Anchor

The world was gently tilting.

Nora’s laugh melted into a giggle as she slid off the barstool, nearly slipping off her own feet. The alcohol was finally kicking in—warming her limbs, loosening her tongue, giving her that weightless feeling she rarely let herself feel.

“I need the bathroom before I face Soap’s next round of terrible jokes,” she muttered to no one in particular, waving a lazy hand at the others as she moved through the haze of warm lights and clinking glasses.

Her boots thudded against the old wooden floor as she made her way down the short corridor to the women’s restroom. She pushed the door open, half-drunk smile fading as soon as she caught her reflection.

The woman in the mirror didn’t look like the same one who’d laughed at the table five seconds ago.

Dark circles still clung beneath her eyes—evidence of nights without sleep, of pain and blood and the blur of war. Her cheeks were paler than she wanted them to be. Her lips, cracked. And her curls, once wild and soft, were frizzy and messy, tangled in places where she hadn’t cared to brush.

She sighed.

Fingers reached up, undoing the messy bun. Her hair tumbled down in waves and coils, unruly like always. She cupped her hands under the cold water, patting it into her roots, running her fingers through with a soft frown. She leaned in closer, inspecting her own tired eyes—like she was trying to find something left of the girl before everything went to hell.

“You done feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

The voice was like a shot through her chest.

Gravel. Low. His.

She turned, heart slamming into her ribs as she met his eyes in the mirror. Ghost stood at the bathroom doorway, hand on the frame, mask pulled up just enough for her to see the clench of his jaw. He didn’t look drunk.

He looked angry.

“Simon—” she started, confused, blinking.

But he was already moving.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click far too loud, and then he was there—crowding her. Stepping behind her, into her space, his body heat soaking into her skin. She backed up on instinct until her spine hit the tiled wall next to the sink.

He towered over her, shadowed and wild and pissed.

Her lips parted. “What’s wrong?”

He leaned down, face close enough that she could smell him—smoke, whiskey, soap. “You’re killin’ me.”

Her brows furrowed, the alcohol in her blood making it harder to track his words. “What—?”

He grabbed her chin—not rough, but not soft either—and tilted her head to look up at him.

“You look in that mirror like you’re disgusted with yourself.”

Her breath caught.

“I saw it. The way you touched your hair. The way you stared at your face like it didn’t belong to you.” His voice was rough, bitter. “You think I’d be lookin’ at you like this if there was anything about you I didn’t want?”

Her mouth went dry. “Simon—”

“No,” he cut her off, voice dipping darker. “You’ve been runnin’. Avoidin’ me like I’m the one who left you on that rooftop. Like I didn’t watch you damn near bleed yourself dry to keep me breathin’.”

Her hands trembled at her sides.

“I’m mad, yeah. Mad at myself for lettin’ you slip away. Mad at you for thinkin’ I wouldn’t come for you.” His lips crashed down to hers suddenly—hard, possessive, swallowing her gasp as he pressed her against the wall, kissing her like he hadn’t had air since that mission.

Her fingers clawed at his vest, gripping whatever she could, her legs nearly giving out.

He broke the kiss with a growl, lips brushing her jaw. “You’re comin’ back with me tonight.”

“Simon—”

“Not askin’.”

His hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb stroking her jawline. “You wanna play like you haven’t been starin’ at me for days like you’re starvin’. But I feel it. You still burn for me.”

She laughed, soft and breathless, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “You’re such a dramatic bastard.”

His lips quirked at the corner. “And you love it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe.”

“You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart.”

He dipped his head again, mouthing at her pulse. “I want you back in my room. In my bed. Wrapped around me so tight I forget what the fuck it feels like to be alone. That what you want?”

She whimpered, a soft yes falling from her lips before she could stop it.

He kissed her again—slower this time. Deeper.

When he pulled back, he gave her that look. The one that felt like chains around her wrists and silk down her spine.

“Fix your hair, then meet me at the door.”

She blinked, dazed.

He leaned in again, whispering at her ear, “You’re mine tonight. You don’t get a say.”

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut.

And she was left staring at her reflection again—cheeks flushed, lips kissed raw, eyes blown wide.

Maybe she didn’t like what she saw before.

But now?

Now, she saw the fire again.

And she was ready to burn.

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Ugh I think these next chapters where my absolute favorite so farr 😭😭

Btw a little fun fact I actually wrote all of this out of fun and wanted to "publish" It here on wattpad so I don't loose the story bc of how much I've fallen for this version of ghost but now it's so exciting to see other people enjoyed too.

I really never thought anyone would see this or even read it. T_T