Oh honey, where's your crown? @theopaquee - Tumblr Blog

Jul 28

Too close to the sun

You work at a nursing home in Manchester. It's a quiet job, but you enjoy it, even if you're just an administrator. One day, one of your residents gets a visit from a 6"2, masked, military man who bulldozes his way into your life.

Simon Riley isn't exactly what you'd call boyfriend material.

masterlist ❤️ ao3

tags: angst, fluff, referenced/implied sa (not graphic), violence, past trauma, elderly character in a care home, explicit sexual content, bdsm elements, female reader, reader has a deceased father, readers step dad is a pervert, Simon's brother is a dick, military inaccuracies, cod lore inaccuracies, dark fic

part 3/3, word count: 13.8k

part 1

part 2

You woke up in a haze of heat, your face mushed into Simon’s ribcage. His arm was curled around your shoulder and holding you tight against him, even in sleep.

You tilted your head, resting against his bicep as you watched him. He was sleeping on his back, facing the ceiling, his chest rising and falling gently. Your eyes tracked down his body, over the faded tattoo sleeve, the large burn on his side, and the white, thin skin of his old scars over hard muscle. You traced one of them with the tip of your finger, feeling the contrasting textures of his skin.

“Tickles.” He said simply, his deep, rumbling voice making you jump slightly.

“Sorry.” You took your hand away and rested it across his stomach.

“Banned.” He grumbled, still not opening his eyes. His hand stroked up and down your back.

“What’s banned?” You asked.

“That word.” His eyes opened and he turned his head to look at you, his brown eyes sleepy and soft. “ ‘Sorry’. You say it too often. You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh, I see.” You turned a little more into him, until your chests and faces were only inches apart. “One night together and you’re already telling me what to do?”

His hand curled possessively around your back, you could tell he was smirking under his mask.

“Feisty little thing.” He murmured. “Arguing with me already?”

“You love it.”

“Mmm,” He drew you closer against him. “Strong, beautiful woman putting me through my paces.” He stroked your hair out of your forehead. “What else could a man want?”

You blushed and pushed your face against his pectoral muscle.

“Now that,” his fingers found your chin, tilting your head up, admiring your blush. “I hope that never changes.”

That made it sound like he was going to stay, which you knew wasn’t true. You didn’t want to think about that, so you changed the subject, stroking your hands all over his body, feeling the ridges of his scars, the swell of his muscles, the soft squish of burly fat. He purred under the treatment.

Finally, your palm stroked over the lump in his black boxers.

“You’ve got morning wood.” You giggled.

“Waking up with a hot girl will do that.” He growled playfully, pulling you flush against him and grinding his erection against your thigh. “You put it there.”

“I should take care of it, then.”

Simon’s eyes darkened, his hand splaying between your shoulder blades. You could see the war going on in his eyes. He was trying to be careful with you while fighting the urge to push you down on his cock.

“I won’t break, you know. “ You breathed, pressing soft kisses to his neck. “I can take it, sir.”

The word was his undoing. He growled, sliding his hand up you back and curling around the back of your neck in the way that set your blood on fire. You groaned as he put pressure on your neck and you nearly folded in on yourself with how fast you went down, pressing your face against his clothed cock.

“Fucking hell.” He groaned above you, the fingers on the back of your neck tensing. “You gonna suck it or not?” He grunted.

You bit back a moan as you closed your mouth around the outline of his head. He moaned, fingers tightening again as he yanked you up a few inches. You thought you were going to cum just from the fire it sent through your veins. You’d spent so long fantasizing about his fucking hands and now they were manhandling you just as you’d dreamed of. You mewled.

Simon had only moved you out of the way to shove his boxers down. Not all the way, there was no time for that, just until his heavy cock sprung free. He was so hard, his length was thick and red with blood, his tip glistening with pre-come. You’d never fucked anyone as wet as him.

“Easy, girl.” He growled as his cock twitched right in your face, misinterpreting your needy little noise. “Want it that bad?” His voice was rough, thick with need.

“Yes.” You whined. Everything was so hot: his voice, his grip, his huge fucking cock, everything. Your thighs were damp and you rubbed them together as you licked the tip of his cock. He still had your cum dried on him from last night. It was filthy, debauched, and your cunt pulsed as you sucked his head into your mouth. You revelled in the size of him, the shape, the taste, committing every detail to your memory.

“Fuck.” The word was drawn out, his voice wrecked, as his hand left your neck and tangled in your hair. He held you down on his cock. “Fucking hot little mouth on you, girl.”

Simon was so surprisingly vocal during sex and it made you ache. You moaned, vibrating his cock with the sound, and his thighs twitched in response.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Swallow it down. Be a good girl.”

Your head span as you sunk down further, taking more of his cock into your already overstuffed mouth. You made an unfeminine gagging noise and Simon nearly fucking purred, his hand in your hair tightening. You hollowed your cheeks and slurped on his cock, bobbing your head up and down on as much of his shaft as you could. You didn’t even know if he was trying to hold you down or if his hand was just so fucking heavy that he was doing it without even realising.

It wasn’t long before Simon was moaning above you, a string of near-constant rumbling grunts.

“God, fuck, that’s it, sweetheart. Suck that cock.” He was growling, the wet squelch of your mouth was getting louder and louder. There was a mess of spittle whipped up by your enthusiastic bobs making a ring of white around the base of his cock that you met with your lips on every downward thrust.

His hips thrust up in tiny little uncontrolled jerks and his cockhead dipped into your throat. You gagged, hard, and he pulled you off of him with a harsh yank of his hand in your hair. Pain shot down your neck but you were too preoccupied with the fat, throbbing dick pulsing in front of your lips. You expected to see dollops of white drizzling from his engorged slit, but you didn’t. He hadn’t cum.

He was breathing heavily as he released your hair and you flopped down on the bed, watching his abdominal muscles roll with each breath, sweat gathering between them, it was mesmerising.

“Shit.” He was still panting as his hand found your knee and gripped, the thick veins on his hand standing out as his strong fingers dug into your flesh. You moaned and rubbed your thighs together, seeking friction.

He caught you out of the corner of his eye, his eyebrow raising as he watched you try and stimulate yourself.

“You liked that?” You could tell he was smirking.

“So much.” You tugged on his hand on your knee and guided it between your legs and you shivered when you felt his fingertips brushing through your soaked folds.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping.”

His fingertip found your clit, toying with it softly, the nub yielding against his strong finger. Your face flushed and your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure.

Simon’s other hand found the base of his cock, his thumb and forefinger curling around the ring of spit you’d left there. His cock still looked angry, and heavy, like it would explode from a strong breeze.

“What’s got you so worked up?” He was definitely smirking now, his fingers teasing along your wet slit, still puffy from use from the previous night. “Sucking my dick? Or is it something else?” His fingertip dipped into your cunt and you clenched around it, trying to suck him deeper. You covered your eyes in embarrassment.

“Don’t hide your face.” It was a gentle order, accompanied by a sharp spank directly to your clit. You yelped, your hands flying to grip his wrist. Your cunt was so warm, pulsing with excitement, arousal and pleasure.

“That’s better.” His hand left his cock and framed your face. “Now,” his other hand curled around your thigh. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what’s going through that pretty head of yours?”

“Simon!” You whined petulantly.

He chuckled.

“You think I didn’t notice how much you stare at my hands?”

“Oh my god.” You pushed your head against his thigh and he laughed again, louder this time. He was right. It was the first thing that had attracted you to him, his hands, those black skeleton gloves, the contrast of them against his bare, muscular arms. You’d dreamt about him pinning you down with those strong hands, exactly as he was doing now. Your pupils were blown wide, your chest rising and falling.

“Maybe once or twice.”

He was looking down on you like a lion with a gazelle in its teeth. Then he pounced.

He tugged your oversized top over your head and threw it to the floor without another word, his eyes roaming over your bare body before he moved you like you weighed nothing.

He sat you between his spread legs, your back against his front, his cock pressed up against the small of your back. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your neck, curling his whole, huge body around yours. Your head tipped back against his shoulder.

“Simon.” You moaned.

He stroked along your shoulders, your elbows, tickling down your sides, before finally squeezing your breasts and stroking your nipples. He fucked his cock against the cleft of your arse at that. Your Simon really was a tits man. He played with your breasts for a few long, luxurious moments, breathing hotly at your neck, before his hands split up. One came up, and curled around your throat. You felt the pressure of his presence but nothing more, nothing to hurt or cause discomfort, just his palm against your windpipe and his knuckles grazing under your chin.

His other hand travelled down your belly, covering your mound, the pads of his fingers rubbing against your slick cunt, spreading your mess around, swirling it over your clit, massaging your slit.

“Oh, fuck.” You moaned, your hands gripping his forearm as he slipped two of his fingers into your wet pussy. You groaned, but the noise was muffled by the hand around your throat. He pulled his fingers out as quickly as he’d slipped them in, stretching you tight then leaving you wide open, over and over until your head was lolling against his hand, then he sunk his fingers deep inside you, palm against your pelvic bone, and started to fuck you. It was hard and quick, his fingers merciless against your spongey sweet spot.

“Oh, fuck.” You repeated, your voice slurred, your words jarred as your whole body shook under the force of being fingered so roughly. The sounds of squelching and wetness filled the air and your moans got more and more high pitched as pressure built up inside you. You writhed against the hand around your throat.

“Look at it,” Simon whispered roughly against the juncture of your neck. “Watch my hand fucking you.”

Delirious, you looked down and groaned. Simon’s two fingers were flying in and out of your pussy, your pink little hole swollen and blown wide around them. His fingers were coated in your slick, streaks of white and clear liquid dribbling out of you with more and more force. He ground his fingers against your g-spot and you slurred.

“That’s it, baby.” He encouraged roughly. “I can feel you getting tight on me.”

“It’s so much.” You gasped out, your fingers digging into his arm, but not half as hard as his were digging into your front wall, like he was trying to find something in there. It was relentless, his fingers were so much harder than his cock, the bone was unforgiving as he curled and rubbed faster and faster.

“Oh, oh, oh!” You lifted your legs up, spreading them wide like you were preparing to give birth as he nailed your cunt harder and faster than you’d ever taken it. It was the most intense pleasure you’d ever experienced in your life, your mind blanking out as you saw spots of white in your vision, convulsing in nothing short of ecstasy.

“There it is, baby, let it happen. Squirt for me.”

You didn’t even have half a second to be surprised before your hips arched up and you sprayed clear fluid from your aching cunt. Simon pulled his fingers from you and rubbed your clit as you exploded. You didn’t know if you came again, or if it was just the same orgasm lasting forever, but his fingers on your clit made everything feel more intense and you nearly screamed as your wet pussy pulsed on nothing, contracting so hard that it was making your stomach hurt.

“Fuck, baby, fucking squirt for me, look at that mess.” Simon was babbling gruffly, his voice hoarse and thick with desire.

You barely felt him rearrange himself. His hand released your throat and your head fell back against his shoulder like he’d pulled your spine out. He was lifting your hips, too, pulling you off of the bed and sitting you in his lap, the backs of your thighs resting on the thick, tensed muscles of his. His arm wrapped around your front and began stroking his cock that was poking up between your legs.

It looked as big and menacing as he did, and you realised, with a blush, that he was stroking himself with the same hand he’d been fingering you with, soaking himself with your cum and your squirt.

You felt the sharp stab of teeth sinking into your shoulder and you whined, your whole body jolting, like he’d given you a shot of adrenaline.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.” He growled, his tongue lathering over his teeth marks. “We’re not done here.”

“Huh?”

You felt the blunt tip of his cock pressing against your cunt and you groaned.

“Shit, fuck, Simon!” You gasped out as his meaty length sunk into your sensitive pussy. You writhed against him, your thighs twitching. “It’s so much, I’m so sensitive…”

“I thought you could take it, little girl.” He teased, letting gravity do the work to impale you on his cock, distracting you with his mouth making a mess of your neck. His hands were gripping your tits again, his wet fingers sliding over your nipples.

You were overwhelmed, your cunt sinking down all the way on his thick shaft until you could feel his full balls against your thighs. You thought of that analogy, of men fucking like they’d just come out of prison. What was the soldier equivalent of that? A man with the stamina of an S.A.S Lieutenant finally getting to take his frustrations out on the sweet little thing that had haunted his thoughts for the last few months?

“Good girl.” He groaned into your ear as he bottomed out. “Swallowing all of it, fuck.”

He flicked your wet nipples and you gasped, clenching on his cock. His chest rumbled behind you and he did it again, massaging the wet peaks of your sensitive tits with his hard, wet fingers as he slowly rolled his hips, thrusting up deeply into you. This angle made everything tight. You could probably press down on your stomach and feel his cock there. You could feel every inch of it inside you, dragging so so fucking slowly. Your eyes slid closed and your head tipped back, searching for him.

His lips crashed against yours, your mouths sliding against each other’s. He slipped his tongue into your mouth as his thumbs and forefingers pinched your nipples gently and his cock slid in and out of your sopping pussy with loud slaps. Everything was wet and slippery and you could hardly breathe.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweetheart.” He murmured into your neck, letting your head tip against his shoulder. You could see the blurry outline of his face through the haze of your fucked out eyes. “Because your sweet little cunt cums so quickly for me.” He chuckled breathily, darkly. “We’re going to keep it nice and slow.” He punctuated his words with a slow drag of his cock inside you, making you whine. “Because…” his hand left one of your tits and fell between your legs, massaging your clit and your nipple with wet, sure strokes, until you were gasping and falling apart on him, clenching hard and tight. He chuckled and nipped on your earlobe. “Close, baby?”

“Yeah.” The word was breathless, your forehead pinched together. The pleasure everywhere was building so much you felt like you were teetering on a knife edge. Warmth was gathering tight and coiled in your cunt, your core, and – “Simon, you’re going to make me cum.”

“Cum, sweetheart, cum for me.” He growled. His hips tipped back and you fell more firmly against his chest. He started to fuck you harder, pounding into you as his fingers flew over your clit. You wailed as orgasms exploded from your clit and your g-spot simultaneously, blending together and burning up your whole body.

You moaned and writhed, cumming so powerfully that your body was seizing up, trembling in the safety of his arms. If it were anyone else, you might have felt scared being so vulnerable, but not with Simon, he was your safety, and you writhed sweetly for him. Your hands were flying, trying to grip every part of him you could reach. You pushed your back harder against his chest, trying so hard to crawl inside him.

“Good girl,” he was praising, “look at that pretty cumming pussy.” He fucked you for a few more hard thrusts before he slammed his hips against yours and filled your sopping pussy with his release. He panted against the back of your neck with an animalistic, masculine tremor in his pleasured moans.

You both panted heavily with each other. Simon’s arms wound around your belly and he rested his forehead against the back of your neck. His cock slipped out of you as it softened, and you moaned pitifully. Your cunt was so sensitive, so spent, that you could barely handle the trickle of his cum as gravity did its job.

“I think it’s shower time.” Simon said against your back.

“You go first.” You said. “I’ll go after.”

“You don’t want to join me?” He actually had the audacity to sound petulant.

“You’re not fucking me again, you horny prick.” You batted at his arms, and he laughed as he kissed down your spine.

“I think you’ve done me in for the minute, love.”

You collapsed forward onto your front, no energy left in your bones. It was half to rest and half strategic, to give Simon a chance to cover his face without it being obvious.

You heard him climb off of the bed.

“I’m going to take a shower.” He said, his hand stroking down the back of your leg.

“I’ll make coffee.” You rolled onto your side. He was still naked, his cock soft and wet, his black surgical mask covering the bottom half of his face and his blond hair mussed. He barely made another sound before you cut him off. “Yeah, I know. Tea for you.” You smiled at him.

“Thank you, love.” He almost sounded bashful before he padded to the bathroom. You heard the shower go and you found your long top across the room. Your cunt pulsed as you moved and you just couldn’t stop smiling in your post-orgasmic haze.

You put the kettle on and let it boil as you raided your fridge. You found eggs but not much else. You cracked the eggs into a bowl, mixing them together with salt and cheese and tomatoes. You poured the omelette mix into a pan and began frying, the scent wafting into the air was warm and pleasant.

Your front door opened and you froze, pulling the pan off of the heat and looking through the kitchen door.

“Just me, love.” Your mum called out. You could hear her putting her keys on the side, probably stopping by the door to take off her scarf and her coat.

Shit. Fuck. That’s right, you’d agreed to go to the garden centre with her to pick out some new plants for her garden, and then lunch. You’d told her swing by yours in the morning. Then Johnny had invited you to the barracks for Simon’s celebration and you’d forgotten all about it.

You heard the shower turn off, and then your mum came into the kitchen, holding her arms out for a hug.

“Smells nice. Oh, you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Simon walked into the kitchen. His hair was damp and he was wearing nothing but the mask on his face and the pink towel slung low on his sharp hip bones, that he would have found in your airing cupboard. Every inch of his muscled, scarred, tattooed top half was on display.

He froze when he saw your mother standing there, looking uncharacteristically surprised.

Your mum’s mouth fell open as she stared at Simon before she finally composed herself.

“Hello again.” She said, she was surprised but not upset, flushing a little at the sight of him. “You’re the man from the party.”

“Uh.” He gripped the towel around his waist extremely tightly. “Yeah. Simon Riley. Sorry again for…interrupting.”

Your mum turned to look at you, she was fully smirking now, and you honestly wouldn’t have minded hurling yourself out of the nearest window.

…

The three of you sat around your too small kitchen table, drinking hot drinks and eating omelettes.

Simon, who only had his military uniform with him, had dried off and changed into his trousers and button shirt, as if trying to make the look as casual as he possibly could. You’d pulled on some pj bottoms but otherwise had not altered your appearance. You still hadn’t made it to the shower yet, and here you were, your mum sat beside you, with Simon’s cum trying to seep out of your pussy.

It was painfully obvious to even the stupidest person alive what you and Simon had been doing before your mum had shown up. Luckily for you, she was tactful enough not to bring it up, but apparently also not tactful enough to not start grilling the poor boy as her new prospective son in law.

“How long have you been in active service?” She was asking, as Simon looked entirely too interested in his mug.

“Sixteen years.” Simon answered without hesitation.

“When are you planning on retiring?”

“No time soon, ma’am.” He said, avoiding your gaze. You wished you didn’t know the implication of such a reply, that he expected to be killed in action long before he even had to think about it.

You could feel the nervousness coming off of Simon, probably because he was wondering how far this questioning would go, and how soon it would get to his mask and why he wore it.

“When’s your next deployment?” She asked instead.

“Mum,” you entreated, “would you stop with the interrogation?”

“I’m just asking. You don’t mind, do you, Simon?”

Simon wasn’t looking at you and your stomach twisted. You opened your mouth to apologise for all of it until you noticed the dark, almost guilty, look in his eyes.

You’d only seen that look once before, outside of the care home in the rain, when he’d told you that he was leaving.

“I’m due out tonight.” You knew he was going to say it before he did, but it hurt just as badly to hear it out loud. A big part of you wanted to look away, but you couldn’t look away from him for even a second, because now, it might have been one of the last times you’d ever see him.

You walked him to the door soon after. He was quiet as he opened the door and crossed the threshold, standing half-in, half-out of your flat; half-in, half-out of your life. The way it always was.

“When will I see you again?” You felt empty as you said it, leaning against the door and trying to affect some sort of nonchalance that wasn’t reaching your eyes.

“I don’t know. I’d like to make it back by the 12th, it’s mum’s birthday and I promised…” He trailed off, his brown eyes looking you up and down. “I’m sorry, love. I should have said something sooner. I just didn’t want to think about it, not until I had to.”

“I understand.” You did understand. You weren’t angry with him for keeping quiet about his deployment. You were grateful that your last night together had been unmarred with anything. You’d have it in your memories forever.

“Can I…” He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “No, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“Can I take your picture with me?”

Oh. You felt like a war widow, who’s husband kept a picture of her in his helmet to look at when he was in the trenches. It was a request borne out of genuine affection and it made your eyes mist up.

“Of course you can.” You wiped your eyes. “Can I have one of you?” Something to remember you by.

“I’m not worth photographing.” He grunted, and you understood that to be a no.

You nodded. It was the first time it really occurred to you that if Simon never came back, you’d have nothing of him. No address, no picture. Just a phone number that wouldn’t work anymore. It would be like he’d never existed at all, like a ghost.

You scrolled on your phone and found a selfie you’d taken the night before, in your pink dress that he’d loved so much. You didn’t want to take a picture right now, and not even because you looked a state, but because it would show the sadness in your eyes, and you didn’t want him to remember you like that. You sent him the picture, and he smiled down at his phone.

“Thanks.” He said, a little mutedly.

“You’re welcome.” It was all you could think to say.

Simon tucked his phone back into his pocket and then stilled. He pulled out the sleek, black case his bravery medal was safely encased in, and held it out to you.

“I can’t take that.” You were already shaking your head. “You got that because you did something heroic.”

“I got it because I did something stupid.” He grunted. “Because I’ve had this irritating woman taking over my brain for the last six months. The least you can do is keep it safe for me, give me an excuse to come back.”

You were done for. You were so in love with him and there was nothing you could do to keep him there with you. You should have been smart and ended it immediately to protect yourself from the eventual and inevitable heartbreak, instead, you took the black case, reached up on your tip toes and kissed his temple. Skin on skin.

“Don’t you dare miss me.” He rumbled.

“No, sir.”

“Little minx.” He looked at you, then he turned on his heel and left. You watched him get into his cab, and then you watched him drive away, and then you stood in the middle of the doorway and let the tears drip down your face.

“It’s alright, my love.” Your mum took your hand in hers and leant into your side.

“Why him, mum?” You were sobbing harder now, breaking down in the presence of the only person who would ever really understand. “Why did it have to be him?”

“It’s the uniform.” Your mum joked, in a beautifully British way, as she stroked down your back to comfort you. “It’s like catnip.”

…

The next few days passed uneventfully.

Every time you went into work, or went to visit Mrs. Riley, you were terrified you’d see Johnny or Kyle there, because they were there to bring bad news. What if Simon got distracted thinking about you again and got shot somewhere he couldn’t heal from? What if he died, and it would be all your fault?

You thought about those military wives that had cornered you at the party. They’d been snooty but they’d also seemed happy and relaxed. You wondered how they did it. You didn’t know if you would be able to cope being married to Simon. At least now, you had an excuse to hide behind, that you weren’t actually dating therefore it would hurt less if he never came back to you, even though you knew it would. If you were actually together, then you’d have to admit to yourself that it was a very real possibility that your boyfriend or your partner or your husband wouldn’t be coming home. You might have dissolved in stress.

You wondered if Johnny or Kyle had girlfriends, or boyfriends, and how they did it. Could you talk to them? But then, what was the point? You and Simon weren’t together, at the very best you were friends with benefits, and friends with benefits didn’t get to be upset if they never saw each other again.

“That paper offend you?” Nicole laughed, walking past you in the kitchen.

You blinked down at the file in your hand that were very nearly ripping apart.

“No, sorry. I’m distracted.” You replied, putting the paper down on the table you were sitting at.

“Mhmm.” She took an apple out of the fridge and took a bite out of it, sitting down on one of the sofas. “And might that have anything to do with action man being gone again?”

“It isn’t like that. I mean, it wasn’t.” You sighed. “It’s just a bit of fun, right?”

“You look like you’re having a whale of a time.”

You laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound.

“It’s kind of hard to have the ‘what are we’ chat when he’s getting deployed every five minutes.”

“You think he’d ask you on a date, settle down? He doesn’t seem the type.”

You were already shaking your head.

“I know, I know. There’s no future in it for either of us. I can’t cope with him leaving, he’ll never put anything over his job –“

“He can’t show his face in public.”

You wanted to bristle at that, but she was right. Simon still hadn’t taken his mask off around you yet, which meant that he still didn’t trust you, not completely.

“So, dump him.” Nicole said pragmatically. “Move on.”

“I can’t dump him,” you pointed out, “we aren’t together.”

“Well, number one, yes you are, and number two, of course you can, look how easy it is. Didn’t your mum just divorce that short twat?”

“Okay, fine,” you couldn’t help a burst of manic laughter. “I don’t want to. I know he does this dangerous job, and he’s so big and scary, but he’s not like that, he’s sweet, and he’s funny. He makes me feel so happy, so safe, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“Holy shit.” Nicole’s eyes lit up. “You’re in love with him.”

“Fuck my life.” You buried your head in your hands.

“Aw, that’s so cute.” Nicole was laughing. “you can quit this dump and be a military wife.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t think we’re quite there yet; can you imagine what Julia would say?”

“You wouldn’t get hit on by gross old men anymore.” Nicole pointed out. “Not with Mrs. Riley’s boy glaring at them like that.”

“I wish you’d just talk to him next time he comes in or something, he’s just a normal bloke. He’s not mean, he’s not dangerous.”

“Well, I mean, he is dangerous.” Nicole said, looking a little concerned. “I mean, what? He goes off, kills a bunch of people, then comes back here and acts like nothing’s happened. You’ll never like, fully be safe with him. Not when he’s worse than whatever he’s protecting you from.”

Hearing such a serious comment come from someone who was so generally unserious shook you harder than if you’d heard it from someone like Julia, or your mum.

You fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt. You suddenly felt awful, and alone. You just couldn’t imagine Simon hurting anyone that didn’t have it coming, you couldn’t imagine him posing any kind of threat to you. What he did, he did in the interest of national security, just like your father.

You immediately imagined having children with Simon, and then you imagined them growing up without a father.

It started to hurt your head, so you shoved the feelings down to the pit of your stomach where you could ignore them. There was no point imagining a future with someone you might never see again, there was even less point imagining a future with someone who didn’t want a future with you.

…

You sat on your sofa with a glass of white wine in your hand, sipping slowly and staring at the television. Something was playing but you weren’t really taking it in. You weren’t depressed, you were distracted. The mental toll of the last few months really weighed down on you in quiet moments like these that you couldn’t fill with your work or your family or friends.

For the first time in a long time, you really wanted to talk to your dad. It wasn’t that you didn’t always want to talk to him, but right now, you felt like he could give you some answers you were desperately seeking. He would be able to tell you how military men thought, if they were capable of having anything outside of the army. He could tell you if he wanted this life for you.

Half of your wine bottle was gone, and you were halfway through a really atrocious reality tv show, when your phone vibrated on the coffee table.

You grabbed it quickly, wondering who would be calling you at this time of night. You sat up on the sofa when you saw Simon’s name on your phone screen.

Surprised, you answered it immediately, putting it on speakerphone.

“Simon?”

There was a beat of silence, then: “Hi, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered in relief, excitement, happiness and fear all at the same time.

“Hi.” You replied, a little dumbly.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” He sounded tired.

“No, no, just watching TV.”

“What’s on?”

“Uh.” You pressed the guide button on your remote. “Love Island.”

A chuckle came from the phone. “Fucking hell, love.”

“Are you okay?” You leant forward, towards the phone, like you could physically get closer to him that way. “Are you home?”

“No, not yet.”

“Are you safe?”

“For now. How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.” I miss you. “Nothing to report.”

“No news is good news, right?”

You smiled softly, even though he couldn’t see you. He’d never contacted you via phone before, especially not when he was on duty. You wondered what was different now, but you knew the answer. It was because you were both closer now than you’d ever been, and Simon was seeking comfort from you in a way he’d never sought comfort from you before.

“I got a new plant at the garden centre the other day.”

“What kind of plant?”

“Lavender. It smells amazing.”

“Old lady.”

“Maybe work is rubbing off on me.”

He laughed.

“You sound tired.”

“I am tired. Sleep is a luxury right now.”

You tilted your head. “So, why are you talking to me instead of sleeping?”

“You know why.”

You bit your lip, readjusting yourself on the sofa.

“So, how many times have you wanked over that picture?”

“Too many to count.” It was a dry, sarcastic response. “I’m worried my dick might fall off.”

“I hope not. I’ve got plans for it when you get back.”

“Oh, you have? What might those plans be?”

You smirked, sipping your wine for liquid courage before bringing out the big guns, almost quite literally.

“I was just thinking how small my wet tits would look with your big cock fucking between them.”

You heard nothing but his hard breathing for a minute.

“You little fucking minx.” He hissed.

You bit your lip.

“Oh? I thought you’d like the idea? They’d bounce so pretty around your cock, my nipples would be so hard and sensitive…”

“Fucks sake.” You heard the rustle of fabric. “You’ve got a dirty mouth.”

This was so much easier when you couldn’t see him, and you were thrilled to imagine his reactions to your wild little fantasies.

“Sorry, sir. Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“You’re making my zip uncomfortable.”

You giggled.

“I’m more than willing to submit myself for disciplinary action, sir.”

“Dirty little girl.” It was growled. You could hear rustling, then grunting. “I should put you over my knee for being so insolent, smack your arse until it’s red raw.”

Your cunt clenched at his threat, imagining just that – the hard spanks his huge hands would dish out, how your cunt would spit slick in desperate need.

“Fuck.” You moaned softly.

“Did that make you wet?”

“Yes, sir.” You groaned.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, voice thick with arousal, “play with that pussy f’me, sweetheart. Put the phone there, I want to hear it.”

You were red, mortified, you’d never heard anything quite so filthy in your life.

You put the phone next to you on the sofa. You could still hear Simon’s quiet grunts and imagining what he was doing only made the experience more intense for you. You slipped off your bottoms and spread your legs. You made sure the phone was right between your thighs as you rubbed your slick over your labia. You were so wet, even you could hear it.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it.” Simon groaned. “Play with that pussy. Tell me.”

“I’m so wet, sir.” You bit your lip, gathering your slick directly from the source and swirling it around your clit. The nub twitched under your fingertips.

“You wanna play with that clit f’me?”

“Yes, sir.” You whimpered, spreading your folds and exposing your clit. You pressed down right on the sensitive head, usually hidden under your hood, flicking your finger back and forth over it. You imagined Simon’s finger, Simon’s tongue. You groaned.

“God, fuck, baby, wish I was there with you.”

“Please.” You gasped. You had to stop flicking the head of your clit, the sensation was too intense. You moved to the tip, massaging it with the pads of your fore and middle finger. The soft, wet nub kept slipping between them and you sighed.

“The things I would do to that pretty little clit.” He growled, talking you through it as you played with yourself for him. “I’d tickle that spot, right under your hood, right where you can’t take it…” You whimpered. “Then I’d rub it, nice and wet and hard.” You immediately started massaging your pulsing clit harder, closing your eyes, imagining it was him. “Take it between two fingers, overwhelm you with pleasure.”

“Fuck, sir, I’m close.” Your fingers were grinding your clit, your thighs twitching. “Please.”

“Cum with me, love, nice and hard.” He was panting, and you threw your head back as your clit twitched and pulsed under your fingers. You heard Simon’s groan as you imagined him splattering all over his gloved hand, his combat uniform, and you twitched with renewed need.

“Feeling better, love?” He finally murmured, sounding soft and calm.

You laughed breathlessly, reaching blindly for the phone and laying it across your chest.

“Not as good as I’d feel with you here with me.”

“Soon, love.” He assured you.

“Mmm.” Your eyes fluttered closed. “Gotta make it back for your mum’s birthday, sweet little Simon.”

He barked a half-growl, half-laugh.

“When I get back, I’ll show you just how sweet I can be.”

Your laughs intermingled, and you felt like you were sinking into the sofa.

“Simon…” You murmured.

“Yes, love?”

“I miss you.”

There was a heavily pregnant pause.

“I miss you, too, love.”

Your lips twitched, but you were too tired to form a whole smile.

“Can we talk for a little bit longer?”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

You switched the tv off, turned out the lights and tucked yourself into bed with the phone right next to you on the pillow, letting your eyes ease closed.

“I saw dolphins from the helicopter.”

“Wow, that must have been beautiful.”

“It was beautiful.”

"How many were there?"

"At least ten..."

…

The 12th came around quickly but you hadn’t heard any word that Simon was back in the country or that he would even make it in time. You tried not to let that worry you. It hadn’t meant that anything had happened, it just meant that Simon hadn’t been able to stick to his preferred timeline. An occupational hazard, you imagined.

The staff at the care home had decorated the recreational room with balloons and they’d chipped in on a cake and jelly and pop. Mrs Riley had cried when you and the other staff and residents had sung happy birthday to her.

“Oh, my darlings, how kind of you,” she’d cooed, “look at this cake! It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Let me cut you a slice, Mrs. Riley.” You picked up a plate and began cutting into the sponge.

“Oh, I suppose I can be a little bit naughty and have some cake.” She smiled bashfully.

“I’ll keep you company and have some, too.” You smiled, handing her the plate with a generous slice of cake and cream and jam.

“Thank you, darling. And how are you, anyway? How’s your mum?”

“Yeah, I’m all good, thank you.” You cut yourself a slice. “Mum’s okay. She’s been a bit quiet.”

“Has the divorce gone through yet?”

“Not yet. It takes so bloody long.”

“It’s all this flipping paperwork,” Mrs. Riley lamented, tucking into her cake. “Still, more power to her. I wish I’d had the courage to divorce my husband. I didn’t want the boys to lose their dad, you see.”

You thought about Simon again, god knows where, maybe getting shot at again. You winced to yourself.

“Still, life goes on.” Mrs Riley said, then her eyes lit up. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my son? He’s meant to be coming today.”

You felt awful, you didn’t know how to tell her that Simon wasn’t coming.

“You know, I’m not too sure he’s going to make it.” You winced.

“Really?” Mrs. Riley looked concerned. “He said he was on his way an hour ago.”

You frowned, trying not to feel a pang of hurt in your chest that Simon hadn’t even text you that he was home safe. It wasn’t insanely surprising, but after everything, it just felt a little out of character for him to disregard you like that.

All of your thoughts of hurt evaporated into nothing when Tommy Riley walked into the recreational room.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as he bent down and cuddled his mother. Your mind immediately began to cycle through what you’d heard that day in the corridor. Simon had said he supervised every visit Tommy had. You didn’t know why, you also didn’t know if that was a legal requirement or just an arrangement between the two of them. Simon clearly distrusted his brother deeply but had also gone to extensive lengths to ensure his mother never found that out.

You hadn’t forgotten the way he’d leered at you, the clammy feeling of his hand when he’d shaken yours. You’d sensed danger on him. It was the type of uncomfortable feeling you’d felt being in the kitchen with your stepfather or walking down the street at night with a lone man keeping pace with you. It was that gut feeling that women had for men they knew meant them harm, like a natural defence mechanism.

“Hello again, little miss.” He gave you a sharky grin, straightening up and coming over to you. “Remember me?”

You backed off a step. He was unshaven, his eyes slightly bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept in days. You didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

“Yes, of course, Mr Riley, how are you?” You said levelly.

He laughed at your question. “Well, that’s all very formal, isn’t it?” He glanced down at his mum. “No little Simon today?”

“He’s away for work.” Mrs Riley said, “you know how important his work is, darling.”

“Oh, I know, alright.” Tommy fixed you with a stare. “In the middle east somewhere? Bombing towns and killing kids?”

“Thomas!” His mother admonished.

You tried not to look like his words were affecting you at all. It was very hard. You set your jaw. Someone bent down next to Mrs Riley, talking to her, and getting her attention elsewhere.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, keeping your voice down. “I thought you and Simon had an…arrangement?”

“Nosy little slut, aren’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “After a military pension when my brother kicks the bucket in the sand somewhere?”

You controlled your breathing and left the recreational room. You pulled out your phone in the corridor, ready to contact Simon immediately, but then you stopped yourself. Simon was still deployed, what would informing him reasonably do, except worry him? What if he went out into a dangerous situation worried and, worse, distracted. No, you had to look after this one on your own. There were a lot of people in the care home today, all you had to do was hold it together for an hour or so, and everyone would go home and be safe. You could look out for Simon for a change.

You put your phone away and went back into the recreational room.

Barely two hours later and Mrs Riley was taking a nap in her room, full of tea and cake. Tommy Riley had left, along with any other visitors, the staff had returned to their usual tasks, and your shift came to an end. Tommy had been normal, courteous even, if a bit leering. Maybe Simon had given him permission to visit while he’d been deployed, given that it was their mother’s birthday. You supposed it hardly mattered now. Everything was fine.

You said your goodbyes to your colleagues, clocked out and walked outside. It was sunny and warm. You slipped your coat off and slung it over your arm and decided to take a detour through the trees by the car park, enjoying the heat and the calm of nature surrounding you.

Tommy Riley was loitering against a tree. When he saw you, he pushed off the bark and blocked your path.

“Hello, sweetheart.” He grinned toothily.

You stopped walking and every hair on your body stood up. You knew immediately that this was wrong, that you needed to get away from here and back to safety. The care home was barely a hundred yards behind you. You could make a run for it, but would you reach it before he got his hands on you? He was as tall as his brother.

“What do you want?” You asked guardedly, holding your coat in front of yourself like it could offer you any protection.

“Look at you, you’re trembling, but it’s so sunny out here. You can’t be cold.” He stalked forward, twisting his hands together, towering over you. You took a step back. “Where are you going, gorgeous?” He tilted his head. “I just wanted a quick word with you, about my brother.”

This was bad. This was very bad. Something in the back of your mind told you to scream, but even that wouldn’t be enough. There was no one around to hear it, at least no one who would get to you quickly enough.

“You’d be better off talking to him; I don’t know him very well.” A lie. Sort of.

“I saw the way he looked at you.” Tommy reached forward, gripping your upper arm painfully tightly. “No surprises, pretty little thing like you. He had a crush on this girl in our school once.” He smirked. “Didn’t after I was done with her, of course.”

“Let me go!” You tried to yank your arm back, but he yanked you forward. You stumbled and hit his chest hard. He gripped your chin with his other hand and forced you to look at him. His breath stank of booze. You tried to struggle, pounding against his chest with your free hand, your coat getting lost in the grass beneath you, but you couldn’t get free. “Someone help me, please!”

“Now, what, should I do with you?” He released your chin to stroke a frayed hair out of your face. You pursed your lips together in defiance and fear. “Hit you? Fuck you? What would really fuck with him more?”

A big, black, blur shot out from the trees and slammed into Tommy, sending him to the ground. It hauled Tommy up by his jacket, lifting him clean off of the grass.

You recognised Simon, and you didn’t, all at the same time. He was wearing heavy boots, cargo trousers, a black jacket with a tactical vest strapped over it, black, skeletal print gloves, and a black balaclava that covered his whole head. This one didn’t have eyeholes, instead it had the front plate of a skull sewn over the face, completely obscuring Simon from you. This…this was Ghost.

“What the fuck?” Tommy barely had time to curse at the terrifying spectre accosting him before Ghost released his jacket with one hand, reared his fist back and punched him square across the jaw. Blood and teeth sprayed everywhere.

You screamed, and Tommy screamed too, as Ghost did nothing short of beat the shit out of him. He punched him so hard and so many times that Tommy’s face reduced to a bloody pulp. Ghost hauled up his twitching form with his superior strength just to punch him down again. When Tommy went down like a sack of potatoes, Ghost gripped him by his shaggy hair and sent his knee into his nose, purifying it into bloody paste. Tommy collapsed onto his back and didn’t get back up again. You thought it was over. You were wrong.

Ghost knelt over his brother’s body, picked him up and wrapped both of his gloved hands around his throat. Tommy gurgled, spitting blood from his ruined mouth, and batted weakly at Ghost’s arms. Ghost didn’t relent an inch, you heard something crack under his hands, and you knew he was going to kill him.

“That’s enough!” You screamed, launching forward and pulling Ghost’s arm futilely. It felt like grabbing a lion. Ghost jerked away from you and you backed off immediately, hitting a tree and stilling. He was looking at you, his eyes pinpricks lost in the skull mask, which was splattered with blood. He didn’t look like he recognised you for a moment, but then his dilated pupils shrunk down, showing that brown to you. He looked…scared.

“Simon,” your voice broke, “it’s okay. I’m safe. I promise.”

He didn’t respond to you, and you stepped forward on instinct.

“Stay back!” He barked, and you backed away immediately, hitting the tree again. You were shivering all over. Your heart hadn’t slowed down at all.

Tommy was lying still on the grass, in a puddle of his own blood, you couldn’t even tell if he was alive or dead. You didn’t know what to do, how to calm down, how to process what you’d just seen.

Simon was still crouched over his brother. You couldn’t tell if he felt remorseful, or happy, or angry, or vindicated – that skull mask obscured everything from you, everything you’d seen or known before. From this distance, you couldn’t even tell if the bone was fake or real.

You whipped around, expecting to see a crowd gathered, maybe even the shrill shriek of sirens, but you didn’t. It was quiet, and empty, until a singular black land rover with tinted windows pulled slowly into the car park.

You turned back around, nearly spluttering at Simon to run, but he was getting to his feet. You couldn’t see any weapons on him, but you supposed that was the point of the tactical vest. He looked like he’d come directly from active combat.

“Simon.” Your eyes were glistening with tears.

“It’s alright, love.” He assured you, his voice low. “It’s over.”

You heard the doors of the land rover opening and closing and turned to see the two figures that were walking towards the pair of you. You recognised the man, the bearded captain from the party. The woman was blonde, with her hair tied neatly back. You wondered how on earth it was meant to be over.

“She’s no part of this.” Ghost barked gruffly, addressing the two newcomers, but talking about you.

The Captain looked at you, then hummed, then grunted: “go back inside.” His voice was as commanding, and almost as deep, as Simon’s.

You jolted, watching the three of them standing around what could well have been a corpse, before you turned and scurried back to the care home. Your heart was hammering so hard in your chest you had no idea how the people inside were meant to take one look at you and not immediately know what had happened.

,,,

The next few hours passed in a blur.

Police cars turned up, along with an ambulance. From what you could see from peeking out of the window, Simon and his friends were talking to the police, while Tommy Riley was being loaded into the back of an ambulance and then driven away. Then the police left, and then the land rover, and all you could do was stare into your coffee as the night got dark around you.

When everything seemed sufficiently dead and quiet, you left the care home. There was a chill in the night air. You had no idea what had happened to your coat.

Simon Riley was leaning against his black car, his arms crossed. Nothing about his appearance had changed, even down to the blood splattered over him.

You got the feeling he’d been waiting for you to come out. You wondered how long, then you realised you didn’t really care.

You approached him in silence. You didn’t know what to say. What to think.

“What happened to the police?” You finally decided on. Your voice was very small.

“They’re gone.” He told you, voice gruff, emotionless. “Your name wasn’t mentioned. No one will bother you about this.” He held his hand out, and you noticed he was holding your coat. It was covered in grass stains.

“Why?” You asked, your eyes wide and tired, you took the coat back gingerly.

He shrugged. “I know people.”

You looked down at the concrete. “Is he dead?” Your voice was thick.

“No, but he won’t bother you again.”

“How do you know that?”

“You leave him to me.”

You were still staring at the ground. You didn’t want to ask anymore questions. You felt uneasy enough as it was. Nothing was going into your head right now. You were sure that in the morning you’d want to know every little detail, but right now, you just wanted to go home.

Simon wasn’t saying anything else, he wasn’t attempting to explain himself or comfort you, he was just looking at you with a guarded expression in his eyes, like he was expecting you to explode and was mentally preparing himself for the fallout.

“Were you trying to kill him?” You asked quietly.

You saw his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “No.” He said. He sounded sure. “I know what it takes to kill a man. That was just a beating his sorry arse deserved.”

“Why did you do it?” You asked genuinely.

He blinked and stood straighter, like the question had offended him. You just didn’t have it in you to hear about whatever evil things Tommy had done to his ex-wife or Simon’s ex-girlfriend, not when he’d come so close to doing something to you.

“He threatened you.” Simon’s voice was hard as flint, absolutely unforgiving. “I saw his fucking hands on you. No one,” his eyes were flaming, furious, “touches you.”

“Simon?” Your voice was tiny, disbelieving.

“Be in no doubt, love, I will do anything to protect you. Do you understand? I’m sorry you saw that, and I’m sorry it scared you, but that’s all I’m apologising for. I would kill him to keep you safe. I’m not a good guy, I’m a bad guy who fucks up bad guys. That’s as complicated as I get. I can’t give you anything you want from me, but I promise, you’ll always be safe.”

“You mean that, don’t you?” You almost whispered.

“I do.” He assured you, eyes narrowing like he couldn’t read your response, he uncrossed his arms and nodded to the car, stepping away from it. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“No.” You said. Simon stilled, then stared at you, then he looked at the ground.

“I understand.” He said gruffly. “At least let me call you a cab?”

“I want you to take me to your place.”

He stared at you, unblinking. “Mine?”

“Yours.” You said. Your voice was still so blank you were impossible to read. He was as still as a statue, expecting full rejection after everything he’d done, everything he’d said. Hearing that you still wanted anything to do with him after that had left him nothing short of speechless. “I want to see something of your life, anything.”

“Fine.” He said after a moment. His car beeped and flashed as he unlocked it. “Get in.”

You got in the passenger’s seat and nearly jumped out of your skin when a loud bark and a wagging tail nearly took your head clean off.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed in shock.

“Down.” Simon said sternly. The German Shepherd excitedly bouncing around in his backseat sat obediently, but his ears were pricked up and his tail was thumping against the leather upholstery.

“Ignore him.” Simon put his seatbelt on. “He was asleep up until a minute ago.”

“You have a dog?” You asked.

Simon grunted his yes, reached back and scratched the German Shepherd between his ears. He licked at Simon’s wrist.

“His name’s Riley. Say hello, Riley.”

Riley barked softly at you, and you couldn’t help but smile as you reached back and carded your fingers through the soft fur on his chest.

“He’s very well behaved.”

“He should be, he’s been out with me enough times.”

Simon pulled out of the car park and started driving in a direction you’d never been in before. You were too distracted by stroking Riley and receiving the odd appreciative lick in return to think about what had happened earlier in too much detail.

Simon, still apparently baffled by your behaviour, didn’t say anything else.

“Why did you give your dog your surname?” You asked.

Simon actually shrugged at the road. “Needed to give it to someone.”

You understood that. No wife, no children. No expectation to have either. You wondered if he still felt the same now.

Simon pulled into a driveway not too long after that. It was a modest, semi-detached house with a simple garden out front that didn’t look like it had much upkeep.

Simon opened the front door and you fully expected Riley to charge in immediately, like every other dog you’d ever met, but he sat obediently on the front path as Simon held the door open for you.

“Ladies first.” He said. “Might be a bit dusty.”

“Haven’t you been home yet?” You asked.

“Nah.” He whistled and Riley trotted in after you, then Simon entered last and closed and locked the front door. “I was in the middle of the debrief when that woman phoned me. I didn’t even have time to change. Look at me.” He gestured redundantly to his tactical vest as he rolled his neck from side to side, you heard his bones cracking.

“What woman?” You frowned.

“That Julia McGowan.” He reeled off the name of your line manager. “Told her to give me a bell if Tommy ever turned up without me. Thank fuck I’d gotten back this morning. I didn’t say anything in case I didn’t get out of base in time to make it there today.”

You were glad that Julia had honoured Simon’s request, even when it was clear she didn’t much like him. If she hadn’t told him and Simon hadn’t have made it to the care home in time…well, you shuddered to think.

Simon led you through his kitchen and to the living room. It was bigger than your flat, but it was simple. There were appliances and books but no pictures or keepsakes. He’d been right about the dust, as well.

“Sit,” he said gruffly, inclining his head to the couch. “I’ve got to feed the bottomless pit quickly. Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, belly still full of victoria sponge and knots.

“How about a drink?” He asked. “I need a whisky the size of my head.”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“I don’t think I have anything girly; I might have some beer though. Hang tight.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he disappeared out of the room, as silent as ever. It was actually incredibly impressive given the size of him.

That didn’t last long, however, as you heard him banging around in the kitchen and talking quietly when Riley barked, like they were having a conversation. Of course, Simon was off duty now.

It was easy to think that as soon as he was out of your sights, Simon shut himself away in a little case until the military needed him again. Seeing him in his house, feeding his dog, pouring himself a drink, generally living his life, made you feel more at ease about pretty much everything. He was a real person, rather than just a figment of your imagination, he was a man, not a machine.

A man who had just put his brother in the hospital a few hours ago.

Simon came back into the living room shortly after. He’d shed his tactical vest somewhere along the way, along with his jacket and gloves, wearing only his combat trousers, t shirt and the mask with the stitched skull bone. He passed you a can of lager, the same brand you’d ordered at the party, you noted, and a glass. You thanked him and poured your drink out as he settled in the armchair opposite the sofa, whisky glass in hand. You watched the amber bubbles in your drink float to the top before taking a long gulp. It was ice cold, and glorious after the day you’d had.

You watched Simon lift his balaclava to just under his nose to sip his drink. You saw his swollen knuckles and the flesh on them ground down to red mush.

Neither of you really knew what to say to each other. There was only one thing to say.

“I’m sorry.” Simon said.

“Thank you.” You said.

He looked at you with hard eyes and you tilted your head.

“What are you sorry for?” You asked.

Simon laughed darkly at his glass and took another sip, shaking his head to himself, as if internally chastising you for being so wilfully obstinate.

“He should never have gotten that close to you.” He explained. Somehow you hadn’t expected his mind to still be on Tommy and what had happened. “This is what happens to people who get to close to me, they get hurt, that’s why it’s better off that I stay away.”

You had to admit that Tommy’s attack had been motivated by your closeness to Simon, even if you didn’t want it to be true. You knew it, and Simon knew it, and to pretend otherwise would just be making a fool out of yourself.

“He said he was doing it to fuck with you.” You shuddered to think what would have happened to you if Simon had gotten to you even five minutes later. It was like your body and your mind were both trying to make you relive and process exactly what had happened, and could have happened, to you. You’d been threatened with violence, sexual and otherwise, and you should have been in pieces, but you weren’t. There was this wall in front of you, in your mind, that was protecting you from that harm and that pain and keeping you safe even from the cruelty of your own imagination. It was a big wall, a broad wall, and it had a skull for a face.

Whatever reaction Simon was going to give you was interrupted by Riley trotting into the living room. He sat next to Simon’s chair and put his head in Simon’s lap. Simon scratched behind his ears.

“He takes after my old man.” Simon said, looking at his pet. “Alcoholic, druggie, wife-beating pieces of shit. Tommy hates my guts because he hated me, and because mum likes me more, and because the only reason he wasn’t back inside was because…” he stopped himself, “well, maybe that’s on a more need to know basis, but he’s done some heinous shit, let’s leave it at that.” He took another long slug from his drink until the glass was almost empty, he was still scratching Riley. He seemed a bit defeated and you kind of hated it, seeing him like this. “He never should have gotten anywhere near you. I fucked up.”

“I shouldn’t have eavesdropped in that corridor,” you said guiltily, “this never would have happened.”

Simon was shaking his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I gave him such a bollocking after you left to leave you alone.” He twisted his now empty glass in his hand. “That was when I knew.” His voice was quiet. “In that corridor, when he touched you and I wanted to snap his neck.”

“Knew what?”

His eyes found yours, finally, brown and deep and intense.

“That I had feelings for you. I should have left you alone after that, for your own safety, but I couldn’t stay away. I’m a weak man.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say, unused to and unexpecting of such an open declaration.

“I didn’t want you to ever see that side of me that you saw today.” He sounded a bit more frustrated now. Riley made a low noise and started licking Simon’s clothed knee. His body language was cagey, his eyes blank. “I never wanted to lose you like this. But I’m not a danger to you; I’ll leave you alone.”

His demeanour suddenly made sense to you, he was saying goodbye, and your chest constricted more violently than the whole time in the trees with him and his brother.

“You’re breaking up with me?” Your eyes were suddenly overflowing with tears. Simon’s eyes widened in surprise at your reaction.

“Look, I won’t pretend it didn’t freak me out but…you saved me. Again. From…god, from god knows what. You have holes in your knuckles, and favours with scary people, all to protect me. I…” you were panicking, your voice rising a little. “You can’t do this, you can’t leave, you can’t leave me. You can’t leave me.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Simon stood up and put his glass down on the coffee table. Riley curled up on the floor in front of the television and watched as Simon crossed the room and sat next to you, putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling you against him, rubbing your upper arm to try and calm you. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, I’m right here. I was just giving you an out if you wanted it.”

“I don’t want an out. I want you. All I want is you.”

“You’ve got me, darlin’, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.” His voice was gravelly and rough in your ear, he stank of sweat and blood, and the heat radiating off of him was so hot it was like sitting next to an active volcano. You never wanted to move.

You started to calm slowly, your breathing evening out in his arms. He kept murmuring to you and stroking your arm. You put your hands on his thigh and just gripped him, keeping him close to you.

“Can I be honest with you?” You murmured. “Even if you might hate me?”

“I always want you to be honest with me, love,” he rubbed your arm comfortingly. “And I’ll never hate you. Can’t.”

“Nothing about you has ever bothered me. I’ve never wanted you to be anything else. Do you know how many men in my life have protected me and wanted me safe, because it’s not a lot…” You tried to stop fresh tears from falling. “When you finally meet someone who sees your discomfort as a bad thing and not a trophy for themselves…” You sniffed.

“Baby…”

“Having you defend me, protect me, care about me, it’s changed my life, you make me feel so safe, so happy. I kind of love that you’d beat the crap out of someone for me, which I know is twisted.”

“It’s fucking twisted,” Simon’s voice was a growl, his grip on you tighter. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to have to fuck some sense into you.”

You blinked your tears away and turned your head to see him looking down on you.

“You don’t think I’m weird?”

“I think you’re fucking insane. No one is ever going to hurt you again; I’ll kill them before they try.”

You believed him, you’d even seen it action yourself now. The lengths he was willing to go to for you should have scared you, but they didn’t. It did confuse you, though.

“Why me?” You asked.

“Why you what?”

“Why do you like me?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Kind of.”

Simon sighed, then his other hand was stroking your hair out of your face before his bare fingers were brushing your cheek.

“You’re kind.”

You snorted, and Simon laughed quietly.

“You’re also annoying, but that’s a different story.”

“I’m not some altruist because the job I fell into is in healthcare. I don’t even do anything, not like Nicole or Joe.”

“I’m not talking about your job.” Simon said. “I’m talking about you. You know, the late sign-ins when I’m running late, texting me in the hospital, picking my fucking jacket off the floor when I only have one arm…you’re talking about how many people watch out for you, how many people do you think are kind to me?”

You chewed your lip, thinking of your colleagues, of every waitress who’d scowled, the bitchy women at the party, Tommy, his father…

“Not many.”

He chuckled, still stroking your cheek slowly.

“You’re so kind you don’t even realise you’re doing it. I mean, yeah, you’re funny and beautiful and all that, but all that gets cancelled out by how much of a pain in my arse you are.”

“Shut up.” You buried your face in his chest.

“Look at me.”

You peaked up at him, he was looking down on you through that skull, his brown eyes soft.

“Simon?” You asked.

“Yes, love?”

“Are you my boyfriend?”

Simon chuckled, but there was an edge to it. His hand splayed possessively over the small of your back.

“Yeah, love.” He replied. “I’m your boyfriend.”

Neither of your walls were shattered with hammers, and no lightning struck them down, they were just gently eroded by the sea of kindness that remained in all broken people.

“I need to shower.” Simon said, pulling you up with him, your front against his. “And this time, I really think you should join me.”

You purred and wrapped your arms around his neck. He gripped your hips.

“How are you meant to shower with a skull on your face, Ghost?” You asked.

“I guess I’ll just have to take it off.” His eyes were blazing.

Your heart rate elevated.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, sir.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes never leaving your eyes, and shook his head slowly.

“Okay, Simon.” You whispered, tears in your eyes.

He hummed, chest rumbling, and his eyes slid closed.

…

The pair of you stood in the bathroom. The shower was turned on, flicking you both absently with warm water as you slowly undressed, until you were naked, and Simon was naked except one thing.

He reached up and pulled the balaclava off of his head, throwing it down with the rest of his clothes, and then he looked at you.

He was a square jawed, brown eyed, pale skinned, handsome man. The scar through his top lip dragged all the way up past nostril. It pulled his lip up a little, giving you a the barest flash of canine beneath. It was an old scar, and jagged, and looked like it had been administered with a significant amount of cruelty.

You reached up on your tip toes and pressed your lips to it, he groaned quietly. His arms wound around you and suddenly you were kissing properly, the wet, passionate slide of lips on lips. You felt his tongue in your mouth, and you moaned.

You both stepped into the tub, and the shower sprayed over you. It was warm, and you admired the droplets dribbling down his chest, over each muscle. He was doing the same thing, his eyes glued to your chest. His hands followed, squeezing your boobs.

You looked up at him, and his hungry eyes found yours. In a second, you were spun on your feet, and Simon’s large body was pushing you up against the glass shower screen. You gasped, watching Simon’s hand brace against the glass next to your head.

“Press your tits against the glass for me, love,” he panted in your ear, his voice sounding wrecked. “Fuck yeah, good girl. Gonna take good care of this cunt.” He spanked your arse, hard, and you yelped as heat streaked straight to your core. He grabbed a handful of the same cheek he’d just spanked, and you felt his fingers slipping and sliding against your entrance. They sunk inside you, and you whined, your head falling back against his shoulder as he nailed you into the glass, your whole body squeaking against it.

“God, fuck, I can hear them rubbing against that glass,” he groaned, “does it feel good on your nipples?”

“Yes.” You whined helplessly. Your nipples and your clit were sliding against the glass, held there by his body, his fingers hard against your sweet spot.

You wailed as you came, hard and without warning, a spray of fluid hitting the glass and sliding down it alongside the shower water.

“Squirting against the glass, sweetheart?” You felt his teeth biting into the back of your neck and you groaned, overwhelmed with sensation.

“Can’t…can’t help it.” You tried to gasp out.

You felt him laughing against your ear.

“Oh I know, baby, I know you can’t. It just feels so good, doesn’t it?” He punctuated his cooed words with a hard thrust of his fingers and your feet lifted off of the tub floor as you came again.

“Fuck, Simon!” You cried out.

“Yeah, scream my name, love.” He growled, you heard water splashing as he stroked his cock, and then his fingers were gone and the blunt head of his cock was being pushed inside you.

Your head hit the glass as he stretched you around him, but you barely had a moment to adjust as he covered your hand with one of his, the other gripping your hip as he fucked you, hard, fast, unforgiving, making the glass shake dangerously.

Your toes curled, and you came around his cock with a tight, wet clench.

“This fucking cunt,” he panted, not even slowing for a second, fucking you through your orgasm and making your eyes roll back. “Cums so fast for me.”

“Simon...” You slurred, your body felt like it was on fire, electric in all your veins radiating out from your cunt, his cock pounding into you so unforgivingly hard and fast you couldn’t think straight.

“Yeah, baby?” He panted.

You answered him with another orgasm, your cunt clenching so tightly on him he did slow a little this time, adjusting his deep thrusts with grinds of his cock against your cumming walls, his hips tight to yours, no inch of space between you both.

“You’re a fucking machine.” You slurred, head tipping back to his shoulder.

“Fuck yeah I am.” He captured your lips in a searing kiss, still grinding his cock inside you, milking your weeping pussy for all it was worth. “Military stamina, I could go for hours, get lost in this wet little fucking pussy.”

You moaned into his mouth. “Christ, Simon.”

“Ready for another one, sweetheart?” He grinned against your lips.

“Another one?” You gasped.

His hands fell to your hips again and gripped as he fucked you into the glass, you screeched out and came on his cock, warmth pooling inside you, making you weak.

“God fuck, can’t stop fucking cumming.” You wailed.

He chuckled darkly and snapped his hips, again and again, until your white cum was staining his cock.

He pressed his front tight to your back, groaning as he slammed his hips against your hips, before he pulled out completely. Your legs wobbled, and he turned you, pressing your back to the glass. He kissed you and you kissed him back. Your hands found his ribs.

When he finally pulled away, you looked down and saw his cock was still angry and hard.

“Why don’t I…” You trailed your fingertips up his chest. “Make good on my promise, and let you cum all over these?” You cupped your own wet breasts, squeezing them.

Simon groaned and gripped your hips.

“Tempting.” He growled, lifting you easily, you wrapped your legs around his waist. “But this pussy is mine.”

He sank back inside you, and you gripped his shoulders as he fucked you hard, bouncing you on his cock, your back against the glass.

Your mouth was open, moaning incoherently as his cock throbbed hard and heavy against your sweet spot, your sensitive walls sucking him in.

“Fuck,” he buried his face in your neck, “I’m so fucking close.”

“Look at me, Simon.” You begged breathlessly.

He did, pressing your foreheads together, his brown eyes on yours as you both came together. He filled your cunt with his seed while you clamped down on him and kept him there, panting against each other’s mouths in pure, shared pleasure.

After a few long moments, Simon lent forward and kissed you. It was sweet, and soft, and you whimpered into it, your hands locking around his neck and keeping him close.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, and stared into your soul.

“You know what you’re doing with someone like me?” He asked you plainly.

You smiled, your fingers finding the back of his neck and massaging softly. You watched his eyelids flutter.

“Well, I was thinking about starting with telling him that he’s really not as bad as he seems to think he is.” You said softly. “And then I’d tell him that he’ll never hurt me, and that he doesn’t have to be scared anymore.”

He buried his head in your neck, and you let your eyes slide closed as you massaged the back of his neck. The warm water sprayed over you both.

…

Simon’s bed was large.

You supposed it needed to be, with the size of him. You sat down on the edge of it and nearly sunk right through to the floor.

“Oh my god, this is so soft.”

Simon was smirking at you as he pulled on some pj bottoms and nothing else, you loved his smile, and you knew you’d never get bored of it.

He tossed you a shirt that looked normal sized in his hands, but came down to your mid-thighs when you pulled it on.

“I spend too much time in sleeping bags on rocks.” He explained, pulling the duvet back and getting into bed. He groaned himself. “My back is going to be fucked by the time I’m 40.”

“No, it’s not.” You scooted up next to him under the covers. “It’s a big, strong, sexy back.”

“You sure scratched the hell out of it earlier.”

“Sorry.” You didn’t sound, or look, sorry at all.

Simon purred as he laid down on his side. You mimicked him, and then you were facing each other.

You just couldn’t stop staring at him, it felt like coming home, finally looking at the person you’d been waiting for.

“You’re so fucking odd.” Simon grumbled, killing the mood expertly.

“Why am I odd?” You asked, your forehead creasing.

Simon’s brown eyes were warm as he watched you, tracking your face just as ardently as you were tracking his.

“Most people see a scarred freak and run in the other direction, but not you, little miss death wish. I bet you rooted for the monster in Frankenstein.”

“He isn’t a monster.”

“Case in point.” He chuckled.

But you meant it, and you knew he knew that you weren’t talking exclusively about gothic literature.

You stroked along his jaw, his lips, with your fingertips. His eyelids fluttered imperceptibly.

“Simon, you’re not a monster.”

He groaned, and you felt his hands grip your hips under the covers and pull you close to him, where it was warm and safe.

“I’m okay with what I am.” He told you, and it turned out you’d been wrong in the beginning; his eyes were still as intense even without the mask. You were lost in them, and you hoped you were never found. “Because I will always be bigger and scarier than anyone who tries to hurt you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, but he never stopped looking at you – he never had since you’d met.

“I love you.” You whispered. It fixed something inside you to have him hear it, even though you knew he’d never say it back.

“I love you, too.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you both laid there with each other quietly. None of the demons in either of your heads could bother you here.

Simon was complicated and troubled and out of his mind, but he was yours, and he loved you. You couldn’t see anything monstrous in that.

the end

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Oh honey, where's your crown?