Whenever ghost is feeling a bit off, a bit less alive than he should, he goes into the woods.
The bugs and dirt embrace him when he lies in the now-dry river bed that will soon be running with water next season. Cold and damp from morning's rain, the smell of petrichor lingers in his clothes.
That's how you find him. The stranger taking a nap in your backyard.
Well, technically this isn't yet your backyard, you still need to sign some papers. Currently the land belongs to your late uncle, owner of a large chunk of forest. You used to run through these woods as a child visiting in the summer. It was only natural he leave the place to you.
"Uh. Hello?" And now there's a fucking stranger in your river bed. He's big, wearing old clothes. You glance at the net of scars over his face, and mildly wonder if he's a veteran or something. "sir? Are you alive?"
The man peeks an eye open, wrinkles his nose at you in scrutiny before he huffs "what do you want, kid?"
"Are you....okay?" You ask, frowning at the dirt on him. You've always been too kind, generosity outweighing self-preservation when you add "are you hungry? It's awful cold out. You'll freeze."
The stranger closes his eyes and says nothing for a solid five minutes. Just as you're about to leave, he rolls onto his side and begins to stand "wot're you eating?"
Which is how ghost ends up sat in your kitchen, eating soup while his jacket dries by the fire.
He's....strange. funny. Kind-of nice, in a roundabout way. Like when he insulted your choice to toss food scraps in the trash instead of making a compost pile, then offered to weed your uncles garden that had gotten out of hand.
He knows so much about...everything, really. He points at bugs and tells you facts about them, fixes some things around the house.
You end up offering him a place to stay if he helps out, something to do on leave.
Now, every few months ghost can be found sleeping in your garden before you drag him in for tea.
Reader who is passively suicidal. Who maybe doesn’t even realize it, but it bleeds into everything.
You’ve always had a dark, dry sense of humor that was easy to brush aside, but the first time this habit was glaringly obvious was on an op when you were almost hit by an enemy vehicle.
In this line of work it was natural to contemplate your death. Maybe you did it too much. So when that car was speeding your way, your first thoughts weren’t how to get out of the way, or survival, but rather how painful this death would be. Not because you wanted to avoid death, but that ideally it wouldn’t be that bad. So you didn’t move.
Instead of the unforgiving force of the car, you were hit with the warm body of Ghost shoving you out of the way. You both land hard on the dirt out of the road, but there’s no moment to speak as you’re immediately under fire once more. It’s like the impact kicked you back into gear, refocusing you on the objective and letting you continue fighting.
It doesn’t mean the boys didn’t notice. And it doesn’t mean they let you off easy. Once you’re back to safety, Simon drags you into the makeshift war room, basically tossing you in.
“What the hell was that, sergeant?” His voice is hard. Loud. He’s mad.
The rest of the team trickles in with varying degrees of dread on their faces.
You don’t feel much of anything. “What was what?”
Simon scoffs, looking away in exasperation briefly before crossing his arms and stepping into your space to look in your eyes, “you know exactly what.”
You’re confused. Why the hell would he care that much? Your eyebrow barely twitches. “Look I get I fucked up okay, I’m sorry you had to save my ass.” You really don’t give two shits that he saved you. If that had been the end of the line for you, you would’ve been okay with that.
Everyone releases their air heavily, the room shifts. You don’t get why, it’s not like they haven’t had incidents like this themselves—close calls.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass that I had to cover you, that’s what I’m here for, sergeant. I care that it looked like you weren’t going to do anything.” He’s speaking softer now like…like you’ll break. That just pisses you off.
“So what, I froze?” You take a step back, arms crossing over your chest, angling away from them.
“You don’t freeze.”
There’s a heavy silence that sneaks its way into every corner of the room before Johnny breaks it.
“It…it looked like you wanted to get hit.”
The scoff that leaves you is unconvincing. “I wasn’t…” you can’t finish the thought. Honestly you don’t know what you were thinking. You just know sometimes you get tired. And sometimes you think the easiest way to get rid of the ache is leaving.
You’re not looking at them when Simon comes back and grabs your shoulder. He forces you to look at him, “‘s not happening again. Clear? We need you.”
You just nod.
They begrudgingly let it go. Who among them isn’t a little fucked up? But from then on you’re under a tight watch. All they find are more red flags.
You don’t take care of yourself, leaving eating and sleeping and showering to the last minute. You don’t seem to do anything you enjoy, no hobbies outside of duty. When you have time off they don’t see you and they assumed you left base, but then they see you emerge haggard from your room three days into their leave. Had you even been out of your room before then?
They don’t say anything because they know you’ll deflect and scatter, but they’re scared. Yes, you were their teammate but it’s become more than that. Even with the lack of energy you seem to display, you’re still unrelentingly there for them.
When Johnny got shot and miraculously lived, semi-paralyzed, and had to do months of PT, you were there. At every appointment, staying with him to take care of him and make sure he did his exercises.
When Simon went to his own dark places, you were there. Finding him half-delirious from nightmares in the rec room and making sure he made it back to his room. Giving him water and someone to talk to, making sure he didn’t go too deep. Which is why he was confused you couldn’t recognize the signs in yourself.
When Kyle’s mom unexpectedly passed, you were there. You booked the flights, packed his bags, kept him standing during the funeral. You negotiated for his extended PTO, never letting anyone mistreat him when he was down.
And when John was court marshaled for what happened with Shepherd, you were there. You helped Simon keep the team together, coordinated with Kate to keep him informed, you even helped formulate his case.
They might say loyalty was your fatal flaw. They just wished you could see these signs in yourself and give yourself the same treatment you gave others. But if you couldn’t, they would.
It was easier to see the signs now. You volunteering for the risky roles on ops, offering to be bait, choosing hand-to-hand encounters when you could’ve easily used your gun.
They’re lost. They don’t know what to do. If they stop you from taking these roles, chances are you’ll say they’re coddling you. If they take you off duty entirely, they might lose you forever. How do they balance supporting you and helping you?
They start with words. Making sure you understand how much the risks you’re taking affect them.
It…confuses you again. You didn’t realize they gave this much of a shit if you lived or died. You kinda just thought you were teammates. Any deeper feelings toward them you pushed down because you knew it wouldn’t be possible.
But when you’re strapping in to be repelled off a cliff, Johnny stops you. He grabs your shoulders and forces you to look in his eyes. “Yer comin’ back, ya hear? We need ya.”
You don’t even get time to respond before Kyle is swooping in and kneeling in front of you, finishing strapping your harness and double-checking the other connectors. He looks up at you and you try to ignore the image that invokes. “You heard Johnny, love, we need you to come back.” He’s smiling that blinding-white smile that could probably cause world peace.
You figure your COs will be as stoic as always, but instead, John places a heavy, warm hand on your head, giving it a pat. He takes a deep breath before his hand comes down to the back of your neck and tells you, “we trust you sarge, come back to us.”
Your brain is basically empty trying to process all the excess affection when Simon brings a hand up to fix the hair John just rustled. He’s never done that before. You never imagined him ever doing that. You can feel the warmth of his skin on your forehead through the glove. “We need you back. Rog?”
You can’t even think before you’re nodding and saying “rog” back.
You’re halfway down the cliff before you even register half of what happened. Your chest is warm, and you think your cheeks are too. You can’t place the feeling but it feels almost like the ice in your body is thawing, like you’re coming back to yourself after being gone for too long.
It doesn’t cause too much permanently the first time, but they keep doing it. Every single time before an op, every time you volunteer for some risky procedure, hell even randomly at lunch now. Some of it is starting to worm into your brain that maybe you have people that care about you. That would care if you were gone.
It’s not a cure, not a quick fix, but it’s making you rethink some of the things you had taken as fact—like that you are expendable. They keep insisting, silently and loudly and in all the space between, that you aren’t. Maybe you should start to listen.
cw:afab!reader, references to depression/medication, soft!simon. 2k words
“can we book in sex on friday evening?” your voice cuts through the silence of your shared lounge - almost hesitant.
not hesitant like you're expecting to be rejected, hesitant in the way someone is when they feel out of practice. when somewhere along the way they lost all their powers of seduction.
simon looks up over the page of the book he's reading - eyebrows furrowed before they relax, like he's trying to make sure you're not asking out of some misplaced sense of obligation.
“friday works.” he confirms, “be back late so you'll… have some time to yourself first. to do your… preparations.”
preparations.
the polite way to say you'll either watch or listen to or read some porn in the bath before he gets home to try and kick start your body and brain into getting onto the same page about wanting to fuck.
you snort softly at the phrasing before nodding, "okay. just let me know when you're on your way home."
quiet settles over the two of you again, peaceful, yours.
then simon clears his throat.
"the new meds seem to be helpin'." he says quietly. "yer smilin' more. s'nice."
you nod, once. "they are." you confirm quietly. there's a beat of silence and then, "… sorry they've broken my fanny."
simon just shakes his head, brown eyes meeting yours. "not broken. an' don't be sorry. rather have you 'appy than horny. only one of those is important to me. an' it's not the availability of yer cunt."
your ears get hot at the bluntness, but your chest tightens with relief at his words. but still. there's a twinge of guilt in your stomach, like you're somehow not keeping up your end of the bargain you made when you decided to be each other's.
"i know. you always say that. but…"
"no buts." he cuts you off firmly, no room for argument. "no ifs. no fuckin' anythin'. i love you. i love yer smile and yer laugh. an' yeah, i love fuckin' you. but i'd rather you were smilin' at my bad fuckin' jokes again than drippin' all over the house."
Si ❤️: 10 mins off
Si ❤️: don't rush. take your time
Si ❤️: gonna shower in the en suite. you'll take one whiff of me and absolutely change your mind
Si ❤️: (which would be fine. no pressure. didn't think before i sent that.)
the messages overlay the porn playing on your phone screen one by one.
you don't pause the video right away - let yourself stay in the little bubble of horny you're trying to build. the bathwater is going lukewarm around you, but your skin feels warmer now from the small spark of anticipation that's beginning to grow in your stomach.
you can't help but feel a small twinge of grief that six months ago this same activity would have had you throwing yourself at simon - that six months ago you didn't even need to prepare to have sex with your husband. that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, not something you had to manufacture.
but then you remember his words "yer smilin' more. s'nice." and the grief fades, replaced with a pang of fondness so strong it almost hurts.
you let your eyes focus on the video again, letting the sounds of soft moans and the wet noise of skin on skin filter through your headphones; try and remember that the joy you see on the amateur couple's can be yours too.
you pause the video, typing back a quick message.
just getting out. haven't changed my mind. x
you dry off quickly, clean your teeth, slip into one of simon's old t-shirts; the black colour long faded to grey, band logo once printed on it lost to the passage of time. there's a hole in the hem and it's stretched out around the collar.
but it makes you feel safe, and that's what you need right now. not lace bodysuits and stockings. by the time you've padded into the bedroom you can hear the shower running - see that today's clothes didn't even make it to the washing basket in the bedroom, instead left in the one downstairs.
you wrinkle your nose - you know that means you're probably going to need to get the stain remover out later. but you appreciate that simon hasn't brought the smell of whatever it is up into your room. you light a few candles as you hear the shower switch off, pull the curtains and turn off the big light; leaving the room in a soft glow of the candles and bedside lamp.
little things you've learned make you feel more relaxed.
you're just settling on the edge of the bed as the en suite door opens - knees tucked up under your chin, heart beating a little faster than normal. simon appears, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping down from his blonde hair and onto the scarred plain of his chest. his eyes find yours immediately, soft in the way they only ever are when he's looking at you.
"hi." you say softly, lips pricking up at the corners as you look at him.
fuck. it really does help the situation that he looks like that.
he crosses the room in two strides, one hand reaching to cup the back of your head as he leans down to kiss you - soft, slow; the kind of kiss that's a hello and isn't an expectation. his hand strokes up your bare thigh slowly; fingers pausing at the hem of your - his - t-shirt, stopping short of pushing it any higher. "hey dove," he replies softly. "missed this smile."
your smile. that's what he missed about this situation. that specific, soft, wanting smile that you only ever give him when you're about to get him in bed.
and it's that that has you pulling him down on top of you.
your t-shirt gets pulled off with careful hands; his towel lost somewhere to the floor. he ends up hovering over you, pressing kisses down your jaw, your throat, takes his time. his thumbs stroke an almost soothing pattern across your ribs as his lips trail lower - but when he reaches your stomach he pauses.
"tell me somethin'." he murmurs, "what were you watchin' in the bath?"
your face heats immediately, throat drying out as you stare down at him with an expression of absolute horror.
he just hooks your legs over his shoulders, presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, looks up at you expectantly.
"just… soft stuff." you manage to murmur back. "couple in their bed. they… they looked like they were enjoying it. not… faking it."
he presses a kiss higher up your thigh, then another, before his breath is ghosting over your core. his tongue traces a slow line from slit to clit; gentle, soft, curling through soft heat like he's not in any kind of rush.
your hips twitch.
simon hums against you, an almost approving noise; like he's proud you actually answered. "yeah? what were they doin'?" he flicks his tongue against you again - more targeted this time. you gasp slightly as he settles in, one arm slung across your hips, fingers tracing over skin. every motion he makes is purposeful - circling your clit, dropping down down to dip inside you, tracing every inch of you with his tongue in lazy strokes.
your fingers thread through his still damp hair, nails scratching over his scalp in the way you know he likes. "they were taking it slow." you breathe. "she was on her back like this. he kept… talking to her. telling her how good she felt."
"slow." simon repeats, "like this?" his lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before soothing it with broader strokes. your fingers tighten in his hair enough that he groans - all enjoyment and no pain. "you liked hearin' how much he wanted 'er?"
"yes-" the word breaks into a low moan as he slides two fingers inside of you, curling them perfectly against the spot he knows so well; mouth still focussed on your clit. "fuck, si…"
he doesn't speed up. just keeps a steady, slow rhythm - eyes flicking up to watch your face. he pulls away enough to murmur gently, "i want you dove - all the fuckin' time. everything you do is so fuckin' sexy i feel like i'm goin' insane." a soft kiss to your clit, "'m sorry if i stopped tellin' you." another kiss, "jus'… don't want you to ever feel like you 'ave to jus' cause i'd live inside you if i could."
your eyes burn, hands dropping to brush your thumbs over his cheekbones. "i know si. i promise."
he nods once, satisfied that you're not lying to make him feel better by the wet shine in your eyes. he drags the flat of his tongue over your clit again. "was she makin' the same little sounds you make? the ones that make me fuckin' melt?"
you nod, hips rolling under his mouth; the combination of his mouth and hands and the gentle questioning pulling you under. the porn in the bath feels distant now - a distant second to the real thing: simon riley between your legs, focused solely on you, coaxing your body to the edge with nothing but patience.
when you come its with a soft, shuddering cry - the same noise he loves so much - pleasure rolling through you in warm waves as simon works you through it. he waits until your fingers are limp in his hair before pulling back entirely, then kisses his way beck up your body until he's braced over you again, propped on one elbow so he doesn't squish you under his bulk.
"still good?" he murmurs. his cock is hot and hard against your thigh; twitching against you as he presses a kiss against your neck - but he doesn't push forward, doesn't press. just rests his forehead against yours.
“yeah,” you whisper, reaching between you to stroke him gently. “i want you, si. want this.”
he kisses you again, tasting like you, and lines himself up. he presses in -slow, perfect - eyes locked on yours the whole time. your fingers trace the scars on his jaw, eyes widening as he bottoms out; filling you in a way that's so achingly familiar now. he pulls back, pushes in again; soft, shallow rolls of his hips.
you brush your nose against his. "you don't have to be so careful with me, si."
"i want to." he replies simply. "been thinkin' about this since you brought it up. about makin' you feel good."
you, not him.
you thighs slide to wrap around his waist on the next thrust, taking hip deeper just by the nature of the position and he groans - a wrecked noise that carves itself into your memory.
"this alrigh'?" he murmurs against your neck, hips snapping just a little harder; thumb sliding into the space between your bodies to rub gentle patterns against your clit.
you nod, jaw going slack as you feel heat flood your stomach again. "yeah. s'perfect." you manage to murmur back.
he presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth, keeping up that same steady rhythm. "i love you. i love you when you're happy, an' i love you when you're sad. i love you when you're horny and climbin' me like a tree an' when all you want t' do is watch greys anatomy on repeat an' eat little moons. nothin', fuckin nothin', matters to me as much as you do."
you bury your face in his neck, cheeks hot, eyes burning, "i love you too."
your second orgasm is like sinking into warm water; nerves lighting up hot one by one, teeth sinking into the curve of his his shoulder with a whimper of his name. he follows immediately after, the pulse of your cunt around him dragging him over the edge, face buried in your hair as he breathes you in.
he doesn't pull out right away - just holds you, fingers stroking over sweat damp skin, pressing lazy kisses to your temple.
"still smilin' down there?" he murmurs softly.
you huff out a soft laugh, body and brain soft with satisfaction. "yeah, si. still smilin'."
"good." he kisses the top of your head. "that's all i need, dove."
Johnny who’s absolutely given up post TBI after his discharge.
By losing his position, he’s lost his mates, his purpose, the whole lot of it. The spasms and loss of fine motor have made drawing almost impossible. He has to meet with that damned physical therapist once a week who makes him feel like a baby, nice as she is.
But honestly? He thinks the worst part might be the pity. The endless calls and texts from his ma, asking if he’s alright, if there’s any pain, if he needs her to come over. Even when he gets to spend time with his old team— he can tell they’re holding back from talking about work. They don’t want to rub it in his face— the things he can’t do with them anymore.
And to make matters worse, he never shows up with anything for them. Their idea that poor Johnny is stuck rotting away in his house, nothing to do and alone for hours on end with nothing but his scrambled egg of a brain? It’s completely correct.
He eats microwave meals and pity-dinners from kind neighbors that make him something extra. He scrolls on his phone— his hands are at least good for that. Every so often he’ll drag himself to the pub hoping for normalcy, only managing a pint or two before the bitterness of it all forces him to leave. Seeing the sports games, friends laughing, even blokes in suits close to snapping from stress at work. He envies all of it.
Asking you out is just something to get people off his back for once. So he can tell them he’s trying to get out there and make something of himself again. That there’s some sort of hope for something better deep inside of him. So when he wakes up at noon there might just be one or two missed calls from his ma instead of 12.
Never in his wildest imagination did he think you’d say yes— and look so damned thrilled doing it.
He is just someone that takes care of people so so well, and not even in the condescending and judgemental way that most doctors are. He really takes care of you from a place of love and understanding.
Like when he makes you a schedule and you think I'm not following that, I'm not a child anymore and he makes you follow the schedule to the letter as much as it annoys you the first times.
He starts to push you gently out of bed for a morning run, even when you groan and curse at the air. And every time, he helps you get ready, tying your sneakers and doing your hair in a ponytail while you try to keep yourself from going back to bed.
Later he makes you meals with lots of nutritious food, confiscating that chocolate bar you planned for breakfast.
"It's not fair! You eat more sugar than I do!"
Your complaint is only met with a kiss on the forehead and a soft
"Let's share the bar once we've finished eating, darling"
There is simply no way you are gonna skip meals and/or eat trash in his sight. Even when you start binge eating he changes the lots and lots of candies to sweet sliced pears and occasional mints.
He makes you return to your interests and hobbies, telling you to teach him some tricks that he picks up immediately cause well, he is Zayne.
He even starts taking your phone away in subtle ways, like pulling you to his lap while he reads a book under the excuse of reading it together, or getting all cuddly at night after noticing you already spent the last 3 hours scrolling down instead of sleeping, saying "Let me see your face before going to sleep, I want to dream of you" and in his embrace your drift to sleep too.
And even when he is not home in his own busy schedule, he makes sure you know he is thinking of you via sticky notes that reminds you of eating the breakfast he prepared for you this morning, messages asking you to show him your progress in that new thing you wanted to learn, phone calls that serve as a podcast about his last patient who only agreed to take the medicine if he made him a snow seal with his evol, and a long etc.
Each day he takes care of you and each day you learn to be a little more confident in treating you and your body with kindness. Who could have said that a nice sleeping schedule, three meals a day, water intake and doing things you enjoy actually makes you feel better?
It shouldn't be surprising that you can't help but smile and get all clingy to him knowing that his love is making you love yourself more, he is an expert fixing hearts after all.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x depressed!reader - established relationship
Content Warning: Angst. Depression and all the wonderful things that encompass it. Breaking up.
Author's Notes: My first ever smau!!!!!
Summary: It’s past midnight, you’re at an all time low, worse than usual. One thought feeding into a million...leading into you staying up all night overthinking and being convinced that the right thing to do is to break up with Jack.
Masterlist
Dividers by me
Author's Notes: omg stop I made myself cry when I kept rereading to edit. Him sending her a good morning text thinking today is gonna be a normal day breaks my heart. Poor Jackie I'm so sorry, it's for your own good, I promise </3
˗ˏˋ♡ˎˊ˗ Thank you for reading ˗ˏˋ♡ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ♡ˎˊ˗ If you liked it, please let me know in the comments! ˗ˏˋ♡ˎˊ˗
