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yandere-kokeshi · 2 months

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How would TF141+Konig,Nikolai react if their reader drunk and told them about how reader family used to sold reader at brotherel.

Warnings: yandere behavior, talks about prostitution, mention of trauma, and foreshadowing on murdering.

A/N: Definitely took my time writing this, so I hope you enjoy it!

Captain “Price” John:

Whiplashes at you, nearly breaking his neck as he places his cold-glass down on the table.

“Sorry, what?”

He’s pissed. He cannot fathom why anyone could possibly do something so awful to his sweet darling, but he’s heartbroken, too. His heart shatters when you explain it, going into detail of what happened. And soon, John’s hands find themselves on yours within a heartbeat, thumbs grazing over your knuckles, and squeezes them occasionally.

If you blow it off, saying it’s no biggie, John gets angrier. It’s not fine, and his tone is firm, and large hands that’s on top of yours aren’t letting go. And soon, he softens — bringing you into his lap, kissing the crown of your head. Hands running up and down your back, whispering to you of how special you are.

And soon enough, later that night when you’re sleeping, his mind is wide-awake and angered. Wondering if your family is worthwhile to get a visit, teach ‘em a lesson or two.

From now on, John is so gentle with you; checking in with you first and won’t push you for anything. He even suggests therapy, or perhaps couple-therapy, to help you in some way. He wants you to know he’s here for you, as that’s all you have.

Your parents are nowhere to be seen. The news has reported them missing, and it’s weird that John had come home after an hour when their bodies had been found, right?

—

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Whiplashes so hard, his neck popped as he looked at you. The cheap beer that you and him were drinking is set down, the loud clanking making the silence even louder, and his brown-doe eyes are staring at you.

“You bein’ serious?”

Simon is fuming, absolutely seething with rage at how they used and hurt you. And he’s extremely tempted to find all of them and break every single bone in their miserable body. How on the earth could they hurt and betray you, you, the literal light in his life like that?

“Love, you can’t jus’ drop a bomb like that and expect me to be all natural with it,” His tone seethed. He tries to soften it, he really does, but his rage with what you’ve just told him is starting to seep through the built-in cracks. And it’s clearly showing his not-so pretty side.

But as soon as he sees your face, his heart re-breaks all over again. And within seconds, he pulls you into his arms, whispering sweet words of love and promises of safety; kissing every part he can reach until you tell him to stop.

If you haven’t already cut ties with your family, Simon immediately does it for you — anger shown and his tone sharp. He removes them from any way possible of how they could connect to you, even going as far to put a restraining order against them. But, if they decide to be snide, and try to take you back? Simon is more than happy to use his physical strength to scare them away.

—

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

He laughs uncomfortably, before he really thinks and chews on the words a little more. His eyebrows crease against each other, fingers tightening around the beer bottle, as he looks at you very concerned.

“Wait– what was that?”

Kyle watches you go on, rambling about it as if it’s not a big deal, and he’s in pure shock. He’s not sure if you’re putting a brave face on, or if it’s the alcohol, but either way, it’s making him mad. His hands are shaking, his heart thundering in his chest, mind going a mile a minute, trying to understand the concept, but he can’t seem to get past the anger part.

“Baby… when did this happen?” he generally questions, uncomfortably shifting in his seat as he looks for something in you. He’s worrying. Wonder what it’s done to you, someone he loves so deeply, and he can’t fathom the idea that something so horrific happened to you.

Within seconds, he apologizes. Brown eyes looking at yours, barely forming tears. He’s pulling you into a tight hug, holding you deeply, and finding a way to blame himself. If he’d known you sooner, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. He could’ve protected you.

But, that doesn’t help the situation — so he focuses on you, helping you through things and ensuring you’ll be safe. Because you’ll always be with him.

Kyle tries to help you in every shape and form, making sure your boundaries are set and that he follows them knee-deep. And that, of course, your family doesn’t come near you. If they try to push through the cracks, he’s immediately acting viciously. And it’s not pretty.

—

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

He chokes on his drink, coughing up a storm. Hitting him like a ton of bricks, and somehow, you look at him like he’s the one who said some type of sex joke at the wrong time.

“I– beg your pardon?”

He’s right in the same area with Ghost, furious in many aspects. His face shows it. His body language, and thick voice. When you’re describing the multiple incidents, it just makes him want to track down your family and rip them in two.

Comfort is immediately given, Johnny’s arms find yours within seconds, and you’re brought into a cuddle session — one where he kisses every part, and promises that you’ll never have to face them again. He looks at you, blue eyes just admiring you before kissing your cheek, “Nobody will hurt ya’ again, swear on my and ma’s life, sweets.”

And he goes with it. Days pass, and he’s still thinking about it. He sees you so strongly, and how you’re able to go about your day and act as if it’s normal; his heart beats faster at your sewn thoughts of even crying.

Without saying, Johnny despises your family. A bitter emotion that can be easily shown if you bring them up into a conversation. His hands crunch in remembrance of their scared face, and you won’t be seeing them anymore. You can’t.

—

König:

He just looks at you, seemingly going deeper into your soul. Which, of course, creeps you out. König watches you explain, with a flushed look, and he’s tasting iron in his mouth from how hard he’s biting his cheek.

“Hase, what’d you say?”

He just keeps staring at you. And he doesn’t want you to think he’s angry at you, because he’s not — never in a million years, but it’s devastating to him. How could someone, a family that you’re supposed to trust, do that to you?

“König?” your voice brings him out of his deep thoughts, bloody thoughts, and he just looks at you before bringing you into his chest; a man, so large and beefy, has a voice so little and fragile, that you could barely hear it. He sighs, “Why did you hide it? I’d much rather you talk to me, okay?”

He’s obviously affected, but not as much as you are. He’s in a state of disbelief, and the fact you just blurted it out, whilst in a vulnerable state, makes him sick.

He’s unbelievably more clingy the next few days, ensuring you know your own worth and how strong you are. Everywhere you go, he’s touching you — smoothing the wrinkles in your clothes as his hands crawl underneath the fabric. Kissing you and nearly suffocating you with his weight.

As for your family, he ignores and diverts the questions of them into a different conversation. He doesn’t want to scare you, but with the things he’s done, König is certain you’d be smart to connect the dots.

—

Nikolai:

Not a single laugh, or fun look comes from Nikolai. He’s immediately concerned, the shot glass being put down as he really looks at you, biting his lip.

“Think that’s enough alcohol, Lyubimyy. Why don’t we head to bed, hm?”

He doesn’t necessarily react — but more so tries to make you sidetrack so you two can focus on something else. Until, the next morning, is where he re-brings it up and asks. He’s concerned, dark eyes showing sadness that’s covered by anger. But your feelings matter. They will always come first. And when he sees your reaction, Nikolai quickly understands, “We can talk whenever you’re ready, mkay lovey?”

Nikolai comforts you with the best of his abilities, ensuring that you’re not a burden. You’re the complete opposite, and you’re so strong. His hugs become deeper, kisses become longer and more intimate.

And the gifts he brings home, even to the grocery store, are enormous. His sly smile as he carries them in definitely takes your head off some things, no?

Your parents are immediately cut out of your life. Nikolai has secrets of his own, and once in a while, he has to take out the dirty trash, right? Before he leaves for the day, a mission needed for Laswell, he promises to be back before 5 PM; and he does, arriving all giddy and flirty. But his hands seem a bit too warm, a bit odd.

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ceilidho · 9 months

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prompt: im also thinking of a very bad fic where ghost is taken pow for awhile and it fucks him up and he’s forced to see a therapist when he’s rescued but he’d rather use her p[] as therapy instead. tags: nsfw, implied/not described violence, slight dubcon, unprofessional relationship lol

It isn’t serendipitous that you meet; it comes because of a lot of bad luck and malevolence.

He’s captured during a routine surveillance mission and spends three months as a POW in some shed in the Ural mountains. He comes back different. That’s to be expected. Trauma is an insidious thing that takes root under the skin, that twists and turns even in the dead of night. It’s a tunnel that gets tighter as you walk through it. It would be concerning if he didn’t come back that way.

You know far too many gory details to ever feel truly comfortable around him. Not because of anything he’s done but because you can’t help the way the narrative builds in your mind when you look across the room at him. Even sitting on the prim and proper little sectional in your office, his body too big for the cozy little couch you picked up from some upscale boutique with your government paycheck, you can’t help but mythologize him.

The official story is that four men were found dead when Simon Riley was finally extracted from the shed-turned-torture-room six months ago due to a bacterial infection that, luckily, Simon was not exposed to. The story’s flimsy even to your untrained ears; you may not have gone to medical school, but it just seems too perfect, too impeccable. When you push your superior for the truth, the look you get and the quiet “leave it alone” tells you far more than your paygrade deserves.

Even knowing what you know, he shows up day one with the skull balaclava like some bone fortress that tells you before you even try, I am unknowable. You can try to cut me up and look inside, but this is all you’ll find—bone and bone and more bone.

He’s remarkably resistant to therapy, which is also to be expected; you aren’t at the stage in your career where you’re surprised that a man entrenched in the machinery of militarism won’t acquiesce to talk therapy.

There’s a point where you want to try a new tactic, something to get to the root of what he’s hiding from you. So, you poke at it. You ask him to give you a five-minute account of the traumatic event, something that took place in the shed.

“Which of those events do you dislike thinking about the most?” Your pen is poised over the pad in your lap.

He raises a brow so high up that it disappears behind the mask. “How could I pick just one?”

His voice rumbles like tires over gravel. Sometimes your leg jitters when he speaks and it’s not your fault. You shut it down though because this is not a legend in front of you but a man, and you are in this room with him for a very specific purpose that does not include finding the sound of his voice attractive.

You ask him again: “Which comes to mind first?”

Simon doesn’t answer you, but there’s a flash like quicksilver across his eyes and you catch it not because you’re looking but because he lets you.

He shifts forward in his chair so that his elbows are propped on his knees and he’s leaning forward, closer to you than you’re comfortable with. You didn’t think to put a coffee table between the two of you. With other vets and active personnel, it’s easier without the sense of distance; makes them feel closer to you, vulnerable because it’s just skin, oxygen, and skin.

With Simon, you get the sense that distance might be better.

“What comes to mind first is that it was dark and I could smell the blood. I could taste it. But I couldn’t see it.” He doesn’t blink for as long as he speaks. You try not to let your breath shorten; you feel hungry for his truth the way a wolf hungers for the moon. “And it was dark and I could smell it; it was in my throat because I knew it was the only way out of there. I realized in that room that there is no righteous path but the one you take.”

Simon leans so far forward that his body glides up to stand and the pencil trembles in your hand when he takes a step close. He’s bigger looming over you, all brawn in the way military men often are, but sleek in his movements. You think of snakes or panthers.

He breathes in. “You smell good though, love. Do you think we could start there instead?”

You open your mouth to reply, maybe even tell him to sit down so you can approach the question from a different angle, but then he’s on you, quick as he must have been that night. One big callused hand over your mouth and one knee on the couch, his other hand reaching up to pull the mask below his nose. You feel the warm press of it into the side of your neck and try not to struggle.

His breath shudders across your skin. You shake because you feel all the bone hidden beneath his frame now.

Simon’s hand is rough when it slides up your shirt. Pretty pearl buttons go flying; one rolls under the prim and proper couch. You only struggle for the first couple of seconds before professionalism melts away like a fine mist. Like you can do anything but look at him like a revelation. You stare at the pearl beneath the couch when he fucks you, legs split around his waist and you know it’s going to hurt in the morning.

“If I’d known that you were waiting for me while I was in there,” he breathes, sonorous and rich, mask rolled up over lips bisected by a puckered scar, “I would have torn out their throats much more eagerly.”

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #cod simon riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost cod #ceil writing #cod modern warfare

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vanilladove · 17 days

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Hello, I am writing to you anonymously out of shame but you can call me Emy I was reading your blog and I was totally delighted with how you wrote and I wanted to make a request: could you write for Chuuya, Jouno, Dazai and Poe (you can add more if you like) with a reader like Mikan from danganronpa If you don't know her, her personality is a little (very) shy and she is surprised by the slightest show of affection (she is even surprised if you say good morning), often despising herself, asking others to forgive her existence and when people Annoyed with her, she tends to ask if she can take off her clothes or imitate a pig so that they can forgive her for all this because she suffered harassment in the past. I'm sorry if the request is very big 😭 but I would be grateful if you accept it (nothing happens if you don't either) I'm sorry if there are spelling errors but English is not my first language and I am using Google Translator. ♡

~ bsd men with a v shy + fragile reader

bow divider yeribbon

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: various bsd men x gn!reader (dazai, atsushi, chuuya, akutagawa, jouno, poe)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre: comforting fluff!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ content warnings: none! also i'm not v familiar with daganronpa, so apologies for any inaccuracies! i'm just going off what wiki fandom says (。-∀-)

~ dazai osamu

doesn't mind your personality, although at first he teases you mercilessly until he realizes it isn't just an act.

as someone that has also gone through trauma, he would gradually soften up to your personality and reassure you of your worth.

dazai is a very impatient man though, so expect his method of choice to be exposure therapy...like extreme exposure therapy...like bro might slap some sense into you like atsushi & akutagawa ( ó × ò)

when you start over-apologizing, he'll put a finger to your lips and stroke your face and hair to calm you down (ღˇᴗˇ)｡o

expect lots of subtle displays of affection like hand kisses, kissing away tears, and general affectionate flirting.

~ atsushi nakajima

your demeanor confuses atsushi at first, to the point where he cries after the first time he meets you :,(

you're going to get a sentimental, heartfelt speech about how you deserve to live, and how you aren't a burden to anyone.

poor atsu cries over you--you guys probably have daily cry + cuddle sessions.

will do random things to cheer you up and give you many words of affirmation.

buys you a tiger plushie sprayed with his cologne to cuddle with when he isn't with you for comfort ♡

i'd like to think that through helping you, atsushi also helps address his own self-esteem issues ^w^

~ akutagawa ryunosuke

hates you at first and sees you as a cowardly weakling.

it isn't until one day he randomly compliments or helps you and catches your shy/flustered expression that he begins to feel some sympathy.

will gradually visit you more until you stop flinching whenever he approaches you. he can tell you're intimidated by him because of his personality and notorious reputation.

it's definitely hard for akutagawa to be soft with you, since he's a rough person, but he tries his best to be gentle with you.

shows his care through actions more than words (sharing food with you, doing constant check-ins, guiding your back when walking with you, etc.)

promises threatens to kill those who have harmed and harassed you in the past.

becomes overprotective over you, getting mad when anyone--even jokingly--teases you.

~ chuuya nakahara

tough love~!!!

expect a lot of "huh, what the hell are you talking about?" anytime you apologize for something small or suggest some self-sabotage

since you aren't used to affection and often try to reject gifts, thinking you aren't worth giving them to, chuuya will 'lovebomb' you with gifts until you get used to them as the norm and accept them willingly.

although he may seem short-tempered and easily irritated, he'll always make time to sit down with you and listen to your rants/past stories and engage in deep conversations.

holds your hands and reminds you of how strong and talented you are--will keep drilling it into your head until it sticks.

carries tissues in his suit for when you cry.

~ edgar allen poe

this man may be your twin...honestly he's a bit of a mess himself, so he doesn't know how to help you.

i think poe would be relieved to find someone similar to him--also very shy and awkward/bad at socializing.

if you started apologizing when there was a pause in conversation, he would probably apologize back, and you two would go back and forth until karl bites him (꒪▿꒪)

since you both mainly only find confidence in your talents/skills, he would get to know your strengths as much as possible and encourage you to do your best!

will also share his book plots with you, taking you with him into the books and getting your feedback, never missing the chance to show you something beautiful he secretly wrote just for you

overall, poe would make you feel less alone and isolated, helping you gain confidence overtime!

~ jouno saigiku

since you're already so fragile and frantic, jouno wouldn't find any pleasure in torturing or messing with you

ends up helping you under the pretense of "calming down your raging heartbeat and nerves that are too loud"; in reality, he notices how you're always on edge and just wants you to experience some peace and quiet.

jouno's sensitive to others' emotions, so i think if you were having a panic attack or extreme anxiety, he'd immediately hug + hold you until you calmed down again (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

like the rest, he'd offer you words of affirmation and hold your hand in public/around other people.

will stick around you to ward off anyone who tries to bully you or exploit your personality; blushes uncontrollably if you thank him for his simple acts ♡

#vanilladove #vanilladovebsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd headcanons #bsd fluff #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #atsushi x reader #chuuya x reader #akutagawa x reader #jouno saigiku x reader #jouno x reader #poe x reader #poe bsd #edgar allan poe

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ineffable-suffering · 6 months

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INEFFABLE META MASTERPOST

Because I'm slowly losing count and need to organize. So, here's all my self-written metas or ones that I reblogged with my own added theories and commentary! In rainbow colours, naturally.

1 – Aziraphale, I love you. But you lied. And here's why. My most lengthy and proudest meta about the Final Fifteen and why I think Aziraphale lied on purpose. (Also: The absolute darling @esthermitchell-author bravely fought their way through it and wrote up some more interesting points and different takes on what I came up with. If you want to go down a S2 rabbit hole with us, go read it here.)

2 – Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator (links below) A three-part meta in which I try to analyse and explain that all of the minisodes in Season 2 are not objective narrations but actually Aziraphale's memories.

Part 1: The Story of Job

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

3 – The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie A meta in which I go into unnecessarily great detail about how the Whickber Street Meeting Cotillion Ball was meant to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley.

4 – Crowley & Aziraphale were never free (reblog) A reblog of @baggvinshield's post in which I explain why miscommunication is the single biggest ineffable enemy in Season 2.

5 – In Defense of Aziraphale (double reblog) A double try at explaining why I think Aziraphale's POV in the Final Fifteen is just as horrible as Crowley's and why I don't think him "choosing" to go back to Heaven was the only point of his character journey.

6 – The Art of Miscommunication: Ineffable Edition A meta in which i once again explain why miscommunication is the single biggest ineffable enemy in Season 2.

7– Season 2 Bookshop Shot Meta A meta where I briefly loose my mind because of a single bookshop frame in Season 2.

8 – What if it wasn't Aziraphale and Crowley who performed the 25 Lazarii miracle? A mini-meta in which I propose the theory that Jimbriel helped with the miracle to hide himself away from Heaven & Hell.

9 – Things in Good Omens Season 2 I still find weird (reblog) A reblog of @ok-sims and many other great OPs' thoughts on the weird loose strings in Season 2 and what unanswered questions I still have myself.

10 – The Deleted Bookshop Scene (reblog) A reblog of @skirtdyke's video and @i-only-ever-asked-questions' smart thoughts on it, with my own overly-excited 'what that could have meant for the "It's too late" line'-theroy.

11 – The Bentley Handle Easter Egg A meta I can proudly say has been liked by none other than Mr. Neil Gaiman himself about Crowley's Bentley handle that might have existed before the Bentley ever did.

12 – The F*cking Eccles Cakes A meta where I briefly loose my mind because of a pastry. (Addendum: People said very smart things in the comments of the post!)

14 – Re: "You go too fast for me, Crowley" A meta in which I make myself sad by connecting that infamous line to Aziraphale assuming Crowley wanted the Holy Water as a suicide pill.

13 – Trauma-Dumping on your plants: The Anthony J. Crowley Chronicles A meta on why Crowley treats his plants the way that he does.

14 – Demonic Mental Health Awareness Post In which I talk about why I want to get Crowley a therapy voucher.

15 – The Curious Incident of The Flaming Sword in Good Omens A meta on why the Flaming Sword has no deeper meaning. Or does it? (Updated: here's a reblog from @queerfables who did a wonderfully exellent job at calmly explaining all the swordy questions I was yelling about! Consider this meta solved.)

16 – Ceci n'est pas une plume A meta in which I'm a bit of a nerd for language and also explain why learning French and magic the human way says so much about Aziraphale as a character.

17 – The meaning of "I forgive you" A meta in which I explain what both "I forgive you"s mean and why Aziraphale will always fight for what is right until he wins. Also, the lovely @sharksbeerr translated it to Chinese on Weibo!

18 – Memory, or the lack thereof, in Season 2 A little reblog on how memory is a big and unresolved, leaky-bucket theme in Season 2.

Addendum:

The one non-spoiler-y ask I could come up with about S2 that was actually answered by Neil, yay!

Also, this wholesome little post I added to that Mr. Gaiman also reblogged. :‘)

*** This is a work in progress and will get updated every time I post a new meta! ***

#good omens #good omens season 2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #gos2 #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens s2 #my own meta #good omens season 1 #meta masterpost #ineffable-suffering

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trailingoff · 9 months

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Aziraphale’s religious trauma

I’m sure others have discussed this in a lot of depth, but I can’t help throwing my hat in the ring. Aziraphale has major religious trauma after spending his entire very long existence as a member of a cult. If you’ve never experienced what it’s like to be indoctrinated into a religion, then it might be very hard to understand why he behaves the way he does, so I’ll try to lay it out for you.

Anyone who was raised from early childhood to believe that an all-powerful being is watching them as though they’re in a panopticon (a jail where prisoners are watched by authorities at random moments) and will severely punish them and/or their loved ones if anyone steps out of line (or just on a whim or based on a bet with Satan) either has experienced religious trauma or has somehow avoided it, perhaps through repression or retreating into themselves and managing to ignore what the adults were telling them. Another way to avoid the trauma is to continue to believe that the cult is ‘good’ and that those outside it are ‘bad’ and should seek redemption, forgiveness and salvation.

Not only does Aziraphale have this trauma, but it’s also based on reality in the GO universe. I was able to live with mine by realising that there is no empirical evidence for religious beliefs, by studying philosophy, by having therapy, and by reflecting on it for years. The trauma can still be triggered in me, leading to panic that God might be watching and judging me, and that an afterlife might exist, but luckily I’m now able to move through the panic relatively quickly. Aziraphale can’t do any of this because the beliefs of his cult are all too real. There really is a massively powerful (hopefully not all-powerful, but he believes she is) being who watches and judges him and everyone else at random moments. She has either directly ordered her angels to slaughter babies and children or has stood by and watched them do it. She has severely punished someone Aziraphale cares about, Crowley, who from that moment has been in a situation where he continues to be tortured by his fellow demons with no intervention from God and who simultaneously risks being destroyed by demons, by angels, by humans wielding sacred weapons (e.g. holy water) or by his own hand.

And so Aziraphale suffers from both religious trauma and the trauma of living under a real authoritarian dictatorship. This dictatorship is seemingly unbeatable and eternal, and it possesses weapons more powerful than the biggest nuclear weapons, more powerful than the sun, really more powerful than anything we humans can imagine.

Thousands of years ago, Crowley was kicked out in an extremely painful way, and he suffers his own trauma from that. He clearly doesn’t want Aziraphale to go through all of that, yet he wants Aziraphale to join him on ‘their own side’. At the end of the previous season, I thought Aziraphale was all in. I was happy to leave it at that ... even though it isn’t a realistic depiction of someone dealing with the particular types of trauma that Aziraphale has experienced and continues to experience.

Aziraphale and Crowley are still in constant grave danger, and they’re still living in God’s panopticon. That can’t just be hand-waved away. As we’ve seen this season, at any moment their fragile peace can be disrupted by a situation that puts them in danger of being harmed to the extent of being wiped from existence. They can’t actually just go to Alpha Centauri and it will all be cool. (And what would they do there for eternity anyway ...?) But yeah there is no way to escape from God, nowhere in the universe that God isn’t capable of supervising -- that’s real, not something Aziraphale merely has faith in, as humans understand belief in God. Aziraphale isn’t the equivalent of a human priest or a theologian or a cult member: he is a supernatural being created by a much more powerful supernatural being.

Perhaps there are only two ways for Aziraphale to deal with his trauma: 1) He realises that God and the Heavenly Host can be defeated. 2) He realises that they can be permanently altered in a positive way.

At the end of season two, Aziraphale seems to believe he is being given the opportunity to bring about option 2. We don’t know if he has a plan or a vision for this, but for the first time he thinks he has a chance. Perhaps best of all, he has the opportunity to protect Crowley -- permanently! Imagine how anxious Aziraphale must have been, for thousands of years, that Crowley would be destroyed. It could have happened at any time, near or far from Aziraphale. Crowley faces dangers on all sides and also does foolish (from Aziraphale’s perspective) things like good deeds under the influence of laudanum and a heist so he can handle holy water. Crowley breaks and bends rules in ways that could kill him: Aziraphale isn’t catastrophising. This isn’t the same as a religious loved one telling you that you’re going to hell for sinning. Crowley has already been tortured in hell, and he could be tortured there forever, or he could be turned into an oily black puddle, or removed from the book of life etc etc.

What Aziraphale doesn’t understand yet is that Crowley can’t be an angel again and still be the Crowley that Aziraphale loves. He also doesn’t see Crowley as an equal. If they’re going to take on heaven and bring down God’s dictatorship, they are going to have to do it as Aziraphale and Crowley, working in partnership, wielding the immense power of their love.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #religious trauma

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scoonsalicious · 1 month

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Unwanted: Chapter 10, Uneasy - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of sex, insecurity, nosey gossip, some shady actions, Jade Carthage (she's the worst), Pocket's approaching her bullshit limit.

Word Count: 4.1k

Previously On...: You had a good heart-to-heart with Pepper, who suggested you start going back to therapy to deal with your constant feelings of jealousy and insecurity.

A/N: ::lobs shit at fan like hand grenades:: I'm sorry. I was up writing Chapter 20 from about 6pm yesterday through 5am this morning, and I'm pleased to say it's finished! I think it's the longest so far, with ten parts. And it's dark. I can't believe how dark I went with it, as it was absolutely not my intention, but there was a lot of negative stuff that needed to happen, and I kinda wanted to keep it to one chapter so I didn't have to dwell on it. I might have to take a day or two off from writing to kind of clear my head and reset my emotions, lol.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls

Your feet pounded the treadmill, sweat dripping down your forehead, breathing heavy. You were approaching the end of your ten-mile run and about to go into your cool-down in the Avengers’ training facility of the Tower. Bucky had left early that morning for a training session with Jade. Between his obligations and your therapy sessions, you were seeing each other less than ever before– and having less sex. Between all the additional training sessions and demands on his time, you’d sometimes be lucky if you got a kiss goodnight from Bucky, let alone getting him to make you come. You tried to convince yourself that wasn’t the end all, be all, but you were left with a plethora of pent-up sexual energy that needed to be released. You'd thought about taking Nat up on her offer for a sparring session, but every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Bucky in less than family-friendly situations, and you knew if you had any hope of going up against the Black Widow, you needed all of your wits about you, so the treadmill it was. At least this way, you could let your mind wander without getting your ass kicked.

The treadmill slowed itself to a stop and you pulled your earbuds from your ears while you caught your breath. Picking up your hand towel, you wiped at the sweat on your face and took a look around the training room. The space was occupied by SHIELD agents in various states of exercise, but you noticed a small crowd had gathered around one of the sparring mats in the far corner of the room. Curiosity getting the better of you, you grabbed your water bottle and made your way over to see what was going on. People moved aside to let you by, and you heard whispers of "his girlfriend" as they watched you pass, so you knew that, whatever people were gawking at, Bucky had to be at the center of it.

When you reached the front of the crowd, your eyes were immediately drawn to Bucky as he moved slowly around his opponent in a predatory circle, sweatpants riding low and showcasing his Adonis belt, and for a brief moment, you saw yourself on your knees, running your tongue along the defined musculature. You shook your head to clear it of the image. God, you needed his dick. Desperately.

You focused instead on the way his body moved, lithe and graceful on his bare feet, like a lion ready to pounce on its prey. And the prey... Well, fuck. His prey was Jade Carthage, and she looked ready to devour him as they circled each other. They danced like that for a while before she launched herself at him at such a high speed, your eyes could barely track the movement. The crowd around you cheered as she lunged for his midsection, but Bucky managed to side-step her, using her momentum to his advantage. He tapped her on the back of the knees, sending her to the mat, but she was up in an instant, throwing herself onto Bucky's back and wrapping her legs around his midsection and her arms around his neck as she tried to pull him down.

"God, they make sparring look so hot," said a voice to your left. You turned your head and saw two SHIELD agents, a male and female, making commentary on the match before you. "Do you think they're fucking?" the male asked.

"Pfft," the female agent scoffed, "Barnes would never. He's with Stark's CTO. From what I hear, he's absolutely rabid for her." You couldn't help the warm feeling that bubbled in your stomach at the idea of Bucky being rabid for you.

"Yeah, I know, but come on-- there's no way some science nerd is going to compare with her," he said, nodding his head toward Jade, who now had her thighs wrapped around Bucky's head, much to the delight of the crowd, and the warm feeling in your stomach turned into a cold, heavy rock. "I mean, look at her; she's a fucking goddess. She's got the serum, too. I mean, guy like him, think he's going to be satisfied with a normal girl long-term? Nah, give it time; he'll get bored. Vixen's much more his speed. Fifth floor’s already placing bets on when he’ll start doing her on the side."

"Wow," said the female agent, sarcastically, "aren't you the romantic?"

"Just watch them," the male said. "There's something happening there."

The female agent cocked her head and studied Bucky and Jade as they traded blows. "Okay," she conceded, "maybe there's something."

"Maybe you two should mind your own fucking business and not speculate about things you know nothing about," a husky voice said from behind them. You turned to see Natasha, hands on her hips, glaring at the two agents, who, under the former assassin's scrutiny, had the good sense to look ashamed… and a little frightened. "Now, why don't you stop gawking and go do something useful with yourselves, considering, in case you happened to forget, you're on the fucking clock." She narrowed her eyes and tapped her fingers against her hip impatiently as the two muttered apologies before slinking off into the crowd. She watched them go before turning back to you and slipping her arm around your waist. You draped an arm around her back and leaned you head on her shoulder in thanks.

"Don't listen to a word those dumb fucks say," she told you as she watched the sparring match continue to unfold in front of you. "They're just stirring up trouble for shits' sake."

You hummed in agreement, but the seed had been planted, and you were terrified everyone else was seeing something you were being willfully oblivious to. You watched as Bucky and Jade moved, trading blows and blocks in a blur of motion. You knew he didn't have many opportunities to spar with someone on his level, who could keep up with him in strength, skill, and stamina, but there was something about the look in his eye as moved around the space, an excitement, a hunger, that made your stomach feel like it was full of lead. It was a look you knew well-- you saw it every time he pinned you beneath him, whispering sweet, sinful promises into the crook of your neck as he thrust into you and took you beyond reason.

“They’re not blind, though, are they Natty?” you asked, your voice small. As you watched, the sight before you shifted subtly as Bucky reached for Jade, his large hand enclosing around her wrist before twisting swiftly, forcing her arm behind her. He guided her to the ground, his body close against hers as he kept her in place. The interaction was professional, strictly within the limits of their training session. Yet, it unsettled you. You felt a pit of discomfort growing in your stomach as whispers bubbled from the crowd around you.

“You know Barnes better than anyone alive, Pocket,” Nat assured you, squeezing your waist gently. “I’d say even better than Steve at this point; do you honestly think there’s something there?”

You couldn’t answer her, every insecurity you’d had about Jade Carthage bubbling to the surface with a renewed vengeance. Especially now that you’d heard other people giving voice to your deep-seated fears that Bucky was out of your league and it was only a matter of time before he realized that, too, and left you.

Throughout it all, Bucky seemed oblivious to the audience or perhaps he was just too focused on Jade to give them any attention. As he released her and backed away, giving her space to rise, his gaze was trained entirely on her. His eyes were darkened with a serious intensity that stirred something within you, an overwhelming cocktail of fear, jealousy and a raw possessiveness a thousand times stronger than anything you'd felt before.

You fucking hated it.

Jade went on the offensive, swinging out to attempt a roundhouse kick to Bucky's chest, but the super soldier's reflexes were too quick; he grabbed her ankle before she could make contact and threw her off balance. With the grace of a gazelle, Jade used the momentum to spin, crouching low to sweep Bucky's legs out from underneath him. You watched as he fell back to the mat, and quick as lightning, Jade was on top of him, thighs straddling either side of his waist as she held a sparring dagger to his throat. They were both panting heavily from the exertion, but Bucky smiled up at Jade, pride evident on his face.

Sensing that the show was over for now, the crowd began dispersing, almost as if the current moment between the former combatants was too intimate for them to witness, leaving only you and Natasha at the side of the mat. You watched as Jade leaned down to whisper something in Bucky's ear, and he laughed his beautiful, genuine laugh.

The reaction made you squeak in discomfort. It wasn't a loud noise, and no normal person would have heard you from that distance, but Bucky Barnes was no normal man. At the sound, his eyes snapped to where you stood and, to your absolute horror, his face fell. You watched his smile falter as he saw the expression on your face, replaced with something looked alarmingly like guilt.

Jade's dark eyes followed his gaze and when she saw you, she broke into a wide grin, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Don’t get your panties in a twist, (Y/L/N). Just a friendly spar, right Barnes?" She asked, her voice ringing out clear across the room. Bucky nodded, looking stunned and incapable of speech as he continued to meet your gaze.

You watched as she rolled off him, extending the contact of their bodies a little longer than necessary, and extended her hand. Bucky stared at it for a moment before accepting the help and heaving himself off the mat. He shook his head at her, his gaze slowly returning to yours. This was not how you had envisioned your day unfolding.

Natasha squeezed your waist, attempting to offer some comfort, but it wasn't enough to shake off the dark cloud of unease that was settling over you. Ignoring the murmurs of reassurance from Natasha, you pulled away from her and made your way towards Bucky, who was now standing with Jade, both of them looking a little worse for wear after the intense sparring match. Bucky watched your approach with apprehension in his eyes, clearly unsure of what you were going to say or do. Jade smirked at you, her eyes twinkling with amusement, but there was something else behind that smug façade – an insidious satisfaction.

"Barnes," you greeted him, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Sweetheart," he replied, reaching out to touch your arm. You flinched back from the contact and noticed how his expression fell even further.

Jade opened her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with a wave of your hand.

"I need to speak with Bucky. Alone," you said, giving her a pointed look. Jade looked surprised for a moment before she shrugged and walked away, leaving the two of you alone on the edge of the training mat.

Bucky looked like he wanted to say something, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before just clearing his throat. He ran a hand nervously through his hair, the sheen of sweat on his brow glinting in the overhead lights. His gaze flickered between your face and the floor, savoring every second as if it might be his last.

"I... I,” he stuttered, helplessly. You knew he was lost, unsure of how to navigate the waves of anger and hurt that rolled off you in palpable tides.

You crossed your arms over your chest defensively; your heart thudded painfully against your ribs, threatening to break free from its cage. You wanted to yell, cry, demand to know what was going on between him and Jade... But most of all, you just wanted to reach out and touch him, assure him that everything would be okay.

"Bucky," you finally said, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of your emotions. "What's happening between you two?"

Confusion passed over Bucky's face, "Wha- what do you mean?" he asked, his gaze steady on your eyes.

"You and Carthage," you clarified, hating how your voice hitched at the end of her name. "There's something going on between you two. Something... something more than just sparring partners. I want to know what it is."

His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment he looked genuinely shocked before it was replaced by a dawning comprehension. His shoulders sagged as he sighed deeply, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"No," He murmured desperately, reaching out to grip your hand. This time, you didn't pull away. Instead, you watched as his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, as if trying to comfort you. "I promise there's nothing going on between us."

"Then why does everyone who just watched that match think that there is?" you questioned quietly, biting down on your lower lip to stop it from trembling.

Bucky paused for a moment, his gaze shifted from your eyes to the hand he held. His thumb had stopped tracing circles and instead was now holding onto it as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I might just be her trainer, maybe even her friend, but we get onto that mat, it has to become more than that. Something different." He paused, a look of deep concentration transforming his face as he searched for the right words. "We have to push each other to be better, stronger. Fighting skills determine whether you live or die out there, and that unlocks something in here. Emotions run higher, because you know that every perfected move, every successful hit landed, decreases your chances of coming home in a bodybag. Your partner’s victories are your victories, because the better they are, the better they’ll be at keeping you alive. It makes things seem more intense then they actually are, creates a connection that only exists here” he pointed to the mat, “and in the field." He gave a heavy exhale before his eyes met yours again, a pleading look to them. "She's not you."

A bitter laugh escaped from your lips before you were able to stop it. "No. She's a fucking superhuman goddess and I'm just a boring science nerd."

Bucky moved back as if you'd slapped him. "What-- Where-- Why would you ever say something like that?" He reached for your hands, cupping them in his own.

You couldn't meet his gaze. "People talk, Buck. I'm not the only one who looks at you two out there and sees fucking foreplay. And they're gossiping about it. Fuck, Bucky, people are placing bets on how long it's going to be before you get bored of me and start sleeping with her."

His eyes widened at your words, his grip on your hands tightening. "Who? Who the fuck is saying that? How fucking dare they?!" He looked horrified and angry; a dangerous combination for the likes of Bucky Barnes. As he opened his mouth to respond, you cut him off.

"Only because of how you're acting, Bucky! The chemistry between you two on the mat is undeniable." You tried to pull your hands from his, tried to put some distance between you, but his fingers only tightened around yours. "And even if it's not true...there's a part of me that believes it. Because why would you settle for me when you could have someone who's your equal in every goddamn way?"

Bucky was silent for a few moments, looking at you with such intensity that you felt like he was trying to see into your very soul. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the intensity disappeared from his face, replaced with a look of utter resolve.

"Then let me make it clear for you," he said, voice low and determined. "I may spar with Vixen. I may laugh with her, talk with her, and yeah, even enjoy her company, as much as you might hate to hear it. But it ends there. I’m her trainer inside the gym and her friend outside of it." He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. "But you, you're something entirely different."

He reached up to gently cup your face, his cool metal hand providing a stark contrast to the heat flushing your cheeks. "You’re my solace in this fucked up, too fast future I found myself in. When I'm with you, I'm not the Winter Soldier or another Avenger. I'm just... Bucky. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, and I only get to be him when I’m with you." The earnestness in his voice was nearly enough to make your heart break on the spot.

"Your love is my strength," he continued. "And your faith in me... that's the redemption I’ve been searching for, the amends I’ve spent so long trying to find." His fingers were soft against your skin as he pushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I love you in ways that I can't begin to express. All I care about is you. You, who's never boring, constantly keeping me on my toes with your wit and sense of humor. I love that you’re a science nerd, the most brilliant and beautiful woman I've ever met, inventin’ and creating things no one’s ever even imagined before to make the world a safer place. You, who sees past the metal arm and the nightmares, and loves me for who I am."

His hand moved along your jaw, his thumb softly grazing your cheek. His gaze was intense, filled with so much love and longing that it took your breath away.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he reiterated the words you’d spoken to him the night he’d confessed his own insecurities to you. "And I'm certainly never getting bored of you. So yeah, Vix may be my occasional sparring partner, but you...you are my life partner, and you’re going to be until the day I die. She’s never going to come close to you."

His words echoed in your ears, shattering the wall of uncertainty within you. Swallowing hard, you met his gaze, trying to find any trace of insincerity or doubt. But all you found was love – raw and beautiful love that rendered you speechless. He took your hands in his again, gently squeezing to emphasize his words.

"Promise?" You asked, your voice trembling with vulnerability.

Bucky gave you a soft, reassuring smile. "I promise. On everything that I am, and everything that I'll ever be," he said with certainty. His grip on your hands tightened, as if to emphasize the truth in his words.

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. You blinked them away, not wanting to break this moment of connection. His expression was open, vulnerable; it was a sight reserved for you and no one else.

"Just… I just need you to tell me if your feelings ever change," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. "I can handle any truth but, if you lie to me, it’ll destroy me."

Bucky's thumb brushed away a tear that had managed to escape from the corner of your eye. "Nothing will change, doll. Not how I feel about you." He then leaned in closer until his forehead gently rested against yours. "You're stuck with me, remember?"

A small laugh bubbled out of you even as more tears spilled down your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around him, allowing yourself to melt in the comfort and warmth of him. "I'm sorry for being so insecure," you murmured into his chest. “Therapy is supposed to be helping me get over this.”

"Hey," he said, tipping his face up to meet his gaze, "there's no need for that. If you can work me through my insecurities about Steve, this is the least I can do for you. Besides, therapy’s a process, not an over-night cure."

His words brought a small smile to your face. The sincerity in his voice was soothing, like the soft lull of the ocean against the sand. "Do you think we're crazy, Bucky? For being like this?"

Bucky chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours, "I think we've both been used and hurt, doll. Damaged." He kissed your forehead and you closed your eyes, relishing the feeling of his lips on your skin. "And I think that's made both of us terrified that we're not worthy of being loved the way we deserve. But no, I don't think we're crazy. At least, not about this, anyway."

You huffed out a laugh. "I love you so much," you murmured into the fabric of his shirt. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you. How I would survive."

"You won't lose me, doll," Bucky said, his voice a soothing balm to your fears. "As long as there's breath in my body, I'll always be by your side. I will fight for you, for us."

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his gaze resolute. "And if it ever comes down to it," he added, his words barely above a whisper, "I'll choose you. Over anyone else, over anything else. Always."

There was something in the way he spoke, the conviction in his voice that made your heart flutter in your chest. You believed him. You believed in him. You believed in the both of you, together.

"Promise?" you asked again, needing the confirmation more than you had ever needed anything else.

"I promise," he said instantly, pulling you closer into his embrace.

The warmth of his body against yours was comforting; it felt like home. It was as if all the pieces of your broken past were being put back together; mended by Bucky’s words, his promises, and the unconditional love he held for you. You pressed your face further into his chest, your tears soaking the fabric of his shirt.

"Hey," he said softly, his hand coming up to gently lift your chin so you were looking into his eyes. "Why are you still crying?"

You tried to laugh at yourself through your tears. "Because I'm relieved... and a little overwhelmed."

His thumb brushed away your tears again and then his lips were on yours in a tender kiss that told you without words just how much he cared about you.

As the kiss deepened, it was as if all the chaos of the world simply melted away. It was just the two of you in that moment, connected by not only a kiss but by the beating of two hearts that echoed the same rhythm - a testament to your shared love.

"Alright, you two," came Natasha's voice, finding its way into your bubble, "break it up. While I'm thrilled you're good, this is a training facility, not a lover's lane."

Bucky smiled down at you at Nat's words. "She's right, doll. Besides, I think I owe you a special sparring match of our very own."

You looked at him, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "Buck, I love you, but there's no way in hell I'm going to spar with you; you'll destroy me."

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, so softly you doubted Natasha could hear him. "I was thinking more along the lines of the naked sparring we could do upstairs in your room. Can't promise I won't still destroy you, though," he added with a wink.

"Oh my God," sighed Nat, who apparently could hear him, after all. "You two are disgusting. Get out of here before you start humping in the middle of the floor."

"That is an excellent idea, Natasha," you said, taking one of Bucky's hands in both of yours as you began to walk backward toward the exit, pulling him along. "Let's get out of here, Barnes. See how many times you can pin me before I scream for mercy."

Bucky threw his towel at Nat as he followed you, his gaze locked on you with a hunger that far surpassed the look he had in the ring with Jade. It sent shivers down your spine and set your heart racing.

God, you loved that man. You loved him so much that you were more than willing to ignore the little voice in the back of your head that kept asking "If there was nothing for you to worry about, why had he looked so guilty when he realized you'd been watching them?"

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whiskeynwriting · 10 months

Text

Recovery

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

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Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Trauma, physical therapy, some reader descriptions (strong/muscles), dirty talk, size kink, grinding/dry humping, mentions of male masturbation, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of smoking, tattoos.

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A/N: Hope y’all aren’t getting sick of Ghost x Bones because they’re not leaving anytime soon lol. Also this gif has my HEART, baby has some makeup in his eye lol

ALSO also, thank you to @thesleepingmusicneek for honestly just being an amazing fucking friend but for helping me SO much with my writing 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

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Nothing but scribbles stumble across the page, now disfigured with angry wrinkles. And the writer, no more frustrated than he is stubborn, sitting with the pencil’s tip just at the paper’s edge. What’s worse than watching him struggle, is knowing there’s little to nothing you can do about it. This journey is up to him; his progress, his growth, his recovery, it’s all in his hands.

“This is bullocks.” Finally, he tosses the pencil down with an aggressive huff. “Never even was a lefty.”

“That’s not the point.”

Looking away with a frown, he mumbles, “I know.”

Simon’s physical therapist tries his best, he really does, but his patient is stubborn, and these injuries are unforgiving. Having you here is the main thing that keeps Simon going, out of both pride and general encouragement. In the therapist’s eyes, your open sass doesn’t help. But hey, it’s how the two of you bond.

“Try it this way, Ghost.” He then offers, speaking into the growing silence.

“I’ve already tried it that way. Fuckin’ hurts!” His left hand wasn’t ever his strongest or most favored out of the two, but practicing his writing skills is a step in the right direction in regard to his healing.

Sometimes, this was embarrassing for him, having you watch him struggle. But even through the bad days, and the really bad days, he insisted that you come. Your support meant more to him than anything, and you were glad to tag along. He found great offense in the mere offer of you leaving, which was suggested many times by his therapist. They claimed he’d focus better without you there. A fucking distraction.

“She’s my doctor,” He’d state firmly, eyes burning holes into his PT. “Not you.”

And this was true. Price had allowed you to be Simon’s main physician, figuring there really wasn’t anyone better. You had both personal and professional reason to be here. So, Simon’s physical therapist can suck it.

“Perhaps if we had some privacy, maybe -”

“This again?!” Ghost shouts, and you try your best to hide your chuckle. He should’ve known better than to bring this up now, when Simon is most frustrated. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, how many times do I have to tell you?!”

“Hey,” Laying a hand on his forearm, you request gently, “Take a breath.”

Regardless of his deep inhale, Simon’s dark eyes continue to glare at the physician. Though, as irritated as he may seem now, Ghost truly has come a long way. He’s gotten a lot of feeling back in his feet and legs, and can even wiggle his toes and feel pain. On this area of his body, the therapist has moved onto moving his entire foot.

“Why don’t we try the lower extremities?”

“‘S difficult, too.” Glancing away, Simon focuses on the view past the windowpane. It’s a sunny day, soon to rain but nice enough now.

The soft rub of your thumb on his forearm is what pulls him back, nodding with a sigh. “Alright, fine.”

Redirecting his focus to his feet, Simon concentrates, determined to do… something. He’s been instructed to wiggle his toes, which he does successfully. And the gentle squeeze you give him offers the slightest bit of encouragement.

“Alright, now let’s try your ankle. Start with the right one.”

“Rotate it fully?” Scoffing, he raises a brow.

His therapist shrugs. “Any movement at all.”

Narrowing his eyes, Simon zones in on his right foot, doing anything he can to make it move. A twitch, a wiggle, anything. But by his quick yet shallow breaths, his small grunts, you can tell he’s becoming agitated again.

“Be patient with your body.”

“My body can do so much more than this.” He spits out in return.

“Yeah?” You return, not one to take his sass. “Then show me.”

There was nothing more motivating than your snarky remarks, always ready to challenge the man you love. And wouldn't you know it, a small shudder runs through his ankle. The way Simon’s head immediately snaps up toward you makes you grin, his eyes wide with little crinkles on the side, evidence of his eager smile. It's like he himself was surprised by it, and to say you’re proud of him would be an understatement.

“Way to go, big boy.” With the widest grin, you congratulate him. “You’re making progress.”

And even though he doesn’t respond, he keeps his smile. He’s proud of himself, too.

Subtle glances, small brushes or touches, cheeky grins and flirtatious laughs, that’s what accounts for your interactions. And while your exchanges have been sweet, they’ve also been dulled, in a way. The fire doesn’t seem to be there anymore. Your love still grows, is still everlasting, but the desire you had for one another, it’s faded.

Or at least, it seems that way.

The first few months of Simon’s recovery were the most difficult. Getting him stable was more important than anything, and you were by his side through it all. You weren’t thinking sexually, those thoughts weren’t anywhere near your headspace, not when you were so worried. But the more Simon healed, the more touchy he should be, right? It makes sense in your head. Going so long without so much as kissing or even hugging you, you’d assumed he’d want to put his hands on you as soon as he got the chance.

The injuries on Ghost’s face and head have healed, externally, at least. So, he’s been lifting his mask more around you, but only to the tip of his nose. And you wonder if he regrets showing himself to you. But even with that thought lingering heavily in your head, you also wonder, why hasn’t he kissed me yet? Why hasn’t he initiated anything? A small hug? A peck on the lips? Anything? Honestly, it feels like you’re losing him all over again.

Simon has shown his love for you through his actions and words. The two of you don’t often say it, but it comes up every now and then. His physical intentions, though, those were much more prominent. They came in the form of voicing his requests for you to stay, whether it be at his therapy sessions or just throughout the day. He wasn’t shy about that. Occasionally, he’d compliment you, call you smart and sweet, call you his doctor, his girl. But nothing more, nothing even remotely sexual. And it’s strange because Simon used to be so sexual. Even when he couldn't do much with you, couldn't he have said something to express his physical interest?

On the other end, Ghost’s worrying about this topic just as much as you. While you’ve been waiting for him to make a move, he’s been waiting on you. His body has always been scarred, mutilated with cuts that ran deep and marred with burns over his flesh. But he wasn’t insecure about any of that, not until these recent injuries. He knows he looks different, especially on his left arm and legs, even his face a little bit. Simon hasn’t felt truly insecure in decades, but that rotten feeling has now been clawing at the insides of his chest, breaking free and wreaking havoc on his mind.

Simon wanted to give you space, give you the option of turning away. He wouldn’t blame you, this wasn’t exactly part of the package. Besides, you can’t help it if you’re not attracted to him anymore because of these injuries. He’d understand it. It’d crush his entire being, but he’d understand.

And so, he waits, wondering if the day will come where you’ll make a move, where you’ll show him that you’re still attracted to him. But he refuses to bring it up to you, he doesn’t want to push.

“‘M sorry,” Simon grumbles quietly, somberly.

“You don’t have to be.” His regret is obvious, and you appreciate the gesture of him apologizing. But you’re used to his attitude during those sessions, and you honestly don’t blame him one bit. You can’t imagine how frustrating this situation would be if it were you personally.

Moving about the room, you clean up your station, sorting notes into files and wiping down the desk. And Simon watches you with thoughtful eyes, hoping for a chance to reconnect. You’re the most precious and special thing he’s ever had the pleasure of possessing. But not possess in a way of dominance, possess in a way like his own soul possesses his body. Natural, connected, at peace.

“How was your day?” He asks, voice low and muddled by the rain tapping against the windowpane.

Without turning, you respond with, “Normal. Nothing too crazy.”

“What was your favorite part?” Simon pries gently, not wanting the conversation to end.

Now, you do turn. Leaning back against the edge of your desk, you grin. “Spending it with you.”

And it’s true. Regardless of the worries slowly but surely consuming you, it was nice to be with him.

Swallowing, his pulse becomes thunderous in his ears, heart beating against his chest. He wants you, wants to feel you next to him. So, with great hesitancy, he requests, “C’mere.”

Excitement shoots through your limbs as you all too quickly prance over to him, ecstatic that he’s even asked. And your eagerness makes him smirk beneath the mask. Sitting yourself down on one of those round, swiveling chairs, you rest beside his left arm. Out of curiosity, you look down, eyeing his decorated forearm. His tattoos no longer look the same, some of them having changed with the healing of his stitches.

“Bunch of bullshit.” Ghost murmurs, glancing down, too. “Paid good money for those.”

Laughing, you give your head a single shake. “They still look hot as hell.”

Eyes widening, he speaks before he can stop himself. “Really?”

With you being so close to him again, and now complimenting him, he feels like he’s soaring.

“Fuck yeah.” You respond, as if it were obvious. To you, it is.

Impulsively, you lay a hand over his forearm, fingers brushing the black and white ink. And for a split second, it feels electric on his skin. But you’re quick to flinch away, wide eyes staring up at him. “I’m so sorry, did that hurt?”

But all he does is shrug. “Not at all. Stitches are healed, love.”

Love. You swoon.

“So, I can touch you?” It obviously isn’t meant to come off dirty, but Ghost’s brain registers it as that, anyway.

“Of course you can.” He nearly blurts out, his tone hopeful and welcoming. And immediately, you’re wrapping both hands around his sleeve. The small hum he exudes prompts you to glance up, grinning at the sight. Ghost has closed his eyes, chest releasing a relaxing breath.

“Feels nice.”

“Just this?” Humored doubt laces your tone.

“Feels like ages since you’ve touched me.”

His words twist the thoughts collecting in your head into something new. Has he… he’s wanted me to touch him?

“I know…” The way you say it expresses your sadness, your regret. “Just need you to heal, ya know?”

Because of what he’s now said, you feel the need to explain yourself, explain why you haven’t fulfilled his expectations. Throughout this entire healing process, you focused mostly on his physical health. You never once thought to tend to his emotional wellbeing. It’s a failure, on your end.

“Does it,” Inhaling a motivating breath, he finishes with, “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

Lifting his arm slightly, he gestures to himself. “These stitches, the injuries.”

Twisting your face in confusion, you lean back a bit. “Um… no? Why would they?”

“Just… missed your touch, is all.” He’s mumbling, quiet and very obviously insecure. “Missed you.”

“Baby… I’m so sorry.” All at once, regret hits you like a truck. He’s been suffering, and you’ve done nothing. “I’m sorry I haven’t done more for you.”

“You’ve done everything you needed to.”

“No, I haven’t. How could I let you feel this way?”

An abrupt knock on the door dissipates your conversation into seemingly nothing. Instantly, you pull your hands away from him, turning in your chair to greet whoever’s about to approach. And to your delight, it’s Johnny.

“Hey Lt.” He grins, walking in and giving you a nod. “Lovely Bones.”

There’s that flirtatious nature again. As always, Ghost knew it meant nothing, not really. But now that he feels like you’re falling through his fingers, he wants to tighten his grasp now more than ever, wants to pull you back into his chest and never let you go, whisper all the sweet things he’s been dying to tell you. Especially when another man compliments you.

“How’ve ya been?” Striding forward, Johnny takes a seat opposite of Ghost’s bed. Spreading his legs and leaning in on his knees, he flashes that cheeky smile, giving Simon his full attention.

“I’ve been fine, Johnny. Nothing new.” Simon answers simply, almost in a kind of brain fog. Switching conversations so quickly is difficult for him, still trying to regain his focus from the incident.

“See your scars are healin’ up nicely.” Pointing to his forearm, he nods. “That’s good to see.”

“Yeah, messed up my bloody ink, though.”

“Ah,” Soap waves a hand, “Looks better that way.”

The team visited Simon fairly frequently. And since you’re by his side for ninety-five percent of the day, you get to see the guys every time they come by. Oftentimes, they’d bring him little treats, a snack from the cafeteria or his favorite energy drink. And while Ghost knew they had the best intentions, their pity disgusted him. Sometimes he wished they would just leave him alone. Especially now, considering the two of you were in the middle of a rather important discussion.

“Oh!” Johnny then says, startling you. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves a small package. Tossing it Simon’s way, Soap says, “Know you like these.”

Catching it easily, Simon reads the wrapping. A Snickers, he can’t remember the last time he had one of these. And that was mainly due to his brain injury.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“I know all this can’t be easy, Si. I’m for you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ghost sighs, staring down at the candy bar. Johnny rarely called him Si, and it tugs at his heartstrings.

Soap can feel something is off in the room, the energy is just weird. He’s been wanting to ask about your relationship, but hasn’t had the balls to. He doesn’t want to make either of you uncomfortable and hasn’t had the chance to be alone with Simon or you.

“Well, I’ll let you lovebirds be.” Smiling cheekily, he stands. “I’ll visit again soon, yeah, Lt.?”

“‘Course, Johnny.”

Before Johnny leaves, he offers you a hug, strong arms embracing you fully. And you rest against him, leaning into his sturdy frame. He’s been a great part of your support system since all of this happened; Simon’s injuries have only brought you and Johnny closer together.

“It’ll be alright, yeah, sweetheart?” He sighs quietly against your head. Nodding, you take in a steadying breath.

“Yeah, it’ll be alright.”

Another knock, another groan from your end. “Come in.”

Opening the door is the other half of the medical team assigned to Ghost, making their way in so they can clean. Their tasks were to change the sheets, wash Simon and his clothes, wipe down surfaces and mop the floor, the list goes on. And while you were more than happy to do these things, Simon wouldn't allow it. Ghost’s recovery prompted new boundaries to arise in your relationship, lines that he was firm on setting. The first regarding this exact circumstance; you already cared for him medically and he refused for you to do anymore, he didn’t want you to be his full time caregiver. He would never want to burden you with that, and he knows it would cause nothing but strife in your relationship. Besides, the mere thought of you changing his bedpan and regularly washing his sheets was humiliating. So, whenever it was time for those types of tasks, you left, fulfilling other duties.

But why did they have to come now?

“I’ll, um…” Turning back to Simon, you see he’s already looking toward you with a pleading gaze. Stay.

All you want to do is stay.

But at the same time, Simon doesn’t want you to see him this way.

“I’ll… see you later, Si.”

Swallowing, Simon’s rough voice then appears. “Babe,”

Immediately, your eyes widen, if only ever so slightly. For him to call you that in the presence of others speaks volumes. Sure, Price had you sign those HR papers about workplace relationships, but you hadn’t exactly made it known to others after that. The two of you favored your privacy. But right now, that simple word is speaking louder than anything else he could’ve said.

“C’mere for a sec.” Grunting, he does his best to reach out to you, using his left arm. And as soon as he does it, Johnny is letting you go, wanting you to meet Simon’s gentle plea.

Leaving the sergeant’s arms, you do just that, stepping over to Simon’s bedside. Placing both of your hands in his left, you grin, looking into those deep, warm eyes of his.

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Ghost asks quietly, your team beginning to work around him.

“Of course, I will.”

“Eh, won’t be long.” Johnny chimes in, “She can come hangout with me and the boys, get a game of pool in.”

“Sounds lovely.” You return with a murmur, eyes not leaving Simon’s. “I’ll be back later, baby.” And that, coupled with the kiss you give his palm, is shocking to your team. Though it sends waves of butterflies through Simon’s stomach.

These public displays of affection are entirely foreign to your relationship, but you’re both basking in the sweetness of it. And maybe this is the perfect time for you to explore it, for you to outwardly show your love and attraction for him just when he needs it most.

On your way out, Johnny doesn’t mention the way every single person’s eyes widen in the room when your affectionate nicknames are exchanged, or the way a few heads turn. He chooses to stay silent, smiling to himself while leading you out of the room.

Returning to a sleeping Simon is bittersweet. You’re glad he’s resting, but you’d do anything to finish your earlier conversation. But it’s late, and you figure at this point, you’ll have to wait until morning.

The rainfall makes you tired, too, yawning as you walk further in. It was only three days into Simon’s recovery that you started sleeping in his room, bringing a small, foldable cot for you to curl up on. His bed wasn’t big enough for the two of you, and besides, you’re pretty sure Price would light a fire up both your asses if he caught you snoozing next to him.

As quietly as you can, you unfold your small bed and bring it to the side of his. It sits lower, but Simon often made up for that by dropping his arm, letting you hold onto his hand throughout the night. But with him asleep, you don’t think you’ll get that luxury tonight. Nevertheless, you curl up in your blanket, resting only in your underclothes as you doze off beside him.

“Miss you.”

That rumbling voice almost scares you in the near silence, your body jolting ever so slightly. When did he wake up? Still, those two simple words make your insides burn bright.

Lips curling happily, you mutter, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Quietly, you then ask, “Want me to come up there?” It’s happened once or twice before, but only for some cuddles. Simon’s grown quite accustomed to your touch.

With a heavy sigh, he gives in. “You know I do.”

Absolutely thrilled with his request, you pop right up, situating yourself on the right side of his bed. Simon likes it best when you curl up on this side, allowing him to wrap his good arm around you. Cuddling into him, you revel in the closeness - you haven’t done this in weeks. He’s resting on his back, the same position he always sleeps in. And with you by his side, he turns his head in your direction, releasing a contented breath.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He says to you sweetly, fondly, covered lips pressing to the top of your head.

“Hm…” Sighing happily, you twine your legs between his much bulkier appendages, draping an arm across his abdomen. You’re so happy he still wants this, wants you and this relationship.

“Cozy?” He chuckles, eyes closed as he grins.

“Mhm,” Snuggling further into him, he can feel your smile press against his bare skin. Ghost usually slept nearly naked, only black boxers hugging his body. And you liked it best this way, for multiple reasons. One being that you’re able to see more of his tattoos. He has some on his chest, one reaching up to his collarbones and neck. And you just love them, found them incredibly interesting and undeniably sexy.

“Love this…” Tracing a particularly larger tat, your smile becomes brighter than ever. “Love the way you feel.”

“Yeah? Even when I’m like this?” His tone expresses the dry humor he’s far too familiar with, the same dry humor that covers up his emotions.

“Big teddy bear.” And that makes him fully laugh. “Strong.”

“Don’t feel too strong.”

Simon was never one to be insecure of his body, of the multitude of scars on it. Cuts that dug deep, burns that marred his skin, none of it bothered him, not even when he showed himself to you like this. What did bother him, though, was the fact that he looked weak. He couldn't stand it, and to say his ego was taking a hit would be an understatement.

“Baby,” With a heavy breath, you shake your head lightly beneath him. “You’re so fucking hard on yourself.”

All he does is grunt in response, becoming quite pensive. Though, he tries not to be. Getting lost in his thoughts wasn’t something Simon liked doing. Lucky for him, your hand serves as a distraction. Running your palm down his torso, you take this opportunity to feel the muscles along his stomach and ribs, the v-line leading down to his pelvis. And it makes him shiver with anticipation.

You’re not sure how to start this conversation again, mainly because of how distracted you’ve become. Feeling Simon’s naked body always made you feel excited inside, always made you feel eager and lustful. But you want to care for him emotionally, too.

“I hope you know how much I still love you.” Continuing to lower your hand, you suddenly feel Simon’s chest dip, releasing a heated breath. “How much I love your body…”

“Hm…” The further you get, the more interested he becomes. The fact that you still find him appealing, even like this, it’s repairing his ego bit by bit. Truthfully, it’s everything he’s needed. “Miss you touchin’ me…”

“Do you miss this, too?” Lightly, ever so lightly, you cup him over his clothes. And the gentle stimulation is more than enough to arouse him.

The intimacy you share with Simon is addicting, and the withdrawal has been a bitch. But just like that, as soon as you get the tiniest taste, you’re hooked all over again.

“Fuck, yes.” Groaning in frustration, he forces out a breath. And fuck you’ve missed that, hearing the eager roughness to his tone. “Been so long since I’ve had you.”

Feeling your hand on his crotch like that, it lights a fire inside him. All over again, he wants you, wants to throw you down on this bed and take you. Shove himself inside until you’re fluttering, spurting with cum before he releases his own. Hold you down and make you take it, for however long he likes. Rub his face over your chest, down the valley between your breasts, sucking on their soft flesh. Haul your leg up over his waist and grab a fistful of your ass, spanking it until the pain turns into something irresistibly sweet.

But he can’t. He physically can’t.

The arm holding you tightens against your body, against your own strong muscles. Irritation courses through his veins, knowing he can’t do much but god damn if he won’t try to do what he can. Turning his head, he ducks down, pressing his covered lips to your own with a forceful breath. Easily, wholeheartedly, you embrace him, hand lifting to cup his jaw. Your mouth presses to the shape of his lips, the covered kiss far too teasing for the current moment.

“Baby, can we? Please?” Sliding down ever so slightly, your fingertips graze the edge of his mask, wanting desperately to see him; any part of him.

“I… I want to, B.” The hesitancy in his voice is worrying. “But it just… it won’t be the same.”

Even through the mask, you can feel his breath, experiencing the humid touch of it against your face.

“I don’t care how it is, I just want it. I want you, Simon. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Impatiently, you tug on his mask, leaning up against to press your mouth to his skull covering. It’s needy, it’s wanting, so openly throwing yourself at him he honestly can’t believe it. He hasn’t seen you like this in far too long, and he’d be an idiot to let this opportunity go, especially when it’s all he’s fucking thought about.

The way your tongue slides out, pressing against the white and black fabric, it makes him growl with passion. Quickly, yet shakily, his left hand rises, flipping the edge of his mask up before grabbing onto your jaw. Squishing your cheeks a bit he brings you in, bare lips crashing into your own. Open mouths press together, wet and warm and familiar. And those thick fingers dig into the fabric along your hip, wishing it were bare skin.

“Baby,” With your fingernails scraping down his chest, you have to stop yourself from digging in too deeply. But it’s difficult when he’s kissing you like this, when he’s shoving his tongue inside your mouth so he can map it out all over again. “How could you ever think I’m not attracted to you?”

The air leaving your chest is instantly sucked back in, your chest rising and falling as you feel Simon’s hand glide down your waist. He’s bringing you in even closer, pressing your body to his, feeling your warmth.

“Don’t you know how fucking sexy you are, Simon?”

“Get up here,” That gruff voice suddenly demands, “On my lap, B.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice, your eager movements are evidence of that. Slipping your shorts and panties down your legs, you leave them on the cot as you slide easily on top of him. Your thighs encase his hips as you make yourself comfortable on him, center lowered right onto his. And your lips don’t even leave, he wouldn’t allow it.

“That’s so good…” Both of Simon’s hands now fall to your hips, holding onto you firmly.

The way his teeth nip at your lips makes you sigh, little whines spilling from your mouth when they turn into bites. And all at once, his hands are roaming your body, sliding up beneath your shirt to feel your bare stomach, the skin of your hips and sides. The way you’re embracing each other is so lustful, so impassioned and fervent. It’s like it’s the first time all over again.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” His words make you laugh, but he’s insistent. “Every goddamn day, whether you’re working or not, even on that bloody mission, you’re stunning, B.”

“Simon,” You begin to protest, but he continues, mouthing at your lips as he bursts with praise for you.

“Such a pretty girl for me,” Your lover says, hips beginning to grind up against you. “Always so pretty…”

“Ugh, I fucking missed you. I need you, Si. I need this.” Holding his face with both hands, you lean in, resting your forehead over his own as you begin to meet his gentle thrusts. “I don’t give a shit how many scars you have, how many injuries I have to see through. I’m here, Simon. I’m here and I’m not fucking leaving you.”

“I love you.” He suddenly blurts out, as if he’d been dying to say it this entire time. “I can’t lose you, B. Never opened myself up to anyone but you.”

“I know, baby. I know… and I love everything you’ve given me. Everything you are.”

“Not everything.” Giving his head a quick shake, hands guiding the sway of your hips over him.

“Everything.”

Your correction prompts Simon’s direct eye contact, a small pause in this heated moment. Flickering between your irises, Ghost’s own pupils widen, filled with something akin to adoration, something made of lust and absolute devotion.

“Simon,” Whining quietly, you resume your subtle shifts over his lap, his own hips easily resuming their pace, too. “Please, I need you again, baby.”

“I, I just… it won’t be the same, Bones.” But he’s still kissing you, still grinding up against your sensitive core and breathing the air puffing past your lips. And you can feel him, having fully hardened and sitting firm between your legs.

“I don’t fucking care, Simon. If you want this, tell me. And I’ll make it happen.”

“Yeah? And what’ll you do?” He asks, grinning while lifting his good hand to the back of your head.

“Ride you,” Panting, you grind yourself over the thickness of the erection rising steadily in his briefs. “Just like I used to.”

Betraying his rotten inner emotions, the ones that had convinced him you no longer saw him with the same desire in your eyes, a smirk forms on those smooth lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Devouring him, your tongue slides into his mouth, swallowing his moan while dragging the wet muscle over his own. But he quickly takes the lead, using the hand on your head to move you how he likes. He takes great pleasure in this, in having some semblance of control while you’re like this.

“Fuck, do it.” He finally decides, his entire body shuddering with desire. “Fucking do it.”

Instantly, you’re dropping one hand from his face and reaching for his boxers. You find him easily, pulling aside the fabric and watching as he practically jumps into your hand.

“Christ,” Red and leaking, throbbing, Simon’s cock weighs heavy in your hand.

“Excited?” Grinning wildly, you lean in, running the tip of your nose over his cheek.

“Very.” Evidenced by the liquid warmth drooling from his cockhead, he’s correct.

Running your thumb over his slit, you take great pride in watching him twitch. “Don - Don’t tease. Just put it in.”

It’s too damn easy for you to listen to him, to follow his every command. Lifting yourself, your eyes fall to the sight you’ve so dearly missed. And with both of you watching, you line him up with your entrance, licking your lower lip with anticipation.

“C’mon, come down now…” His hands are pulling on your hips, becoming impatient. “Put the tip of my cock against that pretty little hole.”

Fuck, you missed this, the way he talked to you during times like this. He was always so good with it.

“Mm…” Slowly, you sink down, inch by thick inch. The whine that slips past your lips is shrill, feeling his head spread you open. But Simon is quick to hush you, bringing you in for a bruising kiss.

“You can do it, just like before.” He says to you through sweet, wet kisses.

“Simon…”

“Just like that, just like that, princess.” His hands continue to urge you on, pulling you down onto him. “What happened, huh? Get a little tighter without me around?”

“F-Fuck,” Dropping your head onto his shoulder boosts his confidence incredibly; your submissive side is coming out again, and it’s making him feel dominant.

“Oh, just look at the way it stretches for me, Christ…” Feeling your velvety inside envelope his tip, it’s almost too much for him. “Such a good pussy.”

“Baby…” Turning your head, you press a flurry of fervent kisses to his mask. “I’ve needed you for so long, you don’t know how bad I’ve missed this.”

“I know, trust me.” Releasing a dry laugh, Simon’s eyes raise with awareness.

Clinging to his shoulders, you gasp when he finally bottoms out inside you, sitting entirely over his pelvis. And with your ass flush against his lap, he throbs violently against your walls, every thick vein pulsing beneath your core’s hot squeeze.

“Sweetheart,” Taking in a lungful of air, he says, “You know how many times I’ve thought about this? Thought about fuckin’ you again? Thought about this sweet ass on my lap, about the way this pretty pussy grips me…”

“Tell me,” Clinging to his shoulders, your nails dig into him once again, lips pressing to his neck. “Please tell me.”

Wrapping his right arm around your back, he pulls you flush against his chest. The sudden movement knocks you away from his neck, with Simon’s lips returning to yours all over again. The embrace is sweet and smooth, his talented lips captivating your attention.

“Whenever you weren’t here… I took every goddamn opportunity. Fucked my fist to the thought of you, B. But, ngh…” Feeling you wiggle over his lap, he grunts. “It’s never the same. Not even bloody close.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Using those broad shoulders as leverage, you lift yourself, setting a steady pace over him.

“Christ,” Head lolling back, his eyes follow. “Didn’t, fuck… didn’t want to pressure you.”

“I like when you do that to me. Make me feel small, and needed.”

The stride you continue with over Simon’s lap is baffling to him, riddling his body with overstimulation. Every time you meet his pelvis, you grind down onto him, onto the grown-out hairs surrounding his base.

“You’re always needed.” He whispers to you, kissing your cheek as it rests beside him. “Fucking hell, princess, I can feel you dripping down my shaft.”

The sound your wetness creates resonates throughout the room, prompting a bashfulness to rise hotly in your cheeks. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder, you moan openly into his ear, feeling both of those broad hands lower to your cheeks. Summoning every ounce of strength he has, he bounces you down onto his lap, punching himself into your depths. And every thrust he gives shoves him even deeper inside, his tip nudging your most sensitive skin.

“No,” He then seethes, moving his head in your direction. “Don’t hide yourself from me, not now. Not when I finally have you again.”

But when he turns his head to the side, his mask shifts, a bout of frustration rising within him. “Fucking, ngh.”

It’s a quick decision, one he makes out of genuine love for you.

Reaching up, Simon tears his mask from his head, tossing it to the floor and grabbing your face again. Before you can get a good look at him, his mouth is on you, the hand he used on his mask now pawing at your breasts.

“Take it off, love. Take this off for me.”

But you’re still processing the fact that he just took off his mask, and you want to see him. He doesn’t let you, though, he’s too busy tugging at the ends of your shirt. So, you oblige him, leaning back to lift it from your torso. Just as it leaves your head, Simon is lifting his chin up to your chest, mouth enveloping your left nipple.

“Baby, let me,” Hands holding his head, your own tips back, mouth falling agape with a graceful moan.

Ghost’s mouth sucks on you fervently, tongue flicking over the delicate peak before biting at it ever so gently.

“Please let me see you.”

Insecurity overtakes him then, now that you’ve fully asked. And you can tell - he practically curls in on himself.

“You don’t want me to?” And with that gentle inquiry, he’s taking in a steadying breath, eyes beginning to lift.

From beneath his brow, those dark eyes lift to yours, chin following soon after. And for the first time since this horrid incident, you’re seeing him, fully seeing him.

“No,” Giving his head a light shake, he stares into your dazzling orbs. “Don’t stop, babe. Please, don’t.”

And you want to listen, want to give him what he wants but it’s hard when you’re witnessing the beauty of Simon’s face. The scars, the cuts and curves, his nose and jawline, all of his features coming together as one, once again. The memory of his face was once a painful thought, but now… it can be replaced.

“It’s so nice to see you again, baby.”

The strength of his arms and hands continues your movement, pushing you forward onto his chest. Here, he nuzzles into you, arms securing themselves around your midsection. Simon’s nose rubs against your neck, committing your scent, your feel, to memory.

“Only for you.” He murmurs, placing a tender kiss. “Can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re everything I need.” Grinding up into your center, he forces a gasp from your chest, spreading your cheeks until slight pain begins to bloom. “Christ, I’m not going to last long like this, not with these gorgeous fucking tits pressed against me like this.”

“Baby, we need this more… can we please? Please?”

“Every chance we get.” Nipping at your ear, the low groan he exudes sends a shiver right through you.

The pleasurable waves flowing through your hips are nothing compared to the sharp jolts of ecstasy every thrust of his hips gives. At times, you think about how foolish he is to think that his strength has left him, what with the way his muscles bend and ripple with every firm grab, every harsh slap he now delivers.

“Look at me.” Ghost demands in that deep, rough tone. “Look at me, and listen well.”

Lifting your head, you do just that, memorizing every feature of his face. Subconsciously, your hand lifts, cupping his clean jawline with your thumb stroking his cheek.

“You’re mine, understand? Mine to fucking keep. And there’ll be no more misunderstandings between us.”

“No more,” Shaking your head, you hold his gaze, lips parting from his continued movements. “F-Fuck.”

“You gonna cum for me, huh? Just like you used to? Back when you first cared for me, back when we’d smoke in the Jeep…”

“Yes,” You don’t want to look away from him, but your head drops regardless. The pleasure flowing through your thighs turns every muscle you have to jelly, the wetness growing beneath you evidence of this. “I miss it.”

“Then give it to me, before I give mine to you.”

The way he phrases it has you falling apart in his arms, still strong enough to keep you together on his chest. His body, thick and bulky, holds you tightly against him, feeling your limbs quiver above him. His fingers continue to dig into the softness of your cheeks before landing another harsh smack, listening to your shrill cry while you shake on his lap. It’s all-consuming, blinding, the euphoria bursting inside your body.

“Goddamn,” Simon huffs out, his voice tense and strained.

The grip he has on you turns bruising, his body curling around you as he releases. And his teeth bite into your shoulder as he does, the muscles in his abdomen flinching with every milky rope that leaves him.

You can feel it, the evidence of his pleasure washing your insides white. The way he throbs against your walls, swollen and pulsing, his entire body releasing. Every ounce of worry and stress, any bit of anxiety, it’s flushed away with the help of your reassurance, of your devotion and unwavering passion.

Fully wrapping your arms around his neck, you rest flush against him, mouth pressing to his stubbled cheek over and over again. And the next sound to delight your ears is Simon’s laugh.

“Mm…” His groan sounds… content, relaxed. “You make me happy, B. Happier than I’ve been in… a long time.”

“Happier than you’ve ever been,” You correct him cheekily, shuddering slightly as you come down from the pleasure he so wonderfully brings. “You can say it, baby.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives your backside a light tap. “Don’t get cocky with it, now.”

“Simon,” Inhaling a deep breath, you allow yourself to be fully vulnerable with him. “I don’t ever want to be that far from you again.”

And he knows what you mean. Ghost was never known as an emotional man, and likely never will be. But with you, it’s a different story.

“You won’t be.” He reassures you quietly, calmly. “We’re here, everything’s just like it should be.”

“Mhm,” Nodding, you keep your arms around him, not wanting to let go.

“It’s just you and me, B.”

#Simon Riley #I love you baby #you're everything I need #Simon “Ghost” Riley #Simon Riley x you #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Riley x female reader #Simon Riley smut #Simon Riley fluff #so many fluffies #Call of Duty #cod #cod mw2 #Call of Duty fanfiction

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 9 months

Text

Soundly (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

Summary: You’ve injured your arm, leaving you frustratingly helpless to complete everyday tasks, like cleaning yourself. Your boyfriend and colleague Simon understands your apprehension towards accepting help for such a task and tells you how he does.

AN: Working title was “Sprain” for those of you who voted in the poll. I’ll be posting the Soap fics shortly and posting another poll for my other upcoming fics afterwards! Meanwhile, let me know what you think in replies or inbox me, tell me your thoughts on fics - present or future.

I just want Ghost to feel loved and to recover from all the shit he went through. I did a fic for that and sharing a bed, so I’m doing this one for the reader a.k.a. me. Plus I like the head canon that Ghost is actually kinda talkative, like in the Alone mission. I know he’s probably partly chatting to Johnny to because he’s trying to keep him focused, guiding him to regroup and survive. But he’s telling dumb jokes and joking about watching his torture video. He’s got banter and trauma!

Content warnings: Allusions to Ghost’s time being tortured by Roba and the Mexican Cartel - specifically his SA as well as the reader’s. Reader is GN, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // AO3

For “just a sprain”, your elbow hurt like a bastard. It was resting in the hammock of the sling your doctor ordered you to keep on. Almost smugly, it sent a few stings across the bone when you were also instructed to restrict your movements and get support to complete day-to-day tasks before you were signed off on a month’s medical leave – pending review at the end of it for being brought back to work.

It was half your fault. The sprain in the first place was caused by some asshole who would not go down quietly and attempted to dislocate your limb. Thankfully, your training automatically twisted you into a position preventing that but then you had to shoot that asshole and your gun was in the arm he’d injured. The bullet that you fired solidified the damage and you were forced to focus hard on aiming with your non-dominant hand whilst slugging it over to the Heli half a klick to the west for recon. You didn’t have to shoot the guy straight away. You’d kicked him down and he was too far from his own weapon to have made it before you could have swapped your gun to your other hand and ended his life the same miserable way. But nah, in the heat of gunfire, you’d decided to end the fight as quick as possible then ran like a bat out of hell back to safety where the rest of your crew was headed.

Simon had known you long enough – and dated you long enough – to not treat you like glass. He wouldn’t insult you like that. Therefore you were very grateful that he was the one to take you home, and that his driving was a lot steadier and smooth on the motorway.

Letting you open the front door, he carried both his and your bags inside, ready to start your medical leave this instant. He was heading out of the hall with his shoes dropped loudly onto the rack when he asked:

“You want anything specific for tea?”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever.”

Despite years of therapy, this injury had dealt a hefty blow to your pride; you didn’t want to be any more of a burden than you were going to be over the next few weeks. Thank God you’d been to his place enough times for it to be considered familiar.

From the airing cupboard, you collected the towel that Simon had bought you after your fifth stay here and smiled at the memory of shopping for it together. He’d asked for what colour you preferred then gathering other items into the trolley that were the same shade: toothbrush, wash cloth, cup to sit by the bathroom sink. He was nice like that.

The bathroom door locked behind you, the final ebbs of afternoon reaching in through frosted glass. You thanked the sun for enabling you to keep the lights off; the buzz that accompanied their stark spark on the silky tiles was always too much for you. However as warm as the daylight was, it failed to soothe your state. When you tried to retrieve the memory of how you’d gotten this t-shirt on in the first place, your mind offered you a blank slate and tears of frustration bubbling over, stinging worse than the injury as you tried to warp it against its will. But to no avail. Your bitten tongue surrendered so that the crying could commence with your t-shirt still stuck on your body.

Gentle rapping at the door didn’t halt anything. Surrendering felt like an admission of weakness, failure, and it poisoned you against yourself as you twisted the lock in the handle and slumped on the rim of the bath.

A pair of plain-socked feet appeared at the top of your line of sight, lingering on the cobalt carpet side of the door frame.

“Can I borrow your scissors please?” You asked, toying with a stray string dangling from the hem.

“You gonna stab me?” Simon inquired semi-sarcastically.

“Yes.” It was a pathetic little reply. But Simon pushed off the bath, belongings tinkling against one another as he rooted around then retrieved a small pair of scissors from the top shelf.

He sat down beside you on the rim, holding out the scissors by the blade, “It’s a nice shirt.��

You wiped your nose on the hem before taking the scissors, “It’s just Primark.”

“I can help you out of it, if it is Primark’s finest.”

“Was just cut it off.”

But of course your dominant hand was tied up in the sling, and you only just realised now.

“I could help you take it off.”

You’d never been undressed around Simon. The closest you’d gotten were jogging bottoms you’d cut into knee-length shorts and the sleeves of your t-shirt pushed onto your shoulders whilst you both worked out at opposite ends of the gym. Towards the end of your set, you mopped at your brow with the hem of your shirt once and the sliver of skin nearly sent Simon into anaphylactic shock.

He knew why you grappled with the notion of undressing. But he didn’t ever linger on you going elsewhere to change. Across your relationship, and even before it started, he’d shown you love in so many other ways that you would forget about what had happened to you.

Today was the first time he addressed it: “I understand why you wouldn’t want me to help.”

Without moving your head, your watchful stare latched onto his adjusting to the nuisance of sitting on a thin perch of porcelain. He withdrew his skull balaclava from its suffocating in his pocket and began kneading at it until the eyehole faced the ceiling you’d stared at many times, wishing you could be more intimate with the man you loved more than life.

“Your reasons aren’t so different from mine.” And he held out the mask to you.

The olive branch was accepted and you thumbed over the skull plate as best you could with the scissors still in your grip. Only when your thumbnail caught against the paint depicting a cheekbone did it dawn on you what your boyfriend was referring to.

“Simon-”

“None of that,” He interrupted you, gently, firmly, “I get it. I don’t wanna bother you if you don’t want me here.”

He rubbed along your shoulder as you matched your deep breaths to his, resting your eyes to bask in his comfort and crushing the mask in your loose fist. You’d always equated it to anonymity. Never had you thought of linking it to another form of comfort.

“You can bathe with your clothes on,” Simon suggested after a minute’s silence.

“Do you know how hard it is to remove wet denim?” You muttered with a crooked smile.

“I do,” and he pressed a kiss to your forehead – his preferred place to do so. “Let’s give this a go.”

You handed back his balaclava and took in his bare face, the medical mask – the one he’d been wearing whilst you were in the hospital and all the way home - gone, his expression carefully crafted to be neutral so that you didn’t have to be.

He eased your sling off you after the taps were thundering steaming water into the tub. Then he vanished to his room, returning with a pair of baggy sports shorts. Cradling them like a baby, your nose welcomed their softness and the steam whilst Simon knelt onto the fluffy bathmat, nodding after splashing the bathwater and twisting the taps into silence.

“I’m gonna stink if I don’t wash properly,” You whispered.

After opening his palms to you, Simon took your shorts and arranged them on the floor, “I’ll get you some wet wipes to use while we wait for your arm to heal up.”

You held onto his shoulders whilst he undid your jeans and eased them down your legs, his hands careful to stay hidden in the fabric whilst you stepped out of them and into the shorts. Simon to pulled them up to your hips.

“Why did the magician take a bath?” He asked you as you lowered yourself into the water.

“I dunno, why?”

“To clean up his act.”

Your chest quivered, struggling to hold in your groans and giggles whilst Simon pumped some blueberry body wash into his palm, “That’s good.”

Tenderly he circled the soap across your forearm, “Fancy another?”

“Go on.” You were nothing if not his little enabler, indulging in his humour even after the rest of 141 had lightly roasted him for it.

“Knock, knock.”

Your free hand fiddled with the sodden hem of your t-shirt, “Who’s there?”

“Dwayne.”

“Dwayne who?”

Soaking the flannel and wringing it out over your arm, Simon began to wash the suds away, “Dwayne the bathtub before I dwown.”

Your smile was not dampened by the tears that rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the shallow waterline. Instead, you focused your blurry vision on Simon’s hoodie sleeves that were pushed up to his elbows, those broad forearms sprinkled with droplets and soapsuds.

When Simon was lathering up some more body wash, you offered your own joke: “What did the man say after he swallowed a clock and went to the toilet?”

“What?”

“Watch out.”

Simon snorted loudly whilst carefully manipulating your injured arm amidst the blueberry bubbles.

You wiped a new tear away on your shoulder: “I’ve already told Kyle but you can tell it to Johnny.”

“Much obliged.”

With permission and a slow touch, he started soaping up your shins. His contact always lingered for hours on your skin. This felt like a polish, not a scratch or a dent, which is why you felt so overwhelmed now, just as you did that first time he gave you a proper bear hug. You didn’t mind the blueberry, something else to focus on instead of letting yourself meander towards conjuring disturbing imaginations of what you’d just learnt about Simon’s capture in Mexico.

He let you take over for washing your thighs, sitting on the toilet still talking to you with a smile that cracked up his face like the scar, from lip to brow. His eyes never strayed from your face, though it never felt like you were a target down his scope, more like feeling the sun first thing in the morning with a delicate breeze that danced around your being. Such a gaze wasn’t alien to Simon, even if he rarely showed it to you, and never to anyone else. You were just grateful that he was able to be like this, and that he still chose to.

That same stare, he held it whilst draping a towel around your shoulders, patting over your arms before he gathered it at the front for you to hold in your healthy hand. Then he collected a pile of clean clothes from the bedroom, placing them onto the closed toilet lid, you noted the crisply ironed button up folded on top. You settled for nestling your head against his chest since you were unable to hug him.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll make dinner.”

The door was locked after Simon disappeared behind it. You did end up cutting yourself out of the shirt, rest in peace. Fogged-up, the mirror wasn’t so bad to stare at whilst you moisturised with your good hand. You could still feel where Simon’s calloused hands had brushed over your skin, tingling in each follicle, and it was protected by the button-up you were able to slide on – one of the few Simon owned. His bulk was once again your gain; the shirt was loose enough to give you some wiggle room whilst dressing.

Clattering from the kitchen caught Simon in the act of putting away the ironing board. He was taking loud and rehearsed deep breaths that hissed through the fabric of his freshly-donned balaclava, the board under his arm before he tossed it into its assigned slot. His hand shook as it released the cupboard door handle, searching for something to distract himself with until he latched his stare onto you bunching your shirt in the front.

“I can’t do my buttons up,” You said quietly.

Your stomach impulsively sucked in on itself when his hands reached for the buttons before it, joining them with the fabric. Nevertheless, your gaze found solace in the thatch of fine chest hair growing in the lowest peak of his V-neck.

Simon started from the bottom button and made his way up. With each wince, his fingers stalled. But you knew he’d never hurt you, never on purpose and never like that. He made steady progress until complete and even helped you replace your sling. But then he sniffed and brushed his nose briefly, stepping away and back to the kitchen. For five minutes he alternated between sifting through the cupboards and staring helplessly into the fridge, his face washed out by the stagnant light inside. You took the time to help him in one of the ways you knew how.

“I’ll order us a takeaway.”

Immediately he slammed shut the fridge door, “You’re a fucking star.”

You were not put off by his pacing back and forth, nor were you by his hovering over you like a gargoyle whilst you tapped at the screen – which you held in a way for him to see clearly in case he wanted to add something. A wide berth allowed you to approach him on the couch with the takeaway when it arrived half an hour later (always reliable, hence why it was your go-to takeaway place). Simon also accepted the drink you brought him, but only because he’d already gotten you one plus two pain meds he made sure you took after getting some food into your stomach first.

The cushioned lap trays you’d invested in were already paying for themselves.

Dinner inhaled and rendering you quite soporific, you mirrored Simon’s earlier actions and tentatively shuffled closer to him, “Is this ok?”

“Yeah.” His arm dropped to around your waist, and you tugged on his wrist to keep it there. Only then did you tentatively wrap yourself around his full belly.

“Fuckin’ softie,” He said under his breath. That didn’t stop him from giving you a little squeeze – his hand no longer trembling - and sinking himself lower so that there was no pressure on your sprain. He turned the volume down a little, which sparked inspiration in your mind.

Half hiding in his t-shirt, you projected loud enough for him to hear you: “The local TV controller museum shut down due to no visitors. Turns out people aren’t remotely interested.”

“Have you been researching these instead of doing your paperwork?”

“What makes you think I haven’t been doing my paperwork?”

Simon looked down at you, those expressive eyes communicating both the “are you fucking for real?” and the “you’re lucky you’re cute” in equal parts. But from the way his balaclava was balanced on his face, you could tell he was smiling at you. So you smiled back at him then snuggled back against him with a contented sigh and the existence of your new joke book still a secret (for now).

The next time you opened your eyes, it was much darker in the living room. A blanket was tucked around your legs. The glow of “Are you still watching Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang?” from the flat-screen, despite that not being what you were watching when you first drifted off, bathed you in enough low light to allow you a comfortable adjustment period. You squinted up at your boyfriend. Head back in the pillows, his chest was rising and falling with each breath he drew and released through his nose. You adjusted the blanket around to cover his legs too and, tucking yourself back into your bundle, both you and Simon slept soundly.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley oneshot #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod oneshot #mw2 fanfic #my writing #r: gen #wc: >2k

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genericpuff · 3 months

Note

I was kind of curious: What do you think of Persephone's therapy scenes in episodes 160-161?

I personally liked them, but you and many other LO critics always seem to see things that totally flew over my head (I mean that in a positive way).

I think the idea behind them was fine, just the execution that felt really half-baked. Rachel doesn't like scenes to sit too long so the therapy scene, of course, wound up being rushed in the course of 2-3 episodes (meaning she had to have Persephone dump everything all at once) and while Persephone's dialogue is handled relatively well, the direction of the scene itself feels entirely mismanaged (which is both a side effect of Rachel's directionless writing and the fact that she clearly doesn't want to do more than one of these kinds of episodes so she needs to speedrun it).

TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion concerning sexual assault ahead!

Like, let's start with Persephone's intent in going to therapy. Wanting to pursue therapy doesn't just happen suddenly, there's usually a "trigger event" to make someone realize "I need help", whether it be hitting rock bottom or even just going "I feel like I don't have the skills or tools necessary to deal with what I'm dealing with, I need a professional opinion".

Despite Eros advising her to go to therapy all the way back in S1 to address her assault-

-she actually finally goes to therapy in S2 not to address the assault, but to address... how she feels insecure in comparison to Hera who she just found out Hades had a long-term affair with??? At least that's definitely the implication.

And then of course the therapy session itself segues immediately into "Persephone is a high achiever and it's because of her mom being overbearing" which Rachel doesn't connect at all to either the SA or her feeling insecure compared to Hera (which, by the way, barely even has anything to do with her, but she didn't - and still doesn't - have the emotional maturity or self-respect to realize that Hades is a serial cheater-)

That's where the first therapy episode cuts off, and then the next episode immediately opens with Persephone writing her entire backstory on a whiteboard, so we can assume time has passed and she's talked about everything from her childhood up until this point.

Then we get Chiron asking Persephone... what could go wrong if she leaves TGOEM??

Even though we never saw any of the actual sequence so it just feels like a question that's coming out of nowhere? Like did Persephone say during that schpeel that she wanted to leave TGOEM? Isn't that something we should have seen to connect these two trains of thought?

Ah, right, because we have to get into Hades. Because this comic fails the Bechdel test so hard it can't even have a character talk about their trauma or childhood without it seguing into "well there's this one specific main character guy I just really wanna sleep with-"

Don't get me wrong, if Rachel is trying to "deconstruct purity culture" here, I can get her angle with this, if Persephone has been "groomed her entire life" to be an eternal maiden then there's clearly some thought processes about sexual attraction there that are being challenged by her attraction to Hades. But it just feels so rushed purely for the sake of getting her through her trauma and childhood problems and everything that Rachel tacked onto her backstory (in an attempt to make her seem more than just a self-insert) so that Rachel can get her back on track to sleeping with Hades, the one and only man she's clearly ever felt sexual attraction to enough to want to leave TGOEM and question her entire childhood.

And then we get this and I just-

Like first of all, again, Persephone being a complete airhead and not realizing that it has less to do with her possibly being an inadequate partner and more to do with Hades being a serial cheater who also used her as an emotional affair partner;

but ALSO the fact that the conclusion is some "eureka" moment of "you're a bad decision maker" ??? I was a fan of the comic still when this scene happened and even I went "huh?"

Like she doesn't bother to try and connect it to everything she just learned and said about her childhood and how she wants to be the "perfect daughter" who will make everyone happy, Chiron just reduces it to "oh you just suck at making decisions". As if "sucking at making decisions" isn't like, a reactionary extension of deeper problems. She's treating it as if Persephone is some "puzzle" to be solved and her being a "bad decision maker" was the answer when it's undoubtedly just one of many side effects of her upbringing. It feels like she's addressing the cough and not the virus.

Also a little off topic but-

Gotta love how we've never seen Persephone actually employ this homework from her therapist because she's constantly stapled to Hades and the only thing she cares about is his happiness. Literally, I don't think Persephone could possibly answer that question because she's never been independent enough to even learn what makes her happy - she's jumped from wanting to make her mother happy to wanting to make Hades happy but we're supposed to condemn the former and celebrate the latter.

Buuut of course we don't get her answering that question because again, Rachel can't spend more than 30 seconds on a single scene because that would demand too much writing and thought from her. So we cut to Hera having a discussion with Asclepius regarding her scars re-opening, yadda yadda.

By the time we cut back to the therapy session at the start of the next episode (that's three episodes that have been spent basically accomplishing nothing because none of the thought threads tie together in a meaningful way beyond what the audience has to assume) Chiron is conveniently wrapping things up and it's then and only then does Rachel try to actually incorporate the SA plotline that was Persephone's ORIGINAL MOTIVATION in going to therapy.

Now, the scene for the most part is fine, I don't really like how the therapy session was written leading up to it, but her describing her freeze response and how she feels guilty she couldn't "fight back" is a very real feeling that I can definitely say was well written.

My one gripe with it though - and sure, this might be nitpicky, but here me out - is this:

I don't particularly like that Chiron the therapist just found out about her patient being a rape victim - someone who's also said she doesn't like people grabbing her / touching her without her consent - and then decides the best course of action is to comfort her... while touching her.

Now I want to make it perfectly clear, it's not against the law or even the code of ethics to make physical contact between a therapist and their patient. Loads of patients have made breakthroughs with their therapists that have called for hugs and while some therapists may not be okay with it, there are definitely therapists who are who fully understand that hugs in those moments are the best thing for a person. But it's still a general boundary that is there and even with patients who aren't victims of SA, consent needs to be asked for / given.

So Chiron just... coming over and touching Persephone on the knee, while undoubtedly seen as a "warm and comforting act" by those who have had similar sessions with their own therapists or even just those who have no clue and see it on the surface level as being "sweet", really irks me, because it just seems so tone deaf to do with a character like Persephone who is supposed to be a victim of having her bodily autonomy taken away from her.

Again, it's a small criticism, and undoubtedly a nitpick in the eyes of some, but a simple "can I give you a hug?" from either Chiron or Persephone would have gone a long way in accomplishing Persephone's need for consent and bodily autonomy a lot more than just having Chiron come up and touch her leg without her consent. Please, for the love of god, let Persephone have some autonomy, asking for consent doesn't ruin the moment.

And that's pretty much it, Persephone talks about how she feels like she's tethered to Apollo, and Chiron assures her that's not the case, session over, Persephone goes outside to Hades aaaand notice how we never actually tackled that "I feel insecure because of my partner having former partners?" thing? Notice how the best we got was her talking about her fears of being an "inadequate partner" which focused entirely on her not being "enough" for Hades and being a "bad decision maker" rather than pointing out 1.) Hades' own faults in being a serial cheater that would undoubtedly contribute to her insecurities and 2.) what Persephone could do for Hades rather than what Hades could do for Persephone? It's always "I don't know if I'm good enough for him" and never "I don't know if he's good enough for me."

Yet another F-- on Lore Olympus' Bechdel test. Every single thing tacked onto Persephone's backstory is meant purely to get her with Hades - TGOEM is just an obstacle preventing her from having sex with Hades, the assault is just a framing device to show how much "better" Hades is for Persephone than Apollo, her overbearing childhood is just to show how much more "free" she is now that she's not living with her mother and is living with Hades instead, etc.

No agency, no autonomy, no character, even when it tries.

youtube

#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #ama #ask me anything #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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xx-slug-xx · 5 months

Text

//tw- antis, sa, death

Some shit I found on Twitter today. The fuck are antis on

When someone dies, it is traumatic. Full stop. Death is the worst fear that we, as people, instinctively have. If someone in our lives dies, it it’s terrifying. Not only is it a reminder of our own mortality, but it’s also heartbreaking to loose someone. Especially when it’s someone close to us. To say that it’s not traumatic because they are gone is absurd. It’s traumatic BECAUSE someone you love is gone. It’s not an “out of sight out of mind” type deal. People don’t suddenly mean nothing if they are dead. And if this anti was referencing how dead people can’t be traumatized by their own death, that’s still fucked up. It’s true, but their death will affect the people around them. And the people who experience attempted murder, and live with the trauma of living with a near death experience? Do they not matter? Should they have died instead of living?

If this is how someone truly feels about death (nonspecific and just generally death), I fully believe that they should seek therapy. This is an abnormal response to loss, and it can be a good indicator of underlying mental health issues that can and will cause further problems for both the people experiencing this sort of feeling and the people around them.

I don’t want the morality police to start saying this type of thing though. It makes their argument even more outlandish imo. If real death means nothing to you, but fictional death does, then what kind of moral stand point is that even supposed to be? And to say that people are better off dead than to live their lives with the experience of trauma is disgusting. Victims of sexual abuse, or anyone who has experienced trauma of any sort, often feel like they should be dead and struggle with suicidal thoughts. I know my own trauma has caused this in me when I was younger. By saying that victims are better off dead helps drive people over the edge. This is abhorrent. And maybe, that’s what they want. Victims deserve to live regardless.

There’s beauty in this world, and we are here too see it and to create more of that beauty for others. Nobody is better off dead because of the things in our lives that were out of our hands.

As a csa survivor myself, yes, my trauma is life long and will always affect me to some degree. However, I’ve grown past it. I’m more than my trauma, and so is every other victim out there. It’s important to my growth as a person and my experiences. But it doesn’t define my whole life. I won’t give my trauma the right to dictate who I am or how I behave. I’m not an animal that needs to be put out of my misery because of what I went through. Death is not a better option to living with past trauma

#tw sa #tw antis #tw death #proship #profic #anti anti #profiction #comship #anti censorship #anti harassment #fandom discourse #twitter screenshot

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dtrghost · 11 months

Text

closeness and proximity part.6

pairing: ghost x f!reader

synopsis: callsign is sunshine, because you're anything but. team 141 thought ghost was bad? at least they could crack a smile out of the guy from time to time, you? you were stone faced, all day, every day. until one day you're not, not with a certain someone anyway.

warnings: fluff, some angst, ooc simon, virgin! reader, 18+ smut, cunnilingus, piv, praise kink, this a softer smut, degrading terms are still gonna be used but in a praising way because i think after everything that's happened her first time shouldn't be too much, he still gets rough though. size kink, overstimulation!receiving, some masochism!receiving on simon's behalf, some sub!ghost, cursing.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

word count:

The last half a year wasn't as bad as she thought it'd be. Turns out she wasn't a sociopath, she had some tendencies sure, but in reality she was just broken from years of unresolved trauma. She had a long way to go, but according to the reports sent to HQ by her therapist, Ms. Maeve Riva, she was making excellent progress.

Price moved out halfway through her leave, and at first she was happy about it, the flat was a lot cleaner, quieter, she had more space for herself and she could decorate it in peace without hearing him grumble about how feminine her decor was.

But she got lonely within a week, and adding on the depression from reliving her worst traumatic experiences, she'd end up calling someone to talk to, which was more often than not, Price. She trusted him enough for that, and she knew he wouldn't tell the team. She wanted them to think she was getting better, and in a lot of ways she was, but some aspects of recovery couldn't be helped.

It was the last day before she was officially off leave and back on call, and she wanted to make it memorable. She sat down in her usual spot in front of Maeve who smiled warmly at her.

"Last day! I brought.." She pulled out two half liter bottles of cherry coke, handing one to her with a cheeky look in her eyes.

"These, to celebrate you! Look how far you've come!" Her therapist gushed emotionally. She chuckled, cracking it open and taking a sip. She sighed at the burn of the carbonation as it slide down to her stomach.

"Thank you Maeve. Couldn't have done it without you and you're weird obsession with tea." Maeve rolled her eyes, snickering as she took a swig from her bottle. Normally she'd do this with alcohol, but knowing her client it was best not to.

"So what's on the agenda for today. Party your heart out, one night stand." She hummed, shrugging her shoulders.

"I was actually gonna call a friend of mine."

"Oooooo one night stand with a friend then. Those are always interesting." She laughed and looked at her incredulously.

"No no no just for some time to reconnect. I'm getting tired of being alone all the time." Maeve nodded, tilting her bottle towards her in agreement.

"Who's this friend of yours? Are they hot?"

"Name's classified, but damn straight he's hot. Shit. I wanted to climb him like a tree when we first met." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Alright then. So have you asked him out yet?" She sighed, leaning back on the couch.

"Nope. Don't even know where he is right about now. Haven't tried to call in the last 6 months either."

"And why is that?" Here the therapy session truly started.

"About 2 weeks before I was put on leave we had an.. altercation. Meaning a knife to my neck and some hurtful words. He apologized, we moved on, but a part of me still feels like what he said was true." She knew what she was referring to, and she leaned forward and put her hand on her knee gently.

"You then and you now are two very different people. Yes your occupation requires more, gruesome methods of getting information out of people, but you feel remorse, you do it out of necessity. You can't keep beating yourself up about it." Y/N nodded, looking down at her phone for a second in contemplation.

"Give him a call. I'll be here with you." Her eyes flickered to Maeve's, only seeing comfort and reassurance. She sighed, her tongue poking at the side of her cheek for a moment before she picked up her phone and looked in her notes. She'd asked Price for Simon's number before he left, and she saved it for when she got the courage to actually contact him. She took a deep breath, hitting the call button and listening to it ring in her ear.

"This is Ghost." Her heart was beating out her chest, the sound of his voice causing her eyes to water involuntarily. Maeve noticed the immediate panic in her eyes and reached over to squeeze her hand, gesturing her to respond. She couldn't hear the conversation, but she could tell by her facial expressions the idea of what was going on.

"Uh-, hey, it's Y/N." All the air left his lungs for a moment, his throat dry as he sat up from his bed. It was his off day, so he back at his flat, watching some old crime movie that he'd seen a while back and took a liking to.

"I just wanted to ask if you um, if you wanted to just ya know, hang out with me later. If you can." She hated how she sounded. Her voice was shaky and she was having a hard time getting the words out. The silence was killer, and it was because he was shocked. 6 months of no contact and suddenly she's asking him to dinner.

"...Yeah. Alright. Time?" Her eyes blew open, Maeve cheering her on as she forced herself to remain calm.

"Does 6:30 work for you? I know you prefer staying in so I can-"

"S'alright I'll come to you. I know where you live anyway."

"Oh alright." It went silent for a bit, and she shrugged at Maeve's curious look.

"...You doing alright then?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it when I see. I don't have alcohol so if you plan to drink you'll have to bring your own. Oh, and no masks. Bye." She hung up quickly, taking a deep inhale as she looked at Maeve with wide eyes.

"So you have a date then."

"I guess so. He's coming to me... fuck." She realized she had no idea when he was going to show up.

"We can cut this one short. I got you covered." She thanked her, seeing it was 4 and she needed time to get ready. She rushed home, cleaning up before racing upstairs to change where she was suddenly at a loss. What the hell was she going to wear?

Simon was in no better situation either, staring at his closet that consisted of hoodies, cargo pants, black t-shirts, and mostly work attire. What did a hang out at her place constitute? Nothing formal surely, casual? He decided on a black t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of black shoes he had that weren't too worn out.

The idea of no masks surprised him, but he didn't care too much. They'd known each other for years and he'd been meaning to find a reason to show her his face, and seeing her own. Then realization struck him.

Did that mean she's not wearing one either?

He couldn't help the sudden bloom of excitement in his chest and stomach at the thought of it. He sprayed on his cologne and grabbed his keys before heading to his car. He had memorized the way there, having driven by sometimes to catch a quick glimpse at her as a way to check in.

She sighed, looking in the mirror at her final look, fear and overthinking plaguing her mind. She didn't wanna look like a bum in her own house, so she put on a nicer pair of clothes, which was really just an all black, long sleeve two piece. She looked comfortable but put together at the same time, even if she was anything but the latter.

What if she just called him and said something came up? What if he's already driving over here?

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts, mentally cursing herself as she sprayed herself with her favorite perfume and scurried downstairs while adjusting her hair. With a deep breath, the door opened and her eyes blew open, and so did his.

Fuckin' hell. I'm not gonna make it through the night. He thought to himself.

Her mask was off, revealing her perfect nose, skin, and god those lips. They were just the right size, shiny with whatever lipgloss she was wearing. She flashed him a smile that took his breath away. Her outfit hugged her curves in sinful ways that made him swallow his drool before it had to chance to run out of his mouth.

He was just as hot, the way his clothes perfectly hugged him figure, showing off the slim of his waist and broad, bulky shoulders. His pants accentuated his muscular thighs, getting just that much tighter around them as he moved in them.

His jaw was chiseled, as if sculpted by the Gods themselves, his scars added depth to his face with plump lips and a look that would make anyone's drawls or panties fall off. She's surprised hers didn't.

"You look great."

"You look beautiful." They said at the same time, their cheeks beginning to burn.

"Thank you Simon. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too Y/N, oh and I.. I brought these.. for you." He pulled out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, her eyes lighting up in surprise as she hadn't noticed his arm behind his frame in the first place. They were gorgeous. White roses with stems of lavender to compliment them.

"Awwww thank you. These are beautiful." She smelled them, humming at the aroma.

"Do you mind if I put them in a vase really quick?" He shook his head, watching her shuffle back into the flat as he trailed behind her, shutting the door. He took his time looking around, nodding to himself as he was impressed at how well decorated it was. He left his fairly bare, the walls were gray and he'd only furnished it with the necessities. He watched her walk back into the room, bending down to put the flowers on the coffee table in front of the couches.

He almost groaned at how perfectly those pants hugged her legs, complimenting the shape of her ass as she adjusted the vase to be at the center of the table. Her hair fell off to the side beautifully, her velvet locks entrancing him as this was only the second time he'd seen it naturally. He forced himself to look away as she stood back up, smiling at them before shifting her gaze to him. She noticed that he didn't bring anything other than the flowers.

"Not drinking tonight?" He shook his head, dropping his keys onto the table.

"Alright, do you want anything else? Water, I have some coke."

"Coke's fine." She hummed, quickly grabbing two bottles from her fridge and coming back to see him getting himself comfortable on her couch.

"Here." She passed it to him before taking a seat next to him, crossing her leg over the other as she grabbed the remote to put on a movie.

Fuck, those thighs of hers.

He couldn't help but let his mind drift off for just a moment.

How good they'd look locked around his head as he ate her pretty little cunt out until she was begging for him to stop. How'd they feel against his body as he fucked her through the night. Their smoothness, how'd they be shaking by dawn.

"Simon, you okay?" Her voice dragged him out. She looked at him curiously as he snapped out of it suddenly, embarrassed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She pressed, making him snicker to her surprise.

"I don't think we'd make it to the end of the movie if I told you that." Her jaw dropped for a moment, suddenly not sure how to comprehend his blatant statement as her thighs unconsciously pressed together.

"Don't do that." He commanded roughly, eyes flickering away from her legs and his hand squeezing the bottle in his hand a bit tighter. Suddenly she understood, and she couldn't help the grin stretching across her face making him roll his eyes.

"I know I know, I'm hot. Don't gotta tell me." She teased lightly, chuckling to herself.

"Don't get all cocky on me now. You were the one fantasizing about me while I was in the shower that one time." "Fuck yeah. Told my therapist about it too, she thought I should've shot my shot when I had the chance back then." He looked over to her for a brief moment, watching as she took in the look in his eyes before they flickered back to the screen.

"You could still shoot it." He suggested quietly, his cheeks burning red as he took another swig of his drink. He wished he'd brought the damn whiskey.

"Would I miss?" He huffed a small laugh at her uncertainty.

"You never miss." Her throat went dry, her eyes darting around the room in front of her before her hand reached out to the one he had on his thigh, grasping it in hers before resting it on the meat of hers.

She sighed lightly at the feeling of his hand squeezing her quads, her eyes shutting for a moment as she let her head fall back.

"Call it a miracle if we get to the credits Riley." He chuckled, his thumb stroking her clothed skin gently. They watched the movie in tense silence, their breathing a bit ragged in an attempt to not jump on each other.

"So, how's the team been?" She began, watching him shift in his spot.

"S'been good. Soap's still a shithead but what's new with that." He listened to her chuckle, missing the melody of it.

"Not surprising."

"How's therapy been? Honestly." He was looking for a genuine answer, turning his head and seeing her bite her inner cheek for a moment.

"It's been rough at times, but I guess I should've been expecting that." She avoided Simon's gaze for a bit while, feeling a bit odd talking about it. When she looked back up, she noticed his look focused on her neck.

Her hand reached up, feeling the unevenness in the area from the scar that was left after he pressed his knife against her neck.

"It's okay, forgot it was even there." She brushed off.

"No it's not." Every part of him regretted that, he never forgave himself.

"It was justified. I threatened you before that too. You were just scared, rightfully so." She had reached over to the other side of him, grasped his clenched fist and gently poking her fingers through the break it apart.

"Si, honey. Look at me." His eyes flickered to hers, his chest tightening at the tenderness looking back at him as she squeezed his hand. She was so close, he could smell her lovely perfume, one that made his head spin.

"I forgive you. Okay?" He hesitated, his hand slowly relaxing as hers slipped in, intertwining their fingers for a moment before she sat back. She noticed the dazed look on his face, his mouth slightly opened as his eyes flickered all over her body, from her face, to her waist, to her legs, and back up.

"So how long have you had a crush on me for."

"Oh fuckin' hell."

"What it's a fair question! I'll answer if you answer."

"I'm not answering that."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a bloody stupid question that's why."

"No it's not! If we're gonna fuck then I should at least get to know how long you've been waiting." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his eyebrow and listening to her laugh.

"Well, hopefully not JUST fuck, but I'll take what I can get." She added on quietly, picking at her nails with a small smile on her lips.

"Since a few months after we met." He answered suddenly, looking back up at her. His stare was intense, as it always was, his amber eyes boring into hers.

"Yeah. About the same for me. I didn't understand it for a while until I went through therapy, a bit before that but I wasn't completely sure until I talked it out." He nodded.

"Thank you, by the way." She spoke up, her leg beginning to bob nervously.

"For?"

"Everything. Trying to help me when I didn't want it, coming back for me, fighting HQ for me. All that stuff."

"Of course I came back for you." She placed down her bottle with a shrug.

"I didn't think you would."

Sick, selfish bastard. I don't want something like that on my team.

Those words had stuck with her, and he could tell.

"Oh um, speaking of. We did this thing in therapy where I had to write a letter to the person I think I hurt the most and you were one of them. I was gonna mail it but I never found the courage. Can I just give it to you now?" His eyes widened for a moment, placing down his coke on the floor next to him and giving her a curt nod. She rushed upstairs, opening her drawer and taking out the singular letter she had kept, the rest already having been shipped out.

She stared at it for a moment. Was she ready to hand this to him? For him to read her thoughts and emotions during one of the most vulnerable times of her life? She could say she lost it, accidentally shipped it to the wrong address by mistake. She could've just wrote "sorry for being a prick my bad" and moved on, but she made it personal, emotional, she was pretty sure that there was a stain on it from a tear that had fallen as she wrote.

"Get lost?" Simon called out, noticing how long she'd been gone. She took a deep breath before going back down, staring down at it as she took a seat next to him. He could see her hesitance to hand it to him, her fingers tightly glued to the sides.

"Read it to me then." He offered, shifting his body to face her.

"I'm not sure if that'll be any better."

"I disagree. Go on. Take your time." She felt small in that moment, his intense gaze causing her hands to shake as her finger glided over the indents of his name written on the front. She turned it over, gently slipping her finger underneath the seal of the envelope and opening it, pulling out the letter.

"I tried to keep it short." She spoke, her heart pounding and her voice wavering. He nodded, though she likely didn't see it with how trained her eyes were on the letter. With a deep breath, she started, her voice being the only sound in the room as Simon paused the movie.

"Dear Simon, I dreaded writing your letter because of how personal it would be, but I managed to force myself to pick up my pen and put ink on the page. This letter has no goal, and my therapist told me it was supposed to make me feel better, but that isn't the case for this one."

She stopped for a moment, feeling her throat close up and tighten.

"Take your time lovie." He crooned softly, watching as her eyes darted around the page. She could do this, she thought to herself, clearing her throat and beginning again.

"We've known each other for a few years now, and at first I thought we'd be great friends. We were alike in some ways and even if some our conversations were painfully awkward, I looked forward to them. I was excited when I found out that I was being moved to team 141 because I'd see you again. I used to stay up sometimes and think about some bullshit future with you, where we'd live somewhere quiet together, getting old with a cat and a small garden in the back or whatever else I imagined. But then I actually got there."

She could feel the tears burning in her eyes. Simon didn't speak, instead he just continued to stare at her with a soft gaze, watching the emotions flicker in her eyes, like the candlelight he had seen all that time ago.

"I was confused. I didn't understand why I imagined these fantasies about us or why I wanted to be around you in the first place. I couldn't handle all of it at the time. I had done horrible things in front of you, tortured people in ways that now I can't stomach thinking about. There is no amount of money or apologies I can give to take my actions back, to bring those people back to life and figure out another way. And I did it because I'd seen it done before. I've watched the strongest of people break in Verdansk, and I replicated it because I knew it would work, and that's what matters right? That i got the job done."

Her voice had cracked, the tears that had once blurred her vision now streaming down her cheeks.

"I know that none of this is an excuse, and I won't ask for your forgiveness because I know that I don't deserve it. But I need you to know that I'm sorry, for hurting you, for scaring you, for failing you. Your face in that room is what I see when I close my eyes at night, consistently reliving it every chance of sleep that I get. You tried to save me and I didn't let you, and I'll always regret that. You words stuck with me, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make amends with myself and everyone else I've hurt. If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading, and for what it's worth, if anything, I'm truly sorry for what I've done to you.

Yours wholeheartedly,

-Y/N L/N."

He watched as she covered her face with the paper to try and hide her sobs, even though her body shook and convulsed lightly as she cried. His body moved before his mind did, getting up silently. She thought he was leaving, and she was okay with that.

"Hey, look at me." He cooed softly, gently taking the paper from her tight grip and placing it on the table behind him. Her eyes flickered to his, her cheeks red and puffy in his hands as he cupped her cheeks.

"I forgive you, Y/N." His voice was calm, even. She shook her head, her hands coming up to her face to hide her tears, only for him to pull her arms away and intertwine their fingers.

"What I said was fucked up. It's not true. You're not sick, you're not selfish. Do you hear me?" The resolve in his eyes only made her feel worse. She wanted him to hate her, to scream in her face and rip up her letter, but here he was. On his knees in front of her and holding her hands, doing the opposite.

"You're all I want, and you're all I'll need. I know that now, always have." He could still see the hesitance and disbelief in her wide range of emotions, so he did what he's been wanting to do for so long. His hands went back to her face, and with a gentle tug their lips met. It was almost too overwhelming, the sensations that flooded her senses soon overpowered her. She kissed back with the same fiery passion, sighing into his mouth as his hands dropped to her waist.

He rose, pushing her frame back into the couch, hovering over her. She was engulfed by him, he kissed her like it would be his last, pouring every ounce of his soul into hers, and she drank it gladly. She engraved the feeling of his soft lips on hers into her mind, feeling the roughness of his palms gliding under her top to feel her skin against his.

"Let me show you how much I need you lovie." He muttered against her lips, his eyes dark with lust, love, and desire.

"Let me take care of you."

Her throat when dry at his words as they sent shockwaves through her body, her thighs pressing together once more as heat gathered in the place she now needed him the most. With a single nod she was picked up in his arms, her legs wrapped around his middle as he began heading up the stairs to her room.

"Where." He followed her point to the right, pushing the door open with his hand and shutting it with his leg. His lips met hers again, moaning at the feeling of her hands combing through his hair. He tossed her onto the bed with a small umph, and she suddenly regretted wearing pants.

~ Oh we're switching to 2nd POV for this yall. Buckle up! Or should I say saddle up ;)))) ~

He settled himself between your legs, his hands squeezing the flesh of your plump ass as his lips hit yours, this time rougher and more needy.

"You ever done this before lovie?" He mumbled against your lips. Your breath hitched, your body tensing underneath his as you look away, embarrassed by your unspoken answer. He on the other hand, he loved it. His length grew impossibly harder at the idea of him being your first and your last.

He'd be damned to let you go again. You were it for him, it ended here, just you and him.

"Hey hey, look at me." Your eyes flickered to his, only to find fondness and excitement in his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours.

"It's alright love. I'm more than happy to be your first." He could feel you relax, his lips grazing over yours as he moved to your ear.

"I'll do it right yeah? I'll take my time with you, give it to you real nice and ruin you. You want that sweet thing? You want me to ruin you?" He could hear your uneven, shaky breaths as your legs pressed together, trying to relieve some of the pressure of your arousal. He groaned at the sight, of your small body under his and aching to be touched by his big, rough hands.

"Please Si." You whimpered, your eyes shiny with lust and need. He used his knee to push your legs open, his hand traveling down your body and cupping your hot sex. Your skin burned at him feeling how wet you were, the moisture pushing through your panties and just nearly to your pants.

"I know lovie. I got you, always have right?" You nodded vigorously, buckling your hips into his hand desperately for some friction. He hummed, pressing a sweet kiss on your lips before they traveled to your neck. You felt his tongue travel over your scar in a silent apology, one of likely many as his hand cupped your breast under your shirt. He loved how perfectly they fit in his hands, how soft and supple they were.

"How about we take some of these things off." His suggestion was more of an order, and you worked quick, pulling off your top and unclipping your bra as his knees sat on either side of your hips, watching with a raging hard on and sultry eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful love, so perfect for me." You felt vulnerable under his intense gaze, gripping the sheets to stop yourself from covering your chest. His head came down, swirling his tongue around your nipple as he teased and pinched the other one. Your breathy, soft moans were music to his ears, and they only grew louder as you felt him grind his clothed length against your core. He kissed and sucked, leaving marks all over chest to claim you as his.

"Simon" You whined, grabbing at his shirt, watching it ride a bit to showcase his lower back. With a smirk he lifted himself up for a moment, slowly peeling off his shirt as if he were giving you a show before tossing it somewhere in the room. Your hands began to roam, and he watched as you became entranced by him, your fingers delicately tracing his scars and running over his muscles.

You shivered, feeling his finger gliding underneath the waistband of your pants. You watched as he got off of you, sinking down to his knees as he began to slide them and your panties off of your legs. With a grip of your thighs he yanked you closer, amused by your small yelp as he examined your wet cunt.

Were you okay down there? Your thoughts began to race as he sat in silence.

"You... are a fucking goddess." His words caused you to gasp lightly, his hands pushing at your now arched legs to open them wider for him. You exhaled shakily at the feeling of him kissing and nipping at your inner thighs, leaving more marks he'd probably reencounter soon.

He was addicted to you already, fuck knows how many times he'll be in your room on base, doing just this.

He gripped your hips, cementing you in place before he licked a strip from your hole to your clit, listening to you moan as your head fell back against the bed.

"Eyes on me lovie. Want you to watch me eat this delicious fucking pussy." Once your eyes met his, he began eating you out like a starved man who had been deprived of a good meal for months. Your hands landed on his head in shock by his vigor and need as you moaned his name. He hummed, the vibrations adding to the hot pleasure that was coursing through your body as his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Fuck this is the best pussy I've ever had." He growled, his tongue entering your hole as he fucked you expertly. He forced himself to not thrust his hips into the bed for some relief, focusing all of his efforts into this moment. You moaned his name as you approached your orgasm, his eyes shooting up to look at you as he almost came from the way you said it. You felt his fingers replace his tongue, grinning at you as two slipped into easily.

"Gotta get this pretty cunt ready for me lovie." When his mouth attached to your clit and his fingers moved inside you, you saw stars, your hand gripped his free one that pressed flat of your lower stomach.

"Cum for me. Cum all over my fucking fingers." He instructed. He felt you clench down on his fingers, your head thrown back in ecstasy as your orgasm rocked you. He continued his motions until your whined, pushing at his head to get him off for a moment.

"You taste amazing, fuck I could do that for hours." He came up, pressing his lips against yours and shoving his tongue in your mouth, letting you taste your euphoria. You tugged on the belt loop of his jeans, feeling his chest vibrate against yours as he chuckled. He stood back up, your eyes trained on his body as he undid his button, letting his jeans drop.

Your eyes blew open, a sudden fear striking your heart. He was massive, his tip red in agony from the lack of attention.

"Si... that's not gonna fit." You told him. He brushed it off, stepping out of his pants and returning to his position, hovering over you.

"I'll make it fit. Don't worry." Shivers ran up your spine at his deep, raspy promise to you. You reached down, gathering some of your slick and beginning to slide your hand up and down his cock. his head hung for a moment, moaning your name softly. You sped up for a brief moment, only for him to yank your hand away with a shake of his head.

"This is about you love. Just do me a favor and say my name all pretty like you did earlier while I fuck you." You moaned, your arms wrapping around his neck as he grabbed the base of his dick, slowly pressing himself into you with a quiet groan in your ear. You felt yourself stretching to accommodate his size, your eyes flickering down to watch as he slowly disappeared into your sopping cunt.

He bottomed out with a moan, looking down at you.

"Any pain pretty?" Your cheeks burned at the pet name, shaking your head as he shifted your hips to get comfortable, listening to him hiss at the movement. He gives you a moment to adjust, and with your signal of buckling your hips into him for friction, he began thrusting into you. His pace was slow, following through with his promise to take his time with you as he memorized the feeling of your pussy clamped around him, hot and wet and needy for him to fill you up.

You soon began moaning loudly, still sensitive from his tongue as your nails pressed into his back.

"You're taking me so well Y/N, swear your pussy was made just for my cock." He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he fucked you.

"You were made for me love, made to be fucked like the pretty fuck toy you are." Your mind was sent into cloud 9, the feeling of his hips driving into you with purpose and need sending you over the edge.

"Oh fuck si right there!" He knew just how to fuck you, his length hitting the spot he knew would make you see stars, spots that had never been touched or stimulated in your life until now. He grunted at the feeling of your squeezing him again, kissing and sucking your neck as he pounded into you faster.

"Oh f-fuck yeah. Pussy feels amazing, so fucking good for me Y/N. I can feel myself, right here love" He took your hand and used his to push yours down on your lower stomach, feeling him fuck you with rhythm.

You were the best he'd ever had, and the best he'll ever have. No one could compare to you, nobody could moan his name like you could, make him feel good like you could. He was yours now, and he intended to let everyone, including yourself know that. The pleasure soon grew to be overwhelming, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades and making him shudder and whine into your ear.

"Fuck, do that again lovie. Mark me. Give me something to show off and let em know I belong to you." And you did just that. You left deep, red scratch marks on his back, kissing and nipping at his neck and his chest, leaving dark marks that he could flaunt later. His praises never stopped, him talking you through every orgasm you had and quickly slipping his cock back in when one had forced him out. He had no filter now, saying anything he wanted, which consisted of the filthiest words you'd ever hear him speak, and each time it would bring you and him that much closer to the never ending ecstasy you found in each other.

"S-Si I can't." You cried, tears rushing down your face as you pushed at his chest, the pleasure mixing with pain as your legs shook against his torso.

"One more for me. I'm so close lovie." Your want for him to cum was more than enough to help you persevere, his thumb coming down to rub your clit as he felt his orgasm approach.

"Where do you want me my love." He groaned, looking down at your fucked out face with his hooded eyes.

"In me. Please fill me up Si." You begged, your doe eyes big and watery. He let out a dirty moan you'd have to get out of him again later when you were able to move again as he let your legs down, fucking you fast in missionary, your legs locked around his middle.

"You want me to breed you huh. Dirty little girl, I'll give it to you. Fill that tight pussy up, you'll be full of me every day, walking around with my seed running down those pretty thighs of yours." His words sent both of you into a euphoria, your cum mixing together as he shot his load into you, your pussy having a vice grip around him as he shuddered. He managed to fuck you through yours, only stopping when you had begged him to with your pretty voice.

"Shhhh. I'll take care of you Y/N. Just trust me." He cooed in your ear, slowly pulling out of you and hearing you whimper from the loss of connection. He picked you up, bringing you to the shower that you lazily directed him to. He ran a bath, noticing how you were unable to stand up without his help. He scrubbed you clean, leaving loving kisses on your delicate skin, feeling you shiver as his tongue swirled over a few love bites he made.

When you were all clean he dried you off and helped you get dressed. You sent him to shower and managed to keep yourself up enough to grab some old clothes Price left behind that you cleaned and left in your drawer for whenever he came back for them, which was never. You laid on the bed, your eyes closing from exhaustion as you curled into yourself under your comforter, missing Simon's warmth and body heat. You were asleep by the time he got out, throwing his clothes into your laundry hamper and slipping into bed next to you, bringing your body flush against his.

"Goodnight lovie." He soothed, brushing your hair back and pressing a slow, loving kiss on your forehead before falling asleep with you, happy and content to have you in his arms.

That night was the first in 6 months where you slept through the night, no nightmares to plague your mind, no loneliness to keep you up in tears. You were in his arms, full of his love in every way, your closeness and proximity being the last identifier you needed to believe that life would get better.

And it would, you both knew it.

And that's it people!! It was my first time writing smut to be published so bear with me if it's bad. I might write a follow up chapter to this series but this is what I'll consider to be the last part! Thank you so much for your love and support and if you have an ideas for the next series, any hcs, preferences, smut etc let me know!

@thaprilks @bowtruckleninja @almightywdm @niallcozidonthavebettername @gothgirl6-6-6

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