#but I figured simon would not appreciate that

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 14

Warning: Cringe texting

Summary: ^

Notes: I love you guys but I’m lazy for formatting don’t hate me (it’s better on ao3)

Word count: 1,204

ao3 link

Several things were becoming abundantly clear to you.

One, you wanted to fuck Ghost.

Two, Ghost knew this.

Three, he thought he had it in the bag. And that, you took issue with. You were going to fuck him, but you wanted him to work for it; you wanted him to be down on his knees begging.

How exactly you were going to achieve this, you hadn’t quite figured out yet. All you knew for sure was that your ego needed a little more flattering and that Ghost’s needed to be taken down a peg.

You had some vague plans, and one of them had come into motion the second you got a text on your phone from the man himself, when you’d woken up for the second time on Sunday, having already had one rude awakening.

‘Unknown Number: New number. Know you missed texting me. ;-)’

Thank God he hadn’t seen the desperation in your texts on his last phone. This was a chance for a clean slate.

‘You: How’s the photo capabilities on your new phone?’

‘Ghost: Dirty bird. I’ll upgrade.’

‘You: For pictures of Soap and Roach you pervert.’

‘Ghost: Sure love.’

God the man was smug. Although, the mere idea of pictures from you had him buying a whole new phone? He wasn’t shy about his desire for you. Not to mention, it hadn’t even been half a day since he’d left your home, and he’d already sent you a text from his new phone? He was definitely down bad. And you were going to take advantage of that. But, for now, you were going to play it cool.

‘You: Anywaysss! How did the medical go?’

‘Ghost: Fit as a butchers dog.’

‘You: ? Are butcher's dogs especially healthy?’

‘Ghost: Ours was. :-)’

That was new.

‘You: You were a butcher?’

‘Ghost: Was a butcher's apprentice before I joined the military.’

You wondered if that was around the time he’d taken the picture for his drivers licence. Simon Riley the butcher. Well, he could keep the moniker; you imagine he did just as much butchering.

‘Ghost: I can show you how to properly handle meat. ;-)’

Of course. However, there was something cute about the fact that he’d sent you another text after you hadn’t replied for a mere minute. Did he even know what double texting was? You doubted that; he didn’t even seem to know how to use emojis. It was fun to go back to a pre-emoji time, like a throwback to your early teen years.

‘You: Yeah, I bet you’re a master at handling meat. Twat.’

‘Ghost: Happy to show you. ;-)’

‘You: In your dreams.’

‘Ghost: Yes. :-)’

You needed to stop. Either he was masterful at drawing you into playful banter, or you were easy. Regardless, you actually had things to do today, so you couldn’t spend all day flirting with Ghost over text.

‘You: I’ve got to get ready to go out. Talk to you later.’

‘Ghost: Think of me. ;-)’

Incorrigible.

Now, it was time for the second part of your first plan. Today, you were meeting the girls in town for a little window shopping and coffee, which gave you a convenient excuse to get dressed up, and you thought you knew who would appreciate a picture of your outfit. You spent far longer than usual picking out your clothes, trying to find the perfect mix of slutty enough to tease him but not slutty enough that your friends would notice. It was a hard bargain.

You figured it out pretty quickly. You could wear a mini skirt if you just stuck a jumper and a big jacket over it. You put your hair up in a bun that took a deceptively long amount of time to look like you’d just thrown it up, with you having to repeat the whole process three times until you finally got something you liked.

By the time you’d got around to doing your makeup, you were already over it, still irritated by your hair's inability to behave, but you stuck with it, giving yourself winged eyeliner, and several coats of mascara. There was no way you were going to faff trying to do your lips, so you just stuck with basic lip balm to complete your look.

With everything finished, you went to the long mirror in your room, having to give it a thorough clean before you could actually take any pictures. Ghost was worth it, that was unquestionable, but it didn’t make it any less of a faff. You were already out of breath, and you hadn’t even really done anything. How were you supposed to get across a slutty vibe with plausible deniability? Upskirt shot was out of the question. For now. Instead, you went with a classic pose, standing in front of the mirror, hand on your waist, resisting the urge to hold it up in a peace sign, your lips slightly pouted. Of course, you took a good dozen photos so you had a good range to choose from, hemming and hawing over which one was best before you finally decided.

From start to the finish, the whole process had taken about three hours, and the entire end result was a simple text that belied none of your efforts.

‘You: what do you think of my outfit? :) (image)’

There was no instant reply from him this time. You frowned at your phone, but it didn’t summon a text from him, so you just stuck it in your handbag and pretended you didn’t care, as though that would make the time until his next message shorter. Never worked before, but never stopped you from trying regardless.

In the time it took for you to put your coat and shoes on, and give Soap and Roach enough fuss that you didn’t feel guilty leaving them behind, you actually did get a response. You liked that about Ghost. He didn’t fuck about with long waiting times. Well, except for the weeks prior, but that didn’t count; his phone was blown up.

‘Ghost: Let me take you out instead. Anywhere you want.’

The offer was tempting. But you weren’t about to ditch your girls for Ghost. Even if it did take every fibre of your strength not to.

‘You: N o. I’m not ditching my mates for you.’

‘Ghost: Tease.’

‘You: Am not! Was just showing my outfit!’

‘Ghost: You know what you do to me.’

Shit, you were going to be late if you kept letting him distract you. There was just something about texting him that made you feel like a smitten teenager again.

‘You: Going out now! Byeeee’

‘Ghost: See you tonight :-)’

‘You: ???’

‘Ghost: I’m giving you a lift home. Just let me know when you need me.’

Oh, you liked that. You hadn’t even kissed him yet, and he was already your personal chauffeur?

‘You: Fine, will let you know.’

‘Ghost: That’s my girl ;-)’

With that, you locked your phone and stuffed it in the deepest recesses of your bag, knowing that you’d succumb to the temptation of texting him all day otherwise, and set out to catch the bus into town, already running late.

[doyelikehaggis]

7 Days of Scarepairs: Simren | Kieren Walker x Simon Monroe (In The Flesh) + "Scary Movies"

'Alright,' Kieren said, rolling his sleeves up as he sat beside Simon on the couch and grabbed the remote, 'are you ready to have your mind blown? I cannot believe you've never seen Scream. It's a classic scary movie!'

Simon chuckled and lifted his arm to let him curl into his side; it was instinct at that point, like they just slotted together naturally. Kieren really hoped his parents were going to stay upstairs like they promised. He was banking on Jem not being back before midnight as well. It would just be the two of them for a few hours.

He pulled the throw blanket across their laps and skipped the trailers.

'I'm surprised you even like things like this,' Simon said, but there was no judgement. He was just curious, as he always was when he learned something new about him. 'Considering everything we've gone through... I'd say it's enough horror to last more than one lifetime.'

'Yeah, I know,' Kieren said softly, and he looked up at him, suddenly worried. 'If you don't want to watch it, then we can just-'

'No, no, I want to,' Simon stopped him with a reassuring smile, rubbing his arm to settle him back into his side. 'I never watched a lot of movies growing up.'

'Well, this one isn't actually that scary,' Kieren said, resting his head on his shoulder. 'It's more of a comedy. And I went on doesthedogdie to weed out all of the Z word movies, so there's nothing to worry about. Just good old fashioned serial killer slashers and ghosts. Maybe some vampires.'

'Let's hope those aren't real as well,' Simon joked, and dropped a kiss on his hair as the movie started.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Wow. The Chosen season 3, episode 7 was so great!:D

Too many good moments to list.

[aphelionwrotes11]

MDNI 18+ (not edited)

Part 2

Trucker!simon, who finds himself a lovely bird at a local truck stop he often runs through on his usual routes.

Sits his massive self at the bar on one of the small stools, glaring at any of the blokes who stare at you a bit too long.

Gives you a blank look when you check up on him, asking if he’d like anything else.

“Just anotha’ cuppa, sweet’art” he always says, sliding his mug towards you, which looks microscopic compared to his massive hand.

You think he doesn’t like you, considering he doesn’t ever talk to you much when you try to make small talk, but he always leaves you a fat tip. You figure he’s just quiet. He can’t dislike you that much considering how many times you’ve glanced over your shoulder to see him gazing appreciatively at your ass.

It’s an especially rowdy night at the truck stop that finally breaks the camels back. A real gentleman decided he wanted a feel of you. So he didn’t hesitate to grab a handful of the fat on your backside, his table and him whooping and hollering as you squealed and slapped his hand away, glowering at him as you scampered away to the bar.

You held back tears as you started up another pot of coffee, never were the confrontational type. This wouldn’t be the first time a man had taken it upon himself to put his hands on you, but it would certainly be the last. Considering how Simon was sat at the end of the bar; shaking with rage, his knuckles white from being clenched tight as he stood.

It all happened so quick you didn’t even catch it, you back had been turned. The restaurant went from ruckus, laughter, and loud voices, to silence after the sound of a sickening crack rung through the room.

You turned just in time to see the asshole’s friends jump from their seats and go for your favorite regular; Simon. The handsy asshole laid flat on the ground, out cold.

It took no time at all for Simon to lay out the other three, he was twice each of their size in pure muscle, and obviously lacked nothing in skill. Once he was done he simply turned to you, pointed to the back room and said,

“Go get yer things.”

You didn’t think twice. Passing your manager who stood in the doorway, face solemn. You asked him quickly if it was okay for you to leave, he took one glance at Simon and nodded his head. You grabbed your things, throwing on your coat and met Simon at the door.

He takes your arm, surprisingly gentle for his huge form, he looked enraged. His shoulders tense, brows furrowed, you’re certain if he didn’t have a mask on the lower half of his face he would have a deep frown on his lips.

You thank him softly, following him as he leads you through the full parking lot. He says nothing, staring ahead. You tell him you don’t live far, you can just walk.

“No, you’re not doin tha’.” He says, and you don’t argue.

Helps you into the cab of his massive semi, getting into the drivers side and turning up the heat.

Offers to get you some food, “haven’t seen’ya eat a bite ol night, bird.”

You refuse, thanking him for the offer, telling him you’ll eat at home. You probably won’t, your stomach is still all twisted from earlier, if he can tell you’re shaken up he doesn’t show it. He just nods.

Takes you to the corner of your street, wouldn’t be able to drive his truck down the narrow road. You thank him again, asking him if there’s anything you can do to repay him.

“I know’a few things you can do for me, bird.” He says lowly, you feel your cheeks warm at the implication. You ask him what he wants. He grunts, glancing to the side as if he’s thinking.

“Gimme a kiss.” He says, tapping his cheek. Your eyes widen, is he serious? Out of all things he could ask for, he asks for just a kiss on the cheek? You shocked to realize you’re disappointed he didn’t ask for more.

He pulls his mask down to his chin, revealing his chiseled jaw and thin, scarred lips. You lay a trembling hand on his giant thigh for support as you lean over, and just as you are about to meet his cheek he tilts his head and has your mouth. Pressing a heated kiss to your lips.

It takes you a moment to catch up, but before you know it you’re in his lap, making out sloppily, mouths open and tongues swirling together. You sigh into his mouth, cupping his jaw as his hand cradles the back of your head.

When you start grinding yourself against him is when he stops.

“Not yet, bird. Gotta take you out first, do it the right way.” He says. The right way? What the hell.

“Take ya for dinner, treat ya real good, take ya home and fuck that sweet pussy halfway to heaven.”

He cups your ass as he whispers that nasty shit in your ear, one hand on your hip as he bucks up once against your wet heat. You let out a whimper and he just chuckles. Asshole.

Jumps out the truck and helps you down with two strong hands on your hips. Walks you all the way to your front door, smiling at your peeved expression. You were definitely gonna have to rub one out once you got inside.

Gives you a sweet peck on the cheek, gripping your chin with his thumb and finger.

“Be here tomorrow a’ seven. Wear something nice.” He says softly before turning and stalking off into the night. Leaving you flabbergasted on your front doorstep.

Note: I dunno if you guys can tell but im incapable of writing anything small. This was supposed to be just a short little thing about how sexy trucker!simon would be but i got so carried away 😭 he’s the ghost that haunts my nights, can’t get him outta my head

Simon Riley master list

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Easy breezy beautiful premature ejaculation. Hypersexual!Simon/fem!reader. Discussion of edging. Cumming untouched.

-

“If we do this,” he says around his cigarette, “then we do it my way.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you admit cautiously, turning your hands palm up as if to show you have no weapons, no tricks up your sleeve. I’m innocuous, your posture says. His own says: I’m still deciding, with his tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. “This weird, femdom thing. So I appreciate your guidance. Because I know fuck all—“

“You’re no femdom—Jesus, fuck, I can’t talk about it anymore,” he grits out. He takes a step back and away, creating distance, exhaling a plume of smoke that makes him look strangely ethereal in the evening light. Against your will, your eyes flicker down to just below his belt buckle and oh god. He’s hard. 

“Just from talking about it?”

The look he gives you could melt ice. It could sublimate it. You cringe, knowing you were in the wrong, wishing you could reach out and snatch the words right out of the air. He’s trusting you with this. The last thing he needs is to feel like a joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have—you’re not a, a science experiment or something—“

“Wouldn’t mind that so much. Might figure out what the fuck’s wrong with me. Less interested in being treated like I’m part of a circus troupe,” he grumbles. He drops the cigarette and grinds it to ash beneath his boot. He asks: “Inside?” 

-

Gingerly, so gingerly, he undoes the button of his jeans and unzips them. He holds his breath as he works the denim down his thick thighs. God, is he built: muscles made for more than just show. His history is inscribed on his body in its strength and in its scars, scars of white and pale pinks that darken to purple in the lamplight. He’s wearing boxer briefs, straining at the front from his erection, and they are soaked. You’re surprised that he hasn’t soaked straight through to his jeans. 

“Don’t look,” he grits out through his teeth. You look away, unsure where to cast your eyes to, and settle for shutting them. He explains: “Can’t take the way you’re looking at me.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling your face flush hot. 

“Just—let me—” you hear the sound of fabric rustling. He kicks off his jeans—you can tell by the soft sound of them landing against the floor off the side of the bed. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenching in your lap. 

“Nothing just—fuck. No way I’m going to last.” He sounds bitterly disappointed. 

“That’s the point of this, right? To get better at lasting?” 

He sighs, a long-suffering sound, like this discussion is well worn and frustrating to him. Something in you shrivels, and it takes your body with it as best as it can, sending your shoulders hunching inwards, your head ducking down. You pick at one of your nails by feel alone, eyes still closed, and nearly jump when his fingers brush your knee. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You’re right. That’s what this is for. Might as well get used to embarrassing myself.” 

“That’s the spirit." 

He snorts. More fabric rustles, and at length he says: “Alright. You can look. Just…you can look.” 

You open your eyes hesitantly. His cock is right there—and Jesus. It makes sense, proportionally, but it is frightening in a very real sense. You’re already doing the math, measuring in your head and comparing to your past precedents. Ghost would have them all beat, quite comfortably, in length and girth. He’s cut, which surprises you, but isn’t a turnoff. He keeps himself landscaped nicely, which you appreciate, even if it isn’t necessary. 

He is flushed a ruddy pink, the head darker than the rest. As you stare, it jerks, a bead of precum welling at the tip. Suddenly one of his large, scarred hands reaches down and grips the base of his cock in a painful hold, hissing in a breath through his teeth. 

“Can’t look at me like that,” he admonishes again. 

“Like what?” you ask, a little defensive. You’re just looking! You have to look, right? 

“Like you want it,” he mutters. 

God, does he really have no idea? No inkling of how badly you want to sit on that monster in his hands? No notion of how wet you’ve been since your conversation in the parking lot? Sure you aren't like him, not about to spring off if the breeze was just right, but you are anything but unaffected. Still, it seems like the wrong moment to educate him on your attraction to him and his cock, so you do your best to morph your expression into one of unimpressed ambivalence and hoped it helps. 

“I’m ready when you are,” you say, interrupting his deep breathing exercises. He nods but doesn’t give you the go-ahead, not for another minute or two, until his chest stops heaving and he can remove his hand from the vice grip he has around his balls. His cock has a near purple tinge, and you wonder if maybe he should have rubbed one out in the bathroom beforehand just to take the edge off. Oh well, it’s a thought for next time. 

“Go ahead,” he says, like he’s giving you permission to pull the trigger on him during a game of Russian Roulette. 

You reach out—his cock twitches, a nice warm welcome if you’ve ever seen one, but you hesitate. Your hand is dry. Should you ask for lube? How does he usually jerk off? Dry? You have a feeling he doesn’t mind the discomfort; he seems like he has a self-destructive streak a mile wide. His eyes are fixed at a point on the ceiling, his chest unmoving as he holds his breath. You decide that some sort of lubrication is better than none—so you lick a broad stripe up your palm. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, a little punched-out sound. Sometime between opening your mouth and licking your palm, his eyes had transferred from the ceiling to your face, to the flash of your tongue and your wet palm. His eyes widen, irises swallowed up by the pupils, and he says again, more urgently: “Oh fuck.” 

He reaches down to grip the base of his cock again, but it is too late: he cums. His abs are thrown into sharp relief as he tenses with each pulse, cock jerking against his brutal grip. He doesn’t even jerk himself off—just ruins it as you stare with your mouth open and your hand wet, watching him splatter seed against the coarse line of hair that runs from his belly button to his cock all because he watched you lick your hand. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, throwing one arm across his eyes, breathing heavily. His mouth is flushed a pretty red, like he has been kissing. His hand clenches into a fist as he says: “I’m sorry. I tried not to.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, your nearly brain blue-screening from how turned on you are. You lower your hand and wipe it dry on your leggings. “That’s what this practice is for—so you don’t do it when it really counts. We can try again tomorrow or something.” 

He snorts. “Tomorrow? Give me five fucking minutes.” 

[angelatsumu]

thinking of husband!simon who can't get enough of making you cum. nsfw under the cut. | husband!simon, overstimulation (kinda), fingering

“surely you can give me another, lovie” your husband taunts you, eyes peering at your reflection in the mirror. he’s got your legs spread for him, trapped under his own legs as his fingers—middle and ring—find themselves curled deep within your cunt. he’s smirking at you teasingly while your head’s rested against his shoulder. normally he hates when your eyes break contact with his, but today he allows your brief reprieve from his gaze because he’s feeling generous. truthfully speaking, he knows he’ll be asking for ‘just one more’ at least two more times before you’re boneless before him. your lover curls his fingers along the spongy cushion buried within your walls, prodding the soft material with a coy grin splayed across his features. his eyes are sharp as he watches your hips wriggle against the assault in a weak attempt to free yourself. he’s feeling generous, so he lets that silly little action go unpunished. he figures he’ll tax you for each offense; give him one more for his troubles, sweet girl. you whine at the intoxicating thrusts of his digits against you, body overheating as the coil within your abdomen winds tight. the sounds of your squelching cunt makes your cheeks heat with embarrassment, only worsened with the teasing lilt of your husband’s filthy words in your ear. “doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. ‘s almost too much isn’t it, baby?” he sounds like pure sin, panting as though the sheer feel of your cunt squeezing his fingers would do him in. you both know it would; your lover could cum with the sheer feel of your cunt spasming around his tongue, let alone his fingers. he’s hard against your ass, and each wiggle and writhe of your sweet hips making him grunt deeply against your skin. the tightening in your cunt alongside the soft moans of his name let your lover know you’re so close to the edge, so close that you can practically already taste it. he knows, and he makes sure you reach that peak quicker by circling your hard, throbbing clit with his thumb. “oh, sweet girl,” your husband coos at you as your orgasms crests, leaving you trembling in his grasp. Simon’s a bit cruel with the way he thrusts his fingers harder against that sweet spot while spewing filthily in your ear. it’s too much, always too much when he’s this sexy and all yours before him. as you ride out your orgasm, he coaxes you into rocking your hips against his thick fingers. “ride my hand baby, watch yourself ride my fuckin’ hand,” he moans in your ear, free hand gripping your jaw and forcing your gaze to your reflection in the mirror. the sight is enough to have your cunt squeezing his fingers so tight he could barely move, huffs and whines slipping from your pretty lips while he continues his assault on your overstimulated cunt. “please, Si” you whimper with warmed cheeks, eyes pleadingly looking into his own. he lets out a gruff groan, relishing in the tears that speckle your lash line. “just one more,”he lies to you, and you whimper softly knowing it’d be far more than one before you were done.

a/n: rbs + likes greatly appreciated. also, taking requests. also also, if you'd like the insanely long (and kinda fanon/self-indulgent) oneshot i wrote for halloween!simon, lmk

[quarterlifekitty]

How the boys convince, coerce and/or deceive reader into slowly (or not so slowly) allowing anal sex--

Uh I mean??? What???? Who said that?????

MUST HAVE BEEN THE WIND 👀

Warning I went a little crazy on König’s in terms of depth but it’s actually a lot more on the tame side lol @machveil come pick up your man from the sleepover he frew up

cw: lotta dubcon, abuse of dynamic kinda stuff, manipulation

Gaz is catching flies with honey here. He likes to spread you open, take a good look, just tell you about everything he appreciates. Doesn’t matter if it’s the first time or the hundredth time. And eventually, it’s not just about your pussy. It’s about your little starfish. How it looks so cute— he can see it clench a little when he plays with your pussy. You laugh about how much he talks about it, but he’s all “no, I’m serious, love! It’s really pretty, y’know? And it looks so tight—“. He’s killing you with kindness about it.

You and Soap send each other porn clips all the time. Sometimes because they’re funny, or they’re gross, or because they turn you on. It’s like baiting a fishing rod sometimes. See what you’ll lure from each other. And he starts sending more and more video with anal… All quite gentle. Makes sure it’s amateur stuff so it doesn’t seem completely fake and full of pornstar moans. So it looks like a real woman is enjoying herself from it. And it’s always followed by him being like “fuck, would love to open you up like this, bonnie” (he doesn’t text in his accent ok).

Ghost is literally praying for the day when you’re too fucked stupid or anxious to stop him. Occasionally, like a shark biting a surfer, he tests you. Sees how far you’ll let him take it before you tell him to stop. He’ll press his tip to your ass, see how long it takes for you to say no, Simon. He might even act like it was a mistake. As if he couldn’t find his way to your cunt from miles away in the dark with no map. He’s just waiting for you to be either too out of your mind in pleasure to speak out, or too afraid of ruining his fun.

Price is doing the classic frog in boiling water (yes I know that’s a myth). He starts by just pressing his thumb there while he’s fucking you from behind… working you up to taking a finger. Keeps doing it until eventually, you ask him to. It feels wrong when he isn’t doing it. And so then he starts to ease you into two, and so it goes until you barely notice when he’s pulled out his cock and has it positioned right where he wants it.

König is pretty painfully fucking awkward about the affair. Saying he wants to fuck your ass is probably something that’s slipped out once or twice in the throes of passion, but he doesn’t speak of it afterward. One day when he’s deployed, he leaves some gifts in places he knows you’ll find them while he’s gone. He usually does this after he’s been on leave for a while— it softens the heartache of the separation for you, when he leaves these little gestures. And usually there’s small things— a very nice chocolate assortment in your bedside table, a few origami figures in the medicine cabinet, a decorated hair pin with fine engravings clipped onto a kitchen towel. And this time, there’s a box with a range of plugs in the bottom drawer where you keep the bedsheets, which you only change every two weeks. It’s planned so you’ll get the other gifts first, and there’s one more expensive than usual thrown in among them to butter you up. There lube, too. A perfect training set in silver. It’s up to you to choose to use them, but he knows how curious and bored you can get on your own for all that time.

Nikolai is going to convince you that it’s what you need. When you’re right on the precipice of a complete collapse— when he knows he’s fucked and coddled you into subspace. Into being suggestible. It’s when you’re on the verge of crashing from it, of dropping, breathing heavy and tears stinging your eyes that he tells you “I know what would make you calm down, malýshka.” When you’re so sensitive and vulnerable and wanting to drop back into that place where he’s everything and you’re nothing but his clay. So of course you nod— you’d have agreed to anything not to have to face your panic outside of his comforting embrace. If Nikolai says it will help, it will help. You have to believe that.

[longing-for-the-past-times]

their reaction to you wearing a flavoured lipstick

task force 141 x reader headcanons

synopsis: headcanons of how would they react when the reader wears a flavoured lipstick/lip gloss/lip balm

notes: can you tell who is my favourite?

comments and reblogs are always appreciated🙈

warnings: mentions of smoking, occasional swearing, tooth-rotting fluff

find it on a03 masterlist

Captain 'John' Price - chocolate and red velvet

He may be slightly old-fashioned and love it when you wear red lipstick as he considers it a classy, but bold choice of colour

He is aware that you own more than one red lipstick, yet he secretly cannot differentiate one shade from another. Not that he'll ever let you know

That is until one day you visit him at work. He won't let it show, but he becomes jealous the second you walk in the base, your lips painted in a rich, velvety crimson. He cannot take his eyes off you, hypnotized by the captivating movement of your lips as you speak to him, telling him about your day and what you thought you should have for dinner.

John does not miss the hungry looks that are thrown across your way. He is quick to snake his hand around your waist and usher you to his office, where he could be the only one relishing in the allure the red lipstick cast over you-

"John, you're not really listening, are you?" your playful tone snaps him out of his reverie, a sheepish look plastered on his face.

"Love, did I ever tell you how much red lipstick suits you?"

"Only twice per day and more than ten times per night…" you roll your eyes at his antics, cupping his cheeks in your hands and planting a kiss at the corner of his lips, letting out a small giggle as his stubble tickled your lips.

"Well, I am headed home to get started on that dinner you didn't pay attention to!" you keep teasing him, amused by his dazzled expression. Little did you know, you had him wrapped around your finger.

"A…Alright, drive safe! I'll be there as soon as I finish this paperwork!"

Only he spends the next hour daydreaming about your red lips and the tender way they made contact with his skin, the phantom touch still lingering on the corner of his lips. Unconsciously, he traces his tongue over the place, freezing when he feels a mild flavour of chocolate.

He checks it once again, partially ashamed of the childish gesture. If any of his teammates caught him at that moment, they wouldn't let him live it down. But the subtle taste is there, sweet yet distant, almost as if it was teasing him.

The paperwork's long forgotten before he realizes it must be your lipstick. You might have told him that you found a new flavoured collection, but he had been too busy staring at your giddy figure to pay attention.

So he becomes a man with a plan and does not delay heading home anymore. The drive there seems endless, but it's all worth it the moment he opens the door and sees you standing by the kitchen counter, wearing the apron he gave you for Christmas

One second he's by the door, the next he's smashing his lips against yours, a small sigh of pleasure leaving him as he relishes in the now-intense aroma of chocolate.

"Warn an old man next time, will ya?"

From that day on, he starts calling you "chocolate". The pet name raises a few eyebrows here and there, but none of you are bothered by it. Not when you could tease him about his newly-found sweet tooth and he could lose himself in your delicate kisses.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley - strawberries and cigarettes

There are times when he becomes a heavy smoker, sitting on the balcony of your shared apartment and burning through a pack in one day while his mind is mulling over the previous or the next mission

In times like those, he has nothing against your presence, secretly enjoying when you lay his head atop his shoulder and hug him from behind, but he always refuses to kiss you afterwards, arguing that the acrid taste of cigarettes would gross you out

It definitely doesn't- it is an integral part of him that you'd come to accept and love- and now you couldn't live without it

Until one evening, you opt to sit across him, leaning your hands on the balcony railing, while your eyes wander over the city lights. Over the course of your relationship with Simon, you had grown used to his long bouts of silence, becoming accustomed to all of his telltale signs: his left eyebrow would twitch when he doesn't like something, his right foot would continuously tap against the ground when he is distressed.

Three cigarettes in, and his foot is reenacting Radetzky's March. He is utterly unaware of the amused glances you steal at him

"Something the matter, love?" you ask him in a sweet tone, trying to pull off your most innocent face.

"'s nothing", he begins hesitantly, his voice rough from not using it. "…just a little cold, I guess"

You have to turn your head away from him and back to the city, a satisfied smirk spreading on your face. Simon might have been the deadliest operator the Special Forces have had in a long time, but deep down he was also a touch-starved man who found solace and peace in your arms

When the foot tapping does not stop, you struggle to school your face into a neutral expression and turn towards him, your eyes melting at the sight of his dishevelled blonde hair and furrowed brow. He sheepishly looks up in your direction, a silent plea dancing in his chocolate eyes.

You stand and approach him slowly, stopping only when your faces are inches apart. His half-burnt cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray, the remnants of smoke in his breath fanning over your face.

His eyes hold a hundred unanswered questions: did he do something to upset you, did you grow sick of him, can he do anything to get you back; but they are all silenced when you lean in further, placing a gentle and intimate kiss on his lips

The unexpected gesture sends shivers of pleasure down his spine and he has to take a moment before cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissing you back, the way you deserve to be kissed

You chuckle in his mouth before pecking both his eyes and forehead and returning to your original position, your head resting in the crook of his neck as your arms engulf him in a warm hug

He opens his mouth to scold you for kissing him when he is smoking. In his mind, it is almost like he is tainting your presence with the stale smell of smoked cigarettes. But as the words form on his lips, he hesitates, his mind struggling to acknowledge the foreign taste on his tongue

He turns to look at you with a confused look on his face. It was October so there could be no strawberries at the market and the freezer was empty as you had eaten all ice cream when you were on your period-

So why did he taste strawberries on your kiss?

"I may have found a lip gloss from high school", you eventually break the silence, blowing a huff of strawberry-scented air in his direction. "One I bought and swore to keep untouched until I found someone worth using it for!"

His thunderous laugh has you opening your mouth in shock. You could count on your fingers the number of times he'd laugh openly and without reserves

"Bloody hell, darling. You'll get me killed before smoking does! That thing must have been expired for years now!"

You shake your head in disbelief, faintly blushing at his words. You know he is teasing you, but that does not stop you from taking revenge as you start to plant messy pecks and kisses on his neck and cheeks. You eventually stop when your lips are once again inches apart from his, your breaths slowly mingling into a shared one

"Then I guess we are going down together"

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish - cherries and chapped lips

It all begins one cold morning when he leans in to kiss you goodbye before leaving for work

"Hold on! Johnny, you've got to do something about your chapped lips! You know what, let me get you a lip balm!"

He is quick to place a hand on your shoulder to stop you. His eyebrows are raised in disbelief and he has to do a double-take before words tumble out of his mouth

"Ain't no way I'm using such a thing, bonnie! Lip balms and such are made for wee lasses like you, not for demolition experts like me!"

You roll your eyes at his badly constructed argument and give him an unimpressed look when an idea pops into your mind.

"You stay right here, I'll be back in a jiffy!"

"What even is a jiffy?"

But you don't bother to answer as you head towards the bedroom, looking for the cherry-flavoured lip balm you bought specifically for the cold season. With precise movements, you apply a thick layer on your lips, smacking your lips to check if the cherry flavour is strong enough to linger. It fortunately is.

So you hurry into the hallway where Soap's waiting for you, hands on his hips as he angles his head in your direction. If he notices that your lips have just got shinier, he doesn't mention it

Instead, he leans in to properly kiss you goodbye this time, eyes comically widening when you deepen the kiss and make it last longer than usually

A small chuckle leaves his lips as you cup his cheeks in your hand and place a small kiss on the top of his nose

"How about we continue this when I come home?", he smiles at the ticklish sensation of your lips against his skin, the constant stinging of his own being forgotten for the moment

"Is that a promise, Sergeant?"

He has a hard time leaving home that day, the drive to the base being plagued by thoughts of you and how much you care for him. His lips have been chapped ever since spending the last two weeks on a mission that required him to be on constant watches in freezing temperatures. He eventually got used to it, the cracks and fissures becoming familiar from the countless times he dragged his tongue over lips, in a hopeless attempt to soothe the pain radiating from them

He does not realise that he is currently doing the same thing, his brain temporarily freezing as it detects a new, yet familiar aroma

Why do his lips taste like cherries?

He remains in the car, long after he's parked, his mind deep in thought as he runs his tongue over his lips once more, partially scared that he'll make the mysterious taste go away if he's too insistent. He does not see Ghost approaching his car from the back and actually flinches when he hears someone pounding on the window.

"D'you lock yourself in here, Johnny? The briefing's about to start in five and you haven't even geared up yet!"

"Bloody hell, you should really do something about your lips- they look like cracked desert earth or something…"

"Did not take you for a poet, L.T."

"Never said I was."

He is in the middle of the briefing when he figures out the source of the mystery taste. It all starts to make sense - the quick detour you had to take, the passionate kiss. He has to give it to you - you could do anything you put your mind to.

Because, besides the compelling taste, the chapstick you must have used started to have a soothing effect on his lips, the stinging becoming more bearable with every passing moment

He spends the rest of the day struggling to make the cherry flavour last longer, but it eventually fades out after he's forced to drink water. A small pout etches itself into his face and he starts to regret not listening to you.

The moment he comes home, he's in the bedroom, unscrewing the cap of every lip balm and smelling it before trying to place it back exactly as it was

You silently linger in the doorway, an amused smile creeping across your face as your fingers shift with the cherry-flavoured lip balm. Soap is so distracted by his covert operations task that he does not hear you trying to contain your chuckles.

"I believe you are looking for this?"

He is quick to snatch the small tube from your hands before bringing it closer to his nose and drawing a deep breath in. You shake your head in exasperation, a loud laugh escaping your lips as he clumsily tries to rub the chapstick across his lips.

"Love, you're doing it wrong! You might break it if you apply that much pressure!"

"Here, let me help you!"

Ends up insisting you order a batch just for him.

In just days, his lips go from cracked and fissured to soft and plump, perfect for the customary morning kiss

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - vanilla and stained teeth

Combat training is fun and games until you are paired up with someone like Ghost, Soap, or Gaz and get your ass handed to you

Lucky you, today Gaz is the person who slams your back on the hard mattress and pins your hands above your head, interlocking your feet with his

Your mind replays the steamy events of last night and you can't help but give him a suggestive smirk which is quickly followed by a toothy grin upon seeing the blush that spreads on his face

He shakes his head in disbelief, not letting go of your arms or feet. Instead, he leans forward, cocks his head and openly stares at you

"Darling, you've got lipstick on your teeth!"

You comically widen your eyes and try to bring your hands to your mouth, struggling to escape his firm grip, but to no avail.

"'m n't s'ppos'd to we'r lipstick 't w'rk", you try to mumble with your mouth closed while your tongue is running over your teeth, looking for any traces of lipstick.

"Ok, has it gone now?", you open your mouth and practically bar your teeth at him, frowning at his unreadable expression. "Gaz- you're scaring m-"

Before you finish your sentence, he smashes his lips against yours and it takes all you have not to whimper when you feel his tongue repeatedly swiping over your teeth

Once he breaks up the kiss, he makes a show of checking you up, his thumb slowly tracing the outline of your lips

"Yeah, I think I got it all…"

You roll your eyes at the shit-eating grin he's sporting as he runs his tongue over his lips and freezes, his jaw going slack

"Why am I tasting vanilla? Are you tasting vanilla?"

You try to give him an answer, but before being able to say a word, his lips are back on yours and he is kissing you hard and long, his hold remaining as firm as before

"Alright, lovebirds - go get a room before I cite you for public indecency!"

Upon hearing Captain Price, your combat instincts kick back in and you manage to push Gaz off of you, switching position, so that you are atop him, pinning him to the ground

"Sorry, Captain! We'll go back to training!", you call out to him, offering him an apologetic smile which he accepts with a subtle nod.

"Next time you wear that lipstick, let a man know!"

"It screams you need someone to kiss it better"

[occamstfs]

Talismen III: Sorry For The Backwash

A gym crush on Simon gone wrong leads Tim to get in way over his head in the pursuit of gains and satisfaction; Soon enough the whole gym finds themselves wanting.

Okay I went a little crazy with this one, steamy muscle growth, hair growth, and corruption galore- Tim really spreads the love haha! It’s about the length of Talismen Beginnings. Hope you enjoy this plot advancing chapter, was quite fun to write! Like previously, the penultimate poll will drop on Sunday the 15th! -Occam! 

And so Simon finally arrives at the gym. Elsewhere in town Nicky sends an asshole careening towards the discovery of a better self, and perhaps launches his friend into shoes a few sizes larger and a wolverine eared beanie before heading off to grab some coffee. Back at the gym his boyfriend is never too far from the front of Simon’s slow plodding mind, after sending one last selfie to entice his beau, he puts down his affection to finally pick up some weights. 

Sandwiched in between a Jamba Juice and a bookstore, Simon ignores the static that fills his mind as almost saccharine familiarity bats away the eerie discomfort that he’s never actually been here before. He finds serenity as set to getting his blood pumping, delighting in the feeling of burning strain as with each thrust his new body finds itself more adept at exercise. In no time at all he moves about the gym with the expert precision and graceful ease that sculpting such an impressive form would require. His almost vacant eyes don’t notice the hungry stare of a nearby twink who has been shadowing him from the second he walked in. 

It’s not that Timothy is leering at the beyond sexy man, I mean how could anyone avoid staring, er, appreciating such an impressive form- The fact that Tim continues to happenstance choose machines directly next to the titan is pure coincidence and any charge that he’s trying to catch the man’s eye are pure slander. The blush that burns across his face the first time Simon’s eyes land on him is perhaps more evidential. 

The jock scratches the back of his head as he addresses the twink, exposing a sweaty pit that certainly does not help with Tim’s now quivering knees, “Hey uhhh lil guy, I think I forgot my water at home huhuh!” Tim laughs alongside the man though he certainly doesn’t notice as he continues on with his ask, “would you mind if I borrowed yours?” Tim’s eyes widen with fear as his neck locks trying to decide if he should nod in the affirmative or shake to suggest he’d not mind anything that the hunk would ask of him. Nor does it help that he’s unable to get a full word out. Simon stares, mouth agog as the twink stumbles through a few giggly syllables, “Ah ha! Weluhm, I heek!” 

Giving up on communicating like a human being, he averts his eyes shyly and raises his hydroflask. Simon takes it rougher than he intended and Tim promptly forces his hands to his crotch to adjust shorts and hide his excitement before meekly returning to stare at labored gulps and the few trailing droplets of water that escape and spill down into Simon’s sweaty beard. Timothy almost vibrates from the need to be topped by the man standing above him, totally unaware that the titan in question has eyes for his boyfriend alone. 

Delivering the jug of water back, Simon quickly thanks the twink and tries to joke, “Thanks little bro! My uhh, Nicky swears I’d forget my hat if it weren’t screwed on huhuh!” He pauses and scratches at his stubble, “Or no that’s not the joke? Uh-” He crosses his arms and half-heartedly flexes as he loses himself in labored thought, trying to remember how it goes.

In the meantime Tim takes the unintended hint that Simon’s taken and sighs to himself. He did figure that the man was too good to be true, c’est la vie- In the meantime, while his flask is open he may as well hydrate himself. Raising it to his lips he watches Simon quiet a burp and wipe his lip, “Oh uhh, sorry for the backwash dude-” This almost makes him race to drink it even quicker. No time to introspect however for as soon as it spills onto his tongue, Tim’s eyes dilate. The twink almost chokes from the speed at which he struggles to down more water than one should mid-workout. 

Never before now has the small man attempted to chug something at this rate, or at all really, though driven by lusty thoughts and burning delight as it soars down his throat he is suddenly swallowing like the best of them. His chest tightens and his stomach burns as he finally gasps for air, coughing up water and doing his best to not vom. Immediately concerned, Simon puts his meaty hands on the small man’s shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine as the twink grits his teeth and covers his mouth to quiet a moan. 

His heart races and his breathing accelerates as something alien begins to build within him. Tim can’t hear Simon’s worried questions as pressure begins to pound and he tries to stand. He feels a compulsion to move, to grow. Exactly like Nicky’s boyfriend mindlessly doing pushups on the cold ground, Tim feels compelled beyond reason to work out the energy that is beginning to build in his veins. 

Never one to seriously weight train he doesn’t know why or how he ends up on a bench press, but when his bleary eyes turn to see Simon loading weights on he’s filled with a drive greater than he could understand. “Are you sure you can handle this much lil guy?” Lil Guy. Tim grimaces as he feels his veins bulge in response. It matters not if it's from irritation or lust. He can do this. He can do way more than this. His soft hands grasp the iron bar and raise it. Despite his confidence however, just as soon it leaves the rack it comes crashing down, wont to heed the ever-persuasive call of gravity. 

Just before Simon has the chance to spot him, Tim calls the grunt off, groaning under the weight “I can- do IT” Simon gasps as he sees the bar immediately begin to rise. The man’s stick thin arms shake with effort as they raise it high enough to return the weight. When Simon goes to pull it back and remove weight he sees rage in Tim’s eyes and hesitates. Timothy then forces another rep, veins bulge up his neck as Simon unmistakably sees new muscle begin to bulge larger under the twink’s shirt. He forces it into the air once more and with a grunt the bar bounces higher.

There’s the sound of fabric beginning to tear as a shirt that was chosen to show off his lithe form cannot contain the required pecs that this bench press demands. Each impossible repetition packs more meat onto his body. Simon gives tips to the newbie and smiles as he sees the bar rapidly grow more stable, bony arms suddenly no longer left out as small biceps peak and struggle to follow the technique laid out by the clearly experienced jock.

After arbitrarily doing enough at the bench press, without a word Tim sets the bar back on the rack and wanders over to free weights. Simon quickly dismantles the weight left on and wipes down the bench, proud of how much of a sweat his apparent lil trainee has already worked up. By the time he makes it to observe Timothy’s corner of the gym he again sees the man trying to bite way over his level, though once more before he can intervene he sees the impossible. 

Tim takes a swig of his water and his arms grow meatier, sending tears up the already tight sleeves. Jaw clenched, he curls probably the heaviest weight he’s ever lifted as if it were nothing, with a grunt he does it again, and again. Simon grins as he sees the man's technique improve without a word, the strained sleeves on his mini-tee shred to nothing as they simply cannot contain the power Tim now holds within himself.

“Dude! That’s killer!” addressed by Simon directly, awareness returns to Tim’s eyes and the weight clatters to the floor, thankfully missing his feet as he yelps. Simon quickly rushes over clicking his tongue, “Ah you can’t be doing that bro haha! Clearly got a lot to learn about gym etiquette eh? Huhuh!” He puts the weights back up and pats Tim on the back. Staring up at the man Tim feels the need to be more rising once more, his attention goes to his flask and his mouth feels dry. Thirst controlling him he goes to drink only to find it already empty.

Simon nods and apologizes for drinking so much earlier, “Ah man, guess that’s as good a sign as any to call it huh?” Tim’s heart skips a beat as an almost existential fear fills him at the idea that Simon was about to leave him. As if he were on the precipice of losing it all. “Wait! Would you um, mind if you showed me a few more tips tomorrow?” Simon tilts his head and Tim hungrily waits for his answer, a red tinge hiding in his eyes that Simon’s far too distracted to notice. Grinning he starts to nod, “Y’know I always thought I’d be a good teacher huhuh! I’ll be in pretty early tomorrow so you just come say hi and we’ll get goin!” 

With that he pats the twink-no-more on the back and congratulates him on the hustle, “Great work today Tom! I swear you look fuckin’ massive with this pump! You should take a few to check yourself out dude!” Blankly smiling, unaware as Tim slightly glowers at being called the wrong name, he ruffles the shorter man’s hair and then grabs his gym bag to head home, “See you tomorrow lil dude!” Tim smiles and starts to say farewell though Simon’s already halfway gone by the time he reopens his eyes. Taking a second to pout all anxieties and fears fall away as he turns to see his new reflection.

His expression drops as he realizes his shirt has totally been discarded at some point during his pump-fueled fugue state. Taking in the new power that writhes and flexes underneath his skin, his fingers trace abs and follow veins as before cupping his powerful pecs, almost burning hot enough to steam his sweat. He tries to swallow but comes short as his dry mouth and impossible thirst remains. He twitches and his eyes shift red as the only recourse is more than clear. He needs more.

The next morning Tim drives to the gym before it opens to sit and wait for Simon to arrive. Every so often he turns on his windshield wipers to remove condensation accrued from his passive body heat alone. Eventually when he sees the brute jogging up with his gym bag in tow Tim quickly springs to action to force a fake meet-cute. He knows the jock’s taken but can’t blame a guy for trying. 

Counting on Simon’s general lack of awareness he races to hide just out of sight and bump into his new trainer as he rounds the corner. Without a hitch he successfully bumps into the shirtless man and is rewarded by getting the behemoth’s sweat all over his even skimpier gym clothes. Simon, thinking nothing ill of this must be accident, remains happily unaware of any untoward motivation from his new trainee. Already grinning at the prospect of working out, he just reaches out and ruffles the man’s hair again, “Gotta watch where you’re goin’ little guy huhuh!” 

Tim in turn babbles off a good-morning as he is struck woozy from such close proximity to the man, his b.o. easily more than clouding his mind. Barely able to stay his tongue from licking the sweat off of Simon, Tim’s unrelenting thirst compels him to offer the beast another drink from his hydroflask. Like a dog showing his owner a present, Simon quickly goes to grab his own water bottle, almost tearing off his pants as the bottle is attached by a carabiner. With a laugh he explains, “Thank ya dude! But after I told him about yesterday Nicky made sure I’d not forget huhuh! He was so worried that I’d be dehydrated and all. Little worryworm, or- Uh? Worrywart?” Simon laughs and shakes off the brief confusion and just rubs the water bottle gently, thinking about his lover.

Timothy rolls his eyes, jealousy breaking him from his musk-based trance, “Okay! Whatever- Shall we get started then?” Simon returns his attention to the man in front of him and begins to escort him inside. Throwing an arm across the smaller man’s shoulders he explains his plans for their workout today. Tim hears none of it however as he instead zeroes in on the sweat dripping down his back. The newly made twunk grunts and stretches his neck as he feels his traps cramp under the weight and wet of Simon’s arm.

Feeling sweat drip from Simon’s exposed pit down his right arm, Tim grimaces as suddenly his body pulls that direction. With a glance he sees it hang bulkier, thicker. Tim can’t hide the glee painted across his face as he realizes even proximity is enough for him to parasitize growth from the dreamboat he apparently isn’t to have. Simon looks down perplexed as he feels Tim grab at his calloused hand and rub his arm down his back, smirking and twitching as he does so. “Uhh Tim?” A moment later he grunts and stretches, his back widens, straining his shirt. 

Simon’s used to being confused so he doesn’t try to make sense as his new trainee suddenly shoots up half a foot in height, his midriff exposed as his arms stretch longer, muscle fibers straining before pulsing to remain as thick as they were before they sprouted. The jock pauses and closes his eyes as despite his best efforts, he sees what happens and something in the back of his mind knows he has seen it before. Tim, in between basking in his new power and languishing in the sensual growth still happening across his body grabs a clearly sweat stained towel from Simon’s bag and ties it around his waist, hoping to spread growth to his hitherto neglected glutes and thighs.

When Simon indeed returns to awareness, shaking off his stupor he see’s just that. Now supported on tree-trunk thighs he barely needs to angle down to make eye contact with his trainee. When he sees the man’s cock pulse through his gym shorts he purses his lips as he for the first time realizes that his trainee might be into him. Not that that’s a rarity of course, he’s quite the prize.

The quickest glance towards Tim’s eyes makes it more than clear that he may have something a little darker than your average crush. There is something deep, a hunger for something greater. Simon’s usual confidence wavers, briefly concerned about his client’s conflict of interest. He did promise to help with this session though. Chewing on his cheek, Simon fights against better judgment to stick to his word, opting to help as promised. Getting started he sets to lead the man who increasingly looks like he doesn’t need help over to the free weights.

In no time at all Simon watches as Tim works up a pump greater than any he’s ever seen, baring his own of course. He struggles to offer feedback as the should-be twink increasingly feels the need to butt heads, to peacock rather than try to train. When Simon sees red flashes in the man’s eyes, alarms once more begin to go off in the back of his head, but then his trainee surges just that much larger, his pumped arms bulge that much bigger, and he is instead distracted by how quickly his student seems to be advancing. “Guess I can’t call ya little dude any more huh?”

Tim smirks and flexes at his trainer, biting his tongue as everything within him feels the need to lob pick up lines at him. His arms tense as he barely stops himself from simply pouncing on the man, to do everything within his increased power to seize his fountain of growth forevermore. He clears his throat and ignores how off he sounds, his sing-songy performative pitch replaced by a harsh wolfish baritone, “Yo bro, not to pry- cause I know you got your little bitch, er- boyfriend. But-" When Tim calls Nicky a bitch Simon suddenly shifts deathly serious "Can you just get to the point Tim.” 

The new jock averts his eyes, annoyed at being interrupted though knowing that he is not the one with the power here, “Look I’m just sayin-” he goes to grab Simon’s hand, “I’m sure he’d understand if you wanted to have a little fun.” Feeling Simon’s sweaty hand grasped, he shivers as new calluses develop on his own. His kindly trainer almost grimaces at his advances and pulls away before growth can continue to pile on. Simon purses his lips and looks away, “Look, uhh- I’m not so sure we’re a great match. But, uhh-” Tim watches gears slowly turn as Simon struggles for an eloquent way to effectively dump him, “But what.”

Tim’s eyes narrow as if he’s readying to strike, his thoughts race as everything in him suddenly goes on alert. Chords entirely cut to the twink he once was, he feels Simon is the only tether towards further growth, towards becoming more of who he must be. When he sees the generally jovial man sigh and go for a sip of water to give him time to gather thoughts, Tim’s defcon-one strategy becomes clear. Seeing Simon start to pull away he makes up his mind. If he’s going to lose access then he must get as much as he can right now. 

His hand goes to curl into a fist and he swings, not at Simon of course, but the container of nectar he holds to his lips. Hurt beyond measure Simon watches as his new bottle spills all over the avaricious body-builder. His mouth is open but he clearly makes no further effort to drink it as it rains down mostly onto his chest. Tim falls to the floor and his hands shake as he rubs the water into his rapidly bulging, pounding pecs. Simon stares rapt with judgement as the man’s muscular chest bursts free from a shirt that was already painted on.

Individual muscle fibres pulse and expand as he convulses on the floor. His shoulder awkwardly forces itself upward as growth enacts itself across his body in swathes disparate and seemingly painful. Despite the nigh assault, Simon immediately abandons everything to kneel down and help the man as his body contorts and writhes, arms stretching and building unevenly as deeper grunts issue forth from a widening throat. Red light shines through eyes clamped shut and drool drips from clenched teeth.

After a few minutes of heaving breaths and impossible expansion, Tim eventually relaxes on the cold gym floor and looks up at Simon with a smirk. Content that the man is fine and, at least for the moment, ignoring the impossible transformation that he has witnessed as a means of survival. In defiance of some shred of self that recognizes the transformation he ignores the flash of red in his eyes that stares at and into the man on the floor and scoffs, “Good luck finding a new trainer.” He pauses, wanting desperately to say something clever but is waylaid by his duller wit, his gentle spirit, and the terrifying feeling at the back of his mind that something has similarly irrevocably changed who he is. He slowly shakes his head and wanders off to the shower.

Tim crawls after him pleading him to stay around though even as he struggles to crawl after the man he cannot help but realize that he seems to have bitten off more than he can chew. That is until he sees Simon go into the locker room rather than straight out of the gym. His mouth reflexively contorts to a smile and his heart skips a beat. There remains more for his greedy hands to take. His drive for more compels him to fight through pain, through soreness. He can’t help himself. He cannot stop himself.

Simon stands. He tries to sneak though every step elicits a quivering gasp of pain. He bites his forearm to quiet his pained pants as he presses forward towards Simon’s discarded gym bag. Seeing the used jockstrap lying on top his free hand goes to grasp it before neurons even fire in recognition of what it is. Adrenaline and static sear through him great enough to feel pain no longer as he doesn’t stumble but sprint out of the locker room, out of the gym, and into his truck. He doesn’t know how but he’s wearing it before the keys turn in the ignition.

He has drunk after Simon, he has rubbed the man's sweat over his skin, he has washed his chest with his spit. These are nothing compared to his wearing the man’s discarded, post-workout jock. Were he struck by lightning he would have less energy coursing through him, his whole being vibrates and his vision tints red as by the time he’s home he can scarcely exist for what is flowing through him, what is overflowing out of him. He cannot think for the pleasure and power coursing through his veins, mainlining into his nervous system through the purloined jockstrap.

So overwhelmed is he it’s almost as if he’s unable to maintain what has been thus far been bestowed unto him. As if he were becoming less defined, less real. While his muscles compress and his mind sits on the precipice of total erasure, it is clear what aspect of self is benefitting from his impossible situation. When he finally realizes how dire- how tenuous a hold he has on what is happening to him, what is becoming of him as his blood begins to burn he discards the jock and his eyes land upon a cock that may be the closest man has ever come to perfection. 

Pubes like a burning bush around an obelisk of a dick. His hands twitch as they go to grab it and they burn with pleasure as Timothy is filled with feeling so intense that he sees only red, he feels only static, he hears nothing but the rushing of blood through his ears. Through gnashing teeth he is no longer aware of having he unknowingly does the only thing that could save him. Just as he begins to lose the capacity for thought at all, he stumbles upon a wish. i wish i could share this- and with that whatever staticky magic, whatever inhuman energy flowing through him from Simon, from Nicky, is discharged. 

He awakens on the edge of orgasm sitting on his couch, as soon as he’s conscious enough to move he loses control. Painting his torso as well as the wall behind him with cum his breathing stutters as he stares at his dripping cock. His hands shake as he reaches for it, twitching it stands higher and crisscrossed by fleshy veins and surrounded by a garden of pubes distinctly thicker than how he keeps them. Grunting as he convulses to prevent himself from cumming again he hears his voice echo through the room deeper, stretching he finds his limbs are longer. His mind dances with the idea that what just happened to him may not have just been some all-too-real dream after all, but some true working of magic.

His hands go to cup his thicker balls, and as they are graced by a callused hand that seems to have done perhaps one full day of work before, his hips rut and he loses control once more. Splashes of cum decorate his hairless stomach and chest that currently maintain only the most superficial of muscle and vascularity. Taking in the mess he has made of himself, Tim’s eyes widen as he observes something new beginning. Like tears of god the cum decorating his chest has begun to seed bountiful thick curls everywhere it lands. Rapidly do jungles of hair sprout up across his cumstained body enough to perhaps rival that of Simon’s. Though as he sees his newfound ability to change himself, Simon loses such prominent status from his mind.

His hands, having been incredibly near to the epicenter of his powerful release are certainly not spared from his loosed loads. Thick hair begins to trail up his forearms, accompanied by veins even thicker than he held during his peak performance with Simon. Shaking off whatever anxieties remained from his near cosmic experience, as well as any desire to understand what is happening to him, he gleefully begins to rub his cum into pecs as they begin to amass weight and strength once more. This time they are artfully decorated with curls he has longingly lusted after since he first stumbled upon his proclivities towards masculinity.

While his fingers dance and sculpt his body into what he has always wanted to fuck and only recently hungered for himself, he becoems aware that his plans have returned to the headspace wherein he truly lost himself. In between dragging through a treasure trail that now acts as a highway from his neck to his cock, playing with nipples that hang pertly from a chest no man would be ashamed to have, playing with lengthy pit hair that holds a permanent undeniable aura (Read: musk), he overcomes his prideful shortfalls, shaking off his need to personally be more- shaking off his obsession with seeking fulfillment in power, in forcing some jock he doesn’t even know to acknowledge and fulfill him he is struck with the desire that let him persist. I Wish I Could Share This. 

Taking time to spread his seed across his jawline and ensure his face has stubble, Tim stands to feet and smirks as pre continues to drip down from his cock. Curls spread up from his wider feet to meet with the forest of hair that coats his calves, which rush to surge and match the density of hair that ushers forth from his thighs and crotch. He stretches and groans with a clear mission laid ahead of him. Propelled with the desire supernatural, bestowed upon him by himself, he throws on as little clothing as he can get away with and wanders out from his home. No need to choose a destination as some will greater than himself already pulls him closer.

Before he’s made it down the street he grimaces and removes his shoes, sizes too small already; they're simply too tight for any continued charade of decency to be worth it. When hairy toes just as soon burst forth from his socks he grins and presses onward, delighted at the prospect, the ideal of never being contained. Each step forward stains the earth beneath him with a sweaty footprint. Each mark a proof of currently barely perceptible change that he has wrought, should someone investigate too intently they are sure to find themselves pulled in and changed as well. Though such contagion is paltry compared to what is to happen when he finally reaches his destination.

His entrance to the gym is unheralded and yet as soon as he steps in the doors every man drops what they are doing to stare. The hunger red hot behind his eyes returns as he meets their gaze and smiles. The receptionist starts to try and speak, some drilled in procedure acting subconsciously. When Timothy turns to observe the quiet voice he freezes up once more before he’s filled with confidence and a burning need to be closer. The receptionist barrels over the counter and races to be the first to reach the titan, to be the first to receive his gifts.

Mouths drop as all watch Tim effortlessly tear the shirt from the man before pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. Wherever Tim haphazardly makes contact with the young man muscle bloats and hair blooms. The manicured fur on his chest rapidly spreads and races to meet with bountiful gardens that push out from underneath his arms. Stubble on his face explodes into a full beard as new prickly strands push out from pores appearing in between pores, never to be combated by a razor again. His chest pushes larger as he struggles to push in closer to Tim than physically possible, as if he were trying to make their forms one. Shoulders just wider and arms hang closer to the earth as biceps form and hands expand.

The receptionist’s eyes roll back as Tim’s graceful and rough fingers slowly twirl downward from playing with chest hair. Following the directions of a new thick treasure trail he finds a bush of pubes spreading further and growing more tangled by the second. Even the lightest touch is enough for the changing man to lose control. Overwhelmed as Tim was from the jockstrap, the young man stumbles backwards, away from the eidolon and into the crowd. Immediately he bumps into another would be congregant to the beyond-alluring gym-rat.

Still not satiated, if such a thing is even possible, the receptionist immediately turns and begins frotting against the wanting man he wantonly bumped into. He does not see his eyes cloud over nor the red mist that falls from his mouth as he makes out with a longtime regular to the gym. When he begins to feel his new beard scratch and tangle with stubble that his suitor had not seconds ago it only makes him all the more excited. Soon enough others see the receptionist begin to spread changes himself, and when they see some clumsy jock bump into the man still tongue deep in receptionist and shiver as he too begins to grow, all Hell breaks loose.

In short order every man in the gym finds themselves changing beyond their wildest dreams. Musky bodies grind against musky bodies. Pecs push into pecs as men who haven’t even realized they liked body hair suddenly find themselves rapt in the heady delight. Newly hairy stomachs and chests scratch against the sweaty curls of other men who can scarcely recall their names. Mouths find mouths, pits unleash b.o. great enough to fill the gym with a cloud of musk. In no time at all dicks are unleashed as they grow too large to be contained by briefs, jocks, or boxers as cum begins to join the litany of other bodily fluids that fly through the air. 

Tim simply watches in reverie as men continue to frot, fuck, bloat, and grow hairier around him. When he sees sensibility or awareness return he simply offers a helping hand and watches bemused as their dumb smiles return. He wanders through tangled bodies exalting himself to find each and every one greater than they were before his guiding hand. Minds consumed with nothing further than the sensual pleasure he offers, not even present enough to question why they had ever prioritized anything else to begin with. 

For a moment Tim himself has some second guesses as to what he has done. Seeing a friend he almost recognizes shake as he grows a foot in height as his man bun retracts into nothing as a beard shades his face. Watching the prim bottom manhandle a jock who is changing far slower than himself gives him pause. Watching men bloat up and become new vectors of transformation. Is this better? Just as soon as the words come they vacate as he takes a deep breath of the scarlet shaded musky air. Of course it’s better, what could one want more than everlasting pleasure.

Soon enough he doesn’t even remember that he was the one to begin the orgy that this gym descends into, it is simply something that happened, that is happening. New gym goers file in as the day goes by and immediately find their place in the bacchanalia. Outside the juice bar and bookstore the gym was wedged in between corrupt into a protein shake shack and sex shop, perfect for the gym rats and himbos to stumble into whenever they need to take a breather before returning to the fracas. The gym becomes a canary in the coal mine of a world that is soon to come, though it is not the inly of epicenter of change in this city.

Nicky’s wish for Simon to have confidence in himself has had repercussions beyond the pale, though that is what happens when one makes wishes and casts spells haphazardly. Due to his desire to forget his strange encounter, he remains totally unaware of what he has unintentionally wrought. In a chinese food restaurant a delivery man scratches at his stomach after making a stop at a friendly apartment next door, he himself could sure use a bite to eat. All across town people Nicky has wished well find themselves becoming more. People Nicky has wished would learn a lesson do so in ways he never could expect, in ways he would never wish. For now he simply continues on as normal, though when Simon finally comes home to tell his boyfriend of a strange encounter with some guy at the gym and the disquieting flashes of red in the back of his mind, perhaps Nicky will finally discover how his will is being enacted, how it is being twisted into the world.

Poll Results:

Delivery - 30.5%

Follows Alex from Talisman II as Rich has unwittingly sent him on his own path to Transformation as he goes on deliveries to find some of his regulars acting strange (General masculinzation for Alex alongside some other shorter fun TF’s, i.e. twinkification/Stoner tf/preppification)

Hazmat 21.6%

Forces race to contain the spread of transformation, but who polices the police as it were (Continuing onward with jockfications)

Location Location Location 24.1%

To test his powers Nicky deliberately changes a whole establishment and the people within, though unfamiliarity or disbelief creates a new locus of transformation (Library to Fraternity? Craft store to sports store?)

Barista 23.6%

Accidentally uses talisman on barista and through effort Simon gets Nicky to observe and become aware of the situation (cafe goer into various TFs surfer/cultural change/might toss in a F2M, is there interest there??)

[cherie-doll]

Jealousy Headcanons for cod men when they notice someone from you work place (a man) is starting to get a little too close/friendly with you to their liking🥹

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: They're Jealous

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

۶ৎ Not sure if you wanted these to be with established relationships or not so i just threw it in a bag, mixed it and got this; some are and some aren't

Price

It's probably nothing new for him to deal with, he was doing this before y'all even became a couple, keeping guys away from you

You're just the type of person most people find themselves naturally being attracted to after spending time together

He takes care of you so well, spending the moments he has spared and set aside just for you making sure you've got everything you need that it makes him irritated seeing someone else trying to replace him

They don't know you like he does, you don't gravitate or find yourself leaning towards them searching for comfort like you do with Price

And to show or add to your disinterest in this person he'll just use the intimidation tactic, wouldn't need to say much, just a simple look or stare communicates the message

Ghost

Simon recognizes he shouldn't even feel this smoldering fire growing within him

You're simply the cashier that he finds the least annoying because you're on minimum wage and could care less about appealing to customers

But he doesn't like the looks your manager gives you every time he passes by, his jokes and attempts at flirtation are lame, even Simon cringes

Late at night, the hour before you close Simon comes in for last minute grocery shopping, it's just you and the manager, you stocking inventory near the back of the store, you sending shy glances in Simon's way, only to be interrupted by the pestering manager who doesn't seem to get a clue

His looming figure behind the manager who turns around, spooked and sputtering out a dumb question, asking if he needs something only for Simon to drop the bomb that you're his girlfriend and he needs to leave you alone

You may have felt a fluttering feeling in your heart that had you blushing in the storage room afterwards

Soap

Another friends with a blurred line where it's not distinct whether there are feelings or not, both of you too afraid to ask or confess

But it becomes all too clear when you're ranting to him about some guy who won't leave you alone and next thing you know his face is red, eyes set hard and looking far off

He's spent so long memorizing your favorite things, getting to know you, being your comfort and he just won't let someone else come and swoop you away when they barely know a thing about you, what if they only like you for your looks?

He stops himself at some point, feeling his heart thumping faster than it should, becoming all too aware that these feelings aren't normal between people who are just friends

And you know what? He's fine with that, he'll confront and come to terms with his feelings AFTER he takes care of something or someone that's in the way

Gaz

He won't hesitate at all to confront the person about it, doesn't matter whether you want his help or not

He doesn't get possessive nor claim you as his, but he doesn't appreciate someone getting too comfortable with you, it unnerves him

Would never place the blame on you, nor think you were liking the attention, he knows you probably thought them a friendly person until they crossed a line

Just imagine him holding your hand and kissing your forehead, you snuggling into him as he just says it's all taken care of and you think you wouldn't have to worry about going to work and dealing with that person anymore until he says he sent in your resignation letter

His tone doesn't even change so you probably wouldn't catch it at first, but maybe it's for the better!

On the bright side, you wouldn't deal with such bothersome people anymore

Roach

Roach boy gets sad, then a little mad and takes to trying to come up with all sorts of way to get rid of this dude

You find him up late at night tacking up bullet points on this board that has been scrawled over

You spend the rest of the night cradling his head in your lap, running your fingers through his hair trying to comfort him and listening to him rant all teary-eyed

Rubbing him in circles and just humming and nodding along like "mhm" to everything he says, it makes you mad knowing something like this set him off

So the next day you tell your junior off for inappropriate workplace behavior, you're fueled by seeing your boyfriend get hurt over it and he actually witnesses it happen and is all shy afterwards and you can't seem to figure out why until you discover he has a thing about you being dominant

Alejandro

Oh, he seethes at the thought of it

Seeing this guy hand over you all the time even when he's right THERE, probably ticks him off even more when you come over to him with such a sweet smile when only a minute ago you were giving it to someone else

He's not necessarily pissed off at you, but it just gets him all riled up and he looses his rational mind

"Tell him to stop looking at you like that"

"Alejandro, I can't just tell him that!"

"Then stop looking so nice for him"

And if you don't take care of the problem then he'll do it himself even after you swear he's making a big deal out of nothing

Rudy

I can't imagine doing this to him i would cry-

You're trying so hard not to cause a misunderstanding and Rudy notices that but can't help being upset at this guy for not respecting you

He can't help but be worried for you every time he drops you off for your shift, his lingering hand on your arm as he pulls you in for a goodbye kiss for the day

Tries to hold you in the car as long as he can till you give him a smile that makes his heart do flips and assure him it'll be fine, but throughout the day he finds himself unable to stop thinking about the situation, so at around your lunchbreak he stops by

He walks in to see the coworker you told him not to worry about standing a little too close for his comfort

So Rudy just walks over and as soon as you see him your face lights up and you go right over to him and give him a sweet kiss as he hands you your lunch :)

Phillip Graves

Oooh, he would NOT let it slide

"Doesn't he know you've got a husband?"

"Phillip, calm down he's not asking me out or anything"

"But he wants to"

Phillip swears he's not misreading this guy, he must have other intentions if he lingers around you too much

You try to keep him calm before he tries to order an execution on the guy, if you've ever put a stop to his displays of affection in public before he's throwing that out the window and not holding back

That quick peck you give him? That's too chaste now, give him a DEEP kiss before he escalates it by grabbing both sides of your head and pressing harder against you until your coworker backs away

"Bastard better stay away, else I'll-"

"Okay, I think you've made your point Phillip"

If it doesn't work out, TRUST he will confront the guy in a dark parking lot and next time you're on your shift and wonder where the new guy is because he's late for his shift only for your boss to tell you he just quit

Makarov

FIRST, he'll pretend like he doesn't notice it, but he very obviously gives himself away

He'll be picking you up from work, because with the weather and all he doesn't want you to risk catching a cold, and when you walk out, your coworker who just so happens to clock out at the same time as you despite his shift ending an hour earlier than yours but he stayed behind hoping to walk with you

His eyes just stare at this guy through the black tinted car windows which cannot be seen through from the outside yet your coworker shivers making you believe it's this evening autumn air

Coworker is a bit disappointed and surprised when he sees you get into NOT THE DRIVER'S but the passenger seat of this expensive looking car because he was hoping to walk w/ you

Makarov doesn't even let you wave before he steps on that pedal, leaving the poor guy coughing in a cloud of smoke

THEN, it's obvious despite you telling him you barely interacted with this coworker that Makarov doesn't like it nor will he tolerate it

You quit a week later, he just reasoned that you shouldn't be working anyways

Keegan

I think you just notice when he's mad about something, like it bothers him enough to the point it feels like a thorn in his side but hasn't done anything about it yet

His jaw hardens, his hands clenched and in fists, slightly biting on his lower lip showing him in a pensive state

And when you ask him what's wrong he just shrugs, dismissing your inquiries because if he told you it wouldn't make sense

You're friends, not lovers, there shouldn't be a reason why he'd be mad if a guy does have underlying intentions about asking you out

These feelings that he believes are unrequited are no good for him, the longer he stays brooding, turning the thought over and over again feeling as if he's going obsessed and crazy over it to the point he's all tense and his actions are all repressed

Like he's holding you back, looking away when you turn to him and him staring at you when he thinks you're not noticing, all these things you notice but don't mention

It's driving him crazy and he's responding and giving curt answers to questions your colleague sends over text, phone calls or in person

"I just don't like the way he's talking to you, is all" makes it sound as if he were only looking out for you but it's obvious

König

Probably wouldn't even notice a guy was flirting with you, sorry but when in public he's less aware of smaller details in his surroundings, like he filters stuff out and goes on auto mode

You'd have to tug on his sleeve and when he FINALLY notices he just brushes the guy off like some bug on his shoulder, nothing big to worry about he'll go away soon

Sure, he doesn't like the idea of someone trying to take you away from him but all he does is keep your hand in his much bigger one and hold you extra tight :)

The only difference you'd notice is at home, he's a lot more clingy than usual, like a lap cat almost

Just laying on top of you, gently of course, falling asleep as he holds you, his mind off in a bliss as he knows you're there with him

Once you chose him he knows you're not going anywhere, he has that much trust in you <3

Horangi

Would laugh like it's some awful joke he was just told

Seriously, who would try that? Apparently that airhead who has excessive confidence thinking he could pull you, didn't he see the ring on your finger?

You're his fiancé(e), promised to him only, last time he checked it wasn't something someone else could try to bargain from him

The type to go "don't worry, I got this" while holding up a hand in front of your face, preventing you from taking further action

Next thing you know you see the poor, unfortunate soul walk out holding a tissue to his nose whilst Horangi emerges from behind with a smug smirk on his face, wiggling his eyebrows at you and asking what you would like for dinner

It was solved in less than 10 minutes, see? He's efficient

Nikto

For him, it's kind of like just disappointment, like he can feels his heart dropping slightly in his chest

Well, he couldn't be the ONLY one to find you attractive, he reasons, someone else must've noticed your charm, your kindness or something about you, things you've reserved just for him

But could that person reciprocate the quite acts of love he's given and dedicated to you? All that time?

Does the other person only glance over your features and not study them in depth? The soft curve of your lips when you smile, the eyes that shine for him...

Does the other person think of you more than just in a physically intimate setting? Surely, they'll never experience those acts of tender love like he does

And he feels like the luckiest guy in the world knowing he hasn't a reason to distrust in you

[konigsblog]

puppy! soap & reader and owner! simon will always have me in a chokehold.

so what if it was the day of simon adopting us and he brought us home? how would soap react to a new female puppy in the house? we all know he basically uses ghost as a fucktoy by grinding on his thigh and leg, but he absolutely looses all common sense when he sees us. if you thought he was horny before, it’s a whole other LEVEL now!

tw: dubcon (coercion), hybrid (dog-human), pet play

at first, pup!soap didn't appreciate this one bit. he took it as simon saying he was fed up getting humped, leaving johnny to whine and whimper. i mean- yes, simon didn't like having to buy new pairs of jeans often because johnny kept cumming all over them, but he wasn't sick of that dumb pup yet...

when simon trained you, it made things worse. with johnny purposely making himself a bad influence on you because of jealousy about the attention you were getting. you cowered away from johnny when simon locked you two together in a cage at nighttime, knowing that johnny didn't appreciate your presence at all...

he spat on you, tugged on your collar with his shape canines and made sure he had you crying. this wasn't a good method, as simon would coddle and pet you like he would with johnny, glaring at the other dog in the cage for making you upset. ruffling your ears and tail so you could sleep peacefully between his thighs.

eventually, simon denied johnny to hump him, or use him as a fucktoy. saying that it was punishment for being horrible. and the longer his orgasm was denied, the more horny he got — the more depraved. he'd sob for simon's help, lying about you hurting him in the hopes that maybe simon would fuck the sadness out of him.

did it work? well, of course, it didn't. so johnny, being desperate, fucked you instead. he told you it was a learning thing, that you had to do it. coercing you so that you were on your back and sliding into your cunt. god, he absolutely lost himself. ploughing and rutting into you while you mewled and whined.

now you were his new fucktoy...

simon was so disappointed, deciding that he'd fuck you infront of johnny to punish and torture him. crouched down over your figure that was bent into doggy style. he fucked you, gripping your collar from behind. slow, hard thrusts driving you crazy. his dick was huge, leaving you moaning for more as johnny weeped and mounted his blankets for friction as his dick only got harder and his tip only got wetter...

“tha’s what ya’ get for bein’ a bad dog, johnny...”

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 X Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Seven

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 Series (MDNI)

CW: Humping, nipple play, groping, brief female masturbation, oral sex (m receiving)

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum

Masterlist

Thick streaks of due simmered down the window panes, globs cascading and collecting at the wooden frame, moulding the inside before it eventually rots away.

The patter against the roof was gentle, calming, almost like a hushed lullaby that succumbed the house to a deep slumber, one that was needed. You found yourself stumbling back to the house a while after your time with Gaz, the Sergeant blabbering about what life was like for him before all of this happened, how rough it was being in the military and how sometimes he felt even the apocalypse was less depressing.

The kitchen smelt like beef stock and thickened gravy, raw deer meat filtering through the padded walls as you walked in on Price, gruff grin on his face as he ordered around Soap who ushered to his every move.

You observed them for a second, taking in how much respect and authority they upheld for the oldest man. He called, they answered. In a way, it was endearing to watch. Even out of the field, they still admired their well-earned ranks.

“You enjoy yourself, doll?” John quipped towards you, smug smile adorning his worn features, age mellowing him like fine wine. You rolled your eyes in a playful manner, shrugging off the suggestive tone. It was still new to you, and in a way you don’t think you would ever get used to it. Any of it.

“What are you making?”

John loved the way you spoke, your voice a mellow honey, seeping through the grit of your teeth and rolling off the fat of your tongue, lips drenched with your saliva, the top of your mouth coiling upwards slightly when you were amused but attempted to hide it.

You held a certain glow to you, a deafening feeling that ached away at them all even during the shortage of knowing you. Almost captivating, you were a simplicity in a world full of horrors and maybe that’s why they grew so fond of you so fast.

“Had a spare bag of rice tuck’d away in Simon’s bag, brute onl’ just went through it. Dirty bastard, that one,” Soap joked, voice cracking with the disguise of his accent that blurred any coherence of certain words, “It’s rice and deer t’night, hen. That good t’ you?”

You smiled, nodding, “Do you need help?”

“I woul’ never deny a fine lady’s help,” the man winked, ushering you over as John rolled his eyes at the flirtatious Sergeant. Gaz scurried away upstairs, Price following, you presumed to change clothes, but truth be told, you wondered what they did when you weren’t around.

Did they talk to each other? Touch each other? Hold each other? Did they fuck one another like they’ve done you?

You shook your head, eyes rolling down to the chopping board in-front of you as you followed Soap’s command, enjoying his wit. After a while, you figured you relatively enjoyed his company, despite the occasional pushiness, he was really a sweet guy and incredibly smart. He offered you a sense of comfort and warmth, similar to Gaz, their eyes both holding an endearing light.

Once prepared, you watched Soap work with ease, stepping back to give him space. He didn’t acknowledge it but you could tell he appreciated it, enjoying that you trusted him enough to take control in a space you only called your own.

You faced away from him, hands buried in soapy cold water that would barely do enough to wash away any lingering bacteria. The spit of bubbles penetrated your skin, soft tingles simmering against the delicate hair that lightly littered your arms.

Soap watched you, taking in the curvature of your thighs and ass, the way the material hugged you, moulding to every crevice of you. Gentle fingers settled amongst your hips, pulling you flush against a harder surface, the clear indent of a boner flushed against your behind as you almost gasped, body jolting at the sensation.

Lips pressed against the heat of your neck, burying themselves in the crevice. Your skin erupted at the sensations, hot magma rising through your veins as plush thighs rubbed together, the friction of the fabric most likely causing chafing for you to deal with later.

“Soap, what are you doing?” You whispered out, the feeling of his hands raising to the mound of your chest, groping the flesh as sensitives nuns pressed themselves against the cotton of your t-shirt.

“Just want’d a taste before dinn’r. That ok’ sweet’art?”

You whined as calloused hands slipped under your shirt, settling at your chest. His hands were warmer than you expected, almost adding to the flames that erupted against your flesh, heating you.

Twitchy digits found your nipples, tugging at them with both patience and fervour; almost testing the waters. You backed up into him, rubbing against the growing bulge that buried itself between your ass, a thankful growl passing his lips before you felt him lick a stripe behind your ear, hot breath fluttering against your lobe.

Both of you worked against each other, hips clashing as you humped one another, working yourselves off through icky fabric, desperate and starved for any form of touch. Your hand gripped around his arms, veins running underneath the palm of your hands as his own kneaded your flesh, toying with your breasts and tender skin.

Your pussy clamped around nothing, almost aching for more as he rutted against it, the simple tease of fabric gently guiding along your clit occasionally, panty breaths leaving your lips as you hummed at the sensation.

The sound of stairs creaking tore you away as you shuffled to the side, quickly running your arms together as you smoothed out your top, the lingering sensation of Soap’s touch still prevalent against your skin.

You looked up to the imposing figure now standing before the kitchen, Simon’s face still covered by a thick piece of black fabric, the hem of his brown eyes peeking through, framed by long blonde lashes.

“Food nearly ready?” His voice was gruff, almost threatening, yet being in his presence didn’t scare you. He was intimidating, a burly figure that could easily harm you if needed, but there was a simple gentleness that followed him. You had heard him crack a few jokes, shitty jokes, but jokes nonetheless.

“Ay’ don’t be impatient, LT, it’ll be ready in a moment.”

Dinner was nice. It was simple. All of you nursed a final pour of whiskey, the brown liqueur broiling at your chest before settling in the depth of your stomach.

Everyone had offered to clean, letting you head up early which you gratefully thanked them for (even though it was the least they could do).

It was quiet upstairs, your head chiming as you got ready for bed, shedding your clothes off before slipping over an old shirt, legs bare as they tangled between the sheets. Fingers laced your sensitive skin, dipping into your folds to collect your slick before sliding a repetitive motion against your clit.

You were pent up from earlier, chasing the needed high that you weren’t able to get from Soap. Would he visit you? Fulfil the words he said to you? Remove the clothed barrier between the two of you?

Almost like your mind was read, there was a soft hum of a knock at the door as you pulled the blankets over you before gesturing them in. Soap’s eager eyes welcomed you, head lopping to the side slightly as he gave you a clumsy smile.

You weren’t sure if it was confidence or the barely-consumed amount of alcohol that surged through you as you stood up and waltzed over to the Scotsman. Quick hands pushed the door closed before you were on your knees, the wood below you offering you no support as you fidgeted with the zipper of Soap’s pants.

“Lass, you don’t-“

“I want too.”

He swallowed, visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing with excitement as he rested a hand against the side of your hand, rubbing against it delicately. Sea blue briefs were stained a dark hinge due to the large wet patch that grew, tip flushed against it as an eager mouth lapped at it through the material.

Johnny hissed, throbbing at the sensation before he thrusted slightly, meeting your tongue that was soaking through his boxers. “Don’t tease m’, love. I’m a desperate man.”

You looked up at him and grinned, palming him, before pulling them down, angry cock springing out before slapping against the base of his stomach, tip leaking with pre-cum that you were eager to taste.

Steady hands found the base, squeezing it before bringing the threatening length towards you. You spat, a glob of saliva dripping down towards his cock before you worked it in with a pace, the member now glistening as you kitten licked the tip, tasting him for yourself as you hummed.

Soap’s hands found your hair, holding it into a pony as your lips worked around his length, slowly burying him in the warmth of your mouth before you hollowed out your cheeks, earning a grunt from the man.

“That’s it, love, good girl.”

His words fuelled you, feeding you just right as you worked him further into your mouth, a gag soon following as evident saliva pooled at your mouth, escaping your lips through a crack as you swallowed around the intimidating length.

Soap was a string of expletives as you sucked him off, your tongue running along the shaft of his cock, tracing every vein as the remainder of him was worked off by a hand, another buried at his balls that were covered by light curls of dark hair.

His hips moved with every thrust you made, working himself deeper into your throat as you gagged and hummed, tears welling your eyes as he held onto your hair with a tight grip. You looked up at him, eyes wide with lust as he smiled back, a cocky glaze over his face.

Johnny’s hands pulled you back, your mouth pulling off of him with a pop as you raised a brow in confusion, almost offended.

“Would be a waste if I came in your mout’ before feeling your pussy, wouldn’t it, sweetness?”

[mockerycrow]

UNDER THE SURFACE (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — ghost icon by @yumethefrostypanda concept post here!

authors note; this is not my best work tbh, i wish i could improve it somehow, but i’m hoping you guys will like it anyway. Pretty sure this is my longest singular post, too! 4.7k words :-)

[WARNINGS: angst, spiraling thoughts, near panic attack, hurt/comfort, inaccurate medical stuff, vague descriptions of physical violence, very brief mention of possible self harm.]

YOU WERE USED to Simon being gone for long periods of time; you have been his roommate for two years now, nearly three. You know he’s military, it’s part of the reason why you were able to score being his roommate in the first place. At first, it was a very awkward arrangement. Simon himself wasn’t a very awkward person, no—he’s actually quite charismatic in his own way, a way that you could get along with. One of the reasons why the arrangement was strange at first was because you weren’t exactly able to get a one on one tour of the flat before agreeing, but you were a bit more trusting of this mysterious man because a mutual friend—Kate—sent you his contact information, considering you were looking for a new place to live since your lease was up.

Simon’s flat was void of any personality, really. Yes, you could tell by the way he organized everything that he had been in the military, probably for quite a while—but there weren’t any photos. No gaming systems; you discovered he did have a bookcase of quite a few books, but it was covered in a layer of dust. Despite this, when examining the books he owned, you could tell they were worn down—definitely loved. It made you smile a bit, seeing the different variety of books. A bit of personality, you think. Besides his room, it was like a completely furnished, no personality flat. You weren’t allowed in his room, not unless he gave you explicit permission, which you honored his boundaries. Simon was kind enough to offer you a space in his home—but you know he was quite weary of you, which was understandable. He helped you move in and you could tell he was watching you and your body language. Searching you for danger—but he slowly warmed up to you.

Another thing that you discovered that Simon was quite emotionally.. constipated. Over the first few months, you could tell he didn’t sleep as much as he probably should. He was always awake before you, and you would always find him in the kitchen, sipping on a hot cup of tea. After a few weeks of this routine—Simon rising much earlier than you, you figured maybe he couldn’t break the military’s strict routines.. Until one night you woke up from the sound of his heavy footsteps walking down the hall. You tensed in your bed and you sat up because Simon was silent as a ghost all the time. You didn’t even know if it was him at first, so in your half-asleep panicked state, you felt for your phone and you texted Simon’s contact, asking a messily texted “is that you walking around?” You blink your sleepiness away and wipe your eye as your phone vibrates with a “yeah. sorry.”

That was the first time you got some notion that Simon was thrown off guard from something, after another week of awakening from his noises, you began to realize that he was experiencing night terrors every couple of nights. His nightmares were never a thing you two discussed, exactly.. It was more of an unspoken rule to not talk about it. You would occasionally find yourself in the kitchen around the time you calculated when Simon would wake up—and you were right nearly every time—and you just.. coincidentally made him a cup of tea. To Simon’s pleasant surprise, you managed to get his tea right every single time. You’ve had your fair share of night terrors, so you knew how it could be sometimes. You wanted to do something nice for him, and he seemed flustered every time.

It took you a while to get used to him being gone for long periods of time. Simon appreciated that you never questioned too deeply into his career, even the times he would come home sporting a new injury, you were always willing to play doctor for him. Simon saw the concern in your eyes and sometimes he would share small stories of what happened, or maybe to get you to stop thinking about his injuries, a small story about his teammates. You slowly learned their names over the course of a year and a half, and you learned Simon’s rank as well. He is a lieutenant, and there’s a man called Captain Price, another man named Sergeant Kyle Garrick, and one more man named Sergeant John MacTavish, who Simon referred to as “Johnny” fondly.

It wasn’t common that Simon talked about work, which is the reason why it took about a year and a half to even get the information you did out of him. Over the time you’ve lived with him, you had decorated the flat to feel more comfortable and home-y. Simon only had a few requests, which you honored, and one of them was no pictures of him with his face showing. You shot him a curious and questioning look, but as always—you didn’t question him, and he was very thankful. You had gotten a few indoor plants as well that didn’t need much caring for and you wanted to liven up the place, y’know? You were okay with Simon not sharing much about his past or his work, because he was willing to listen to your little rambles about your interests and work. You were a bit hesitant, but Simon was very emotive and he never seemed annoyed or brushed you off.

Despite Simon’s reluctance to share anything of his own, he always heard you out if you needed to vent about something. He made sure you knew you could talk to him, even on days where you felt like you had no one to go to. You spent an entire night with him, just talking about anything and everything. It was the first real conversation you felt like you have had with anyone in such a long time. It was also the first night Simon really saw you. He watched as your eyebrows furrowed from uncomfortableness, the vulnerability being nearly too much to handle; something he could relate to on a personal level. So when you started showing these signs, he knew exactly when to change the subject. Simon quickly realized how to read you, and he somehow knew what you needed at different moments.

Simon flies into the airport late at night with a small duffel bag, tagged as a military bag. He sends you a quick “be home soon.” text. Simon doesn’t expect you to answer due to it being around 3 in the morning, and you indeed don’t answer him. He catches a taxi to your shared flat. Simon collects his things from the taxi before paying the driver and sending them off, and Simon lets out a slow breath as he takes in the achingly familiar sight of the place he lives in. He tugs the hood that remains sitting over his head closer to his face, which is covered by a black surgical mask. His hand tightens on the straps of the duffel bag before he approaches the flat building, taking out his keys as he approaches the elevator. Once Simon reaches the third floor, he wastes no time getting to the front door, and he isn’t sure why, but his heart is pounding inside of his chest.

Simon unlocks both the top lock and the doorknob to enter the flat—something he had taught you to do every single time. He pockets his keys as he enters and Simon pauses for a moment because he can’t put his finger on it, but something feels off the second he glanced inside. His eyes trail the living room which is clean, not one thing out of place. Simon takes a deep breath and he doesn’t brush off the weird feeling, because even when there’s no evidence something happened—he’s usually right. The blanket on the couch is perfectly folded and laid over the back cushions, the mini bookcase by the TV is dusted as always, your shoes.. Are not by the front door, but a different pair are..? These either are not your shoes, or they are new. You always warned Simon about bringing people over, and you definitely would’ve told him this time. The lamp is on in the living room, but it seems the lights are out everywhere else. Simon silently goes through his routine when he gets back late at night—taking his jacket off and hanging it up, he leaves his boots by the door, and he drops his keys into the dish.

Next step to his routine is to step into the kitchen and get a cup of actually good quality tea, unlike the shit the military provides him. He fills up the electric kettle and sets a timer on it, grabbing his favorite mug and the box of his favorite tea from the cabinets. Simon glances down the dark hall—he’s seeking for a sign of life from you because you’re usually getting up around this time to greet him. No matter what, you always seem to know when he returns—yet you aren’t leaving your room. There’s no light emitting from the hall nor underneath the doors, and fuck, it’s eating at him. Something is wrong—and what the fuck is it? Simon stands there for a moment, turning his head to watch the blue light blinking on the electric kettle. He watches it blink slowly as he tries to rack his brain for what could be wrong—maybe those shoes are someone else’s, but he could just have a stern conversation with you about it later. Maybe you came back from drinking with friends—no, if that was the case, he knows for a fact your belongings would be everywhere, maybe even a spilled glass of water in the kitchen. He’s had to clean that up a couple of times.

He raises his wrist and pulls up his sleeve a bit to look at his digital watch; it’s nearly 0400 now. Simon puts his hands on the counter, leaning his body weight against it. Did something happen at work, maybe that’s why it feels off? You’ve always had a commanding presence like he has, so maybe— “Fuck.” Simon hisses quietly, hooking a finger into the strap of his black face mask and he rips it off, tossing it without care onto the counter. He leans forward and checks the kettles timer for a second, and then he’s walking towards the hall. Simon passes by his room and he walks up to yours, and he tries to turn the doorknob to peak in to check on you, but—it’s locked? Simon lets out a harsh breath before trying the door again, and yeah, it’s locked. Simon swears under his breath and he knocks on the door, his stomach twisting and turning. Something is wrong, very very wrong, very fucking wrong—

You unlock the door and you open it just enough for you to peak out, and you use your phone flashlight to shine it in Simon’s face. He squints and puts his hand up, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Hey—you locked your door.” He points out quietly, and you’re just staring at him, your eyes wide and alert. Simon’s anxiety lessens, but your reaction doesn’t make it go away. “Y’alright?” Simon drawls out, his hand on the wood panel of the door. You let out a harsh breath and you let go of your phone, letting out a quiet, “Simon..” before you suddenly pull your door completely open, and you wrap your arms around his thick torso into a hug. Simon swears his heart jumps into his throat and then into his stomach, bouncing back into his chest because you hugged him. You two were never particularly touchy like that, maybe a fleeting touch here or two, usual drunken affection from you—but you barely ever hugged him like this, even when he returned from deployments. Your touch burns hot through his clothes, and he knows you wouldn’t touch him without asking, so when you do? He wraps an arm around you, his free arm resting on your shoulder. “Hey..” Simon breathes out, lost for words.

You don’t hold on long enough for the uncomfortable worry to creep up his spine just yet. You rip yourself away from him like he burned you, his hands falling to his sides. You offer a tight, weak smile—one that you could easily play off as a sign of fatigue. Simon’s breath stutters as he watches your hands linger near your chest in a subconscious defensive gesture, your fingers closing into a fist for a moment; as if you’re uncomfortable, almost overstimulated. Simon feels the way for the light switch and he flips it on, and your room looks normal—but you look.. off. You look a bit clammy, almost like you’re sick or bouncing off the walls with anxiety. His eyes flick to your fingers and the skin besides your thumbnail and your middle finger are picked to all hell, and you just.. don’t seem right. All of these.. signs, you’re showing are actually very subtle—he just notices everything about you. Simon knows what food you favor, what your favorite color is, what social situations what you tick, what makes you mad—he knows it all. “Three months went by slow,” You murmur, trying to start a conversation. Simon’s eyes narrow at you for a moment as he watches you back up to your bed; no, you don’t turn around, you back up. You don’t turn your back to Simon at all. Fuck. He watches you lift your mattress, causing him to lift an eyebrow. “They did,” Simon confirms. “What happened while I was gone?”

This wasn’t an unusual question for Simon to ask; but it had a completely different meaning to you this time. You feel your muscles tense as you grab something from under your mattress, and you put it back down. It glints from the overhead light in your bedroom—a.. pocket knife of some sort, a switchblade perhaps. Simon’s eyes narrow at how you pocket it oh so quickly into your pocket. “Nothing much,” You reply quickly, smoothing out your shirt. “Same old same old, work has been fine, uh..” You trail off for a moment, clearing your throat. “Look, let me take a shower—I’m sure you’re itching for something to eat, huh?” Simon watches you open your drawers and pick out some pants and a shirt. The knife comes to mind—why are you taking it with you? “I can make it myself.” Simon responds, his feet planted firmly where he had been standing the whole time. You shake your head and close the drawers once you collect your clothes.

“It’s tradition, Simon. I gotta.” You offer a stronger smile as you make your way towards the door, still avoiding showing your back towards him. Simon watches as you glance at your bedroom window before exiting your room, muttering a quiet “close the door when you leave”, which Simon obeys. He shuts the door with a click, and he watches you quickly scurry down the hall towards the bathroom. “Just let me shower first.” And with that, you step into the bathroom, close the door and you lock it before Simon can interject. He stands there for a moment, stunned. His chest tightens for a moment because you just felt so far away. You’ve created such unwanted distance—even as you’re not very touchy with him, you still bother him for every detail he’s willing to give up when he returns. You are constantly making jokes, inviting him into the kitchen when you’re about to make a welcome home meal—but this time? You were hiding in your room, locking your door, bringing a knife with you—in front of him. Did you think that could slip past him? Did something happen whilst he was gone, to cause you to bring it with you? Is it for self defense against something or someone?— Is it to use on yourself?

Simon feels his stomach turn at his thoughts. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks past the bathroom, his footsteps stuttering for a moment in front of the door before he presses his lips into a thin line, returning to the kitchen to make himself some tea, the electric kettle had beeped long ago.

The next late morning, not much was different. Simon only slept a few hours, three or four—as per usual, he still woke up before you. He threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a black hoodie. He made his tea, made you a cup of what you prefer to drink in the morning, and he made a light breakfast for you both. Despite being in the military for a while and relying on cooks as well as MRE’s to get through his days, Simon is a decent cook. He made himself some sausage and fried eggs, and he made a plate or a bowl of what you prefer to eat in the morning. Simon sighs for a moment as he glances at the time—around 1100, and you still haven’t emerged from your room which is odd, especially now that Simon just came back home. He takes a moment to look at his food, and he decides then and there he will drag you out if he has to. Simon scoops up his plate as well as your food, and he heads down the hall towards your room. With his hands full, Simon balances for a second as he gently kicks the door as a way to knock, and then he stands on both of his feet again. “Oi, wake up!” Simon shouts, leaning close to the door to listen for your movement.

It takes a good minute and when Simon is about to knock again; he hears your doorknob unlock and you peak out the door, your eyes wide and alert again, although it’s obvious you had just woken up. You seem to relax when your tired mind’s gears turn and you realize it’s just Simon. You open your door wider and you rub your eye, and he spots the knife in your hand, partially obscured by the door. “Mm, sorry. I overslept.” You say, your voice heavy with sleep, vibrating in your chest. Simon makes a noncommittal noise before holding out your food, which you stare at for a moment you take it, your lips twitching into a weak smile. “Thanks, Simon.” He waits a few seconds, and you nearly shut your door on him.

Thanks, Simon. That’s all??

“Can I eat in your room wit’you?” Simon gruffs out, feeling sudden determination from this weird act you have going on. You blink for a moment and then you nod. “Just give me a sec.” You murmur. You shut the door in his face and he hears you shuffling about, moving something—sounds like your mattress. Are you putting your knife away??—and then you open your door, gesturing for Simon to walk into your room. Surely you don’t think you can hide this type of thing from him of all people, right? Why are you hiding it from him?

Simon enters your room, and you close the door behind him. You never used to do that—“What happened?” Simon stares at you for an answer, watching your face contort in a bit of confusion. You don’t say anything at first, and when you were about to open your mouth, Simon speaks. “I mean this in the nicest way possible—do ya take me f’a wanker?” Your jaw drops for a moment, your eyebrows furrowing. “What? No, of course not, Simon. Nothing happened, I’m not sure why—“

“Don’t,” Simon interrupts, putting his plate of food on your dresser. “Something has happened, and you’re lyin’ to me. You’re jumpy, you’re carryin’ a blood knife around, lovie—don’t think you can get that past me—and you won’t turn your back on me.” His lips press into a line as he watches your shoulder hunch up a bit, in an all too familiar defensive, tense position. The pit in Simon’s stomach begins to grow as you avert your eyes from, too. “You are barely talkin’ when you bloody damn near talk my ear off when I come home—you said, ‘Thanks, Simon.’ Not an over the top reaction about me doing something for th’both of’us, not a invite in, and last night—you’ve been locking your door.” You put your food down near yourself, and Simon catches the way your fingers are trembling. “I.. I’m allowed to lock my door, Simon. You don’t need to question me.” You say, attempting to hold a steady voice which barely works, your voice nearly cracking on the last word. Your heart is racing out of your chest and all you want to do is bolt at the door; which Simon catches on to. You watch him as he slowly begins to step in front of the door. “You tell me everything—even how your damn showers go. Why won’t you tell me this?” He demands, and his heart is pounding against his ribcage, too.

He watches your face contort into several different emotions and feelings; panic, sadness, anger, relief—the whole nine yards. Simon walks towards you when you begin to sob, and you sit down on your bed to avoid collapsing. His chest tightens as he murmurs name, wondering if he went too far. You reach your hands for him and not for one second does Simon hesitate this time. He wraps his arms around you, sitting right next to you on your mattress, your thighs touching together. He reaches up and rubs the nape of your neck as you openly sob and shutter into the crook of his neck and in his arms. His skin burns from your heat seeping into his clothes, a lively warmth that burns so hot but he welcomes so much more than he remembers that he used to. Your tears are hot, burning his skin with every drop that slides onto his neck, but he welcomes the sensation. “It’s alright, lovie. Let it out.” Simon murmurs, one of his arms tugging your body closer to his. He holds you in almost protective stance, like someone is threatening to drag you away from his grasp. You grab at the back of his hoodie, your chest beginning to heave. “Mm, no, c’mere; look at me, yeah?” Simon beckons you, his voice smooth and soft—which is extremely rare. Simon cups your cheek and lifts your head from where it rests in the crook of his neck, his hand instantly getting covered in the wetness of your tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You inhale sharply as you try to look at Simon, your eyes unfocused and you try so hard to focus on his pretty brown eyes, but you can’t seem to get ahold of yourself. You let out a panicked sob as your hand now tug on the front of his hoodie, and his voice is so far away, but his hand is molding to the curve of your jaw, like it belongs there.

You shut your eyes for a moment and you let Simon move you around as he wants, which he ends up guiding your head to his chest, and his grip loosens some so you don’t feel trapped. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, to catch your bearings; you can hear a faint ringing sound that you didn’t notice before, but you do note it’s slowly fading away, and in fades is Simon’s voice. He’s murmuring praises—and oh, he’s laying against the headboard of your bed frame now, with you laying on his chest. You feel yourself trembling against him, and embarrassment hits you hard. You’re tense—you don’t want to talk about any of it at all, but you know Simon. He will push you until you snap, even if it’s in your best interest to tell him. You reach up and play with a hoodie string of his, listening to his soft breathing. You hesitate for a moment before your lips part. “It was a week after you left.” Simon’s heart skips a beat, which you hear—you vaguely find it amusing, but he’s silent to allow you to continue. One of his hands is on your back, his thumb moving back and forth. “I..” You swallow spit so you don’t croak, as you’re convinced you might sound pathetic. As if Simon would ever think of you that way. “I was walking home from the pub, y’know, the one only just a few blocks away? It was late at night, I think the police said it was around 2 am. I stayed until closing, I was with some of my friends, uh..” You trail off for a moment, trying to recall everything that happened. Your hand pauses, and Simon senses your state. He begins to rub your back full on, murmuring, “It’s alright. Go on, then.”

You let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I was absolutely wasted, and there was this guy—grabbed me and I tried to get out of his hold, but he ended up fucking stabbing me. Robbed me of my shit.” Your voice cracks and the silence is deafening. Simon feels his heart drop into his stomach. You got stabbed? “Fuckin’ hell.. Why didn’t you call me? Or at least let me know?” Simon’s voice treats carefully, knowing that you’re still freaking out by the way you’re incredibly tense against him. “I know how important your focus is when you’re gone,” You respond, your voice staying quiet as well. You don’t look at Simon’s face because you know that you’ll break once again. You pick at the fabric of his hoodie, seeking comfort in his warmth, despite how you usually aren’t like this with him. “I didn’t want to take your focus because I know you, Simon. You would’ve backed out of whatever you were trying to do to come and help me.” Simon presses his lips into a thin line, staying quiet because you both know that you’re correct. Simon would drop everything to come home to you, to help you. “The guy nicked my lung, was in the hospital for a while.” Simon’s hand stutters for a moment, the smooth pattern of his palm rubbing your back being interrupted from shock. “Jesus—“ Simon hisses, and he can’t help but tug you closer. “You should’ve told me anyway, lovie.”

You sniffle and you rub your face into his hoodie, a muffled noncommittal noise coming from the back of your throat. He doesn’t say anything further, nor do you. Simon lays there with you on top of him, one of his hands caressing your back, the other wrapped around your body, sometimes coming up to rub the back of your neck. You don’t mention the way he doesn’t seem to tell you to move, and he doesn’t mention how touchy you’re being. Simon doesn’t want this moment to end—one where you’re vulnerable and trusting with him, one where you’re alive and well. He can’t help but wonder if he ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell him something? Simon feels simmering, muffled anger in his stomach because you didn’t want to interrupt his work for being stabbed, nicking a vital organ no less—he makes a mental note to sit you down and make you promise to call him if an issue or an injury like that ever arises again. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to push away what would happen if you didn’t do that—if that guy were to come back to try to finish the job and Simon wasn’t here, would you call him? Would you pick up your phone and dial his number? Would you text him? What if you got hurt again—would you call him?—Or would the hospital? He always imagined you’d be getting the call of his death, and not the other way around. Simon swears under his breath for a moment and opens his eyes; he doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He wants to stay in this moment with you—both himself and you alive. He glances down, your tear stained cheeks slowly drying, your eyelids closed. His fingers slide from the nape of your neck to the side, and he presses his fingers against your pulse.

Being here with you—he wants you to trust him, too; like he trusts you. That’s all he wants.

tag: @zzzennin

[lvlyghost]

The Things I Never Said: Part 2

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: upon learning about your pregnancy simon thinks there are things he needs to take care of.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tw: Angst, fluff, hurt with a lot of comfort, banter. The task force is there for you💞 i think that's it✨

A/N: here it is, i never planned a second part so forgive me if it's not as good! Still hope you like it. Already working on a request that's similar to this one🐸✨ thank you so much for all the support. Reblogs and comments are appreciated! Remember english isn't my first language, corrections are welcome🩵

Masterlist✨ | Part 1 | Part 3

Simon pulls you closer to his body, one arm draped over your form and hand resting on your stomach. The storm is raging outside, the thunder startles you every five minutes. You stay there in complete silence as the realization of this whole thing settles in your minds. He wants you to be safe now more than ever that's why when he's reliving the events of the day it hits him. He had thought the worst, that you were abandoning him, that you got tired of him. Simon would never say this to you but losing you would be the end of him. Enraged and with his heart racing he had hopped on his motorcycle. The soft caressing of his fingers stops abruptly, body going rigid behind you. You turn your face in worry.

"Simon?" You call him. You were beginning to fall asleep. "What is it?"

"That fuckin' muppet." He snarls. "I was so caught up in you leaving that I'd forgotten he hit you. That cunt... fucking Christ." He sits. "Let me see." He lifts your shirt just above your belly with gentle hands.

"Love, I'm... it's fine." Simon sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes land on the bruised area of your skin.

"What did the doctor say?" He demands, eyes somber.

"She said i should stay in bed for a few days and to not lift heavy things or you know just... overwork myself."

Simon rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands, disgruntled.

"This is on me... my bloody fault"

"Hey, stop now." You stand up, coming to a sitting position to mirror his stance. "You didn't know." Soft hands fall on both sides of his face. "I should've told you before this happened, if anything this is on me."

"If something happened to you i would never forgive myself, kid. Lie down. You need to rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

-

Simon's been waiting for this day since the incident. You're still at home, recovering from what could've ended with you in a hospital bed and a broken heart.

"You sure about this, Sir?" Gaz asks, worried about what might happen. "It's just training right?"

"Just training." Simon's eyes are set on that bastard. Craning his neck he steps on the sparring mat. As much as he wanted to go find him and kill him he couldn't do such thing. But after the images that flooded his mind made him realize how dangerous it had been. What could potentially have happened the rage within him is boiling his blood. And now he needs somebody to pay the price. Choices have consequences and he nearly had a painful one. If he had insisted just more...

Breathing harshly he looks him in the eye. Poor muppet doesn't know what's coming for him. He stands there confidently, thinking he has a chance against Ghost. Not Simon, the man only she gets the chance to see.

This is Ghost about to fight.

-

For some reason you decided to stop by the local pastry shop and bring something for the task force. You're feeling much better so that's why you're walking down the corridor of the military compound. With a shirt that's nearly too oversized a pair of combat boots and a cap. You figured you could have these outside of the base and enjoy a nice day with your teammates. You missed them already. Since Simon had been reluctant to leave your side, and you loved it that's for sure, but he wouldn't let you do much as simple tasks like washing the dishes or doing the laundry.

Walking past the doors you're greeted with loud cheering and yelling at the two men in the middle of the mat. Your smile quivers until you process the scene in front of you. Not surprised, not worried. He's gonna be just fine. The other poor boy... Price is the first to notice you, approaching you in three long strides. He had decided to stop by and watch, that's how they sort things out.

"Here, let me help you with that." He takes most of the desserts from your hands, scrutinizing your features with slight concern. Your eyes glued to Simon's hulking body. "I'm gonna assume he doesn't know you're here. Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I'm not on duty, Captain."

"I'm not asking as your Captain but as a friend."

You turn to face him with the ghost of a smile on your lips.

"I'm feeling better so I wanted to see you all, maybe we could have these together as soon as Simon is done with his personal grudge."

Price chuckles. Reluctant to see the rest of the fight, you keep talking to John until it comes to an end. More cheers and clapping echoing around the place. You take a quick glance and get a glimpse of the younger soldier limping while he plops down on a near bench, his teammates gathered around him holding a towel out for him to clean up his face. Footsteps approach you and Price, Simon's frowning behind the mask you can tell by the way the corner of his eyes wrinkle.

"Hey little lady!" Soap greets you with a big smile, hugging you tightly. "Heard you got all knocked up!"

"For fucks sake, Johnny!" Gaz scolds him. "Have some more respect for the girl."

Johnny rolls his eyes feigning annoyance letting Kyle hug you too.

"Don't bet mad at him. We all know why he had to do it." He whispers before pulling away.

When Simon joins you, you're aware of what's coming.

"You're out of bed." He points out, blankly.

"It's been almost a week. As long as I don't lift heavy things I'll be alright. Remember?" You speak back. You reach out for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. The rest of the team silently walks away to the outside giving you some privacy. Simon studies you, all of you. There's a spark of worry in his blue eyes that you don't like. "Don't worry about me anymore."

He pulls you closer, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he inhales deeply.

"Is that my shirt, doll?" He asks in a hushed tone. You chuckle, burying your face in his chest.

"I missed you, and it smells like you." Simon prompts you softly to start walking outside and join the rest. "You're not hurt, are you?" You stare up at him.

"Don't you worry about me, he wasn't able to land one single hit, love."

You pull him down kissing over the black balaclava where his lips would be.

"I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for not telling you Simon." You sigh.

"I understand now why you didn't, kid. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself for not making you feel safe enough to tell me. If anything I'm to blame."

"Is there any chance I may touch your belly?" Soap asks as soon as you sit down next to him.

"Yes." You reply with a wide smile.

"No." Simon growls at the same time.

"Jesus! I suppose that naming the child after me is also off the table?"

"Absolutely."

A round of laughs echoing around and along the backyard. Your eyes scanning every person gathered in this very moment. Loyalty, admiration, respect and love.

A family of your own that would soon get a new addition.

"What if it's a beautiful girl?" Gaz interrogates.

Everyone goes silent.

"Fucking hell." Simon whispers.

He's fucked.

[narcoticv3nus]

Let Me Love You Like a Woman ♡ Simon "Ghost" Riley

minors do not interact! | mdni!

summary: when you come home late from work, you find your boyfriend sleeping in your bed after being away for a few months. and you're more than happy to give him the 'welcome home' he deserves. tags/trigger warning: 18+, f!reader, fluff, reunion sex, oral sex (m!receiving), groping, p in v, cowgirl position, rough sex, dom!simon, sub!reader, cursing, use of pet names ("love", "lovie", "babe", "baby"), author attempts at accents wc: 2k

a/n: wasn’t supposed to be this long. sorry, y'all (or your welcome).

Coming home after a long work day, you kick off your heels with a sigh, your makeup smudged, and your once neatly styled hair in disarray.

You push open the door to your bedroom, only to be met by your sleeping boyfriend curled up underneath your girly, fluffy sheets as soft snores drift through the room. He had been gone for a couple of months while on deployment, and now he was back, taking a nap in your bed. The sight was so bittersweet that you almost began to cry.

Quickly, without much thinking, you took off your work clothes, scrambling to find something cute to wear before retouching your makeup and fixing your hair. You knew Simon wouldn't care about what you looked like, only that he'd be happy to see you, which only seemed to drive you further into waking him up with something nice to look at.

You weren't exactly sure why you felt this way, but as you gazed down at him now, watching his chest evenly move up and down and how his brown lashes fluttered against his cheeks, you realized he made you feel things no one else ever has.

You bit your lip, feeling guilty, as you gently combed your fingernails through his short brown hair to rouse him peacefully; you knew he needed his sleep, but you needed him too!

He grunts deeply, his eyes fluttering open in a confused daze before scanning the room. Once his eyes finally land on you, you can't hold back the wide smile stretching across your face.

His expression almost seems bored as he gazes up at you, but you can tell by how his lips parted slightly and the natural furrow of his brows completely disappeared that he was more than happy to see you.

“I know I should let you sleep," you whispered, not wanting to break the spell of tranquility wafting throughout the room.

“Nah," he croaks, his voice husky and guttural with sleep. "dun't," his hands traveling up the expanse of your hips and thighs, gently urging you closer.

You chuckle softly, moving your body the way he wants as you perch yourself on top of him, resting your hands across his lower abdomen.

"I missed you," you murmured as you leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his lips, making sure to expose the tops of your breasts for his viewing pleasure. Yet he just closed his eyes, his hand reaching up to tuck away a stray hair falling over your face behind your ear.

"Missed ya’ too, luv," he said, his opposite hand reaching underneath your cami nightdress to grope at your ass, squeezing the soft doughy flesh with an appreciative hum.

You beam down at him, rocking your hips against his in a slow, back-and-forth motion and elevating in the deep groan you pull from his chest as his cock stirs to life.

You press sloppy kisses all across his face, giggling at his pretend groan of protest as if the quick jerking motion of his hips doesn't give him away.

"I thought of you every day, y'know..." You whisper against the shell of his ear before nibbling softly on the lobe and descending further down the side of his neck, nuzzling your nose against his pulse.

"Ah' figured y'd," I figured you would. Simon mumbles, almost intelligible, with a cocky, sleepy grin. You giggle, letting your hands roam down the expanse of his body, palming over his semi-erection.

You lean back up, straightening your spine as you tug the seam of his sweatpants down to his thighs, allowing his hard cock to slap against his pelvis. He lets out a long exhale, his hips shifting upwards as he fights back the heaviness pulling at his eyelids.

"Did you think of me?" you breathed, wrapping your soft hand around his leaky tip and twisting, pulling downwards to coat his length in his sticky arousal, allowing for a smoother and more pleasurable glide.

"Dun't act daft, luv," he tosses his head back with another sigh, his abs clenching and unclenching in response to your teasing. "y'know I did,"

You fight back the urge to keep him talking, knowing he's likely still exhausted from his lack of sleep. Yet the way his voice twists and curls around your entire being is still entirely revolutionary for you. You don't even think he'll ever realize the kind of effect he has on you.

“I know," you giggle, making yourself comfortable between his meaty thighs, pressing tender kisses along his cock. "I just like hearing you say it." you nuzzle your cheek against him, unbothered by the wetness sticking to your cheek.

He grunts in response, his large hair cradling through your hair as he holds you against him, rutting himself against your face with deep pants.

You whine softly, gripping the flesh of his thighs as you brace yourself against him as he uses you for his pleasure. “Simon," you protest, trying to shift your mouth closer toward him, but he doesn't budge, only holding your head tighter in his hand.

"Don't move," he growls, his thrusts growing faster against your face as his pants grow louder, his thighs twitching softly beneath your fingers.

"Fock, yer s'soft," he grunts, his fingers curling tighter against the sheets.

Without warning, he lifts your face upwards by your hair, shifting his legs wider as he jerks himself off in front of you.

"Simon," you try again, adding a high-pitched hilt to your voice. "lemme touch you, please?" you beg, the throbbing between your legs growing harder to ignore.

"Yeh? Y'wanna touch me, luvie? Missed this fat fockin' cock, didn'cha?" he chuckles darkly, his groans growing louder as he taps the tip against your wet lips.

"Open wide, luv," he commands, sliding his length deeper inside your obedient mouth, his eyes trained on your cock-drunken expression.

"Ahh, yeah, that's it..." he moans, resting his head back against the pillows, letting go of himself as he grabs the back of your neck with the same hand. "little wider, f'me babe,"

Your cunt throbs at the sounds of his pleasure, mewling in desperation as you lick and suckle, twisting your lips to fit around the girth of his cock. you gag softly as his hips stutter, shoving the tip against the back of your throat, followed by a lewd whine escaping his chapped lips.

"God, yeah, I really did miss yer slutty fockin' mouth," he pants with a fucked out smile, guiding your head in an up-and-down motion, lifting his head back up to watch with a stuttering groan.

"And yer pretty little pussy too, shite! Bet she missed me too, didn' she?" you hum contently, gazing up at him as the sinful sounds of slurping and sucking escape your mouth. You rub your thighs together, your cunt clenching at the words pouring out of him. You always loved it when you got him riled up like this: his brain fogged over and his lips looser.

You nod your head in response to the best of your abilities. He laughs breathlessly at the sight of you before pulling you off of him, hissing the cool air, and making contact with his wet dick.

He smirks at your whimper of protest, "Yeah, yeah, princess." he tugs you back onto his lap by your armpits before smacking the fat of your ass perched over his thighs. "go ahead n' ride this cock, ya' love s'much, then." he snorts, resting his palms on top of your thighs as he waits for you to start.

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk, resting your hands over his large pectorals as leverage to lift yourself above him. You reach down, slowly jerking him before guiding him towards your leaking pussy.

"There ya' go..." he sighs, massaging your hips just as you begin to sink onto him. "All the way, luvie," he grunts, thrusting upward in his impatience.

You bite back a choked sob, the stretch of him almost unbearable after so long. He lets out a ragged breath of his own, his palms sliding to your ass to part your cheeks as he attempts to get deeper.

"Jesus," he practically shouts, his lips parting wide as his face scrunches together, almost like he’s angry. "s'like yer fockin' stranglin' me."

You mewl in agreement, your nails digging into the skin of his biceps in an attempt to ground yourself from the intense mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Simon," you plead, forcing to sink the rest of the way until your ass lands on the tops of his thighs with a loud 'plap'. You both let out your strangled cries as his tip poked against the deepest part of you.

"God, your little cunny is so perfect," he grunts half to himself, barely giving you a chance to adjust before he's jackhammering himself inside you, his large hands lifting you up and down by your ass cheeks.

He plants his feet higher up on the bed, giving himself more leverage as he fucks into you at an overwhelmingly rapid pace. Debauched wails fill the room along with the fast sounds of flesh-against-flesh and the slick and slippery noises of your combined fluids.

"Oh yeah, fock tha' cock, luv," he moans, slapping your ass once more, followed by a passionate squeeze as he lets you set the pace.

He smiles up at you, the tops of his white teeth gleaming happily as his calloused hands stroke along the supple skin of your body. He drags his palms upward, groping your tits as his hips begin lifting to match your own with sharp and unforgiving thrusts.

"Baby," you squeak, gripping his hands as you bounce faster, peering your eyes open to gaze at his face. Your eyes sweep over his long, crooked nose and his downturned, dark-brown eyes blanketed by long, soft lashes.

"Yeah?" he pants, his eyes peering into yours in a yearning, adoring trance. "Tha' feel good? Hm?" he purses his lips in concentration, angling himself to hit the spongy spot deep inside you.

"S’good!" you let out a sweet little cry, tears forming beneath your eyelids, your belly tightly clenching as you chase the indescribable feeling. "Oh my god!"

"Doin' such a good job, f'me, girly." he let out a low grunt as he gripped your small wrists together in his hand and pinned them against his chest as he resumed his dominant pace.

"Can tell y'gettin' close, luv." He acknowledges as his dick twitches uncontrollably inside of you, threatening to release at any moment. You're surprised he managed to last as long as he has.

"C'mon baby," he pressed with a pleased grunt. "Cum on my cock, I know ya' wan' ta.'" he grins arrogantly as his balls smack against your pussy until he's barely pulling back out to fuck into you.

And like clockwork, you do. It almost surprises you how quickly and seemingly unexpectedly you approach your high. But it shouldn't, especially when you know how obedient your body is to Simon. You cry out for him as you release, drenching his lower half and spraying his abs in a coat of transparent essence.

A deep groan of your name is the only warning you receive before he's flooding your velvety insides with his spunk, his thrusts growing faster as he rides out his high before halting completely.

He softly loosens his death grip on your wrists as he brings them to his lips to kiss soothingly. You open your eyes, whining softly at his rare act of affection. He meets your gaze with his own; his smile is crooked, and his breaths are sharp and uneven.

"Took it like a champ, luvie," he chuckles deeply before sighing and pulling you into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, dragging his fingers down the length of your spine before patting your ass.

“Y’d make a good wife...”

main masterlist, rules

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 5

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Johnny recovers slowly.

-

Fifteen minutes? Simon messages you. A flare going up in the darkness, an SOS signal even if you don’t know the accuracy of the analogy. But he doesn’t hear back from you that day.  Maybe what little luck he had left that wasn’t bad luck has run out. Maybe you realized that you had no real reason to be guilty, that Soap had stepped out in front of your car on purpose. You didn’t owe them anything. 

Simon wishes he could swallow that flare back up, eat it whole, let it burn him alive, but he can’t. Johnny needs him. 

Ever since the seizure, it’s been one bad pain day after another. The seizure itself was rough on his body, but so was how hard Soap fought afterwards, dealing himself damage that he didn’t even have the processing yet to tally up. 

Like clockwork he’s requiring those little green pills, choking them down on empty stomachs. Simon even has to break out what’s left of the sublingual morphine which they hadn’t used since Johnny first came home from inpatient rehabilitation. Only then will Johnny manage to fall into fitful sleeps wracked with nightmares and phantom pains from his missing arm. He cancels all therapy that week, hoping Johnny will return to his baseline soon. Hoping for the days he used to wish away. 

It’s hell on earth. Simon lays in bed beside him, ready to wake him from another nightmare, going on three days without sleep and he wishes that he had been the one in the helicopter instead. Wishes that it had killed him, since he can’t ever wish death on Johnny. Not ever. Not even when his boy begs for it. 

His phone buzzes, and it’s you: I’m free in twenty. Still need me?

Badly. Simon can’t remember the last time he showered. All he wants is fifteen minutes to scrub himself clean and feel human again. All he says though is: Yeah.

You appear just past twenty minutes later wearing a diner uniform. It’s cute: tight pants that hug your thighs and hips, a white button-down blouse tucked in, demarcation where your name tag used to rest.

Simon opens the door and ushers you in, somber-faced, like a pallbearer at a funeral. He goes to the bedroom door and glances in to make sure Johnny is out—there should be no waking him for the next two hours, but if there is one thing Simon has learned, it’s that God Laughs. 

“He asleep?” you whisper, lingering a healthy distance away. 

“Out like a light. I just need fifteen minutes in the shower.”

“I’ll watch him,” you whisper. Then you add: “I looked it up, by the way. What a seizure looks like. Just in case.”

Simon’s stomach drops between his knees. It takes him several heartbeats to realize that he isn’t nauseous out of any fear response, but out of sheer fucking gratitude. The feeling cuts through the fog in his mind like a knife through butter, and he feels like he sees you for the first time: your hair back away from your face, your healing bruises (and the new one on your chin), the embarrassed desperation in your eyes. You’ve latched on to Johnny too, he can tell, likely by some misguided guilt from almost hitting him with your car. But it’s there. He has a feeling that if Johnny were to take a dive off the balcony, he’d be taking you with him. 

You are completely unhinged. Borderline mad, even. Exactly what Johnny needs to keep him alive. 

“Fifteen minutes,” says Simon again before slipping into the bathroom, clean clothes tucked under his arm. When he resurfaces, only 11 minutes have passed. The military taught him everything he could need to know about thorough but expeditious showers. 

You are sitting at the dining table, having chosen the seat that gives you the best vantage point of Johnny’s sleeping figure in the next room through the doorway. Simon expected to find you on your phone, scrolling away, but it is nowhere in sight. You have sat perfectly still, watching Johnny. It would almost be eerie if he didn’t appreciate it so goddamn much. 

“We need to talk about this arrangement,” you say, clasping your hands together. You’re shaking. 

“You want out.” 

“What? No!” You both glance toward the bedroom, but Johnny snores on, in the throes of morphine-fueled dreams. When you speak again, it is quieter: “I don’t mind helping, but I can only check my phone at certain times of the day.”

This is the part where Simon asks why. But the question sticks to the back of his tongue like something unsavory. A more important question: can he afford to care why beyond what it means for him and for Johnny? The bottom line is that there will be long stretches of time where you’re unavailable. He can live with that. He’s been living with it, hasn’t he? 

“I’ll only ever need you when he’s asleep. If he knew I was letting you watch over him, he’d blow his top. I mean that literally.” Simon stands. “You want tea?”

“Tea?” You blink at him like the word does not compute. “Yes, please. Thank you, I mean.” 

“Just tea, don’t get worked up over it,” he mutters, going to put the kettle on. He needs a minute to fucking think. 

This goes against everything he was ever taught. The foundation of his personality is self-reliance, and it has been since he was a boy, since he learned that he couldn’t rely on adults for anything resembling stability. Asking for help feels like tossing up the white flag, like admitting he’s in too deep and he can’t take it anymore. It feels like failing Johnny. 

But there’s construction going on inside him. Those pillars of his personality are being torn down, and in their place something more important is being formed: a shrine to the only person who’s ever loved him that wasn’t his mother. If it’s good for Johnny, Simon must do it, even if it feels strange, even if it goes against all the strategies that have kept him alive in the past. 

When he brings tea back to the table, you try to drink it right away, scalding your tongue. 

“Slow,” Simon says. He didn’t even get the chance to offer you any milk or sugar. 

Face warm as the tea, you drink slower, tongue likely numb. The silence between you grows, adds up, and he catches you more than once looking toward the digital clock inlaid on the stove, like you are nervous and counting down the moments until you can escape. Like Simon frightens you. Fifteen minutes pass and more. You drain your cup. 

“I should go,” you say at length.

“Alright.”

“Thank you for the tea.” 

“Don’t thank me.”

You just nod and slip out of the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind you. Simon sits there for a long time after you’re gone, thinking over the arrangement. Thinking over you. 

You’re in trouble. He just can’t decide if he can afford to take on any more trouble right now. 

His tea has cooled by the time Johnny stirs in the other room, calling out for more pills. 

-

It does get easier. Tooth and nail they fight for every peaceful moment until they are able to string two of those moments together, and then two becomes three. Johnny is back to his old self—often angry, still pained, but with glimmers of the man Simon used to know shining beneath it all like diamonds under dirt. 

Therapy starts again, and so do Johnny’s tasks. 

The tasks aren’t therapy. They’re Johnny’s idea: each few days he picks a task that he used to be able to do before the accident and commits himself to relearning it. 

Today that tasks is unlocking the front door. He stands with his forehead against the oak, knowing Simon is somewhere on the other side, having heard him turn the deadbolt. 

The door has three locks. There is the handle which is the only one the apartment building originally supplied them with. There is the sliding lock, which Simon had installed on day two in the new apartment. It is only ever locked at night when both of them are home, and it is easy enough for Johnny to guide the wide end into the slot. Then there is the deadbolt, also installed by Simon, and easily the trickiest lock of all. Usually it requires the strength of two hands to unlock comfortably—but Soap’s down a hand and short on patience. 

“Jesus, get me in this apartment. Amen,” he mutters.

The key shakes in his hand as he guides it to the lock. It takes some fumbling, but he gets it after just a few moments. Then he must twist while pulling outward at the same time. It uses muscles in his arms that have grown weak with disuse. The key catches for a moment but then slides out of the lock uselessly. He pulled too hard; he did not twist hard enough. 

It’s a delicate balance, one he had perfected without even trying months ago when they moved in. Now it seems like a cruel and unusual punishment. If he can’t get this fucking door open, he’ll sleep out here, undeserving of his own bed. In his mind, the voice of encouragement does not sound so much like the calm soothing tones of Andy—his physical rehabilitation therapist—but instead the borderline abusive dialect of his superiors during his time in the military, the ones who had only ever cared about results and not much about the bodies getting those results. 

Footsteps come from the open elevator, and Johnny casts an irritated glance only to see that it is you. You are dressed for exercise, clingy clothes with running shoes and a baggy top thrown on over everything, drooping off of one of your shoulders. At the sight of you, Johnny remembers the lengths you went to to help him light his cigarette and his heart throbs with fondness, some of his anger evaporating like fog burnt off by the morning sun. 

“Afternoon, lass.” 

“Hi, Johnny,” you murmur, voice near a whisper as you cast a glance toward your own door. Maybe you are thinking about running from him. “Are you having trouble?” 

Johnny’s good mood dissipates. “No,” he lies. “Yes. I don’t fucking know.” 

“Can I help?”

“No,” he snaps. “I have to do this myself.”

“Where’s Simon?” 

“Inside.” 

“He’s locked you out?”

“Aye.” 

Your face changes. He knows you so little that it takes a moment for him to identify the expression for what it is: apoplectic rage. Your hands have clenched into fists at your sides, brows drawn low over your eyes as you glare a hole through the door. You reach out and take Johnny’s hand. He’s so fucking surprised that he drops the damn key. 

“Johnny,” you say. “You can tell me. Are you in trouble?”

“What sort o’ trouble?” 

“Simon. Is he good to you?” 

“Bastard eats my cereal and leaves the empty box behind, but aye, he’s good to me. Better than good. What’s all this about, hen? Simon locking me out? I only asked him to, that’s all—let’s me practice with the key, so I can open it on my own again,” says Johnny, stroking his thumb along your knuckles. 

You let go of him like you’ve been burned, face mortified. “Oh, God. I’m sorry Johnny. I misunderstood. Let me just—”

You bend down and retrieve the key, handing it to him. You can barely look him in the eye as you mumble a goodbye and rush past him into your own apartment, shutting the door solidly behind you. 

Johnny stares after you for a long moment, key held limply in his hand, mind far from the door. At last, he puts the key back into the lock. 

Twist, pull.