#i just feel that simon deserves better

[mysteriousboo]

(SPOILERS FOR THE SHOW)

im genuinely surprised when i found out that people in the yr fandom give simon so much shit and for what? trying to protect himself from getting hurt when wilhelm denied that it was him in the video after he PROMISED simon that he wouldn’t do that? or trying to move on from wilhelm? when simon got into dealing booze or stealing drugs from his dads, he suffered because of his actions! his friends(rosh and ayub) stopped talking to him, he couldn’t pay for the personal tuition and his mom and sara found out about it and were obviously very mad at him! sara got into manor house, made friends and mostly had a good time in the majority of the second season while she was basically betraying simon’s trust by not telling him who leaked the video and using that fact to get into manor house plus sleeping with the person who recorded and released the video! personally, i don’t think her character can be redeemed in s3! but i see people trying to defend her more than they will with simon and that’s very sad!

or the fact that even wilhelm didn’t have to suffer at the aftermath of the video cause he denied that it was him in the video! i mean, we all know that the internet sucks! imagine, the things simon had to read! and people want him to forgive wilhelm just cause he said he loves him?? i mean how can he trust him? does he not have self-respect? my poor boy prolly thought that he would only be hurt more cause if wilhelm can deny his existence now, why won’t he do it in the future? or how serious is wilhelm’s love for him if he can deny their relationship so easily after he PROMISED that he would do no such thing! or the fact that wilhelm’s doesn’t even apologize to him properly, clearly not realizing how much he hurt simon! i mean the guy keeps asking simon to be his secret? how can simon agree to that? notice how in the first half s2 it’s not that simon denies that he loves wilhelm, it’s more like how can i trust you? and he was right wasn’t he? wilhelm knew that august released the video but proceeds to once again make the choice for simon and keep him in the dark! i’m not saying that he didn’t redeem himself in the latter half of the season! but it definetely felt like only simon felt the repercussions of his actions! both Sara and Wille just got away! and august the guy who should have gone to jail was being rewarded by being the backup or getting the girl! simon definetely sufffered more than august and the fact that some people in the fandom still are annoyed by him is just really disappointing! atleast have a reasonable explanation for finding simon annoying or not a fun character! I mean if you can understand Sara’s action then simon deserves the same! i am not trying to say that simon isn’t at fault, im just saying that why are you harsher towards his character not towards sara, wille, or august!

also, can we not forget that marcus literally gaslights simon into not breaking up with him! like my guy can’t catch a break! i hope that simon gets to be happy in s3! even though he has to deal with his sister basically lying to him the ENTIRE FUCKING TIME!!!! my god, i just want both my boys to be happy!

[sheepgirl3]

I’m falling deeper and deeper down the CoD rabbit hole and I’ve noticed something that has driven me bonkers.

TW: talk of canonical SA

+++

So I’ve read the Ghost comics, which for one thing show how incredibly fucked up basically every area of Simon’s life is and was. He never had a chance and honestly, it’s amazing he’s not more off the rails.

But before I read the Ghost comics, I had extensively studied the wikis for Simon and you know what they never mention?

The sexual assault he’s routinely put through.

Even the wiki for the comic where Pilar is named doesn’t put a name to it or mention the horror around her presence. Nor does it touch on the man who we see buttoning up his pants in the cell with Simon beyond the fact that he licked his (Simon’s) lips.

I barely see it mentioned anywhere and it’s sparsely mentioned by the fandom, from what I can tell. I’ve seen it in fanfics before, but sometimes I’m decently sure writers don’t know that it’s actually a canonical event.

And I feel so bad for Simon, ya know? But I also hate the general lack of acknowledgement of that area of his trauma.

There’s very little point to this post other than expressing frustration. I also wonder if others in the fandom feel the same way and how widely Simon’s canonical trauma is known. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was not super widely; I’ve not been able to find the physical copies of the Ghost comics anywhere and only read them online.

Anyhow, yes, this has in fact prompted me to start writing another Ghost fic. Nevermind that I have like three in the works already.

[lighthouseas]

imo simon would've been completely justified in ending things with wille before episode 5, but he didn't. he tolerated how he was being treated both on and offline, with wille just brushing off how much he was hurting - because, unlike previous seasons, simon really didn't get mad at him. ("just don't reply to the comments!" doesn't work when simon still has to see all of them DAILY) im gonna be so honest here, i was rooting for simon to snap at wille (i know he kinda did with the sit-in, but i don't really count that because he eventually came back and sat with him), but like....when he didn't. when he still, after all of that, after wille flew into a rage and yelled at his parents in front of him, he didn't yell or get angry with wille. he just softly said "this isn't going to work". i think that is ultimately More heartbreaking than if he'd gotten mad - he still loves wille. he knows wille is hurting. but he's hurting too, and he's realized (or just thinks) that there's nothing left to do. he gives up.

[natelia-aldelliz]

Guys... Listen I know I said I'd draw something for valentine's day but I had a bit of a rough week sooooo I'm just going to write it out instead, maybe I'll finish drawing it some day, maybe not. It's behind a show more because it's long.

(also there's talks about having sex but no actual sex, and like, general warnings about Ghost's backstory but it's very vague here).

Soap was hanging around outside, trying to bring himself to do something, anything. But the weather was nice for a February day, and the sun was out, and it was making him feel like a cat basking in the heat.

An arm wrapped itself around his shoulders, a huge body suddenly weighing on him. Ghost.

Soap hummed comfortably. This day was getting better by the minute. Any chill he might have felt from being outside in a tank top out of pure Scottish spite was instantly soothed.

Simon often times saw himself as a cold man, freezing to the touch, hidden behind a layer of ice. A proper little Elsa, Soap almost snorted out loud. The truth was that while yes, his fingers and toes' temperature was sometimes abysmal, especially in bed, the rest of him was the warmest place Johnny had ever been.

"I've got something for you in our room," Ghost whispered against his throat, making Soap shiver.

Simon had begun calling Soap's room theirs a few weeks ago and Johnny couldn't have enough of it. He was so in love it genuinely hurt sometimes to restrain himself from squeezing him to death.

"Is that so?" he purrs, knowing how Ghost likes that. If this day didn't end in sex he'd be very surprised. He'd long learned to recognize when Simon wanted sex and when he didn't, and the way he squeezed his pec in response to his voice was a very easy tell.

But then again Simon was way less subtle than he thought he was.

They made their way back to their room, and there it was, a repurposed shoebox, badly wrapped with cheap wrapping paper. Johnny couldn't be more excited, he had never received any gift from a significant other. To be fair he adored gifting but always felt awkward receiving.

But this was Simon. Something that Simon had chosen to give him.

He sat on the bed, leaving enough space behind him for Ghost to sit there so he could use him as a very comfortable backrest. When he did, he grabbed the gift and began opening it.

He knew that Ghost liked to tear the wrapping paper, liked the sound of it and liked tearing it into the smallest pieces possible after, but he himself loved carefully unwrapping it and folding it flat so he could later maybe do an origami with it or put a piece in his journal. Probably both.

This one was full of tape but he still very much enjoyed himself, considered it a challenge. He enjoyed the chase, wanted to drag it on. Ghost huffed impatiently behind him, a bit tense, probably nervous.

Inside the box was a weird old fashioned clunky thing. It was bright red, looked slightly like binoculars, definitely from the 70's, with a wheel of tiny pictures wedged in the top of it. Memories hit him all at once.

"Oh my god ah remember, my Ma had one of these when ah was a child! My sister and I loved it, it had pretty landscapes in!"

He put it against his eyes, excited to see what this one came with. At his biggest surprise, it was a picture of them. Simon had customised it.

The picture showed the back of himself a bit further away from the camera, pointing at something while in full gear, in a dilapidated town, Ghost's face in the foreground looking at the camera. It looked like Soap was talking to someone, but that person was cut by the framing.

"Wait, ah remember that mission, it's when ah saved Gaz from a landmine just to be shot seconds later," he laughed. "ah spent two fucking weeks in the hospital, ah was miserable. Ye kept joking ah should hiv left Gaz explode while staring at him, he was convinced ye actually wanted him dead!"

Then the next picture was indeed him in his hospital bed, unconscious but the state of his injuries told him he was probably just sleeping at least a few days after his admission, his life no longer in danger. In this one, Ghost was sleeping too, head in his elbow near Soap's head and his other hand holding Soap's hand.

"Who took this one?" Soap asked, moved by the tenderness of Ghost's hold on him in the picture. It would have been right after Johnny had admitted to maybe liking him more than friends, before they were officially dating.

"The hospital one?"

Soap hummed.

"Price did. Said it was for blackmail. Should have seen him, he looked like his child had just married the person of their dreams and had ridden off into a rainbow on a unicorn or some shit. Old man's sentimental as fuck, but I didn't call him on his bullshit, he's already old, that's punishment enough."

Soap giggled in response. The next few pictures were all of them together but each time he was either turning his back or asleep.

"Why the fuck am ah never looking at the camera?" he whined. He wanted some cute couple pictures, dammit!

"Couldn't have you suspecting what I was planning," Simon said, kissing his shoulder soothingly. Only then Soap noticed that he had taken his mask off at some point and turned to ask for a proper kiss, which he immediately got.

"Keep going, there's more pictures," Simon whispered against his lips when he tried to turn around to kiss him some more. His pouting only got him a smirk in response, so he got comfortable again and brought the slide viewer back against his eyes.

He was happy he did. The next picture waiting for him was just Simon in the mirror, almost in full gear, but with one gloveless hand dragging his trousers down so the camera could see the bottom of his stomach, follow along his happy trail and reaching the very top of his pubic hair. The picture cut of his head, but he could see that his mouth was uncovered and he was holding the glove with his teeth.

Soap groaned. "Steaming Jesus, love, you're so hot."

He felt Simon hide his face in the back of his neck, warmer than usual, and chuckled a bit. He loved him so fucking much.

There were four more pictures of Simon, in various suggestive poses and states of undress, some almost showing his cock but never quite committing, making Johnny feel like he was being teased.

He was getting hard though and so ready to be done with the pictures and access the real thing. But Simon was still tense behind him. In fact, he had only gotten tenser and tenser with each click.

Soap was unsure why. They never had a problem with their sexual life, Simon had already changed his mind about having sex after starting and Soap had absolutely no problem with that, was glad to hug him instead and reassure him when he had tried to apologize.

Simon knew that there was no pressure, ever, to have sex. Hell, Johnny would still be happy even if Simon decided that he never wanted to have sex again, and he had made sure to make Simon understand that.

Then he got to the last picture and immediately understood.

It wasn't a picture of either of them, just a little bit of paper, with a few words written in Ghost's awful handwriting.

Just a few words that made Johnny drop the viewer on the covers and turn around to grab Simon's face, worriedly looking in his eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking for any trace of Simon forcing himself. "Baby, ah'm happy to bottom for the rest of mah life, there's no pressure, okay?"

Simon looked at him with warmth in his eyes and his cheeks completely red, a wrapping bow added on top of his head. "I know," he said simply. "I just want to. I don't want to be haunted by memories anymore. I used to like it, and I want to like it again. With you. Just.... Be gentle, okay?"

Johnny kissed his forehead. "Ah dinnae think ah ken how no tae be gentle with ye, love."

[yellobb]

Ended up calling 988 last night. Talked with them for half an hour and it kind of helped, but only temporarily.

I’m still kicking, but barely. I know I need to take my medication but I don’t care enough to. It’s just not worth the effort, even though it’s within arms reach.

I missed a meeting with my manager at work. Today is one of the few days I need to be in person and I’m not there because I just…. Can’t make myself move.

I want to call someone and just have them talk to me because I don’t think I can speak. I want someone to force me to take my meds and go sit outside for a moment so that I can get the fresh air and stop rotting in my bed. Maybe that would be enough to force me to get dressed and go to work. Maybe it would heal me, just a little bit.

But I don’t have anyone I can call. My sister is in class. My mom is at work and I know she’d start watching me more closely again. My grandma has already probably noticed that my location hasn’t changed, but it would just be easier to lie to her and say I worked from home today than deal with the lecture. I haven’t actually talked to any of my friends, irl or online, in ages, either. Not in the way friends should, because I’m too self-absorbed to check in with the people I love.

I’m sorry y’all have to keep seeing me post about my bullshit. I know it’s selfish, especially when I haven’t reached out to anyone one-on-one in so long. I haven’t even made anything since inktober ended, so I can’t even offer something vaguely worthwhile.

I know people care, logically. But emotionally it feels like no one does. And I’d deserve it if no one did. I’ve been a leech for years. Even before the depression, I was too busy to be a good friend. I’ve been selfish for years. I think the only time I was worth something was back when I was in early elementary school. At least back then I was happy and energetic and earnest and kind.

I don’t know where that version of Macey went. I wish y’all had gotten to meet her, because she’s the version of me y’all actually deserve. Not this absolute wreck I’ve become.

[filmfactors]

Thoughts on the fionna and cake series?

An overall decent series with a botched ending. Maybe it was inevitable the result would be unsatisfying no matter what, given the story line they chose has existed for years to be speculated on.

Unsurprisingly I think the ending is pretty rushed, altogether a little unsatisfying. Fionna and Cake felt majorly shafted, Gary and Marshal's story line felt pretty unimportant in the grand scheme of things, Scarab and Prismo feel sidelined, then there's Simon and Betty...

As someone who's been intrigued with them ever since I watched Holly Jolly Secrets as a child, well, all I can say after years of their relationship development and hoping for more...I'm very let down. It didn't feel like the actual, proper conclusion to the Betty and Simon we got to know in the original series. Nor did it feel like it expanded upon the characters at all? Same as it ever was, except worse this time.

I think the only way it could've been fixed was actually letting the show and it's characters breath, like Adventure Time had been allowed to. 20+ episode or least maybe even 15? But in this day and age of streaming, I guess 10 is the most we can hope for.

I also think they should've reevaluated what the problem with Simon and Betty was, and that it was not purely Betty's obsessive nature or Simon somehow being selfish despite that only being a trait they introduced in this series. It was both of their obsessive natures, their codependency, and outside forces that brought forth their ruin...

[kraviolis]

i now hold personal beef with two nopixel characters and thats tj walker and jeffy coldiron. jeffy has done nowhere near as heinous shit as tj but hes a punk bitch who is always hoes before bros despite him being best friends with two of the kindest and most selfless people in all of los santos and i hate him for it

[yelloworangesoda]

saw a post i dont disagree with and its definitely my own self esteem and relationship to social media, but the reason likes dont feel like anything compared to reblogs on here is because it feels like they dont want anyone else to see it. this is the reblog site after all, and its not when i notice people who barely reblog art liking my post that makes me feel like ive done something wrong but people who DO but dont like mine enough.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

“Too fucked out to reply, sweetheart?” Simon teased, nipping at the skin at the base of your throat. “Nothin’ else you want to yell at me for?”

You let out a groan in reply, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you held onto Simon’s shoulders for dear life as he fucked up into you. “F-fuck you, Si.”

“I’m trying, love.” Simon nipped again at your throat, eliciting a yelp from you. “You come home all mad from your bad day, and take it out on me, huh? What did I do to deserve the attitude, sweet girl?”

“N-Nothing!” You panted breathlessly as Simon continued to ruthlessly pound into you, his cock hitting spots within you that you didn’t even know existed.

“That right?” Simon threw you a smirk, before stalling his hips completely, his cock resting motionless inside of you. “You just needed someone to take your bad mood out on?”

“‘M sorry, Simon.” You moaned, squirming underneath your boyfriend in hopes he’ll start moving again. “Please.”

“Nuh uh, you’ve been bratty. You want to be fucked? You gotta do the work yourself.” Simon flipped the two of you over, smirking as you now sat perched on top of him. “Go on then, use my cock to make you feel better.”

You pursed your lips together in frustration, your nails digging into Simon’s chest as you lifted yourself off his length, before sinking yourself back down onto it. The stretch of him inside of you never failed to make your mouth water. “Oh my god, Simon.”

Your nails began to leave crescents across your lovers chest, marks Simon would be sure to flaunt later. You set a steady pace, the only thing mattering in that moment being your inevitable orgasm.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.” Simon praised, his eyes locked onto the divine sight of you fucking yourself on his cock. “Keep using me, go on. Make yourself cum.”

As Simon’s fingers squeezed at your hips, and his low grunts and groans filled the room you felt yourself growing closer to your high. His cock was sinking deep within you, causing your mind to run blank.

And with Simon’s sweet praises falling from his lips as you came undone on top of him, the entirety of your shitty day was long forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: excuse the double post- been in a bit of a writing frenzy.

Planning on taking a break for a little while soon, wanted to thank everyone again for the support💕

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction To You Being Their Controversially Young Girlfriend

Warnings: Implied Smut, Legal Age Gap, Age Gap Relationships, Daddy Kink, Older Man/Younger Woman, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Possessive MW2, Degradation, Mention of Corruption, Mentions of Innocence, Mentions of Naivety, Praise Kink (M Giving), Implied Choking Kink, Angry Sex, Groping, Brat Taming, Man Handling/Woman Handling, Dumbification Kink, Gentle MW2, Rough MW2, Self-Consciousness, Mentions of Blood/Injury, Insecurity, Profanity, Pet Names, Fem Pronouns Used For Reader.

Ghost

Pretends he doesn’t care about the age gap, but he secretly does.

You’d never know it, but he worries that he’s roping you into a relationship – a long-term one at that – when you should be out, meeting guys, gaining life experience.

He also fears that, in some way, he’s corrupting you, that his selfish desire to keep you close to him will lead to you being targeted or you eventually resenting him.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him otherwise, he’s still going to worry about you.

There are a few ways you can put his mind at ease, though. Namely of the bedroom variety.

More on this later 👀.

He spoils you silly, absolutely rotten. Anything that catches that pretty little eye of yours and he’s already got it gift wrapped. He feels it’s the least he can do after you’ve shown  him that life isn’t just an endless cycle of suffering – an infinitum of anguish – that he does deserve happiness and a chance at love.

Very gentle during sex. Unless you ask him not to be.

Expect a lot of praise in bed.

Many a night have you found yourself pinned under Simon, his mouth to your ear as he pants, moaning, telling you how you’re “Such a good girl, taking me so well,” while he fills you with long, languid strokes.

Other times, he’s not so gentle.

Oftentimes, usually as a result of purposefully making Ghost jealous, have you been pinned against a hard surface – one of convenience rather than comfort – with Simon at your back, the tent in his pants catching you.

His voice is deep, husking and carnal as he reminds you who you belong to.

“Like having your pretty little cunt ravaged by an older man, don’t you, Love.”

He’s very protective of you.

He sometimes construes your young age as innocence, naivete. Hence, he never lets you out of his sight when you’re out together.

Scary dog privileges.

Absolutely feral, down bad for you: you only have to do or say the most minimal of things to make him melt, to become a slave to his adoration for you.

That being said, he’s paranoid that one day you’ll see him as he views himself and leave him for someone better – someone you deserve. Someone younger.

He’s damaged goods, you still have your whole life to live. And yet you stay with him, promise him that he’s the only man you’ll ever love.

As stated earlier, Simon can be persuaded of your dedication to him via special, particular means.

However, if you play into his insecurities, even to get a rise out of him, he’ll pounce on you, grab your wrists and pin you to a wall, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

And, beneath dark lashes and darker eyes, he makes a promise to you.

“Oh, you think a younger lover can pleasure you like I can?” he says, his head tilting. “Don’t you worry, Darling. I’ll fuck that idea outta that pretty little head of yours until the only thing rattling around in there is me.”

König

Somewhat insecure in your relationship. Especially when he gets disapproving glances and glares from passers-by when they note the very obvious age difference between the two of you.

But, his love for you can overcome any measure of anguish, social or otherwise.

He’s the gentlest giant you could ever hope to meet, both in and out of bed.

When he feels like it.

He treats you like you’re innocent and pure, shielding your eyes from graphic scenes on TV and gruesome stories in the newspaper.

Sometimes he has to remind himself that you’re a fully-grown woman, even if you are younger than him.

You send him absolutely feral whenever you wear his clothes btw.

Seeing as any one of his shirts could be your nightdress, he calls you his “Minnie Maus”, and treats you as such.

Pls sit on his lap, he’ll only be able to die happy once you do.

He fears judgement from others whenever you enact PDA, so to make up for his lack of willing to be physical with you in public, there isn’t a moment where you’re without him at home.

Extended periods of time in your presence tend to send him a bit…funny.

A little bit silly.

And by silly, I mean there’s a single thread of humanity keeping him from tearing your clothes off at any given second.

Especially if he’s seen a younger guy looking at you earlier in the day.

One of the few times he’ll get physical with you in public is whenever he catches someone looking at you with a glaze over their eyes he knows all too well.

He approaches you from behind, slipping a pythonic arm about your waist and pulling you into him.

Only now does your admirer look away, leave the premises entirely, once they catch sight of König’s gargantuan proportions and the rabid look in his eye.

Once you get home, he’s on you before you can even shut the door.

It’s times like these that König doesn’t feel insecure about the age gap between you.

Because he knows, no matter how little you’re willing to admit it, that nobody will ever be able to make you scream and cry and tremble like he can.

“Did you like that boy’s attention earlier, Maus?” he says, his eyes cattish and voice serpentine. He bears down on you, his hand about your throat as the other travels under your skirt.

“Is my love not enough? Are my affections wasted on you?”

His eyes glint in the dim light of the bedroom. His teeth look sharper – primal – in the low glow of the bedside lamp.

��No matter. I’ll make you remember how much you need me,” he presses into you. The bulge between his legs feels far too big for you to take.

“Inch by bloody inch.”

Valeria

You’re her little Angel, her Goddess, the light of her life and her reason for living.

That does not exempt you from her teasing, however.

Sexual or otherwise.

She’s particularly fond of randomly grabbing your backside when she’s walking past, or smacking it so hard that you yelp and she’s grinning from ear to ear.

Even if you use your puppy-dog eyes on her, disobedience is not accepted under her roof.

In fact, trying to wriggle out of any punishment she has planned is enough to make her grab you and pin you to a wall, her grip unrelenting as she sucks and bites your neck, leaving harsh red marks and a sense of helplessness as she does what she pleases with you.

“Don’t go fucking around behind my back again, Chiquita,” she tells you, her nose touching yours and her eyes black. She brings her knee between your legs, pressing into you.

“Or next time I won’t just stop at your throat.”

She loves dressing you up in the finest clothing money (and a ghastly reputation) can buy.

She thrives on having you hanging off her arm like a dog on a leash; she gets to show you off to her subordinates and business partners who know they’ll never even have the thought of having a chance with you entertained.

Valeria’s mood can fluctuate in bed.

Sometimes, she treats you like a common whore she found on the street, fucking every ounce of rage, hate and venom into you until some part of you’s left bleeding as Valeria’s panting on top of you, her lips to your cheeks as she kisses your tears away with a whiplash-inducing gentleness she seemed incapable of minutes ago.

Most of the time, she’s loving and kind, putting your needs above her own.

Sure, she still teases you, makes you work for her love and dedication, but you know she’d do anything for you.

You can tell in her tone as she tells you of how she would “Scorch the earth if only to find a fragment of you in the wreckage.”

You disappearing or being taken from her is her biggest fear, and at night she holds you tightly against her chest, your buffer against the world she would sooner see in flames than relinquish you to.

Price

He’s so father-coded fr.

He calls you his little girl, his Princess, Love, Darling, Dollie — anything that highlights your fragile nature.

Shows you off to his friends just so he can show them what they’re missing. He adores the feeling of you curling further into him under the eyes of his task force, the look in their eyes relating something savage, primal, as they look at your bare thighs – the pinnacle of which shadowed by John’s shirt – and watch something they can never have, never touch.

John hides his insecurity well, but he does secretly worry about the age gap.

Especially when he watches younger men looking at you in ways he does.

The difference being that, while they offered you the world and would give you nothing, you are John’s world.

When you can tell John’s feeling worried, comforting him is a surprisingly easy task.

A kiss to the temple and the promise that he’s the only man for you is usually enough to put his mind at ease and make his face break out into a smile.

On the rare occasion it isn’t, however, alternative methods are at your disposal.

E.g. screaming John’s name into the night as your nails drag down the expanse of his back, bodies scorching as he brings you to tears with his touch and his unrelenting pace.

He will absolutely hold his rank/age over you when he’s like this, no longer a point of contention or shame for him as he tells you he’s the “Only one who can make you whimper like a fuckin’ dog,”

“Such a good girl for me, my good little cocksleeve,” he rasps in your ear as he bounces you on top of him, his hands about your waist, preventing you from fleeing or falling off.

“God, you’re so beautiful — so— fuck— gorgeous.” He’s panting, gasping, growling.

“And all mine.”

Horangi

You’re the only thing that matters to him.

At this point, he only remains as a military contractor to ensure that he can keep you in the style to which you are accustomed.

Calls you 자기야 (Jagiya – Honey, Darling).

His favourite thing to do is sit you between his legs and wrap around you like armour.

In case you couldn’t tell, he’s highly protective of you.

You can make him do absolutely anything — he’s at your beck and call.

You can get him to buy you anything if you give him what he likes to call ‘kitten eyes’ eyes.

Even if you’re being a brat, he remains calm and treats you like his little angel, his sweetpea.

Unless you push him too far.

At which point, he won’t hesitate to tame you if you try your luck.

He’ll have you bent over his lap, holding you down with his forearm as he turns your thighs and backside red-raw with the slap of his belt.

“Don’t start crying now, 자기 — you brought this on yourself.”

He never fails in the aftercare department, though.

Always filling your head with words of affirmation as he bathes you, carrying you to bed and tending to your skin with soothing creams and soft touches.

Hong-jin goes super feral crazy when you call him 오빠.

A common honorific used towards any man older than the person using it.

Even if you don’t understand the implications of it, Hong-jin does. And yes, it does tend to make him a bit silly.

Silly enough to know that he’s not going to last long and needs to get home ASAP to deal with…something.

Which he also makes your problem, pressing messy, desperate kisses to your lips as he tries to get his shirt off, your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat skyrocketing.

“I need you, (Y/N),” he says, breathless, almost growling. Yet, his eyes are wide, pleading. A doe-eyed prince with the aura of a wolf king. “And I’ll have every inch of you.”

Alejandro

Pre-established passionate lover.

One who is fiercely protective over you.

If anyone — and I mean anyone — catcalls you, makes passes at you, or even looks at you in the wrong way, Alejandro makes sure to enact righteous fury upon them.

He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re 110% satisfied, regardless of context.

You want a new wardrobe ? It’s done. A new car ? All yours. You need Alejandro now and it can’t wait ? Why, how can he say no when you whine like that, when you tug at his sleeve and tuck your head against his shoulder.

He calls you “mi Princesa” and makes sure everybody knows you’re his and he’s yours.

A thorough lover is how you might describe him.

Especially after he’s so willing to bend you against the nearest surface to get you off, no matter the time of day.

You can bring him to his knees with just a look. Turn him from the most respected soldier in his department into a feral wolf.

Which, if you play your cards right, can end very well for both of you.

Alejandro likes to play a game whenever you’re riding him.

He grabs you by your hips and anchors you on top of him.

“Let’s see how long you can hold on for, mi Corazón,” he says, flashing you a sultry smile before he’s bucking into you at the pace of a mechanical rodeo horse at full speed.

“Holding on” can mean anything from not being pounded off Ale’s hips to staving off your orgasm for as long as you can.

Failure to do either is when you see Alejandro at his most wicked. When he’s all teeth, a shark’s grin, his eyes dark and his voice low as he tells you that he needs to “Train your endurance. How else are you going to take me again, hm?”

Needless to say, you’ll be lucky to be able to get out of bed the next day.

Rodolfo

His heart beats only for you. And as a result, he treats you like royalty.

As he should.

You want it ? You got it. 

In abundance.

You have the best of everything and Rudy loves nothing more than seeing your face light up when you receive one of his many gifts.

That, and having you sat on his lap, raking your fingers through his hair as he tells you about his day.

He omits the more gruesome details, fearing he’ll taint you with the blood on his hands if he doesn’t.

Speaking of lap-sitting, it’s your one-way ticket to an eventful afternoon with Rudy.

Cockwarming is his go-to, your legs wrapped about his waist as he fills out reams of paperwork, pressing kisses to your shoulder and telling you “What a good girl you’re being, mi amor,”

Be prepared for a tidal wave of praise for doing the bare minimum.

It doesn’t matter if Rudy’s topping or bottoming, he’s going to let you know how you’re making him feel, how nobody will ever ensnare him like you do.

“I love you,” he rasps, eyes half-lidded and skin glistening with sweat as you take him.

“I love you, I love you so much–” He growls, back arching into you as you catch a sensitive area. His chest is heaving and his eyes are dark.

“I’ll never let anyone else have you.”

Graves

This guy was made to have a controversially young girlfriend.

Calls you “Babydoll”, “Babygirl”, “Little Lady”, etc.

He unironically refers to himself as “Daddy”.

E.g. “You were eyein’n up that necklace for a while, Darlin’…” His hand slips to the crotch of his jeans, rocking his bulge into his palm.

“Maybe if you ask Daddy real nicely, he’ll get it for you.”

He’s actually very caring. He’d buy you the world if it meant seeing you smile.

He never expects anything from you in return.

He just can’t pass up the opportunity to have you in his arms, to touch you.

Graves can tend to go overboard with the gifts, though.

Calls you “young thing” when he’s feeling humourous.

On the flip-side, he can (and will) use your age gap against you. Like Price, but more Southern.

He’ll be very condescending when he’s mad, tending to use terms that undermine how intelligent and capable you really are.

“If you’d just listened to me and gotten it through your tiny head that I’m doing what’s best for you, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

On the flip-flip-side, he uses your age gap as a jumping-off point into…dubious activities.

#1 dumbification kink enjoyer.

He’s a switch with top lean, what can I say.

“Can’t do anything without me, can you, Sweetheart.” It’s not a question. His eyes are too serious, too stern, for it to be. He’s  pounding into you, hands either side of your head, caging you beneath him.

Between his panting, he presses a wet, uncoordinated kiss to your lips.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even think without me by the time I’m done with you.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

[midnightarcheress]

stress-relief

husband!Simon helping his wife!reader with her stress <3 cw: nsfw. mdni. fem reader, masturbation, squirting, a lil overstim.

you shuffle through the bag to find the keys to your home, only to drop it the minute you raise it to unlock the door. great. it’s one of those days where everything goes wrong, and you want nothing more than to shut out the world and curl up in bed, silently praying for the next one to be better. 

you pick up the keys from the doormat and swing open the door of your flat, hoping that the familiar scent flooding your lungs will help you ground yourself back to a more serene state. tossing your coat and bag aside, your gaze falls on the tall man quietly reading on the sofa, sweetly mouthing a “welcome back, love.” that you dismiss with a grunt, stomping your way to the bedroom.

‘uh-oh.’ Simon thinks, siren already buzzing and red light blinking in his brain, making him pull up to his feet at god-speed and quickly follow you to your shared room, being met with your clothes scattered around and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. he promptly puts away your discarded attire and sits on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for you.

you stay in the shower for some good thirty minutes, allowing the water to wash away your stress as you massage your scalp. the weight finally falls from your shoulders and flows down the drain, leaving you alone with the tiredness that’s been brewing in your tense muscles since you stepped out of the house. with a long, weary sigh, you drape the towel around your body and walk out the bathroom, tiny droplets cascading from your hair to your chest, descending on the swell of your breasts and stirring your husband’s cock in his pants.

“gonna tell me wha’ got you so cranky, dove?” he asks with the slightest of teasing, knowing he’s staggering on the thin line of your temper.

“‘m sorry, jus’ a hard day.” you mutter sheepishly, turning to get some well-deserving comfy clothes on the dresser

“c’mere,” you barely have time to react before Simon pulls you by the wrist onto the bed, positioning your body between his legs as he rests on the headboard, “talk to me, lovie.”

his hands brush your arms delicately, fingers running up and down your skin as you start addressing the misfortunes of your day. how a jerk cut you off in traffic, how a client screamed at you on the phone after you explained it wasn’t possible to fulfill his request, how your long awaited sweet treat after lunch fell straight to the floor, how your mother called just to raise hell at you for not visiting enough, how your boss scolded you for a mistake that wasn’t even your fault.

“hm, she said tha’?” he murmurs, massaging the knots on your shoulders and slowly drifting his hands downwards, opening up the lightly damp towel that’s clinging to your frame as you ramble. his rough, calloused skin finds its way to your soft tits, gently kneading the fat while his lips plant small kisses all over your neck.

“i swear that woman’s out to get me, don't know how i haven’t been fired yet.”

“she knows tha’ place would fall apart without ya, doll. you’re the only one with a brain there,” he coos sweetly in your ear, fingers traveling down your stomach and reaching your mound, making your breath hitch in your throat. Simon smirks at your reaction, feeling your head tipping back to rest on his shoulder and your still wet hair soaking his shirt, “let me help you decompress, eh?”

you, too tired to resist the offer, let him spread your legs with ease, compliant to the touch of your loving husband. his middle finger smears the hasty arousal leaking from your cunt through your slit, softly caressing your folds as you melt into his arms. “so wet f’me, love.” he chuckles, slightly rubbing your clit as you hum.

his moves are tame, gradually pooling the warmth in your belly, taking his time to shape your tension until it’s the right moment to set you free. his finger toys with your entrance before sliding in, feeling the familiar walls of your cunt clenching around it, causing you to breathe heavily at just the beginning.

“you like tha’?” he whispers, introducing another finger on your tight hole as you turn to bury your face on his neck, mewling with pleasure and pain while he stretches you, digits hitting all the right spots. by the time he speeds up the thrusting, your moans are erratic, gasped, barely leaving your throat as you grasp his forearm in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, even with your brain reaching the fucked-out point by a simple touch.

his thumb lazily strokes your swollen nub as he continues to be knuckles-deep inside of your velvety walls, curling his fingers just enough to earn a squeal out of you. the coil on your lower stomach tightens, fibers threatening to snap at any second as Simon murmurs sugary praises in your ears whilst nipping the skin where your neck meets your shoulder, the love bite’s stings only intensifying the pleasure coursing through your bloodstream.

“Simon, ’m gonna-” you don’t even have the energy to complete your sentence before your juices flood on his hand, the god’s nectar gushing from your pussy and dripping from his wrist onto the long forgotten towel, as he bullies your clit to overstimulation. you cry out his name like a prayer, begging whatever higher power out in the universe to let you keep that sensation forever.

“looks like someone really needed tha’,” he laughs and you feel the deep rumbling from his chest on your naked back, only driving you closer to the edge as your legs convulse at the overwhelming thrill of your nervous system. your frantic moans echo in the room when Simon raises his free hand to your nipple, rolling the hardened tip between his thumb and index, painting twinkling stars in the ceiling, the scintillation being too much to keep your vision clear. “think ya got another one f’me, princess?” 

he doesn’t wait for your answer; he knows how to treat his precious wife and can cite by heart the prescription to get you to sleep better than any pill would. tears prickle in the corner of your eyes when he starts again, just barely giving you time to recover from the near out-of-body experience. 

his new rhythm is harsh, pulling your thighs - fully covered in slick and arousal - over his to keep you spread open, and fiercely pounding two digits inside you. you squirm and press yourself harder against his broad chest, babbling incoherently as he pumps his thick and scarred fingers somehow even deeper than before. 

“Si, ‘s too much, i can’t-” you choke out, streams rolling down your cheeks as he builds another orgasm out of you. half-lidded eyes meet his hazel irises in a lustful gaze, pleading in agony for another release before your body gives out.

it doesn’t take much before a jolt of electricity tingle beneath your skin and makes you cum, getting you blissfully drunk by finger-fucking only while your peak ripple through your core. your hands sternly grip on the sheets under your limp body, the frenzy running its way through every corner of your being, clouding your vision and leaving you in a divine peaceful haze.

your limbs twitch slightly as you come down from your high, Simon holding you tight in his burly arms and pressing kisses on your pretty face. “you did so good, lovie,” he praises, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your belly, “could’ve given ya s’much more but your eyes are so droopy already,” his quiet laugh almost lull you to sleep right there and then, “feeling better?”

you nod, eyes tempting to close as the fatigue washes over you, weariness creeping up your mind after a hell of a day and a celestial end to it. “thank you, Si.” you mumble with nothing but affection in your voice, utterly elated by the sight of your devoted husband cradling you. 

“anything for ya, my wife.”

just a little something i thought of while procrastinating my other works lol

[alwaysshallow]

you need to be careful what you say to ghost.

no matter if you're in a talking stage, dating, situationship, if this man cares about you, absolutely do not say that you wish you could kill someone.

not debatable. you just shouldn't say that; as anyone else would laugh it off, he weirdly... starts to question you. not the usual questions how was your day, what happened etc.

"and what would you do to him?" he asks, while massaging your back. "choke him? stab him in the back, make people watch?"

"he just deserves to be out of my life, out of this job. i wish he wouldn't bother anyone again, i wish everyone just could forget him," you say—almost mindlessly, as ghost makes you feel relieved. not actually caring anymore, as it's another day of your annoying coworker.

simon just hums at that.

the next day, your coworker... he's gone. days, then weeks of not seeing him; no one actually knows where he is, he just wrote an email to your boss about moving on and taking new opportunities.

"it's just weird." you shrug, looking at simon's reaction; he's cooking dinner now, seeming completely unfazed by your revelation at work.

"probably found a better life," he says.

probably he did.

[callmemickey]

Simon Riley fucks intensely and passionately. He doesn’t grab your hair, or spit on your face, or cause you physical pain - my man’s has openly admitted to dealing with violent thoughts/dreams against women and wanting to be better. He might get rough if he’s stressed or angry, but he won’t be, like, throat fucking you for example. Sorry. I just can’t see it. He can be fast, but I don’t think he’s gonna be hardcore or degrading. I think if he gets the mask on, he miiiight be a little more… forthcoming.

Simon Riley finds sex to be the highest level of trust, love, and vulnerability. Don’t expect him to be a quick or easy lay. If he wants you intimately, this is the biggest honor you would ever receive from him. Maybe before he was tortured he would’ve been quicker to engage, but the Simon we know now? Yeah, you gotta work.

Simon Riley… ohhhhh he’s always asking you: “is that alright, love?” “that feel good?” “ahhhh, yeah, you’re a good girl, aren’tcha?” If you’re not feeling it, he’s not feeling it. he wants to make sure you’re into it 100%. the moment you grunt, wince, or groan in pain, he’s stopping to check up on his lovie. he just radiates Soft Dom energy to me (and I want him so bad). Simon loves to see you get all flustered, too. When you beg for him (and you’re a good girl) he will give you anything and everything you want.

Simon Riley being a Soft Dom… mmm, delicious. I love to imagine him praising and worshipping: “ahh fuck, i’ve missed my girl’s pussy” “so proud of you, taking my cock so well” “you want to be a good girl for me, don’tcha?” “you’re so beautiful when you struggle to fit me” if you’re engaged with him romantically, you’re his everything - man’s invested his entire soul and well-being into you. With that being said, throw him some praise, too! He’ll melt and become putty in your hands; he’ll do anything for you. Tell him how you were made for his cock, that nobody else makes you feel like he does, how you’re sooo good - but only for him. He’s definitely possessive of you - not in a red flag kind of way, but when you talk about how you’re his and only his… whew.

Simon Riley wants to see your face when you two are having sex. Anything missionary, missionary adjacent, cowgirl, it doesn’t matter, just let this man look at you! He doesn’t crave it, he needs it. Eye contact is so intimate, and if you’re shy and can’t maintain it? Ohhh, he’s gonna have fun. “eyes here, love” “don’t cover your face/close your eyes - i want to watch you cum” “you were just begging for my cock, don’t get all shy now” “be a good girl and look at me” he’s either coming inside or on your tummy/chest. preferably? inside.

Simon Riley prefers having a good session as opposed to a quickie. He likes doing things in the privacy of your shared home (because then you can be loud and cry his name as you cum on his cock for the 4th time 🤭). Sometimes, he’ll be desperate though, and this is when he gets a lil impatient. Like this one time, he went with you to your family’s Christmas party while being on leave for only a week, and he needed you. That man took you in the bathroom and railed you so hard you couldn’t leave for 15 minutes until you could stand without shaking (also not me writing this rn).

Simon Riley, upon specific request, will wear the mask in bed. Honestly, don’t expect this for a while, however. The mask serves as his identity - his separation from you. This will take a lot of courage on his behalf as you’re wanting to bring in something containing his countless sins and crimes into such an intimate situation. Like I said!!! It takes a while to get him this comfortable. Try to rush the process and you’re missing out on some pretty intense and animalistic fucking. It’s a rare time you can expect a more vicious kind of dirty talk from him: “fuckin’ hell, you like being a dirty little slut, huh?” “that pretty little face of yours deserves to be fucked” “your pussy was made for me” “shut up and keep taking it like a good girl should” “ahh, begging for my cock like the needy little slut you are”

Simon Riley loves aftercare, and he makes sure you feel loved during that time. Sweet Angel, we don’t deserve him. Massages, baths, checking on you emotionally and mentally, he’ll make you dinner, put on your favorite movie, and relax with you while he showers you with unconditional love and adoration. He’s obsessed with you. Get over it.

[suguann]

There comes a point where Simon finally admits that he hates your new boyfriend—not that he’s liked any of your past relationships over the years, but this one he’s more vocal about—with a name not worth remembering. Matt? Martin?

He’d stopped trying after his first week back from work.

“I don’t fucking trust him,” he says one night while at the pub right under your apartment; it’s become a weekly ritual of sorts when he’s on leave ever since meeting you there on Soap’s birthday several years back. 

“You say that about every guy I have you meet,” you tell him in that know-it-all voice that you always use with him. “You hardly even know him, and his name’s Marcus, by the way. It wouldn’t kill you to use it.”

He snorts. “Love, the bloke would put his cock in anyone with tits and a warm cunt.”

“He wouldn’t,” your voice is soft because maybe you already know.

He would.

You’re so fucking oblivious that you don’t even realize this, but there’s nothing except stars in your eyes whenever you look at (or even talk about) the Naval officer who thinks he’s some bigshot because he can fly a plane. 

Even now, at your boyfriend’s promotion after-party in some back alley nightclub, he’s hardly talked to you or offered to get you a drink. You’re always too nervous to order one by yourself, and only Simon—tall and imposing standing beside you—could have the grumpiest bartender reach for the blender to make a blended cocktail. 

When he comes back with your drink—too big fingers unfolding the tiny umbrella for you—he watches your boyfriend (Marcus) flirt with a girl in a tight leather dress on the other side of the room. It’s that moment that he decides he’s tired of you giving your attention to someone who doesn’t deserve it, tired of you lying belly up for men who only want to sink their teeth into you and leave once they’ve had their fill. 

He likes to think he’s a pretty good friend—opening your eyes to something better is a job he takes rather seriously.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” he says after coming back with your third margarita, a small amount of frothy liquid sloshing over the side when he sets it down in front of you. “It’s okay to want it.”

You bite your lip, eyes dropping down to where he’s patting his thigh. “Just fun?”

“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just fun.”

Let me.

Whether you’re tipsier than he thought or he’s just really persuasive, it’s easy to get you crawling into his lap in the corner of the cracked leather booth. His hands wander the span of your smooth thighs where your short skirt doesn’t reach, and he muffles a groan in your shoulder when you start squirming against the tent in his jeans.

You say his name like a warning when his hands find their way under your skirt, yet you’re biting back a moan and don’t tell him to stop.

Simon undoes his jeans and shifts them down before pushing up the back of your skirt and adjusting your hips to watch the tip of his dick slide between the covered cleft of your ass. Nobody in the room can see what the both of you are doing with your skirt fanning around his lap, but someone could if they were truly looking, and that has him tugging your panties to the side so he can feel you.

"Your boyfriend is too stupid to realize you're sitting here riding my lap. What do you think he'd say if he saw you like this?"

 “W-wait, Simon!” you squeak. “What if he sees—”

He’s almost tempted to roll his eyes at your blind devotion—I’ll deal with it—dealing with it would be him making sure the prick never tries talking to you again.

Then, his fingers, like iron at your hips, jerk you back to impale you on his cock. "Fuck," he says, voice trembling around the edges.

“O-oh! It’s too—ah—too big!”

He wraps a hand around the slender slope of your throat, fingers digging into vulnerable flesh as he pulls you back until his lips are at your ear, nose pressing into the soft skin of your cheek. “Come on, love. I know you can take the whole thing. Right inside this tight cunt.”

Simon thrusts into you shallowly, just the tip going in and out, and you whine, little fingers scrabbling at his wrist—gasping and shivering and bucking in the trap of his arms.

A smirk curls at the edges of his mouth when he finally bottoms out in your hot-wet cunt for your boyfriend to see from the other side of the room. He'd laugh at how his jaw drops, but he can only manage little choked intakes of air at the feel of you wrapped so tightly around him.

“Squeeze my cock for me—fuck, there you go.” He presses a kiss below your ear and reaches down to pet your soaked clit with his thumb. Feels the moment you realize that your boyfriend is watching when you tense up.

“I’ll deal with it,” he says again and again until you’re melting into him, thighs trembling around his. “Promise. I promise…”

I apologize if you see this again! I was trying to edit it, and it wouldn't format right with the gif. You can find part two here.

masterlist

[hxltic]

ghost yellin pt. 2!! (and 2k followers. omg.)

(mention of blood n knives n stuff in here)

pt. 1~~~

It was still early in the morning when your puffy eyes blink open. Despite the mission that had your arrival around 3-ish in the morning, it was still the crack of dawn, which meant the start of your day, mission or not.

The warmth you had longed for encased you, but today, it felt unfamiliar.

You hadn’t forgotten about yesterday (or earlier today). And even though what happened upset you, you’d still wanted him, so you could feel the comfort your father never gave you after an argument. You’d never received a genuine apology from him, just an offer for new shoes or to go to your favorite restaurant that day.

Even in anguish after what he did, you still wanted his touch. Or that may have been what you thought, because now you were peeling his strong arms off you, and creeping to the bedside. You cautiously swing your legs over and slowly step to the door, but even though you were going unbelievably slow, the pain underneath your feet made you wince.

“Wait—”

There’s a gruff voice that your back is turned to, making you jump at the realization he was awake. You had been taught all your life to fight when your fight or flight response flickers, but he noticed how you almost bolted towards your room.

He had been awake the whole time. He’d vouched to himself he wouldn’t close his eyes until your breaths were regular again, but even after they had, he’d barely gotten any sleep. If he had tears left to cry, one would’ve slipped.

Whenever he did fall to the night, in any circumstance, his body physically would prevent him from staying such. He was a light sleeper to another extreme. His body was trained by none other than trauma and instinct. So when he felt you raising his arm, he’d awakened and watched you do everything silently.

He would’ve said something, but he didn’t know what. An apology would sound fake in this situation.

Ghost was a hands-on man, so he moved. His large body flipped the covers off him and hastily brought itself to you.

The last time you’d let him get close, he screamed in your face. You took an involuntary step back, but had you thought about it you probably would’ve taken it anyway. His quick steps pause.

He gazes into your frozen eyes, glistening and pretty even in upset, but underneath carrying fear and shock.

Seeing him, one side of you wanted to apologize for not taking your job seriously, even though you did, or say you were sorry for the other things he mentioned. And you may have when you were 13, but you were a strong woman that built off men’s bullshit over the years, so you hold your ground.

He shrunk himself and moved effectively before you. No unnecessary movements.

“Please. Wait.”

You could tell he was trying to make his voice soft, but the octave and accent just did not allow it. He was trying though.

Do you book it, or stay?

You stay, to hear him. He recognizes your stance as one specifically military-taught, ready to move.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you. I should’ve been better,” he started. You’d come to realize even with small issues, he was an okay apologizer. “I’m sorry. You’re the last person who deserved that.”

He inspected the way you heard him but just stood there awkwardly. You were never awkward around him. In fact, he was the awkward one.

His heart dropped at how visibly uncomfortable you looked. He wanted to touch you—to take all your problems away, but it wouldn’t work this time. Not when he was the problem.

Ghost was the type of person to do anything for you, anything to get you back. You were the only one who saw him as Simon now, ever since the others died or were killed. He ruined that.

He let the mask get the best of him, finally turning into the murderous, scary man the world sees him as, everyone but you. You’d never been afraid of him, and he himself had changed that.

So in the silence he scans your beautiful eyes again, the brightness they usually reflect gone and replaced. You blink at him like a puppy. A small, scared puppy.

He’d made you cry. He’d made you cry.

He wasn’t expecting forgiveness, or your usual unconditional love, but the silence was too much to bear. He knows what he did, but he genuinely has no idea how he could make it up to you. Once you realize the conversation was over, and that’s all he had to say, you turn your head and limp past the doorway to your room. You were going to cry again.

But that was far from what he wanted to say.

He didn’t realize it when a tear of his own bundled up under his blonde eyelashes, a feeling so rare that people’s jokes about him being a robot could seem true. It had been so long, but watching you sadly walk away from him was enough.

The door was wide open, but he stood there, feeling more useless than he ever had.

These were the times he wished his mother was here. To tell him what to do. To spread the emotional knowledge of loving someone so much it pained you, something she had perfected over the years. Instead, he picked up the brutalities of his father. And he will never forgive him for that.

. .

You’d avoided him for an entire day, almost two, despite being in such close proximity and having to do everything with the squad. He didn’t know whether to leave you be or try again and again. Ultimately, he picked the first. That didn’t mean there weren’t subtle things to get your attention though.

He couldn’t think about yelling again. But it was only at you. So everyone else was graced with their lieutenant in a worse mood than he’s usually in, but they wouldn’t dare ask what was up or say anything to you. Actually, they had barely spoken to you like they had orders not to.

Ghost was rarely in the common room anyway, but now he was really tucked away in his quarters. He preserved his words, though even then they were still snappy. He had an attitude, yes, but he’d come to his senses enough to reflect and prevent himself from saying anything potentially hurtful.

He’d cherished the moments you had no choice but to be close to him a lot more than before, and his voice was barely even the tone of regular speech. Because now, he was scared.

He’d seen how bad relationships can turn, and it doesn’t help it was the man he’s seen all his life ruining what a woman gave him. He doesn’t want to be like that. And if he already has been, he tries to calm himself at night by running through his head “you’re already better than him by trying to fix it,” like a mantra. He’s cried the nights without you. He felt like he was floating away all the time, away from the Earth and the people around him. He barely knows himself anymore.

Little does he know, the time spent without him converted your sadness to anger. Rage.

He has the audacity to scream in your face? After all you do for him? After you put your life on the fucking line and take bullets for him every day?

With your father, it never did convert to anger, because you refused to let it. Being a child, you were way too dependent on him emotionally and physically. He was still your dad, you’d think.

And yes, while you loved Simon, there wasn’t the biological connection to pressure you to him. He was just a man. And if there’s anything you learned yourself, it was that you wouldn’t be pushed around by one.

So the day progressed on with an assignment. The troops were sent out, Ghost in charge.

He had made an order to surround the building, stay hidden in tall grass. A few would push in. They were armed and dangerous.

His voice was loud through the comms, going directly through the headset clear as day. Your team pressed forward alongside his. He had made every order around the fact that you needed to be right next to him, always in view, so he could keep his watchful eye out.

You crouched around the corner, waiting for command. You whisper in mic to your own squad, instructing them to watch for third-party while everyone’s idle.

The second he calls it, you all infiltrate right after smoke grenades set off. It was quickly cleared of the criminal within a few minutes because there weren’t many to take out, just a few in nooks and crannies, but one of them had caught you through a closet door. It had small blinded windows in it.

A quick sharp pain let you know there was a knife drilled into your side. It was small, and could be a lot deeper, but it still hurt like a bitch.

You had taken worse, so you gunned him down with a swift turn and ignored it. The adrenaline was medicine.

Once everyone returned to base with evac, people noticed the spot of red on your uniform but brushed it off as a battle scar. Until they saw the knife. It would be stupid to remove it.

“That looks pretty bad, you should get that patched up,” someone says. Someone you didn’t know, probably from another unit. You refrain from saying no shit and keep walking to the infirmary.

You finally decide remove it with added pressure to the wound, keeping the gauze close and the slim slit through your skin tight. The adrenaline was wearing off now and everything started to come back to you. You groan loudly when you touch it.

Red stains your fingers. It wasn’t deep but it had to be pulled out, and standing would be hard. You sit to see what you were doing.

“Fuck!” you yell.

The pain was ten times worse when you sat down, the fold of your body at the hip right underneath the opening. You feel like you could imagine the knife scraping other parts of your insides.

Suddenly the door opens. No one other than Ghost stands there, fully in gear, searching for the source of the cry. Once he locates you, you barely hear him murmur “bloody hell.” You glance up at him, then back down to what you were doing. He tries to ignore the equivalent stab in his heart at that, the one that matched the way his face drops at the sight of you. You would be able to see the white of his eyes through the mask if you’d look at him.

You were unconsciously trembling, attempting to mentally prepare yourself to pull the knife out slow. The man before you just watched.

“Get out,” you demanded.

“No,” he calmly replies. Once again, barely above a whisper, but heavy with accent.

You visibly roll your eyes and continue picking at the knife, trying to find the easiest way to retrieve it. Of course Ghost would take this time to be near you when you can’t run away from him.

He removes his gloves and opens the cabinets beside him, getting peroxide and other medical things. He walks to you with them in hand, and you bring it upon yourself to completely ignore him.

He steadily drops to a knee in front of you so you see eye to eye. You hiss when you pull at one side and it doesn’t work.

Softly, he breaks the silence, “When did this happen?”

No response. He was looking you dead in the eyes despite how horrible at eye contact he usually is.

“When did-“

“Earlier, Lieutenant.” You speak. He knows this was you digging at him. It worked, but he brushes it off.

He reaches his bare hands rid of the supplies up to help you. He was mad at nobody other than himself for not being there.

“Stop,” you shoo his hand away, tending back to your wound. Even though he wanted to help, he backed off.

To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing, and he’d probably had this happen a thousand times. He was inevitably better at medical anything compared to you.

“How did it happen?” He waits. Wasting time talking to him will have you bleeding out. The knife was a little under halfway visible.

“I was taking my job seriously, Lieutenant.”

He cringes at the words he’s shameful to call his own. He wants nothing more than for you to at least be on speaking terms with him, but even that he knows he doesn’t deserve. He sighs deeply.

“I’m sorry, let me help you. Please,” he begs.

“I don’t want your help, and you don’t want mine. So we can keep it that way.”

What he said that night was far from true; you did more than just help him. He was dependent on you. He surveys the way you hiss at the straining feeling, attempting to take deep breaths between tugs, but only making it worse. He won’t let everything you’re throwing at him break him down in this state.

“Grab it from the top, do it all at once. Then stop the blood immediately.”

You huff in annoyance at his words, causing yourself pain from your own irritation. But, he did know what he was doing, so you followed the orders. He inspects you.

You tug on the knife with a painful deep breath and moan at the pain, shutting your eyes. The view alone gives Simon whatever you’re feeling tenfold.

It only goes up about a centimeter. It hurt so bad though, your breaths were heavy and enhancing the stinging sensation. Your audible whimper was enough for the man in front of you to take action.

You almost forgot how mad you were at him from the pain, so when his hands reached up to you, you just let them. His right applied pressure to the sides. He couldn’t care that it stained his rough, pale hands. The left rests on your hand planted on the seat, then he instructs you to lay down. It’ll avoid scratching any more areas inside by stretching out.

“Relax. It’ll hurt, but you got it.”

You don’t respond to this, and stare up at the ceiling. You still didn’t want to look at him.

Simon has to remember you were still fairly untouched in comparison to his background in the military, the scars and scratches proof to where he’s been. He’s not used to being gentle. He’s around grown men for god’s sake.

And while he knows you’re strong, he wishes someone took the time to allow him some vulnerability back then.

You’re on your back, awaiting his next move. He hovers over you.

“I’mna to count to three, alright? I know you can do it.”

You blink, but he knows you can hear him. Somehow it hurts worse to breathe so your chest runs shallow.

“One,” he starts.

Were you ready? He was going to-

You scream loud enough to have the entire base questioning what was going on before he gets to three, but Simon’s face doesn’t falter from his soft expression as he accurately rips the object out of you. Your hands subconsciously reach for his, then grip him with a pure strength you didn’t even know you possessed. You yelled a long line of curses with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes until it all ended as fast as it came.

You were heaving and your face was hot, sweat gathering along your hairline.

“There you go,” he praises, his movements were quick and efficient. The tape was being placed over the filled injury. “Good girl.”

You were breathless, tired, and red. You wanted to lay down.

“It hurts, Simon,” you whisper.

“I know baby, I know.”

. .

You laid in bed with the dinner one of the soldiers brought you. Simon walks in sometime later, his hand cupped.

“You alright?”

He steps in beside your bed, sitting on the covers. He releases some painkillers right next to the water on your nightstand.

You just nod.

He nods approvingly back, then rests his forearms on his thighs. There’s an uncomfortable silence. An uncomfortable silence.

The ink on his arm was visible along with the scars he’s carried. Some new, some old. It’s a simple t-shirt that stops at the bicep, but he never likes to have his arms out because he’s never comfortable with them showing.

“I just wanted to say—”

“I…don’t want to hear it.” You shut him down.

“Please?”

His ocean eyes survey yours for some type of mercy, some hint you’ll hear him out again. He has concluded that he can speak, but the worst that can happen is you’ll stop listening. You can’t really walk away.

And this was the first time his please seemed to end with a question mark.

“I didn’t mean to yell, but I did, and it hurt you. Even though I just aided you, I did it as a partner. Not just a comrade. You are great at what you do, but you mean a lot more to me than just business—I love you, because you see me differently than everyone else.”

Knowing Simon, it probably did take him the whole day and a half to come up with that and relay it. This tugged your heart strings a little, but then it all came back to you.

“On top of calling me useless you yelled in my face. What were you so angry for anyway?”

Truthfully, he felt that had he told you the real reason, It’d make him look worse. But you deserved it.

“One of the soldiers in another unit looked into my background. Found out about an old mission and the people behind it.”

You hadn’t known much about Simon’s life, because he never talks about it, but you knew enough. It was the mission where he was set up. Betrayed.

You would be pissed too.

But his head hung low in shame, angry that he let an old part of him rekindle in the form of fury. He let out said fury on you.

“Regardless, it was uncalled for. Just think on it, yeah?” He pleads. He’s not sure what he’s telling you to think on, though he doesn’t know the active status of your relationship. But he understands how degrading what he did was, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

But you already had an answer.

“I don’t have to think on it,” you say.

His head whips around, the sadness on his face replaced with shock, and the crinkles coming to form between his brows in confusion. He’d expected the worst, but the worst was what he deserved.

“I’m still very upset. But I don’t hate you. I want you to go to therapy,” you insist.

On the inside, Simon was thrilled. This is the best outcome, better than anything he’d conjured up in his head, and he’d been told a billion times to go to therapy. If it meant being able to hold you again, he’d stay the whole day on a little couch instead of downing prescribed medication that wasn’t working every night.

“I’ll think about what to do from there. But I don’t want it to happen again, because I promise I know what my decision will be the next time,” you declare. He took this message more seriously than he takes Price some days. There was a fire in your eyes to show him how serious you were, and that you’d get up extra close to him just to point your finger in his face if you could.

He understood you hadn’t forgave him, but was giving him some type of redemption. So he could prove himself.

And he was damn good at proving himself worthy of things, hence the Lieutenant in front of his name.

this a lil long. @thesecretwriter @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @jjmoonjj @bigmannico @bloodyquillink-blog @boggiesho @earth-to-lottie @e1fade @instantplaiddream @mentallyillartist @stillinracooncity @missborntodiex @rhyanna6012 @hao-ming-8 @starrrchiato @goth-boi-atlas @keiva1000 @pampeop @sleepy-time-dreamy @laurenbenoit70 @tojis-big-daddy-milkers @jstarrs23423 @madameducyberversailles @eri-channnnnnn @schmelscorner @commandertorinshepard @lua83727 @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @nyannyanmochi020 @p1nkliquor

[unreliablesnake]

Simon wasn’t the jealous type. He knew you loved him, and his size alone was enough to scare away men who tried to make a move on you. Easy. But then your childhood best friend announced their return from abroad, and he was shocked to hear it was a guy, but he never let it show.

Jealous!Simon who one day casually asked you if he had a girlfriend. Secretly he was hoping you would say he was only into men, but you went into details about how his last relationship with a lovely girl ended a month ago. “Tragic story, really,” you said with a sigh. “Sometimes I think he’s secretly in love with someone else.”

Jealous!Simon who had to bite his tongue for weeks after the announcement, having no choice but to silently tolerate your constant chatting with him either via calls or messages. Every time your phone went off with a notification, he felt like taking the device from you and throwing it against the wall.

Jealous!Simon who gave you a lift to the airport to pick him up. “I have time, it’s not a problem,” he told you, but the real reason was quite simple. He wanted to make sure that guy understood you had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who was committed, a boyfriend who loved you very much, a boyfriend he had no chance against.

Jealous!Simon who began to feel like a third wheel in his own home whenever your friend came over. A photo of him was probably placed next to the word perfect in the dictionary. He was younger than him, skin immaculate and missing the scars he had after long years on the battlefield, had a proper white collar career like you, and he still remembered little things about you, like what your favorite chocolate flavor was.

Jealous!Simon who got harsher in bed as his frustration began to grow. You didn’t complain, but he knew you were aware of when his behavior in bed usually changed. So you started to do little things for him, like baking his favorite cookies or learning how to make his favorite cocktail to make him feel better.

Jealous!Simon who overheard a conversation your friend had with someone, telling them about how you had a scary guard dog who made it impossible for him to get you in his bed, and how stupid you were for not seeing you deserved better. He had pulled out his phone at the beginning of the conversation to record it as evidence, and he was smiling to himself the whole time knowing you would probably go no contact with him after the way your friend talked about both you and him.

Happy!Simon who stood by your side with his fingers laced with yours and a satisfied smirk on his lips as you showed the video to your friend in your living room, watching him with an angry look on your beautiful face. When he tried to explain himself, you just raised your hand and told him to get the fuck out of your apartment.

Happy!Simon who finally fell asleep with you in his arms without worrying about that idiot.