#no true - complete loss

[laniemae]

Not gonna get into danganronpa another spoilers because this whole scene is something else that I’m still processing but I absolutely love this line. Like to bring up milgram I think this is an idea which can reflect on lots of the characters as well. The idea of basing your entire existence off of a certain thing/person/ideology and then for something to happen that completely destroys that. Your entire person has been stripped away and just what’s left? You can’t comprehend your own existence or meaning without that specific attachment and you start to question all of your actions based off that…

I can only really think of John, Kotoko, and Es here (and possibly Amane and Mikoto to an extent). And John bases his life off of Mikoto, Kotoko upholding justice, and Es being the warden.

John’s idea of his whole existence and reason for being is Mikoto. It’s the only reason he believes he exists and if he were to fulfill his role he’d “disappear” as he would be completely worthless without him. John tries to repress and ignore his humanity and reduce himself as a tool to protect Mikoto and that’s all he can see himself as. But now Mikoto’s starting to not deny his existence and feels pure hatred for everything about him. And what will happen to John, when the person he’s dedicated his entire life to and desperately wants praise from, denies his existence? What will he be but some worthless existence that is only a burden, to him.

Kotoko. An ideology of upholding justice and punishing evil that has completely overtaken her. She has pushed herself into a role of a “fang” for justice, protecting the weak and persecuting evil. But even so matter how much she tries, she knows her goals are unreachable. She denies relationships and attachments to other people based on this ideology. Kotoko admits that she does feel attachment to the prisoners, but has to deny them in order to fulfill the role as a tool. And believes that pain and violence is necessary to achieving a greater good. Trying to deny any regret because wouldn’t it be easier to believe you’re entirely in the right? She latched onto Es, believing them to be similar as the warden who carries out judgement on wether the prisoners are forgivable or not. But now, Es has denied her whole ideology, her whole existence due to the pain she’s caused. Kotoko wants to believe that what she did was right and that Es, another enforcer of justice would accept her, because that’s how it is.

And Es… they’re the warden of the prison. There’s nothing more to them than that they believe. Es has no memories of their identity or past before Milgram and immediately latched onto the identity given to them, of being the guard. Es took this role as their entire identity, an extension of the milgram system in order to interrogate and judge prisoners. I think Muu put this best.

“Warden-san, we call you "warden" because that's what you are, right? And I was assigned the role of prisoner, but that doesn't mean I'm now nothing but a prisoner at heart, too. After all, I'm still me.”

Es has an unstable sense of identity, to the point they latched on to the first thing they were given in order to give themselves a purpose and a meaning for existence. And Kotoko calling them “imperfect caused them to question their identity. But as the story progresses Es will probably begin to learn about the audiences control and the truth behind what they assumed to be their verdicts. That their will never was 100% their own. Who knows what Es’ past was, but eventually they’ll likely have to tackle it and their whole identity, the warden, the arms of milgram, is gone.

gonna think about Mikoto and Amane here as well. Mikoto, although may not seem to be as first, focuses his entire identity around other people. He’s the friendly sociable guy who’s easy to chat with. But that’s all he believes he should be, I guess. As perhaps this mindset is upheld by an inherent fear of other people rejecting him, so he focuses all his attention and identity on being a social person. He’s never truly friends with people, as perhaps that would be “too close” and open up the possibility for danger. He doesn’t completely deny his identity like the others, but he molds and shapes it in a way that is acceptable to others. He likes what everyone else likes and does what everyone else does so the fear of being rejected for being different won’t hurt him. But now he’s stopped denying John’s existence and his DID, believing himself to be crazy, and to be completely rejected from other people, his entire sense of identity to an extent. And especially with John scaring other people off with the mindset that will help Mikoto, he has now been completely distanced from everyone else and now has to come to terms with himself, but not the ideal persona he put on to be acceptable to other people.

Amane is a more different case as she in a way has rejected that idea, but not completely. Growing up in a cult it’s very likely that she was always conditioned that she was just a servant for god. That all the good things she did were actually god blessing her and all the bad things a fault of her humanity, herself as a person. She is in a unstable relationship with the whole submitting her personhood to her religion, as she sacrificed her ideologies in order to help a cat. But at the core, that wasn’t about herself and her identity, rather a focus on the cat’s life. Amane’s murder was her will. Rejecting everything and fighting for her life in direct opposition to what she has been taught her entire life and how her identity should be, a rejection of that and a glance into “herself”. But once again, this murder wasn’t entirely self motivated. She’s still broken enough that she can’t fully grasp herself as a person besides god and religion. And a large cause of her murder was out of the death of the cat, rather than simply protecting herself. Amane still slips back into the belief that her personhood is entirely dedicated to god. As she tried to convince herself and Es that the only reason she killed is because they deserved religious punishment and she is in the right for carrying out god’s will, once again denying her personal reason for doing so. Reducing herself to “we” on behalf of her religion, that this isn’t herself anymore. Amane is in a limbo between rejecting her personhood for god, but at the same time rejecting the suffering she’s been through in order to save “herself”. Amane’s case is so interesting, as there’s no clear answer of what she believes in here, and it is truly fascinating.

[sangfielle]

nice

[age-of-moonknight]

What If…? Dark: Moon Knight (Vol. 1/2023), #1.

Writer: Erica Schultz; Penciler and Inker: Edgar Salazar; Colorist: Arif Prianto; Letterer: Cory Petit

[fitforestfairy]

30 Days of Yoga - Done ✅

I’m in tears and so so very proud of myself 😭🧘🏻‍♀️

This is the first time in over a year I can complete a challenge like this. My life was falling apart and more often than not I didn’t think I would make it to the next day.

This is me learning to love myself again, learning to take care of myself again 💜

[yappacadaver]

The way he canonically has a dissociative disorder….

[thecubes]

romanticizing the snooker match loser glassy eyes. snooker aftercare pls

[obfontri]

i recently read a fic that explained kraglin’s absence during iw/endgame by saying he’d returned to xandar to help rebuild after thanos annihilated them and honestly….. that’s kinda cute

[1overbaby]

The only reason why you ever lost anything is because you identified with the concept of loss and separation. That’s the ONLY reason. Not what someone said, or did, or anything that unfolded. Therefore, accept whatever happened in the 3d from then as false/dead/fake, locked to a state.

Now after realising and accepting this, accept that everything is within you. Everything. Everything is available in imagination. Therefore, you just need to identify with oneness. That nothing is ever truly lost. Just identify again with BEING ONE with your desires, having it. :)

[cheekyquokka]

.

[nunyabznsbabes]

Katniss is like Lucy Gray this, Katniss is like Sejanus that, and yes fine that's all good and true and lovely but Katniss Everdeen is also a direct parallel to Coriolanus Snow and people NEED to start talking about this because it's driving me crazy.

Think about it: they both grew up poor and deeply vulnerable, losing parents at a very young age, with a matriarchal adult (Katniss' mother and Coriolanus' Grandma'am) who fails to provide for them emotionally and physically. They intimately understand the threat of starvation, even developing with stunted growth because of it, and their narrations in the books share a fixation on food. Throughout their childhoods, both experienced constant fear and suffered a fundamental lack of control over their circumstances. Because of this, they're inherently suspicious of the people around them. They resent feeling indebted to others, especially those who have saved their lives. They're motivated almost entirely by family and deeply connected to their communities. Both are used and manipulated by the Capitol, both are forced to perform to survive and despise every inch of it, both are thrown into the Arena and made to kill. Both have a self-sacrificial, genuinely sweet sister figure acting as their conscience. Peeta and Lucy Gray - performers and love interests with a fundamental kindness and sense of hope about them - fulfill markedly similar roles in their narrative. Both contribute to the development of the future Hunger Games, Snow throughout tbosas and Katniss towards the end of Mockingjay.

It's easy to ignore these similarities because, as mirrors of each other, they are exact opposites. Katniss is from District 12, viewed and treated as less than human; Snow is the cream of the Capitol crop, given the privilege of a name with social weight, an ancestral home, and the opportunity of the Academy despite having no more money than a miner from 12. Katniss has no agency over her life, and responds by being kind whenever she's able, while Snow justifies horrendous evils in order to continue his quest for complete control. Katniss does everything she can to protect her family; Snow does everything he can to protect his family's image as an extension of his own ego. Katniss loves her District and connects with its inhabitants on a meaningful level, but Snow is indifferent at best to his peers - the apparent "superior people" - and only engages with his community for personal gain. Katniss emerges from the Arena horrified at herself and the system, but Snow takes his trauma and turns it into an excuse to perpetuate the violence with himself at the top. Katniss cares for Prim until her death and then snaps at the loss of her little sister, while Snow survives on Tigris' blood, sweat, and tears and then torments and abandons her, presumably because she calls him out on his insanity. Snow actively adds to and popularizes the Hunger Games because of his vendetta against the Districts following his childhood wartime trauma - Katniss briefly agrees to a new Hunger Games in the pursuit of vengeance, but later stops them from happening by killing Coin and choosing a life of peace and privacy. Snow is obsessed with revenge, but Katniss empathizes with the Capitolites and does what she can to keep them from suffering. He exists in a cruel system and selfishly upholds it; she exists in a cruel system and works to dismantle it for the good of her family and community, at great personal cost. And Peeta and Lucy Gray are incredibly similar, but Katniss and Peeta forge a relationship of genuine love and understanding that shines in comparison to Coriolanus' obsessive projection onto Lucy Gray.

So, yeah, Katniss is Lucy Gray haunting Coriolanus. But I bet you anything that eighty-something year old President Snow looks at her, the girl on fire, bright and young and brilliant, emerging from a childhood of starvation with a relentless hunger for success, a talented and charming performer helping her win the Games, and he sees the ghost of his own past. And that's why he's so afraid of her! Because if he sees himself in her, then he's up against his own cunning, his own talent for manipulation, his own charisma, his own genius. He's up against the version of himself that he once wished to be, with the nightmare army of his childhood at her back and her star-crossed lover at her side, spewing Sejanus' truths in his own voice. This isn't to say that Katniss ever achieved the level of power and agency that Coriolanus did during her time with the rebellion, but it is to say that Snow was taken down by what truly terrified him - his own morality, come to finish the job.

[anendoandfriendo]

See this is what we're telling about re: if what changes your mind is just the word then that's a you problem.

You're not against transids you're against the radqueer community as it currently stands because of how toxic it is. You're veering so hard into trying not to be toxic yourself that you're creating a whole OTHER kind of toxic. This is the same fucking energy as the people who bitch and moan over the word endogenic, or the term natural system (bahahah "innate system" is just the less socially undesirable term for natural system too now that we think about it).

We hate to use the phrase "you all are dumbfucks" here, but, you all are complete dumbfucks. We aren't even going to give this the dignity of a link and web archive. We don't know what else we can say here.

Fucking block us if that makes you uncomfortable; we do hope your ability to analyze the words you use and how you come across gets a bit better over time but it is not our fucking job to teach anyone that.

[autism-corner]

hehe look at my lil OM!NB full combo table =w=bb

[alastorss]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor's antlers are embarrassingly, pathetically, unbearably sensitive.

He can't for the life of him figure out why—it's not like any of the other transfigured creatures wandering around the underworld were made this way. Most other animal-like sinners don't seem to care about or even acknowledge their characteristics.

Yet here he is, purposefully hiding them away just so that no one will discover his terrible weakness. Oh, what he would give to be like the others if only to ignore their incessantly uncomfortable presence on his head.

Perhaps it was a curse from heaven that made him this way, or karma that he was repaying from his life. Either way, he can't stand being touched.

At least, that's what he thought.

There's no malicious intent behind your hands, no glint in your eye that makes the primal instincts in his head scream at him to melt into the shadows. You're as gentle as can be, fingers running delicately along the intricacies of his antlers and stopping just at the ends of them.

"They're beautiful," you whisper with your eyes blown wide. Your shoulders rise and fall with each rapid breath, probably from the adrenaline of standing so close to an Overlord like this. And Alastor, no less.

Your reliable hotelier. Your first real friend in the hotel. The one whose smile cannot be trusted.

But for some reason, you can't shake the feeling that he's looking at you with pure, genuine appreciation even if his smile is a little wonky.

"Why, thank you, darling!"

He jerks away from you quick as the wind, standing tall once again and towering over you. His expression has morphed into something more strained—you can tell by the way his face creases up as his eyes narrow.

He was the one who decided to invade your personal space while the two of you were arguing. He just didn't think that you would be so bold as to get distracted by his antlers and have the gall to reach out to touch them.

The worst part? The absolute worst part of it all is that no one in all the time he's been in Hell has been gentle with him like that.

Add that to the list of things he despises. Or likes. You're confusing him now.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You have some nerve, he thinks.

Your hands have found a new home resting atop his head, with your fingers combing through his hair and tracing up and down the curve of his antlers.

It becomes a nightly routine—him on the barstool or sitting in front of the piano and you standing behind him with your fingers tangled in his hair and your chin on his head, perched right between the horns. Others in the hotel have started to raise a brow, but you don't seem to care.

So when you finally decide to break routine, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him, his eye twitches.

There isn't even an audience tonight, everyone else already tucked into bed save for Husk behind the bar who's too busy with a bottle to care. The silence between you is heavy as lead.

"Is something the matter?" Alastor finally abruptly asks, eyes narrowed at you from the side. You shift uncomfortably.

"Why would something be the matter?"

He's not in the mood for games right now. "This is the first time you've sat away from me in months," he observes.

You look at him, surprised by his hostility over this. "Well, Lucifer told me that you don't like—"

"Lucifer," he interrupts, head now whipping to the side so he can fully glare at you. "Knows nothing."

You blink at him, stunned. With the way he's acting, he almost seems... annoyed that you've decided to stop being so handsy?

Silence overcomes you again as you just stare at each other, completely at a loss of words. Alastor finally realizes his snappiness and composes himself once more, exhaling through his teeth.

His smile softens at you, missing its usual edge. You know him like this the best—head in your lap and antlers exposed. It's familiar to you in a way that it could never be to anyone else. At least, you hope that's true.

"He knows nothing," the radio demon says one more time for good measure, eyes drifting shut under the weight of your hands.

Alastor has never liked to be touched before. But maybe there is a first time for everything, and maybe the safety of your touch brings him enough ease that you're the first he admits he can tolerate.

His smile says it all. He's content like this, even if he would deny it with his chest if you ever told anyone else.

"Okay," you breathe. "I believe you."

[witchklng]

.

[empresskylo]

könig x afab!reader

⊹ konig is as feral in bed as he is on the battlefield... based on this nsfw fanart

[ warnings ] pure smut. wc 582

cod masterlist

“let me fill you one more time—“ könig groaned desperately in your ear, both of you covered in sweat. “one more, mein schatz.”

könig’s entire frame crushed you, your sweating thighs plastered to his waist as he thrusted into you. his hot hands held you close to him like he couldn’t get enough, your own arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him further against your chest.

“one—ugh—more—gah—load,” he grumbled like a depraved man. his mind was completely melted, rambling without even knowing what he was saying. all he knew was that he wanted to feel you clench around him one more time. 

except one more time would never be enough. könig was insatiable. this was already round 3 of the night in under an hour. you were too overstimulated to even reply to him. all you could do was let him use your body at his desire and whine when things got too much.

“oh—fuckkkkk,” he growled when he felt your walls spasm.

“ahh,” you moaned, trying to tilt your hips so he stopped rutting against your clit, but he was too heavy for you to move beneath him. you could feel another orgasm brewing and you squeezed your eyes shut, your brain fogged. “k-könig,” you cried, not knowing if you could keep going like this.

könig’s erratic hips never faulted, “shh,” he cooed unsteadily. “you can take it.” 

you shook your head back and forth and mewled in your throat. könig tried to reassure you, “m’almost finished, liebling.” but you knew that was a lie. könig was never finished. he always wanted more.

as wild and deadly as he was in battle, he was just as primal in the bedroom. the softness of your skin felt heavenly against könig’s sore body and against his calloused hands. he slid a hand into your hair, his fist grasping tightly. “this is the last time. i promise.” his deep baritone sent you over the edge. you cried out loud, your legs squeezing against könig’s body, your body shaking as könig pummeled you through another orgasm. 

you could barely hear the way he was grunting and moaning as you clenched down impossibly hard around him. “gah, fuck,” he groaned. könig spilled inside you again, your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt him fill you once more that night. you weren’t even sure how he still had more to give at this point.

his thrusts turned slow but remained powerful when he bottomed out, hitting you as far back as he could. you gasped with every rut of his hips hitting yours. 

his seed leaked out around his cock as he rode out his orgasm. you weren’t sure you could go for another round, hoping könig was true to his word and this actually was the last time.

when he steadied himself, he kept his cock seated inside you, clutching you close against him while he caught his breath. 

his hand aimlessly stroked your hair. he pulled back to look at you, smiling at the sight of your flushed face and disheveled hair. “see. knew you could take it.” he kissed the tip of your nose, regretfully pulling out of you. you whined at the loss—you had got so used to the feeling of him inside you, it was almost painful for him to leave. he marveled at you as he sat back on his haunches, looking between your legs and watching his seed gush out of you. 

[lovifie]

Simon “I Will Never Be A Father” Riley, and how he ended up with a football team worth of kids.

CW: Like 2k words of fluffy Simon, and then 1k words of filth, massive breeding kink, creampie, disgusting sext talk mess. Enjoy! 🩷

Masterlist - Taglist Form

It's not his fault, it's yours. 

He met you really early in both of your careers, before either of you had really any important ranks, nor years of experience. 

But a mission together to recollect some intel was enough for the two of you to learn each other's names. 

It was back when rage still blinded more of Simon's senses, the loss of her family still recent. But you didn't know, obviously, and he wouldn't tell you. 

During that mission, he would constantly snap at you, unnecessary remarks and barks at you whenever you would ask something. 

Not that you would back down because of the overgrown chihuahua, usually just shouting back and ignoring him. Letting him to simmer in his guilty feelings.

But the time together helped to learn what buttons to press and when to act as if you hadn’t seen something, and by the time you made it back to base, to your different units; you said goodbye shaking hands and saying: “Nice to meet you, Riley. Don't die.”

He didn't say it back, but he felt it more. 

Years went by before he saw you again, and after a while, he simply assumed you did in fact, die. 

He was higher in his career, already being respected by most and always addressed as Ghost. The rage of his past was already on a secondary level. 

More mature, more knowledgeable, more experienced. 

But for some reason, he couldn't forget you. He had come across so many different people who would back down just for him looking at them, yet when he screamed at you, you didn't let him win. 

He missed you. 

He would never admit it, but he missed the girl he met on that mission those years back. Maybe if he had said it back you would be alive. 

Maybe.

“Riley?!” An unmistakable voice asks, radiant with happiness from his back. 

He turns around, eyes wide open looking for the source, for the girl he met so long ago, for the girl he thought had died. 

But he sees you.

The woman, on the same rank as his, grown, more mature, more knowledgeable and more experienced. 

Scars and wounds adorning your body just like his. 

“What is that mask, Riley?” You ask, smiling widely. “You turned emo?!”

You laugh loudly as you finally walk up to him, an awkward position of not knowing how to say hi after so long apart. 

“Aye, didn't want people falling in love with me like you did.” He says, completely baffling but still hoping it was true. 

“Argh.” You say, rolling your eyes as you slap his arm. “Well, excuse me, lover boy. Didn't know you have spent all this time fighting the ladies.”

There hasn't been any ladies. Not after you. He realises it in that moment.

“It's the uniform.” He explains, a stupid smug smirk under the mask. “And you? What have you been up to?”

“The usual, learned German, I knit now, killed a couple of hundred terrorists, and got my flying licence!” You enunciate, slightly jumping with the last. 

He doesnt realizes that the mask is not covering his eyes, and that no matter how cold and stoic he tries to act; you can see clearly as day the affection and happiness from seeing you again. 

This time, when you say goodbye, you keep each other numbers. A way to stay in contact, to check once a month if you are still alive. 

But again, time goes by before meeting in person again. 

And when it happens, Ghost is already on the 141; and it's not him the one that sees you first. 

“We are having a surprise guest on the next operation.” Price says one morning while they are having breakfast. “She’s from another base, but has an amazing resume. She's a lieutenant too. And with an ugly character, like you” He says, pointing at Ghost.

And he knows it's you. 

It gotta be. 

And a couple of days later, when you enter the mess hall; walking behind him and slapping the back of his head, he is elated.

“I knew I was smelling trash.” You say, looking down on him. Barely a bit taller than him when he is seated. 

He turns his body, resting his arm around your hips. “How long are going to be following me for, ya rat?”

“Hmm, not my fault you can't do your fucking job, useless bitch.” You say with a smile on your face as you rest your arm over his shoulders. 

“Well, somebody gotta take out the trash, you cunt.” He says, a smug smile on his face. 

“Aww, are you telling me to take you out, lover boy?” You say, resting your hand on your chest. That makes him bark a laugh, patting your side after, before saying. “I'm glad to see you are still in one piece, idiot.”

“The feeling is mutual, dickhead.” 

And that was the first time that Simon’s hand was resting on your hips, but definitely not the last. 

The first mission together with the 141 was an absolute shit show, everything that could have gone wrong… went wrong. And if it wasn't because of your stubbornness, it would have been Simon’s last mission.

Being trapped under debris, unable to get out of the burning building. Everyone was already out, only him inside, talking on the radio to tell the team to leave him behind. 

Except you, who managed to slip through Price's orders and run into the obvious death trap. Able to take the debris keeping Simon trapped with his help, both of you using the extra strength that only comes out in emergencies. Unknowingly, both of you going to the extreme of your resistance to make sure the other didn't die inside the building. 

And when he was in the hospital bed, days later, and you came to visit him, and you leaned forward and kissed him. It was the first kiss, but not the last one. 

The two of you, already adults perfectly functional, able to instruct armies, take down terrorist organisations, and yet… it was not until 8 months after the first kiss that one of you managed to ask the other out.

“The team were going out for drinks tonight, but they bailed… do you want to go still? The two of us?”

To this day, Simon still believes it was his doing that the two of you went alone to the pub, and you still have not had the heart to tell him it was you the one who asked Price, Soap and Gaz to tell him they couldn't go.

And once the door was opened, everything went smoothly and easily. Not bothering to call the relationship in any way, as if the two of you haven't been exclusive to the other from the first moment you met. 

Still, even more time went on before something more than kisses went down. Until the two of you went on separate missions, months spent apart from each other, only to reach base again at the same time. 

And as if you had planned, you walked to each other room. Meeting exactly in the middle and jumping into each other arms. 

Not that anyone else on the team had doubts about what went on between the two of you, but still was a surprising view. And you pulled Simon by his hand inside of his room, every doubt crumb was erased. 

And once it started, everything else went in a blur. By the time you took notice, the two of you were already married for a couple of years, the honeymoon phase was still strong, and expecting your first child. 

And Simon, who had always promised he would never have kids, now was obsessed with your pregnant self. During the pregnancy, he couldn't keep his hands away from your body.

Constantly feeling you up, every inch of skin, from your hips, to your breast, to your tummy. Completely obsessed and enamoured with your body, changing and adjusting to bear his child. His big-ass child. That had you wabling from the second trimester. 

He missed the birth, away on a mission when you were in your seventh month. Promising the mission would last a week, but he didn't take a step into your house until three months later. He didn't look Price at his face for weeks after the due date passed. 

The worst part was that there was no communication with you, complete radio silence. Again, like so many years ago; you could be dead and he wouldn't know. 

And when the plane landed, he took the quickest shower of his life. Because the worst case scenario was coming home to an empty house, but the worst second was holding his child for the first time with the blood of his enemies still on his hands. He wouldn't taint such an innocent thing. 

The door almost fell from the hinges when he entered, eyes looking through the house. Breathing only because he could see light from the bedroom, and then you walked out of the room. 

Looking at him with tears on your eyes as you run to him, jumping on his arms and getting crushed by his hug. Muttering apologies as he kissed your head, he still has not forgiven himself for failing you that day. 

You shake your head, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom. He freezes on his spot, as if he just remembered that he had a child; your abdomen way flatter than when he left. 

“C’mon, Si… Do you not want to meet your son?” 

A son.

He had a son. 

He followed you into the room, unable to say a word as he saw the tiny human sleeping in the middle of the bed. 

He walked behind you, waiting for instructions, his brain struggling to work normally. You tell him to sit down, picking the baby to lay him on his arms. The father finally holding his son for the first time.

And when the baby exhaled a satisfied sigh at the warmth pooling from Simon’s body, the first tear rolled down his cheek.

He didn't sleep that night, it didn't matter that he had barely been able to sleep the weeks before, he couldn't pull his eyes away from the baby. So that night, he stayed seated, with the baby on his arms and with you sleeping by his side.

The happiest night of his life. 

He finally took his parental leave, almost smashing the phone against the wall when Price called him; even though it was to congratulate him. 

And Simon, who always had believed he would never have kids, now had one. And that might have been the first child he had, but it was definitely not the last one. 

Because a couple of weeks later, when the two of you went to base; to introduce the baby to his teammates, Simon couldn't stop thinking about how good you looked with his child strapped to your body. 

His little head resting over your full breasts, sleeping and perfectly unaware of every problem in the world. But Simon couldn't stop looking at your chest, body changed to bear and care for his child; it was only fair he paid back. 

So when Gaz asked if he could hold the baby, it was Simon who helped you take the baby out of the little koala backpack; letting him hold it. 

And with a weak excuse, took you to his bedroom. Barely managing to close the door before bending you over his desk, pulling your pants down and stuffing your cunt with his thick fingers. Giving you barely any prep before the strain on his hardening shaft was too much for him to keep it away from your soaked cunt. Groaning in your ear as he thrusts fast and hard into your sweet pussy, rubbing your clit with his fingertip making you cling into the desk. 

“Such a good fucking mama you are.” He moans into your ear. “Driving me fucking crazy every time I look at you, so fucking beautiful, so fucking breathtaking, darling.”

Half of what he says doesn't make sense and the other half you can't even hear from over the sounds of the moans. 

“Gonna fuck you full of my child again, gonna keep you barefoot and pregnant, mama.” He moans again, kissing your neck from behind as his free hand keeps roaming your body, needing to feel more and more of you. “Looking like a bloody goddess with my child, gonna keep fucking you until it fucking catches, and then again, and again, and again… Do you want that, mama? Do you want it as much as me?”

“Fuck, yes!” You moan back, just as fuck out as him. The unforgiving pace pushing the breath out of your lungs, your legs barely able to hold your weight but it's not like Simon would let you fall. 

More and more words and promises keep falling from Simon's mouth, making it hard for your orgasm to take any longer to wash over you. 

But then Simon turns you around, laying you on your back and pulling your legs up, your knees beside your head; before he starts to thrust into you again, his happy trail rubbing against your clit. 

“Gonna make it catch, gonna fuck you so deep it is not even going to spill. Gonna get you fucking pregnant again, and this time I'm not gonna go away for a fucking second. Gotta give the little shit a sibling, ah?”

The stretch of your legs being pulled so back into your head making it almost uncomfortable if you were able to think at the moment. Your hands grabbing into his forearms to steady yourself. 

“The best fucking mama in the world you are, ah? Taking such good care of him.” He groans, engulfing your boob with his enormous hand. “Getting these tits fucking massive just for him, fucking little shit don't know how lucky he is to get such a good fucking moma.”

And you are ashamed to admit it, but the disgusting praises are enough to throw you over the edge; your head falling back against the desk with a loud cry of his name. 

“Fucking hell, darling.” He groans just like you. “That's it, choke my fucking cock, love. Milk it dry, suck it in. Fuck! Such a fucking perfect cunt, I would fucking live here. Sucking me in so good, such a greedy fucking cunt. I'm gonna fuck you so deep, I'm gonna give you twins, darling.”

And he doesn't give you time to breathe, his hips slapping hard against yours making you mewl at the overstimulation. Clenching down at the prolonged orgasm. 

You hear him groan over your exhausted body. “Fuuuck… Shit, love. Yeah… just like that, take it in, love, take it in. Hold it in, don't let it go to waste love.”

You fill him spill deep inside of you, pulling your legs impossibly higher lifting your butt off the desk, bending you in half with your cunt completely exposed. 

“Such a beautiful fucking cunt.” He says before leaning down, kissing your clit as if he was pecking your lips, only for him to literally make out with your cunt. Making you hiss and pull his hair back to make him stop and be able to breathe for a second. 

He pulls his head back, only to accumulate the saliva and arousal on his mouth and spit it back over your cunt making you shudder. He lowers your legs, impaling you back on his still hard shaft, pulling the breath from your lungs once more. 

“There you go, mama. Stuffed and plugged, so there is no risk.” He says, letting your legs rest down as he moves his hands to each side of your hips, pushing you impossibly closer to him, hitting as deep as he has ever reached. Slightly moving you up and down so your clit rubs against his pelvic bone, making you whine as you clench around him.

“Simon… Si, I need to fucking breathe.” You whine, trying to grab his hand.

“Nah, you got this…” He says without looking at your face, completely hypnotised by the way your folds part to take his cock in. “You are doing amazing, sweetheart.” 

Is only hours later, that Simon comes out of his room. Clothes changed, showered and without you (who is currently sleeping on his bed, too exhausted to even stay awake), and he walks up to the mess hall, where he assumed the boys are. 

Picking his beloved son from his captain's hands. “There you are, my boy.” He says softly, picking up the baby that looks ridiculously small in his arms. “Time for bed.” 

“Oi, LT!” Soap calls him. “So when is his sibling being born?”

He looks at Soap, his expression changing to a stern one. “Don't be disgusting, Johnny. That's my family you are talking about, have some decency”.

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