Riley/male character, could be seen as platonic or romantic love, SFW, war-torn society, major character death, depictions of death/war

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He hadn’t decided whether it would be good to open fire on you or let you curl up into that nasty rathole and die. Still, he wasn’t banking on finding out when he arrived at your body you weren’t an enemy, let alone a soldier, just a civilian he wounded, brutally so. He wasn’t a nurse, yet he knew how to help stir a wound, help it settle. He carried you back to the nearest secure location he could scavenge. And by the time you woke up, he had already been asking…

“Aye, mate… feeling better?”

You woke up confused and in horrendous amounts of pain. Your vision was blurred and you didn’t know where you were. You looked over to see a man talking to you.

“Better isn’t the word I would use,” you tried to joke.

He was silent, staring blankly ahead. It only made him appear more intimidating. It was a good quality to have if you were in a war. He looked over to meet your gaze, staring at you for a few seconds.

“Humor, huh?” He finally moved his gaze back to the distance ahead.

You stared at him for a time, trying to analyze. He was just looking into the distance. Hard to read.

“Are you always this intimidating?” You paused for a moment. “When I have nothing else, humor is all I have left.”

“There’s not much to read on me,” he said blandly. “I’m a closed one.” He didn’t look at you, but the tone of his voice made his words sound like a warning. He didn’t intend to sound that way, but he was a man of action. He never spoke more than necessary, and when he did, his words were dry. “I hope the rest of your humor is more successful.” You stared at him for a moment before giving a small grin.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to figure out my crowd.” You reached out your hand for him to help you up. “I understand you at least a little. War hardens you.” He stared at your hand as you extended it. After a slight pause, he leaned down to take your hand. His hands were, surprisingly, soft. His grasp was firm, gently and carefully dragging and lifting you up to your feet, to which you immediately doubled over, almost collapsing and barely able to stand on your feet. “Fuck, what the hell happened?”

His eyes stayed level as he looked at you. His brow furrowed, his mouth curving into a frown. He wasn’t one to have an easy time expressing himself, but there was a glimmer of a sympathetic look on his face. He couldn’t help but feel for you, a fellow soldier.

“You were shot. I found you in the rubble.” He paused, unsure of what to say next. You looked down to your wound and inspected it. You winced at every touch and tried to breathe through the pain. You looked over to give him a smile.

“How bad is it, brother?”

His demeanor remained the same as he watched you masterfully inspect the wound. He tilted his head slightly at your question. It was hard to tell if he cared or not.

“What does it look like?” He looked over you, as if weighing whether you would survive on your own. He didn’t sound cruel either, just a matter of fact tone. You sighed and finally showed some glimpse of worry.

“It looks, and feels, like I’m royally fucked.” You paused. “But I’m not done here. Where is my weapon?” Now that you asked him about something else, he seemed to become more focused, less distant from the situation. He stepped away and began searching through the rubble. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“It should be somewhere around here. And they call me Ghost.”

He found it lying next to a pile of bricks and retrieved it, handing it to you. It was a bit grimy, and probably really dirty, but it was your firearm, and that was all that mattered. You grabbed your weapon from him and dusted it off, checking if it still functioned properly. You held back your cries of pain, you were no crier. You looked at him seriously. 

“What’s the next objective?” He looked over at you as you were examining your weapon. There was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes, and almost, appreciation. It was subtle, but it seemed that this made him slightly happy that you were still committed.

“We need to move forward.” He was blunt, but he wasn’t wrong. A soldier was supposed to follow orders and do what had to be done. He looked around for a moment, deciding on a direction to start moving and began heading that way.

You trailed behind for a moment, trying to gather yourself enough to keep up. It was a struggle, as you felt like your insides were being ripped apart. However, you were eventually able to walk in line with him. He looked over at you as you walked, and he seemed to give a slight nod, a sort of understanding. Ghost understood what you were going through as he had been in these situations before. He had experienced the pain himself.

He kept quiet, giving no commands, and simply walking, assuming you understood that you were supposed to keep pace with him. That was how simple this military relationship was. You looked to him for a moment, trying to think of the right words.

“Don’t worry man, I know I’m a liability. But I’m not giving up.” After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke, still looking forward, his mouth seeming to curl into a slight, almost imperceptible smile, as if in spite of his neutral expression, he had warmed up to you ever so slightly. 

“If you can walk, you can fight.” It was a blunt, cold statement. The fact you could do something was all that mattered to him. You kept glancing at him with understanding. You knew the war had hurt him, and you felt grateful that you were not to that point yet.

“How long have you been in this?” He paused for a moment to consider the answer. It was a question, he thought, that could mean any number of things. He let out a sigh, trying to figure out the answer, and how to put it into terms that would make sense.

“Too long.” He shook his head slightly. The answer seemed to have a double meaning. He paused to let it sink in.

“Where were you before? Who were you?”

“No one and nowhere worth mentioning, I assure you.” His voice was cold, his tone flat. He hadn’t meant to sound that way, but that’s just how he delivered his statements. He let out another sigh. “I’m not a very interesting person, I suppose. And neither is where I’ve been. It’s just fighting and killing and that’s all.” You tried not to get too involved considering your situation, but you couldn’t accept that answer. For some reason, you cared too much.

“If there’s one thing we can’t do, brother, it’s lose ourselves. I know there’s a person, a real person, who matters in you.” He thought on your words. He hadn’t expected that response, and it was like he was actually caught off guard by your statement.

“What does that mean to you?” He sounded like an outsider, looking in at his own life. He almost sounded confused. He had a hard time articulating his own thoughts, that much was apparent. But he was trying, for once. You felt maybe you were getting too passionate, but you couldn’t stand letting him think that he was just a machine made for the fight.

“You’re a person! A person with feelings and a life before all this shit. You’re in this, I can see that. But don’t let the death consume your heart. Don’t lose yourself in the war, brother.” The fact of the matter was, he didn’t know how to respond to your words at all. He thought, and after what felt like a long while, he spoke again. 

“I’ll try not to lose myself. But I’ve already lost enough of who I was.” Your face visibly saddened, and you wished, for a moment, that you could embrace him. You knew he didn’t deserve this.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve lost parts of myself that I don’t think I can ever recover. But that’s why I stay positive, have humor through this. It reminds me of who I was, who I loved, and who loved me.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The faint smile that was there before returned, his voice still sounding neutral. But, as hard to see as it was, there was something there. He had never understood people or emotions, but he had tried to make sense of them, and what you had said was the only thing that made sense. 

“Humor, then. I’ll try it.” You smiled wide and put your hand on his shoulder. 

“Right then! Through the death and destruction, in the end all we have is ourselves and the people around us. We can’t lose it.” He nodded at your words, agreeing with what you said. There was a little more to this man than his outward demeanor would lead you to believe. In spite of his coldness, he had still a small shred of humanity left within him. 

“Aye, let’s get back to it.”

You walked silently for a while, thinking about what could be happening inside this man’s head. You wished you knew who he was under the mask, to make him feel like a person again. Ghost walked in the lead, his head down as he kept staring toward the distance ahead, trying to come up with new strategies to tackle the mission. He couldn’t help thinking of different possibilities, of what could happen. He looked back at you to make sure you were behind him, ready to follow whatever order he gave. Adrenaline rushed through you from his words.

“Follow me. If you see me enter a building, do not hesitate to enter with me. I need you to be quick and ready to fight.” He kept his eyes forward. He looked so calm, yet he felt as though his heart was pounding.

“I’m ready.” You gripped your weapon harder and tried to block out the pain. He gave a small nod and began walking ahead. He moved quickly and silently, his footsteps making no noise in his boots. It was almost as if he were gliding across the ground. Soon, he stood in front of a building and made no hesitation in entering. 

“Get ready.” With those words, you felt a shock go through your body. You double checked your gun was ready to shoot and followed behind him, making sure you were vigilant.

The building, upon entry, seemed to be some sort of administrative building, filled with twists and turns. It was dark, and the lights in the place were shattered, the darkness swallowing it. Ghost didn’t break stride, however, and moved on, stepping over the rubble and wreckage that scattered the ground. 

“Stay close,” he whispered. He already knew what he had to do. He was a machine when it came to the fight, knowing what needed to happen and how to do it in every scenario. You were careful in following and obeyed his order. You admired his skill and wondered how he came to be so confident in his actions.

He didn’t waste any time. He moved through the building quickly and almost silently, seeming to know exactly what he was looking for. It required an efficiency and focus that could be acquired only by those that lived in constant war. It seemed as though there was a sixth sense within him, something that could predict danger and how to avoid it. It was almost supernatural. 

You kept a keen eye on your surroundings. He led you deeper into the office building into the shadows and darkness. You could barely see your hand in front of your face. He stopped suddenly, and seemed to be listening, as though he could hear something you could not. He nodded to himself, seemingly deciding on something, then put a finger up to his lips, telling you to stay quiet. After that, he made a single motion, creeping forward with his gun.

The darkness made you anxious. You couldn’t see anything around you, and all you could keep your eye on was the man in front of you. He walked with ease, as if he had been through these halls a thousand times before. Then, with a single turn, he started up a flight of stairs, turning back to speak simple words.

“Come. Quietly.” You nodded at his command. You climbed up the stairs with caution. You turned back one more time to check your rear, only to see nothing, then turning back to focus on him. He kept going up the stairs. The space around you was so dark and scarily quiet, you wondered what he could’ve heard. He didn’t slow down, checking each flat. He moved with his weapon at the ready, his head low and his eyes wide, waiting and watching. He didn’t appear to even blink. 

After a time, he finally stopped on a flat, and made a small signal to follow him, not daring to draw attention to the two of you. His inhuman focus transfixed you. You wished to possess his mental agility. He turned to you again, this time leaning close to your ear.

“There’s people down here,” he whispered in a stern tone. He leaned to look around a corner, then motioned for you to look as well, wishing you to confirm what he said. As you did, he led you to just outside a closed door, voices coming from within. He took in a quick breath. “We take them out on the count of three. On your mark.” He wanted to make sure you weren’t caught off guard, and that you were ready to the best of your ability. You sucked in a quick breath and looked him in the eyes.

“One… Two… Three.”

He didn’t hesitate for a second before kicking in the door and throwing himself in their midst. He moved like fire and lightning in a blur of movement. He was deadly and precise, and he was ruthless. He spared nobody. He killed quickly and with no mercy without a second thought. It was almost like watching the very definition of war in action, the embodiment of death. While you got shots in, you were convinced that he got every kill. He was more precise than anybody you’d ever seen.

He stopped after the gunfire had ended, and only then did he release a breath he had been holding the entire time. He was unfazed, completely emotionless, with his weapon still at the ready. He walked up to every body and made quick checks to see if they had anything of value. He turned back to you, speaking softly.

“Let’s go.” He began walking once again through the darkness, as if nothing had happened at all. You followed his order and walked behind him. It was strange- you barely knew this man and for some reason, you were willing to follow him to the ends of the earth if he told you to. He walked with purpose, desensitized to the slaughter. Soon enough, he made a single gesture for you to look down a corridor. “Down here, come.” 

He moved through in a hurry. While you had itch to know this man’s thoughts, he seemed to move faster and faster with every turn. He gave you soft spoken instructions to follow or stay down every so often. He moved as if he couldn’t be stopped.

Another corner, and another, and then another. You started to become disoriented with the turning and his scary pace. Finally, he came to a stop once again. He was quiet for a moment, as if taking in the situation. 

“Here. Be quiet.” You stopped for him, watching him analyze. He took in a long, deep breath, then seemed to brace himself. He didn’t look afraid, but there was still a sense of caution, of a concern that something could go wrong. He leaned in close again. “I need you to do something for me.” 

“Name it.”

“I need you to go around the corner and clear the hallway. Make no noise. Come back and give me the thumbs up when you know it’s clear.” He stared at you with his blank, wide eyes as if he was looking into you. “Understood?” You took in the reality of the situation and his question. You would be alone in that corridor.

“Understood.” He gave a nod then glanced around, making sure nobody was there to see you.

“Go.” He would wait until you were fully out of sight before he would do anything, and then he would watch, waiting, to see if you would make it. 

You readied yourself and turned the corner into the hallway. You stalked quietly, making sure not to alert anyone that could be hiding. You slowly checked the rooms one by one, getting about halfway down the hall before coming to a door with voices behind it. You saw the figure of a man through a window seeing into the room, and your heart began to beat a little faster. You readied your weapon and prepared to take the shot. 

Steadying yourself, you took a deep breath and fired the shot, and as soon as you did the man fell, his body dropping. You felt the kick of your gun and the rush of adrenaline, but you took another breath. 

You didn’t waste a second as you kicked in the door. You saw another man standing there and aimed your gun in his direction. They were only civilians. But you couldn’t take a chance.

“Get on the ground, now!” You shouted the orders in a loud and firm voice, making sure there would be no mistake in your intentions. The man stood, frozen in fear, staring down the barrel of your gun. He seemed to be paralyzed with fear. You lunged forward toward him just to give him a scare, hopefully out of his paralysis. 

He jumped as you came toward him, causing him to panic and take a step back. The weapon in your hand seemed to scare him into submission, but he still didn’t move. 

“Get down!” you shouted once again, this time with your voice cracking with authority. “Get down, or I shoot!” You hoped with everything in you that he would comply. You already shot an innocent man in front of his friend, but you knew you couldn’t risk getting injured with your current wound. He stared at you again for a moment, but then fell to his knees, his hands raised in surrender. You moved closer to him to get a better look at your surroundings. You searched the body of the man you killed, then turned back to the one who was still alive.

“Do you have anything on you?”

His eyes shifted toward his waistband, then his hands moved to reveal a gun on his hip. You took no time in training your gun at his head again. You had done this before. You had faced death and danger before. You couldn’t show weakness.

“Hands on your head.” He complied and stayed still as he watched you take his weapon. He clearly knew better than to make any sudden movements, especially after witnessing what you had done. You quickly moved away from him, keeping good distance in case he did something stupid. “Stay right here, in that position. If you move even one inch, you’re dead. Understand?”

He quickly nodded his head, eyes still on your trigger finger. You slowly backed away into the hall again. You moved through the darkness, making sure to be silent once again. You were still hearing chatter, which proved to you that you weren’t out of danger. You went through each room and corner, your heart beating loudly in your ears, your hands shaking with each step. You had to force yourself to remain completely focused. If only you had Ghost here.

You reached another room you knew had people in it. You didn’t, however, know if they had weapons, so you debated with yourself on the situation. You stood before the closed door now, your gun raised, your grip tighter than before.You knew what you had to do and there wasn’t any turning back.

You burst into the room, saw weapons in the hands of the people, and knew there was no other option. You set your gun ablaze, making sure each shot you took was lethal. Your mind was in overdrive, and you made no mistake as you took their lives.You showed them no mercy, and you gave them no chance to defend themselves.

You looked over the bodies one by one, checking for pulse and valuables. You still kept a close eye on your surroundings, as you were sure someone could’ve heard the shots. You moved out of the room and started scanning the last remaining rooms. Once you were satisfied that all enemies had been subdued, you went back down the hall and reported to Ghost that the situation was under control.

“All enemies have been cleared. I’m not too bad at being your sitting duck.” You gave him a sly smile with your words.

“Don’t get too proud,” he said in his soft and slightly gravelly voice, with an air of confidence. “But you did well. Let’s keep moving.” He started walking away from you, his gun up and ready, as if this was just another day. You laughed to yourself at his actions, but followed once more.

You thought for a moment about the gun you had taken from the civilian. You had made a promise to yourself years ago to remember that all your victims were still people, so you decided to keep his gun on you. You put it in your pant leg quietly behind Ghost.

You followed him closely, but a noise took your focus off of him. You put your hand on his shoulder to stop him, but he had heard the noise too. It was barely audible. You both stayed in place, guns at the ready should the need arise again. You both listened closely. You turned your back to him, putting yourself opposite of him to protect your flanks and rear. One mistake was the difference between life and death for both of you. You turned back to look him in the eyes, silently communicating that it was clear. He nodded back.

You started moving with him again. Although hard, you walked backwards to watch your back as he watched your front. You had no idea where he was leading you to and you didn’t feel the need to ask. You trusted his judgment and knew he would keep you safe. 

Ghost stopped abruptly, scaring you a little. You saw his gun raised and ready and knew he must have seen something that made him cautious. You moved up to his side, locking eyes to get an idea of what he wanted to happen. But he only gave you a nod. He was training his focus on something not in your view. You kept your ears alert, and it paid off, as you heard a noise to the right of you both. You were ready to alert Ghost in case he hadn’t caught it. He looked in the direction of the noise to observe it with his own eyes. He didn’t waste time and moved into position, moving slowly and carefully in the direction of the noise. You walked as a unit, a silent unit.

You walked right by his side. Ghost was very skilled in keeping to the shadows. He stopped beside you, holding out his arm to stop you from moving forward. He has his gun raised and ready to fire again. You looked at him, and he didn’t tell you what he saw, but his face had a look of great concern.

You continued moving together until you saw another movement out of the corner of your eye. You turned quickly to try and catch it but failed. He saw your movement, turning to look at where you had seen something, until you saw another movement in the center of your vision. You two barely had any time to think when you were ambushed by the enemy.

You both took cover, engaging in a grueling and intense gunfight, taking down your enemies with ruthless efficiency. However, you were still injured, and despite the adrenaline, it was hard to move quickly. Ghost hid as well, staying under fire but managing to keep his composure. You moved back to the middle and he followed, and you both continued to push back against the enemies. The two of you worked together to fight off the threat, not letting up for even a second.

You moved with caution, but eventually the fire had stopped. You both kept guns raised and ready for anything. Suddenly, an injured enemy came out of the shadows, charging at you with a knife. You managed to see him, but didn’t have enough time to shoot. You resisted him, just keeping him from stabbing you. Ghost quickly reacted and shot the enemy down, firing a few extra shots at the body to make sure he was down.

You and Ghost pushed until all enemies were cleared. You looked to Ghost, then went over to him and spoke quietly.

“Are we done?” He gave you a nod, and started walking back through the building to the exit, ready to report to his superior.

You moved through the city with him back toward base, still making sure to stay vigilant and somewhat quiet. You followed Ghost’s lead. As you moved away from the building and combat, the adrenaline finally started to subside. You felt the increasing pain from your injuries creeping in and felt a sudden huge wave of exhaustion wash over you. You started moving at a slower pace, falling behind Ghost. Without the rush of gunfire, it was difficult to keep up. 

Even though the pain became more and more unbearable by the minute, you had this urge to prove to him that you were strong enough to withstand it. But with your health steadily declining, you suddenly fell over, your body no longer able to keep going at that moment. Ghost looked back and saw you on the ground, and he immediately rushed over to you, dropping his gun and going to your side, helping you up. He looked at you with a serious expression, and he was clearly worried about your health. He stayed silent for a moment and almost looked panicked. But still, you didn’t want him to see you as weak. 

“I’m sure I’m okay.” You removed the layers of your uniform to reveal that your wound was bleeding profusely. Ghost saw all the blood and his expression immediately changed again, growing serious and more concerned. He ripped a piece of his uniform off and pressed it to the wound, trying to stop your bleeding. He was still silent, not speaking a single word, but his actions said it all. He was worried about you. You looked up to him, blood slowly dripping from your mouth, and you smiled and chuckled. “Well, this doesn’t look too good, does it?” You took the cloth from his hands and put pressure on the wound yourself. “I can make it, brother.”

Ghost saw your determination and your courage, but he also saw your condition and how dire it truly was. He hesitated, but readied you to walk again, supporting you. He stayed silent but his serious expression remained, showing deep care for your well-being. You leaned on him for support, but still struggled. You occasionally looked up at him, seeing the worry on his face. You smiled at him a bit, coughing before you spoke. 

“Who did this to me anyway? Please tell me I didn’t get shot by a civilian. That would be embarrassing.” He didn’t say a word. His expression stayed the same as he didn’t find the situation funny or light-hearted. You looked at him again, this time more serious. “You’re an idiot if you think I’m going to let myself die this easily.” A smile slowly creeped across your face in spite of the pain. “Even if I try, promise you’ll get me up again,” you spoke, showing your resolve. He nodded. He would do everything he could to get you back up again, to keep you fighting, to keep moving forward.

As you walked, more enemies appeared, shooting at the two of you. Ghost pulled you away from gunfire, keeping you behind cover and shooting back. As Ghost continued to protect you, you felt a great sense of gratitude and even a brotherly love for him. You were grateful for the way he looked after you. Your feelings of loyalty and devotion to Ghost grew and you felt even closer to him in this moment of danger. Ghost had your back, and you trusted him with your life.

The firing ended and he got you back up again. 

“It’s over now. You’re safe.” He started helping you in the direction of the base, keeping you up and moving quickly to avoid danger. You looked at him and decided to speak your mind.

“You never answered me, but you don’t have to. I know who shot me.” Ghost stayed silent but looked at you, not revealing any indications of his thoughts. His silence was curious, not giving anything away, but it was also powerful and determined. “I haven't been back to base in so long.”

He got you back to base and he led you confidently. You let out a sigh of relief, feeling safe and finally at home. You slowly felt the fatigue get worse. Ghost dragged you to the medical bay, walking in a steady and purposeful manner. You entered the bay, finding it to be a busy and bustling place. There were doctors and nurses working tirelessly to attend to the injured, and the hospital beds were full of people being treated. You looked at Ghost. 

“You know, they look pretty busy. I don’t need to be treated, I’ll be fine.” He silently looked at you, and you could see he disagreed. You could see in his eyes that he still cared deeply and wanted to get you the treatment you needed. You felt the bond between the two of you. The doctors and nurses were busy, but you knew they had seen worse.

Ghost moved to help get you treated. He got you over to a bed and stood next to you the entire time you were being treated, watching carefully to make sure you got everything you needed. You appreciated him.

The doctors and nurses did their best, but your condition still got worse despite their efforts. You felt your body getting weaker, and the pain and fatigue was taking a toll on you. You struggled to stay awake and your vision slowly got blurry. Ghost didn’t speak but the look in his eyes spoke a thousand words. He continued to stay by your bedside, giving you his support. You looked at him.

“Thank you for everything.” He stayed firm and serious, but gave you a nod. You could see a hint of a smile on his face, showing he appreciated your sentiment. You coughed and grabbed his hand. The action surprised him, but he didn’t resist or pull away. “I know you shot me.” He stayed silent for another moment, then spoke in a quiet voice. 

“I’m sorry.” You smiled to him.

“Be honest with me here, did the doctors say I’m dying?”

“Yes, they said you’re dying.” He looked down, and you could see a tear in his eye before he quickly wiped it away. Ghost was struggling with the reality of the situation. You stared off before speaking again. 

“Can I ask you something?” He gave you a nod.

“Yes, of course.” He listened to you intently. 

“Do you want to know who I am?” He nodded again, and you smiled.

“I’m a military medic. I went to medical school, became a doctor, but I wasn’t satisfied in a hospital. I wanted to be in combat.” His expression changed and he held your stare. “I knew I was dead from the moment you shot me.” He nodded again. He didn’t seem surprised by your statement, but it’s clear that he regrets his mistake, that he feels the guilt and sadness from the outcome of his actions. You grabbed his hand again. “Will you tell me something?” He nodded.

“Of course,” he spoke. “What do you want to know?” His voice was soft and kind, and there was an underlying sense of grief in his tone. He was still firm, but he was also caring. You made eye contact with him.

“Who were you before this? What’s your name?” He maintained eye contact and his face stayed calm, but his demeanor changed, an inner turmoil beneath the surface. He stayed silent for a moment before he spoke quietly. 

“Who was I before this?” His voice remained soft and low, but there was a tone of regret there now. He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the memory itself caused him pain. “I was a soldier,” he started, “my name was Simon Riley.” You grinned at him, enjoying his vulnerability.

“Well, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, will you promise me one thing?” Your look was serious yet gentle, understanding this was a hard thing to talk about for him. He gave a small nod, and you squeezed his hand harder. “I need you to promise me that you won’t forget who you were. Promise me you won’t forget your name. Promise me you won’t lose yourself in this war.” You saw the weight of the request, the sense of importance in your words, and it was clear that Simon took them deeply to heart. He swore to you, his voice filled with conviction.

“I swear to you,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I swear to you, I will never forget my name. I will never lose who I am.” A tear slid down your face and you struggled to move.

“Here,” you coughed, “take these for me, will you?” You reached behind your neck and unhooked your dog tags, then reached down and took the gun from your pant leg. “I won’t be needing these.” Simon gave a small nod, taking the items from you. His face grew even more solemn, holding the items tightly with respect and honour. He accepted this duty, to take the items from you and keep them safe, to remember your identity even when you’re no longer there. You coughed up more blood and struggled to breath. The blood filled your lungs slowly and you started to drift in and out of consciousness. Simon looked at you, still holding your items. He was silent and calm, but tears filled his eyes. “Hey, Simon?” He looked at you, then dropped to his knees at your bedside, giving you a nod to acknowledge he was listening. 

You gave him one more smile, once more a brief moment of warmth. You paused, then you spoke those words. Those simple, yet powerful words.

“I forgive you.”

The words hung in the air. You looked back into the distance, taking your last breaths. Simon was quiet, watching you, his face reflecting a mix of emotions- of relief and sorrow, of regret and acceptance. He held your hand tightly, not willing to let go, saying nothing even as your eyes closed for the last time.

The life left your body, and your struggle and suffering finally ended. You passed away in Simon’s arms, him resting his head on your still-clasped hands, crying. Your bond ran deep. Even after he stopped crying, he looked over your belongings still. He put your gun in his belt and your dog tags around his neck. Now, he got up and started away.

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okay done:p

I'm actually not sure how i feel about this one, but I figured I'd post it anyway.

[joelydfm]

I fear I’m becoming that fanfiction writer stereotype because I’m trying to write fanfic while getting my master’s degree and I got hit by a car and I’m currently in a legal battle with health insurance company

[joelydfm]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x male reader fantasy AU

(first installment of me taking inspiration from prompts people are putting into AI to generate fics for them. True fanfic writers stand against AI doing our job for us.)

MonsterHunter!Simon x male reader

words: 7057

Tags: slow burn kind of, violence, slight gore, medieval/fantasy, not beta read, just fluff in this one, male reader has a name but its only mentioned like once, get comfortable it's a long one

He fought the evil in this world, or at least that's what he told himself. Ever since he was young, that's what he saw himself doing- the only thing that he felt gave him worth. Fighting vampires, werewolves, all manner of sinister creature, and sometimes, even himself.

This isn't what the world wanted for him, at least not when he was young. His father was the town butcher in the village he grew up in. His old man taught him the trade, but it never satisfied him, or more, it never made up for the wrong he felt he did just by taking up space. So, when he was old enough, he left his home village with just a few gold pieces, his father's old boning knife, and the clothes on his back to travel to the city for one purpose- the join the king's army. This is where he would find himself.

It turned out he had a talent. He had natural instincts, was obedient, and adaptable. He quickly got assigned to the part of the king's army that dealt with monsters. At first, it was off-putting for him. He had only heard about these creatures in fairy tales and mothers trying to dissuade children from playing by themselves in the forest. But once he saw they were very real and very bloodthirsty, he found his purpose.

Eventually, this routine service as a king's knight was not enough. They were too slow for him. So he left the knighthood and began to pursue the creatures himself. But he barely recognized himself now.

He became a well-known monster slayer in the region, and through his good deeds, got a variety of different rewards from different folks, including wizards and witches. They bestowed upon him many spells which improved his being. They made him stronger, faster, more sturdy than a normal man. He often found himself trying to forget this. However, he knew he did not choose the best profession to be subtle. There were tales of a brawny, intimidating knight that went across the land saving cities and villages. This was not preferable to him.

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The winter was unusually harsh this year, which made things harder for you, but you weren't in the worst position. You made plenty of money leading up to the cold season with your pelts, and you had plenty of game meat in the cold storage outside. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, but being stuck inside during these snow storms was mind-numbing. You were sitting next to the hearth, enjoying the warmth of the blankets and reading in the firelight, but then there landed a heavy knock on the door.

You were puzzled, thinking maybe you had just heard a branch fall against the cottage wall. But then the knock came again. Who in their right mind was outside during this storm? You stood up, wrapping the furs around your shoulders and carefully opening the door, sighing when snow fell in through the doorway.

Your eyes widened when they finally took in the figure standing outside. it was an armored stranger. What the hell was a knight doing out here? Your cottage was a mile outside the city limits. You were used to travelers stopping by your home for a rest or a small meal, but a knight? You just opened your mouth to speak when a heavy, gravely voice spoke from the front of the helm.

"Could I stay overnight? I won't be a bother."

You were quiet for a moment, debating your answer, but ultimately decided that you had no real reason to turn away a traveler in need. You stepped aside, pulling the door far enough for him to come in.

You watched him step inside, dragging snow in with his feet and falling off his plated shoulders. You closed the door gingerly, not wanting any more snow flying in and lowering the temperature of the house. For a moment, he just stood still in front of the hearth, armor and all, staring into the flames. A strange character, for sure. You also noticed that he was large, as in, very tall and broad. He dwarfed you, a grown man. But, it was no matter.

As if realizing you were staring, he finally moved, beginning to take off his armor. You began to pour wine, but never took your eyes off him for more than a fleeting moment. He was so methodical, every moment seeming to have a very determined purpose, but he hesitated only when reaching for his helm, almost as if he didn't want to remove it. After a moment of contemplation, he slowly took it off, but you couldn't see his face in the shadows casted by the fire. He laid his armor and swords gently on the wooden floor and draped his red cloak across it.

He stood quietly in front of the fire, presumably warming up, while you set the table briefly- just wine and bread. You even set out the butter. A king's knight deserved the best. You finally beckoned him to sit and eat.

He sat down, but not before some clear deliberation on if he really wanted to engage in the conversation he knew was to come. When he finally sat, the wooden chair creaked beneath him. This was the first decent look you'd gotten of him. Without the armor, he wasn't as bulky, but he was still tall and broad. You pushed the cup of wine and bread toward him, taking the opportunity to speak.

"What brings you outside the city?"

He didn't answer immediately. He stared at the food and drink in front of him. It had been at least 3 days since he had eaten proper food. He looked at it like a dog that wasn't sure if the food could be trusted yet. His hands rested on his knees, tension visible beneath his skin and muscles twitching. The firelight danced across his skin, and his figure casted jagged shadows upon your walls.

"Hunting."

You raised your brow a bit at that answer. You kept your tone easy as not to seem too incredulous.

"Hunting? You need a knight's armor to hunt?" You let the silence hang there for a moment. "Unless you're not hunting game."

He finally lifted his eyes. This was the first time you'd made eye contact, and it was intimidating to say the least. They were dark, only visible because of the fire glistening in his pupils. The look wasn't exactly hostile, but more calculating or judgmental. He let out a slow breath through his nose. The husky voice came out once again.

"Not game."

These short answers were becoming typical. It was only then that he finally reached up to grab the cup of wine you had poured for him. He took a drink from it, and his movement enabled you to see more of his face.

It was rugged. His features were sharp and rough, scar tissue littering the skin. His hair was a light brown, stubble littering the lower half of his face. The light caught the melting snow flakes that had been caught in his brows and eyelashes. You found him almost mesmerizing, and you took a drink from your cup to gather your thoughts.

"What game are you after then, Hunter?"

He found the nickname funny, but he didn't laugh. If anything, the tension in his shoulders lessened just slightly as if the title was comfortable to him. He finally reached for the bread, taking a careful bite and savoring it. A small noise, almost a hum, came from him, like approval. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his eyes met yours again. They were not as cold this time.

"Vampire."

You felt your mouth go a bit dry. That was not the answer you expected, but what exactly did you expect from him?

"Vampire? I've only heard about those in tales, but I've seen one before, not that I get much company around here anyway." You paused for a second before leaning in slightly. "Is it true they can make themselves look like regular people?" He sat his bread down and in that moment, the fire seemed to stop dancing and the air felt still.

"Yes. They're perfect mimics- faces, voices, even memories if they've feasted on enough of the victim's blood. One moment, you're speaking with your brother, the next, it's tearing out your throat." He seemed to get tense again, like he was getting worked up. When he spoke again, it was quieter. "I've seen whole families, whole villages, get drained."

You couldn't tear your eyes away from his. It's like there was something keeping you there, forcing you to look deep into them. You were slowly memorizing every part of his face, but there was something in his expression you couldn't quite place.

"Memories, too? Sounds fantastical, but I'm sure there's plenty out there that I haven't seen before." He looked away while reaching for his cup, taking a long drink from it like a man parched. He savored the taste of it.

"Not fantastical. I've seen it all happen with my own eyes."

"I can't imagine." That was the only thing you could think to say. You felt bad for him in the horrors you were sure he had seen, but that didn't feel like the best thing to say right now. There was a certain heaviness in his words, and now in the silence hanging between you, like pain. A shared guilt. He didn't elaborate anymore, but changed the subject.

"The butter is good." While the abrupt change surprised you, you nodded.

"Thank you. I bought it from one of the women in the city market. I am fortunate that my pelts sell for good coin." You gestured toward some of the furs you had hanging up and the work table in the corner.

He got up, moving to inspect the furs. His gaze narrowed onto it, almost assessing. He respected good craftmanship and artisans. He nodded once, which was likely the highest honor you would get from him.

"That's how I make my living. I travel to the city and sell them before the cold months come."

His hand finally reached out and ran over the fur. His touch was gain not rough, but very methodical. Another quiet sound, like a hum, accompanied his movement.

"Skilled work."

You gave him a brief smile, always happy to receive compliments on your work. He finally turned back to look at you and made his way back to the table with eerily quiet footsteps. His height was even more apparent at this moment as you sat before him. He didn't sit, but he nodded in agreement.

"The winters always seem to get colder year after year. People need the furs."

"This one's worse. This storm came over three days ago and has not stopped." A moment passed. "I've been tracking that vampire five days through this blizzard."

You were surprised that he mentioned the vampire again, but did not push.

"Well, don't let me keep you. I'll grab some pelts and stoke the fire. You can sleep by it." He didn't respond, he just stepped back out of the way, letting you work.

You grabbed the pelts and a small pillow, setting them near the hearth, and then you put more firewood in. The man knelt in front of it, taking in the warmth. You again took in his face in this now direct light, studying him. He uttered a thank you, and you took that as your leave. You retired to your bedroom. Your cottage wasn't large, but you were lucky enough to have a separate room as your chambers.

The house fell into silence as you slept, only the soft crackling of the fire and wind outside making sound now. He stayed awake for a while. He always had trouble sleeping, or relaxing. He sat quietly, watching the flames in the hearth. He could hear your breathing from the other room if he really focused. Every so often, as he dozed, a long would collapse in the hearth and it would wake him, but it did not bother him. He only really slept for a couple hours at most that night.

It was scarcely dawn when the sound of him putting on his armor woke you. You quickly got up and grabbed one of the fox pelts you had hanging up, presenting it to him.

"Take this. it's cold out there. Consider it a gift."

He stopped abruptly, mid-motion, one pauldron already on his shoulder. His eyes were locked onto the pelt for a few moments, as if considering whether to actually receive it. He was not the type to give or take gifts, but this felt different to him. Where he originally planned to up and leave without a word, he now felt obligated. He carefully grabbed the pelt and ran his hand over it before stuffing it gently into the armor he already had on, making sure it was secure. When he finally looked down at you, he looked the most human he had since you met him. It felt like the eye contact lasted hours, when it was in fact only a few seconds. Before you could tell him not to worry about giving anything back, he turned to his small satchel.

His hand searched the bag for a moment before pulling out an object and putting it into your hand before you could object, then going back to putting on his plates. When you opened your hand, you found a silver necklace with what looked like a wolf's fang pendant. You examined it, feeling the weight in your hands. The craftsmanship on it was superb. You put it around your neck. You spoke with a smirk.

"From one of your escapades?" You watched him place his helm, the last bit of his armor, and then he turned to face you again, the helm making him even more intimidating.

"A werewolf."

He didn't elaborate on how exactly he got it or how it became jewelry or why, but you didn't feel the need to pry. The pendant felt warm against the skin of your sternum. You saw his hand on the handle of the door, and you spoke.

"You're welcome back any time you need dinner and a warm place to sleep."

He didn't speak at first, didn't even meet your eyes. His hand was simply paused on the door handle while he contemplated. You couldn't decipher what he was thinking or feeling, but you had a weight of anxiety at his silence. When he finally glanced at you over his shoulder, he gave a nod. Then, he opened the door and stepped out into the wintery forest.

You watched as he walked away, his feet sinking into the deep snow. There was a heavy feeling in your chest, contrasted starkly by the warmth of the wolf's fang. His presence had filled your home in an unfamiliar way, and you found yourself missing it once you closed the door. You found yourself wondering if we would actually come back one day.

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You didn't go out to the city, or outside in general, for a long time. The cold was too harsh and the snow too deep to travel any great distance. You stayed inside, body warm but heart chilled as you found yourself hoping the Hunter would come back. You didn't get another knock on your door for weeks, and when you finally did, hope filled you. Maybe this time you could even get his name.

But it wasn't him.

When you opened the door, it was a stranger. You're typically not averse to new people, but there was something different about this man, something strange, perhaps described as sinister. He was deathly pale, gaunt. He was almost uncanny, not quite normal. You could feel his eyes digging into you like jagged daggers. You felt your mouth dry as you spoke.

"May I help you?"

The man's eyes, which were once locked onto yours, traveled down to the pendant hanging around your neck, and he leaned forward slightly. His presence was invasive and uncomfortable. He gave you a slow smile, thin and polite, but a little too big. As he stared at your jewelry, his expression contorted into something twisted- not admiration or longing, but more like recognition. When he finally spoke to you, his voice was thick and smooth, but also slick and strange.

"That's a rare piece you have there." He stepped forward toward the doorway, invading your space even more. You let yourself put a hand over your chest. The tension in the air was palpable and you were on edge.

"A friend gave it to me. Now tell me, what's your business?"

"A friend?" he asked, voice mockingly sweet. "The Ghost gives gifts now? How very sentimental."

His uncanny smile stayed upon his face as he took another step closer to you, and his eyes gave a glint of annoyance. When you didn't step away from him, his grin only got larger, and that's when it became visible to you-

Fangs on either side of his smile. This man was not human.

Your hand darted to the toolbelt that stayed around your waist, grabbing the boning knife out of its sheath and bringing up to aim the point at the vampire's throat.

"Listen, stranger. I don't know who the Ghost is that you speak of, but you do not have permission to enter my home, so I suggest you back away." This made the monster freeze, but only briefly, just for his expression to drift into calm once again and his eyes to fill with fury.

You heard a low hissing sound escape from his throat as he seemed to back away. Relief only filled you for a fleeting moment before the vampire reared back and lunged toward you.

He knocked the knife from your hand as one of his wrapped around your wrist, jagged nails digging into soft skin. His other hand moved to swipe toward your sternum, trying to grab your pendant. Before he could even fully wrap his hand around it, the pendant began to emit a warm light that grew more and more until it nearly blinded you. As you shut your eyes, you heard the high-pitched sizzling and warm stink of burning flesh. You fell backward onto the hard wood floor, and when you could finally open your eyes, you saw the vampire standing just outside your home in the snow. His face and hands were now blistered and irritated, warm steam rising from the burned flesh. When his eyes met yours, he let out a deep snarl before running away into the blanketed forest. You jumped up and slammed the door, leaning against it with a tired huff.

You were now left with a hundred questions that only the knight could answer, but there was no telling when he would come back to your home again. You wrapped your hand gingerly around the pendant, residual warmth running through your hand and blood trickling down your arm.

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It was several weeks again before you received another knock on your door. After living in paranoia for this long, you instinctively grabbed your boning knife again. When you finally opened the door, you were relieved to see the Hunter standing outside. His familiar black armor was coated with snow again, but this time, his helm was already off.

You weren't sure exactly how to feel in this moment. You were angry, anxious to ask questions, but another large part of you was happy to see him alive and well. What's more is he seemed to feel the same way, his once tense face softening at the sight of you. You stepped aside, allowing him entry. As soon as you closed the door after him, you spoke.

"I hear they call you Ghost."

He sighed.

"They do." He paused, but didn't look at you. "Did something happen?" as if he could feel it. You stepped toward the fire.

"A vampire came to my door."

The air went just as still as him, and colder than the winter outside. You could feel the tension in his body from where you stood.

"When?" sharp and rough, with his eyes burning into yours. Vampires didn't make themselves known without reason.

"Over a fortnight ago, but he hasn't been back since. Though, I suspect he didn't go far." Ghost's jaw visibly tightened, and he began to look around the room as if looking for something.

"Did it hurt you?" he asked quietly. You let out a slow breath and walked toward him, making eye contact only for a moment before you began to lift his satchel off his shoulder and take off his cloak. As upset as you were at what happened, you couldn't bring yourself to be upset with him, especially when he inquired about your safety with such doe eyes. Ghost tensed up for a second, unused to such an intimate gesture, but he let you do it.

"It tried, but the pendant burned him."

Ghost only nodded as he let you help strip his armor off. He didn't seem surprised at the detail about the pendant. Once he was only down to his woolen tunic, pants, and socks, he stood silently by the fire and watched you prepare the stew that was cooking in the hearth pot. His eyes gleamed with something. Maybe comfort, or gratitude?

"Are you going to tell me your real name?" His chest stilled mid-breath. To him, his real name meant vulnerability. You were asking for the man beneath the armor.

"Simon."

You nodded and stirred the stew casually while he was drowning in his own inner turmoil.

"Okay, Simon. My name is Maximilian, but you can call me Max." Simon let the name stir around in his head for a moment. He thought is was a solid name, unassuming and unpretentious. This felt intimate to him. The sharing of names, real names, was not an exchange for people who were just passing through each other's lives. This meant permanence to him.

You ladled the stew into bowls and took them to the nearby table. Once you were both sat, you didn't linger in silence.

"Tell me about this pendant you gave me." Of course, Simon took his time answering. He first took a gingerly bite of his stew.

"Werewolf fang, enchanted by a witch."

"Why did you give it to me?" You found yourself staring at him again, taking in the enchanting details of his face. and he didn't seem bothered by it.

"Didn't want anything happening to you."

You felt a strange pang in your chest, a fluttering feeling in your gut. You had told yourself that warm food and a safe place to sleep were probably his motivation. Who wouldn't want to preserve that? But now, you had confirmation of what you had silently been hoping for. You found yourself relaxing in your chair for a moment before asking a harder question.

"Did you know I would be hunted down?" His grip on the spoon tightened visibly like he hated that question. You saw a flash of what looked like guilt on his face.

"I suspected. They like to follow my trail." So the pendant was not only a gift of gratitude, it was damage control. You felt like you should be angry, but you couldn't bring it upon yourself. You didn't think of yourself as collateral.

"I'm not one to hold a grudge."

He seemed relieved. He simply nodded again, but more as if he was trying to convince himself that you were telling the truth. He seemed even more relieved when you changed the subject.

"Were you successful while you were gone?" He took a bite before he answered this time, chewing slowly as if savoring the flavors.

"Found a nest of vampires. I killed two, but one of them got away."

You eyes met at his last statement, a silent agreement that the one who got away from him is likely the one who had assaulted you.

"I have a feeling he knows you're here." No answer after that, at least not immediately. Simon took the time to finish his meal before speaking again.

"I should stay close tonight," he stated. There was another pang in your chest.

"I'm sure all will be well," you assured as you got up and took the bowls. Simon watched you, but didn't help with the tidying. That felt too domestic for a man like him, but he did go around your cottage to make sure the door and windows were locked and secure, peering through the shutters. It was almost endearing. When you were done, you stood by the hearth to warm up. Simon sat on the floor beside you. He seemed almost comfortable now, less like a man intruding in your home.

You only looked down at him for a moment more before turning toward your bedroom.

"You can help yourself to anything if you should need it. Goodnight."

He nodded back to you. He felt your offer was strange, but he felt cared for. It was only after your bedroom door clicked shut that he grabbed one of your fur blankets and settled for the night.

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You woke at dawn and went into the main room to see Simon already awake. You cut a piece of bread.

"Were the pelts enough to keep you warm? It was especially warm last night." You saw the fox pelt you had gifted him draped over his shoulders.

"They were more than sufficient." The compliment on your craftsmanship made you smile. You began to put on your winter layers.

"I'm going out to hunt for fox or hare. You're welcome to accompany me." Before he even answered, Simon got up and began to put on his own extra clothing and grab his sword and sheath. He was never one to stay idle.

"I'll come."

When you were both fully insulated, you grabbed your bow and arrow and opened the door to step out into a foot of snow. Even with your face covering, you could feel your face begin to flush with the cold. Simon felt it too, but he was used to the feeling. He quietly fell into step beside you. Your and his eyes scanned the white landscape any sign of tracks or movement.

Once you found a good place to settle, you leaned against a tree and sat quietly, and Simon sat beside you. Your hands sat with the bow at a rested position, ready to draw at any moment. You whispered into the quiet, breath creating a cloud of warm fog.

"Do you hunt your own game frequently?"

"No," he said with a soft shake of his head, "never took to it. My father taught me how to butcher. My brother was the hunter of the family."

"Ah. A good trade to learn. I learned the basics of making pelts from my father before he passed, then I apprenticed with a master. I learned many things from him." You were quiet as you debated asking about his family, but just as you opened your mouth, you were interrupted by the sound of crunching snow. Both of you whipped your heads around to find the source, but instead of a fox, it was a different creature- the same one that showed up at your doorstep.

You and Simon both rose to your feet and turned toward the monster. Dark, shadowy features were stark against the white snow. Simon reacted before you could even think, stepping out in front of you, putting himself between you and the threat, his sword drawn from its scabbard with a sharp hiss of grinding metal. A low grunt came from his throat, almost primal.

You could feel your chest tighten. You internally cursed yourself for not having more foresight, for being so careless as to put yourselves out in the open. You took a few steps back, readying your bow as you began to watch the fight in front of you.

Simon made the first move, lunging forward toward the vampire. He directed an overhand slash toward it, and it landed between the shoulder and neck. You gasped at the sound of sliced flesh and crushed bone, watching dark blood begin to pour down its body and soak the snow beneath. What really made your stomach turn was not the gory sight before you, it was the fact that the vampire didn't even stumble. Watching the two fight was like witnessing two unstoppable forces collide.

You could feel your gut begin to churn. You began to stumble your way through the snow to get away from the path of destruction. They were both landing blows on each other, slinging blood every direction, but neither were backing down.

You were now away from them, not far enough to spare yourself of the details, but far enough to avoid becoming collateral damage. But you couldn't just stand by. You readied your bow, using all your weight to draw. All your experience hunting wild game proved useful as you took aim, your eye landing directly on the creature's body. You took in a deep breath, and with the exhale, you released the arrow.

it was a perfect shot, landing squarely where its heart would be. You felt proud of yourself in this moment. No, you couldn't be a burden on Simon and sit idly by while he fights.

The vampire's head turned quickly in your direction. There was no dismay, no pain or agony on its face- only fury. It firmly grasped the arrow and tore it from its sternum, flesh and bone going with it. You felt yourself about to retch, but you had no chance. It threw the arrow back at you, with the same power as you had produced but without the bow. Before you could comprehend what was happening, you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen. You looked down to see the arrow embedded in your flesh. Not too deep as to be fully buried, but enough to be stuck there by the arrowhead.

You groaned, eyes wide as you fell back. You were in shock, heart pounding and breathing too fast as you watched blood begin to soak your tunics and furs. You dragged yourself to the nearest tree, hiding yourself from the fight. You could hear it continue on, Simon's harsh assault on the vampire's body and the occasional groan when a blow was his human body. You tried to focus on something other than the fight and the blood pooling on your clothes, but it was impossible. Hunting and skinning an animal was nothing like seeing someone get killed or having an arrow in your stomach.

You stayed this way, but you were unaware of how long. Every second seemed to drag by so slowly. It was only when the forest went silent that you first stilled, and then you slowly turned to see around the tree. What you saw was the vampire's body laying limp in the red snow beneath it, but its head was detached, decapitated, laying several feet away from its body. And you saw Simon walking toward the body. No, not the body- walking toward the head. He stared down at the head for a moment before raising his foot off the ground and putting his weight on it. He then raised up his sword and drove it straight through, and that was your breaking point. The sound of breaking skull made you vomit, coughing up any acid and bile you had.

The sound of your retching made Simon snap out of whatever train of thought he was in. Once he saw the state of you, he put his sword back into his scabbard and ran over to where you sat. You heard him curse under his breath at first while his eyes raked over your body. Finally, he wrapped one arm around your waist and the other hooked your arm around his neck, and he hoisted you up with just his own strength. This was of no matter to you at this moment as he began to help you back to your cottage. You did your best to hold up as much of your own weight as you could, but found yourself useless in this endeavor.

When Simon finally got you back to your home, he quickly got you to lay by the hearth. He began to rummage through your things, every cabinet and chest, and he brought back a bowl of water and rags. He gently grabbed your face, making you look at him. When your eyes met his, you felt more grounded. You watched the sweat drip down his forehead, and in this moment, it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Your hand grabbed the one that rested upon your cheek and you did your best to listen to him as he spoke.

"Okay, it's alright, just listen. We've got to get this out of you." A desperate whine left your throat at the thought of him pulling out the arrow. It hurt going in, but you knew that now that the adrenaline had worn off, it would hurt even worse coming out. Your hand squeezed his, and you found yourself shaking your head.

"I can't, I can't do it." He shushed you.

"Yes, you know you can. You're better than that. Take a deep breath."

Your eyes widened but you took in a breath just in time for Simon to pull the arrow out quickly. You threw your head back as you let out a yelp. It felt like he tore your insides out, but when you looked down, there was nothing of the sort.

With quick hands, Simon began to take off your pelts and tunics. You let him do as he needed since you didn't have the willpower to do it for him. Once your layers were gone, he took one of the rags and put pressure on your wound. As much as it hurt, it was leagues more tolerable than the arrow coming out. Then, he wet another rag and started to clean your chest and stomach of smeared blood. Everything now seemed to slow down again. You watched Simon's hands work, and when you looked up at his face, it was filled with focus and concern.

He ended up dressing the wound with some old cloth. You let your hands drop onto the floor by your sides, exhausted. Your chest was still heaving from the pain, but things felt more controlled now. When you finally could center yourself and think more clearly, you still found yourself looking at him. You felt too many things to describe, but one thing you could figure out was the guilt. You swallowed hard to try and alleviate your dry mouth, then spoke with a gravelly timbre.

"I'm sorry."

He finally looked you in the eye after this whole time, and when he did, you didn't see anger, you saw something more akin to sadness.

"Don't do that." You didn't have the energy to argue with him as your eyelids began to feel heavy. He pulled a fur blanket over you, paying special attention to make sure it wasn't heavy on or irritating your wound, then sat next to where you lay. As you drifted off, you could've sworn he had his eyes on you.

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You slept a lot during this time. The next time you woke up, it was pitch black outside, the only light being the dim fire you laid in front of. As you stirred, Simon grabbed a cup of water and some of your bread. You tried to sit up by yourself, but fell back. He moved himself behind you, holding you to sit up with his own body as he held the bread and water to your mouth. You were feeling exhausted, and in any other context, you'd feel that this is much more intimate. Your curiosity was a greater force than your pain.

"Why do they call you Ghost?" Simon seemed surprised, less by the question than the fact that you were using your limited stamina to speak. He sighed, but not in annoyance, more like reminiscence.

"Friend gave me the name. A witch." He seemed surprised again that this answer seemingly satisfied you, or perhaps you were just too tired to keep yourself awake to ask more.

This cycle of waking and sleeping continued for almost two days, but the latest time you woke up, you felt different. You were shaking. Not just a shiver, but fully shaking even though you laid in front of the hearth. You felt sweat dripping down your face and body, and when you tried to move, you realized that you're in agony. Your abdomen felt like it was on fire, burning and tearing through skin. You could barely see through the tears, so you began searching for something, anything, with your hands, and ended up finding an ankle. Simon was jolted awake out of his rare sleep to the most pathetic, sickly version of you he was sure he'd ever see. He quickly moved to you and let his hand rest on your face. His brows furrowed at the heat radiating from your skin

He scooped his arms under you to carry you to your bed, getting you away from the heat of the fire. Snuggly in your bed, you looked up at him through your teary, tired eyes- the ones that said "I don't want to die, Simon." It was heart-wrenching for him.

"Stay right here, don't move. I'll go into the city to get medicine." He made his way to the door, but not before giving one more glance in your direction at your shaking figure.

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The trip to the city was not enjoyable, to say the least. It was below freezing temperatures outside, and the walk to the city gates was two miles. But Simon knew he had to be back soon.

Navigating the city was a better affair. If there was one advantage to his work, it was that he knew exactly where to find who and what he wanted. He went straight to the witches' tavern, ignoring the lingering eyes and faint whispers, to find the very same witch that had given him his name, one he knew he could always rely on in a dire situation. Moreover, he now owed her a very, very big favor.

When he finally made it back to the cottage, he threw open the door, tore off his cloak, and went straight to you. He got on his knees next to your bed and pulled two bottles from his satchel. You felt a cold hand on your glistening face as he brought one of the bottles to your lips- the one from the witch.

"Drink it. This one will heal you." It tasted foreign, something familiar but you're not able to describe. He brought the next bottle to you. "This one will take the pain away." That one was actually familiar- opium and hemlock. You knew you wouldn't be lucid for much longer.

"Please stay?" He froze for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn't even quite name.

"I was never going to leave."

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The next time you woke, you were expecting pain, shaking, and dread, but it never came. You felt worn down and tired, but you didn't hurt and you didn't shake. You instinctively put your hand over your stomach, where the cloths were, and you looked under them. All that was left was a scar. When you were finally sure you weren't dead, you realized that Simon was right beside you. He had fallen asleep on his knees with his head resting on the edge of your bed. You gently put your hand on his shoulder to wake him.

Simon woke with a start, but was pleasantly surprised to see it was you. As you looked into his eyes, you saw pure relief, like he was going to be brought to tears. You smiled and let out a quiet laugh.

"Simon. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for helping me." He leaned closer to you, eyes raking over you, especially where your wound was, as if trying to make sure this was real. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke to you.

"I will always help you."

You couldn't help but let out a grateful, tired laugh, and without really thinking, you pulled him into a tight hug. You felt Simon's hands hovering over you, as if he didn't know exactly what to do, but the rest of his body seemed to relax into it.

You began to pull away, but stopped when your faces were only mere inches away, like you were trapped by each other's gazes. You stayed that way for what felt like hours, simply studying each other's faces. Finally, you leaned closer into him until your lips were just brushing his.

At first, Simon didn't move, he just let you softly kiss him, like he was giving you time to change your mind and pull away. But when you didn't, he finally gave in to his own desire. He leaned into the kiss. His hands came up to rest on your waist and jaw, while yours found his neck, running through his hair.

Simon kissed you like he had been dreaming of it since he met you. He slowly stood from his crouch only to lean over you on your bed, and his knee came to rest beside your legs. You opened your mouth, giving him allowance to deepen the kiss. The meeting of tongues encompassed just how much this moment had been dreamt about.

When you finally broke the kiss, you still stayed close enough to brush your lips across his cheek as you whispered to him. The soft warmth of his skin radiated to your lips.

"Simon?" He dragged his nose against your soft skin and stubble while his fingers grazed freely against you.

"Yes, love?"

"Promise you'll always come back here every time you leave?" He hummed against your skin, the rumbling vibrations of his chest giving you goosebumps. He gave your cheekbone a chaste kiss before he spoke.

"I'd never go anywhere else."

OKAY its finally done. let me know if you liked it and if you want some smut to go with it.

[frightstricken-deactivated20260]

does this in front of you

[joelydfm]

The Mind and Other Useless Organs

(Second chapter now. Who knows when the next will be out?)

Chapter Two-

He was a young man, barely even an adult from what Elaine could tell. She would even describe him as “youthful” if it weren’t for the tired posture and deep eye bags. She remembered from her research that he was only about 20 years old. The boy was accompanied by a nurse and a policeman, dragged into the room by his handcuffs, the kind that connected to his waist and ankles. He nagged them quietly for being rough with him, but he had an expression that said he might not actually care that much. He dropped haphazardly into the chair on the other side of the table, and his cuffs were hooked and secured to it. The nurse and cop left quickly without a word, a bit too carelessly for Elaine’s liking. Here she was, sitting in front of a convicted killer, and now she was alone. Should I change my mind?

Elaine finally looked at Elliot, fully facing him. He shook his head a few different ways, trying to fix his tangled hair without the use of his hands. It would have been almost charming if they were in different circumstances. His hair was light brown, and disheveled, and looked like it hadn’t been washed in a couple days. 

“Are you a detective or something?” he says, breaking Elaine out of her trance. She was silent for a moment, and, for some reason, was gobsmacked at the fact the man is British. British? Have I really not read that anywhere? she thought. After questioning her memory, Elaine finally shook away her thoughts and answered.

“A detective? Oh. no. I’m just a reporter.”

“Okay, good. I told those assholes to leave me the hell alone a long time ago. You have that detective look, though,” he says, looking her up and down, a skinny finger gesturing toward her. Elaine paused before answering, suddenly self-conscious and contemplating what a “detective look” was, but ultimately shook that thought away too. 

“Yeah, no. I’m just here to interview you for a piece I’m doing. You already signed the consent form.”

“Did I?” he said with a skeptical expression. When Elaine pulled out the form and showed him, Elliot simply shrugged and slouched a bit in the metal chair. He started muttering and letting his eyes wander, but his speech slowly became more aggressive as he went. “I don’t remember that, but it’s whatever. So what do you need from me? Want to hear how sorry I am? Well, I’m really sorry. Was that good?” Elaine was taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. Her eyes widened a bit as she put her hands up, almost like a surrender. 

“Woah, dude.” Fuck, stay professional. “I mean- Elliot, I’m not here to make you say that you’re sorry. I’m really just here to get your story. Your perspective, raw and unfiltered. Is that okay?” There was silence- deafening, torturous silence that tore Elaine apart. This whole thing was a mistake, and she should go home and cry about this over a glass of wine. Yes, some nice sweet red wine to get her drunk and drown out her sorrow. Drunk and cowardly. However good that idea was, after thinking for a moment, Elliot finally gave her a shrug.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Sorry going off on you-” he leaned forward and squinted at her visitor’s name tag. “-Elaine. Nice name.” She nodded in thanks, still feeling self-conscious from his eyes, and began the final preparations for the interview. When ready, Elaine pressed the start button on her recorder. 

Click.

“November 10th, 2006. So, Elliot, tell me about your childhood and how you grew up.” Elliot turned away as he stifled a laugh. 

“Coming in strong right out the gate, huh?” Elaine’s face began to turn red, her mouth opening to surely apologize, but Elliot cut her off, rolling his eyes. “It was fine. Actually, it was great. My parents are amazing. I wasn’t spoiled, but they made sure I was cared for very well. They always made sure I went to the best schools and got good grades. I really admire them.” Elaine couldn’t help how her eyebrows raised. She was expecting something crazy, a sob story, but this wasn’t that. But she could see how his eyes changed while he talked about his parents- there was something there.

“Well, it sounds like you had a really great upbringing. If I can speak frankly, most people with your upbringing don’t end up in a place like this.” Elliot leaned closer to her and narrowed his eyes, his finger pointing at her accusingly. His voice was pure scorn, burning Elaine as it hit her.

“Listen here, woman. Whatever assumptions you have about this place and the people here need to go. Me being here has absolutely nothing to do with my parents, so don’t even think about that. I’m here because something is wrong with me, and only me. Make sure you write that down.” He finally leaned back, but kept his eyes trained on Elaine. She nodded quickly and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I promise I won’t insinuate anything again. So, your parents are very good people. In your own words, what do you think set off the chain of events that brought you here?” Elliot stared off for a moment, eyes drifting across the room, presumably thinking. 

“Probably when I started college. That shit was awful.” Elaine sat there for a moment, waiting for him to continue. After a full minute of waiting, she realized that he wasn’t going to continue. She nodded and gestured for him to continue. 

“Yeah, that’s understandable, college is hard. I still remember the long nights and constant anxiety. So, what made it so hard? What was your major?” Elliot turned to look at her and narrowed his eyes. 

“Whatever, Ms. Journalism. I guarantee your college experience was ten times better than most people. I did finance and accounting, a double major. But I only did that shit because that’s what my dad did. My parents really wanted me to follow in his footsteps.” Elaine stilled for a moment, taking in a deep breath and processing the insult.

“I take it you didn’t want to do that, then? What would you have majored in if you had the chance?” 

“I don’t know. Probably film or something creative like that.” 

“Oh, you’re the creative type? I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Elaine thought it was a harmless comment, but Elliot rolled his eyes at her and groaned.

“Whatever. Yeah, I would have done film or something, but I felt pressured to do the finance stuff, and it was hell.” Elaine nodded, trying to think of a way to dig herself out of this conversational pit. She clicked her pen a couple of times and scribbled some words in her interview notes before forcing herself to continue, making a mental note to try and improve her interview skills later. 

“So, how did this lead into your story?”

“It made me want to kill myself.” Elaine felt like she had been punched in the gut. What the hell? She didn’t even have to say anything, as Elliot practically read her thoughts and laughed at her. “Doesn’t basically everyone want to kill themselves at some point during college? I couldn’t keep up with the amount of work I had on my plate. I tried the therapy and the medications, but none of them ever really worked, so I tried to kill myself.” 

“Wait, sorry, there’s a lot to unpack and I can’t write that fast.” Elaine was scribbling on her notepad as fast as she could, not wanting to miss a single detail. She was also still in disbelief at just how nonchalant this guy talked about suicide, like it was normal. “So, you felt familial, societal, and personal pressures to do well in school, and even though you tried traditional treatments to help your depression, they didn’t work. That led to you attempting suicide. Was there any one event that triggered the attempt, or was it a build-up?” 

“Both, kind of. I kept getting failing grades back on my assignments. It wore me down, but every day I kept giving myself the ‘just keep trying’ bullshit. I remember one night I got back an F on a paper for one of my classes. That paper was worth half my grade, and I knew nothing would fix my final grade after that. When that happened, I just gave up, I think. I went home that weekend and tried to end my life.” Elaine couldn’t help the pang of emotion that filled her chest, burning and aching. Was it empathy? Pity? Understanding? She nodded slowly, trying to think of any words that would help the discomfort and tension she felt in that moment.

“I’m sorry you went through that. Nobody should have to experience those things. I can’t imagine how your parents felt either.” Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. The worst thing to say, perhaps. Elliot’s once mildly annoyed face started to twist and sour into some sort of anger-disgust mixture. A grimace that made Elaine almost cower in her chair. A look in his eyes that would incite fear in any well-meaning reporter.

“Don’t ever say that shit to me again.”

“I’m sorry, I mean, I didn’t mean anything by-” Elliot cut her off by slamming his fists down on the metal table, as much as the handcuffs would allow, metallic clanging echoing through the room. Elaine jumped slightly and dropped her notepad, her pulse quickening by the second now. 

“Tell the cop I’m done for today.” Elaine’s brow furrowed at his demand. Elaine could see the tension in his body clearly.

“But we’re not done with the scheduled interview time yet. I wanted to get at least the basic story today.” Elliot’s eyes slowly met hers, and he spoke in a flat, yet demanding tone. 

“Tell the man I’m done, Elaine.” Her eyes went even wider, and her mouth suddenly became chokingly dry. What the hell was wrong with her? Arguing with the inmate? She nodded and got up with quivering hands, making her way over to the door, opening it, and almost whispering to the guard that she was done. Barely even comprehending what she was doing in that moment. She stood off to the side as the uniformed man came in and retrieved Elliot. She could feel Elliot’s eyes on her, burning scorching holes into her until he was fully out of sight.

When the two were finally gone, she was left in the deafening silence of the small interview room. She felt paralyzed, palms sweaty and chest tight. She felt something like guilt, but why? She knew she shouldn’t really feel bad for Elliot, the guy was a murderer. Was her apology really that insensitive, or was he just a dick? 

She couldn’t tell.

She slowly picked up her notepad and scattered papers from the floor. I’m not cut out for this shit. Racing thoughts coursed through her head in an attempt to justify what happened, or more so justify her actions. I’m sure what I said was fine. He’s just too volatile.

She sat back down and stopped her recorder.

[joelydfm]

The Mind and Other Useless Organs

(Hello, everyone. This is the first piece of media I'm putting out. It's a deeply psychological novel, so there are plenty of dark themes mentioned and described eventually. Let me know if you have any comments on the formatting, or just thoughts in general. This first chapter is short, but the others are longer.)

Chapter One

Elaine gripped the steering wheel just a bit tighter as she rolled to a stop at the red light, hands sweating. Just a few more miles before she reached her destination. The weather was particularly nice today, not a cloud in the sky- a stark difference in moods for the work she was about to do. Her papers sat in an almost-perfect stack in the passenger seat, taunting her, making her dread worse. Elaine couldn’t avoid her forever, she knew that, but she liked to think she could. Maybe it would all just go away one day. Maybe she would go away. 

Elaine licked her suddenly very dry lips as she pulled into the parking lot of the bleak building. It was worse than she remembered. There were vines crawling up the walls, choking out the windows and any light that would have entered them. There were cracks in the foundation of the building on all sides, making the building look even more unattractive. Obviously, the years had not been kind. Has it really been years since I visited, she thought. That made her grimace, knowing she was horrible. Elaine was nowhere near religious, but if she was, she would say this place was actual hell. She got out of the car and went around to the passenger side, grabbing her bag and putting her papers inside. Her eyes lingered on the handheld recorder and notebooks. Did she really want to do this? Maybe she should just go back to the office and report on cats getting stuck in trees or a kind citizen directing traffic or something. Anything else, really. With a sigh, she clutched her bag, locked her car, straightened out her grey pantsuit, and started making her way to the front entrance, the industrial-looking sign flaunting the possible demise of her career.

Black Creek Institution for the Criminally Insane.

A trembling hand met a cold metal handle. Opening the glass door, she was met with an even more bland interior- white and blue walls, buzzing fluorescent lights, and the smell of ammonia. No wonder Nicole hated this place, it was so damn sterile. Elaine would go insane just being here. She winced a bit at that thought, knowing it was a bit insensitive considering the situation. She shook her head and went to the front desk, getting out her ID.

“Elaine Bristow with the Massachusetts Times. Here for my interviews.”

Elaine was not met with words from the woman behind the desk, but dead eyes instead. The obviously tired and probably miserable secretary just looked at the ID, typed some things in the computer, and gestured toward an armed policeman standing next to a door. Elaine got the message and went over to the officer who was holding his hand out. Again, no words. What was with these people? She sighed and handed him her bag and they went through the door to a metal detector and a table. The man groaned, and her bag was tossed onto the table, which made her flinch a bit, knowing her expensive recorder was in there. Elaine successfully made it through the metal detector and then simply watched as they rummaged through her bag carelessly. Crinkled papers, probably broken recorder. Go figure.

Belongings in hand now, Elaine was led through what seemed like a labyrinth of hallways to a room that she knew probably hadn’t seen the touch of a person in a long time. She went inside and was instructed to wait, which only made her nerves worse. There was a thick layer of dust on every surface, irritating her sinuses. She sat down and started setting up for the interview, looking over her recorder to make sure the policeman hadn’t broken it. Perhaps the recorder wasn’t broken this time, but she would definitely break after today, she knew that. There was no way she could wait longer than a few minutes without making a run for it and never looking back. Go back to her apartment and keep writing those silly little reports like she always did. That was the safe way out. 

In an instant, cats in trees were no longer an option. The door creaked open, revealing the first interviewee. 

Elliot Connoway.

(I really hope you enjoyed. I love hearing thoughts, so feel free.)