#what does it do when you click your tags
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
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Unstoppable Force Meets Immovable Object pt2
Pt 1:Â https://www.tumblr.com/bahfev/715070691717840896/unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object?source=share
(Guys idk how do that thing where the link is words can someone explain?)
âRight, I forgot why I was here. It definitely wasnât for a drink.â Yal-sre stood up, seeming much more intimidating than when Sophia had approached them.
âOh.â The bartender backed away farther, making themself smaller as well, âIs there anything else I can get you?â
âActually, Aolli, I think there is. If you come with me out back, there are some answers Iâd like to order.â
The bartender - scratch that - Aolli gulped, and dipped their head. Sophia was again impressed by the very Earthly body language. âComing right up, Sir.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
âHoooh, this just got interesting!â Sofia stood up.
âSophia, you neednât follow.â
âActually, I do need follow. No way Iâm just sitting here bored outta my mind while you deal with your drama outside.â
âYouâll only scare them.â
âWhat was it you just told me again? Theyâre already scared of you no matter what. Come on, if itâs information you need I can be the âbad copâ.â
âExactly! I am scary enough on my own; I donât wish to be cruel. You being there is excessive. You canât follow.â
âYes I can. Unless... you want to try to stop me? Iâm always up for a challenge,â Sophia grinned and cracked her knuckles. Aolli seemed to pick up on her show of aggression and whimpered. So odd, when Aolli was so clearly not Earthling. Yal-sre seemed more to notice her words themselves as a threat.
âYouâre right. I canât stop you. Aolli, come with me. Sophia, do what you will.â Yal-sre ushered Aolli toward the door. Sophia followed in suit.
âNow thatâs what I like to hear.â Chatter began full force as soon as the space orcs left the bar.
âPlease- I swear I- Iâll tell you everything I know just please donât hurt me!â Aolli shrank into a ball on the ground, paws over head.
âListen, I wonât hurt you-â
âI will!â Sophia interjected.
â-Sophia, stop. I just want to know where my sisters are.â
âOoooooooo, you took their sisters? You should be more careful who you mess with.â
âI donât know! I donât know where they are, I swear!â
âLiar,â Sophia accused.
âYou took them away,â Yal-sre continued. âI watched you double check the locks and cart them off like animals. Where are they?â
âI donât know! Iâm telling you! I was just following orders, and I donât work for them anymore! Iâm- Iâm a bartender now!â
âGood for you; thatâs not what I asked.â
âSo,â Sophia crouched down in front of Aolli, âYou gonna spill the beans? Or do I have to squeeze them out of you one by one?â Aolli squeaked. How pathetic.
âBeans?â Yal-sre asked.
âYes, beans. Spill.â
âI- I can tell you where I took them, but they wonât be there anymore.â
âHow do you know that?â Yal-sre asked.
âIt wasnât a permanent location, it was more of a- like a trade center! I just took them there and handed them off to someone else. I donât know where that person took them!â
âDammit!â Yal-sre tensed in... anger? Frustration? Fear? âDo you know... can you at least tell me if theyâre alive?â Yal-sreâs voice softened. Sophia stood back up.
Aolli uncurled themself a little; âI donât know, Iâm sorry. They should be alive, but I havenât heard anything of your sisters since I handed them off. I canât guarantee nothingâs happened.â Yal-sre stepped back, and hunched their posture. âIâm sorry,â Aolli repeated.
âNo you arenât.â
âYes, I am. I- yes Iâm scared of you, but thatâs not why Iâm apologizing. I really do regret my past. Iâve done shitty things, but we used to be friends and I still care about you.â Aolli did sound genuine, but-
âWhat? You used to be their friend? Thatâs a betrayal if Iâve ever seen one!â
âI know! I know! Iâm sorry!â Aolli flinched back into their protective ball.
âItâs...â Yal-sre said, â... a little more complicated than that. But in essence, yes.â
âDamn.â Sophia turned to Aolli, âHEY BITCH!â she grabbed their shoulders and began to shake them forcefully, âWHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!?â
âAIEAISAIEOAI-!â
âSophia stop!â Yal-sre reached out as if to stop her by force, but seemed to think better of it. Their words did the trick, though. Sophia huffed and shoved Aolli backwards into the wall before stepping back. Aolli continued to whimper and shrank impossibly smaller.Â
âWeâll get your sisters back.â
âWhat?â
âWeâll find them.â
âWhat if theyâre already dead?â
Sophia scoffed;Â âItâs gonna take a hell of a lot to kill a rragletatch. Plus, Aolli said they should be alive, itâs dumb to assume someone is dead just because you havenât seen them in awhile. Weâve gotta assume theyâre alive.â
âYou say âweâ.â
âYes, Iâm helping you. Whether you like it or not.â
âWhy?â
âIâm bored.â
âThatâs a really bad reason to make big commitments to dangerous things, but ... thank you? I donât... even know where to start.â Yal-sre looked down at the floor.
âIâve got an idea...â Sophia gave Aolli a wicked grin. Aolli looked up from their flinch-ball position, before reading her expression and tucking themself back.
âAolli can tell us where they last saw your sisters, and we can start asking questions around there.â
âI- itâs fshhhhAK: Naychshhh on planet Nayerzwu. Thatâs where I dropped them off.â Sophia pulled out her mobile device and enabled dictation. âSet route for fshhhAK: Naychshhh: Nayerzwu.â
âYou may have mistyped your search, fshhhAK: Naychshhh: Nayerzwu does not exist. Would you like to see similarly named cities in Naychshhh: Nayerzwu?â
Sophia gripped her device like a boa constrictor killing its prey. She glared daggers. âYou lied.â
âNO, NO, NO! I didnât lie! Itâs just not on any maps, itâs uncharted! Off the books! Thatâs why it was used as the centerpoint for the illicit stuff, they knew we wouldnât be caught in a place that âdidnât existâ!â
âLIAR!â Sophia roared.
âEeeek!â
âNow, wait, Sophia-â Yal-sre interrupted, âThat does sound plausible. They could be telling the truth.â
âFine. Give us precise directions, and weâll see.â Sophia loomed over Aolli.
âI- I donât think I can. Most of the way there is also uncharted. I was shown the way there by someone, and I remember my way mostly by my senses than anything else. Iâm not lying I swear! Please donât hurt me!â
âAre you definitely, 100% certain youâre not lying?â Sophia just had to make sure.
âYes! 100%! Please believe me!â
âOkay. Then you are going to take us there.â Sophia said.
â...â
â... what?â
âââââ
guys iâm not good at editing. If thereâs any parts where you canât tell whoâs speaking, please tell me!
#humans are space orcs#humans are terrifying#OC: Aolli#OC: Yal-Sre#OC: Sophia#they actually did good-cop/bad-cop lmao#Yal-sre is the good cop#Sophia is the bad-cop#Aolli iis the poor innocent victim#except maybe not so innocent hm??#idk#not sure what the backstory is yet#i havenât planned this#so Iâm figuring it out while you are#whatâs with Aolliâs body language?#Iâm foreshadowing but im not exactly sure what im foreshadowing yet#what does it do when you click your tags#and they turn blue?#idk how tumblr works#im new here#okay but imagine being Aolli#Sophia and Yal-sre are kinda used to chaos#but Aolliâs just a bartender#like imagine#a moose and a hippo walk into a bar#You must serve the hippo alcohol#and the moose wants to take you to a secluded location#and the hippo follows#and then they do a whole interrogation#and force you to atone for your deepest regrets
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I have a few questions for autistic people as someone whoâs trying to get a diagnosis. (A lot. I have a lot of questions)
What does being overstimulated feel like? Is sound supposed to actually hurt your ears? Because there are times where things get really loud and I want to turn the volume off, but my ears donât feel sharp like they would with an ear infection. Itâs more just like playing music too loudly. Is that what âhurtingâ means?
ALSO, on the same topic, my clothes never feel like too much on my skin. Iâve always had really bad sensory issues with clothes, to the point where I refused to wear jeans until I was twelve and âgot over itâ (pretended like I wasnât dying). Now I just wear really baggy clothes. Is that why it never feels like my clothes are uncomfortable or tightening when Iâm overwhelmed? Or do I just not suffer from that particular aspect?
And for meltdowns, I think I had one the other day, but it might have been an anxiety/panic attack? How do I know the difference? I aways thought that meltdowns were when I get overwhelmed and lash out at people, but I just learned that they can be crying as well. I had assumed those were anxiety attacks, because I have really bad social anxiety (SM, but for simplicityâs sake). What do meltdowns feel like? From what I heard on the very reliable news source TikTok, they have a lot to do with negative thoughts? So whatâs the difference between crying because youâre upset, and crying because youâre having a meltdown?
A lot of people said that they donât like when people touch them while itâs happening, but I never like when people touch me. They also said they stop speaking sometimes, but thatâs me 24/7, so itâs not very helpful to me. And they also described it as wanting to die, but I always want to die. It HAS been getting worse recently after starting my new job that Iâm super overwhelmed by, so could that be a sign? Whenever Iâm there I just feel like the worst person to ever exist, and that everyone hates me, and I should just give up and quit (life, and the job)
Basically, Iâm asking if I was just upset because I was stressed out, or if that was a meltdown.
Finally. Eye contact. What and why? Why do you not do it? Is it subconscious? Can you physically not do it, or is it just uncomfortable? How do I know if I do it? Because whenever I start paying attention to it, I get self conscious and look awayâ and then back again, and then away again. Am I changing my patterns because I know autistic people arenât supposed to make eye contact and Iâm trying to convince myself that I am, or am I forcing myself to make occasional eye contact because I know thatâs what society wants? How do I try to analyze my behaviors without alerting myself that Iâm under scrutiny and potentially skewing the results?
#sometimes i feel like i dont actually (probably maybe possibly) have autism#and then i write shit like this. âwhat does it feel like when your ears hurtâ WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. PAIN PROBABLY. IT FEELS LIKE PAIN#how do i tag this so people will see it#im just going to type autism and click on everything that pops up#autism#autistic experiences#autistic community#actually autistic#< thats like the bat signal right? all the experts are on that one#help me
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Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.
Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.
#my characters#waiting on some info on the next commission so i indulged in ocs today bc i doubt i will have as much time for lil comics for a bit#deacon is so devoted hes like yeah i would kill for a deity that could easily kill anything himself but yknow teehee#and fulj just did you tell him you needed therapy also does he even know youd murder in his name#deacon caught red handed haha no of course i havent told him it should be obvious enough haha.... and its in his defense not his name :c#man really does have some issues but i love him so much and hes so devoted but like. unhealthily after a while#he does in fact need a chill pill and therapy but to be fair#ymber has needed therapy for centuries and yet he just bottles it all up and suffers so#its pretty unhealthy until they yell at each other one (1) time bc they are so insecure about things and get mad over very valid reasons#but then theyre like you know what that was necessary and i still want to stay by your side if you let me#and then fulj is like dude hey sorry you seem really happy did you fu- and ymber is like no please stop there we have not#fulj just squinting cause have not is very different than will not but whatever she doesnt wanna think about that with deacon involved ew#and eventually fulj is like hey ymber im sorry to say but i really do hate deacon and i dont even know why but he makes me uncomfortable#while deacon is just. in the room. hearing this and thinking how he knows she thinks hes weird but wow that wording hurts#and ymber doesnt wanna fill in memories better forgotten by fulj which she had forcefully removed#so he just says oh well his hair and clothing are black and you had someone in the past that you might see in him and its not a pleasant en#so you know maybe its that idk#and fulj is then WHATST i was rude to him for someone i cant even remember? lame im gonna try SO HARD to be nice to him now#and deacon just still sitting there with some food like this is v awkward and i wish i could not be here for it#and later he asks ymber about who he resembled and as ymber is descibing her it clicks in deacons head and he gets really sad#that he might somehow remind fulj of the woman she loved before she was punished for loving a mortal#and he feels kinda bad pestering her so much with his curiosities about deities and he kinda gets it#the fact hes close to ymber might remind her at the core that she was once that close with a mortal if not closer#anyway story time in the tags again#im so obsessed with these peeps and i have made them suffer so much but they do all end on a happy note#its still funny and nice to me that while fulj is creeped out by deacon and doesnt like talking to him#he still expresses the most emotions to her - he tries hard to remain serious around ymber and collected and obedient at all times#and when out and about with ymber he has to be intimidating and refuses smiling but fulj?? all sunshine and smiles and emotions easy to rea#and she is just that is so weird go away i hate you
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the downside to being a sitcom neighbour sort of person is that when rough things happen and emotionally fuck u up a lil bit, it also sounds completely made up
#bert's dead dad tag#found out today the way my dad told mom he wanted a divorce?#he wrote her a letter and left it on the dining room table for her to find on the morning of her fortieth birthday#who the fuck does that dead father#like that is the sort of thing i would entirely make up if i needed everyone at the table to fuckin hate an npc#and at least one person would go 'you're laying it on a little bit heavy'#i know he did work to become a better person as he got older#which is good because BOY howdy was that man a piece of shit in the early 90s#and we are having Complicated feelings about it tonight and also for the last nine months#something something when i was writing his eulogy i came across an old article discussing something he did in the 90s#YDIP (your dad is problematic)#like yeah this is the sort of thing that would have been vaguely acceptable in the cultural context#but like. still objectively bad. potentially ruining several lives sort of bad.#learned this and then wrote the rest of his eulogy about how he was a great guy and how i'm lucky to have been his son#(which was rough enough on its own because i've never said 'i'm [dad's name]'s son' as many times as i did that trip home)#but like what else do you do? i sent off a message looking for more information#and that information if it comes is just gonna sit with me i guess#sure as hell not telling my sister and this whole thing i've been getting through without really having anyone here for me to talk to#(hence the big fuckoff tag rant. your problem now losers who like clicking the read more button)#so even if i get all the answers i want about this one thing it's not gonna do any good except putting an end to one question#but part of having a dead dad who's been out of the business of forming new memories since you came out is having more questions#answering this one's just gonna add even more questions to the pile#but. got fuckall else to do
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.
#WHY does browser tumblr show me posts from blogs i have blocked?#i don't CARE if it's a post about characters i like i don't want to see or have the option to reblog a gifset from someone i have blocked#and now i have to go filter the username in my post content filters#but when they inevitably change it and it doesn't hit my filters anymore#then there's nothing that tells me i have them blocked without clicking on the blog itself#what good does blocking everyone who jumped ship to put T in their username do if i still see their posts#and when they try to come crawling back to buddie and change their usernames back i won't know#because tumblr is STILL SHOWING ME THEIR POSTS even if i have them blocked!#ugh i might have to give in and update my app so it works#i just fucking hate the new video player/image viewer and i think it's shitty that they broke the app#so you can't view your dash or open a blog without updating you can just scroll tags and see notifications (but can't click them)#and your messages and inbox and settings but that's about it#ANYWAY#tumblr stop showing me posts from bt blogs that i have blocked challenge failed once again#yes yes it's gifsets of buck or oliver or even sometimes buddie but if they've got T in their username i do not trust them or want to see i#just let me block people and never see them again
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I have a wild, new, & bold suggestion for a tumblr feature:
When a tag is recommended or trending. & It previews some posts IN that tag, (showing you thumbnails of art, for instance,) then maybe.
Clicking on that post. Should show you that fucking post.
#em.txt#i use mobile so maybe it's not liek this on desktop#the number of times a trending tab will preview some fire art i cannot find has built this hatred in me#the weird thing is clicking a different preview WILL take you into a different part of the tag/jumble the order#like very consistently you click post A & it shows you posts 1 then 2 then 3#& then you click post B & it shows you 2 then 1 then 3 & clicking A again still has that 1-2-3 order#but for some reason clicking the posts does NOT show you the post you clicked#it's frustrating because like.#you're using trending as a thing to showcase yes? here's what people are talking about!#here's the current news/interests! & here's some of the big posts in that current happening!#& the majority of those tend to be like art or memes that people madr#so if you're using their shit in your broadcast i would enjoy to be able to FIND THEIR SHIT.#am i being unfair & a bitch? yes. but i was actually going to be way meaner about this#which is not an excuse at all. i know i am being vile. i do not care atm.#because yeah i am the type of person who gets mad when I can't find the artists responsible for fire stuff#if i enjoyed their art i might look at their other stuff & enjoy that too & rb & maybe follow#& then maybe my followers also do the same#but here the art is being used to pad out the trending tab but isn't being appropriately linked to#meaning it makes the trendings look good but the artist is lost while their works are still used#& that already happens enough.#i have been pissed for years at this
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list of possible netscapenavigaytor tags:
something kind of insane and only tangentially relevant
talking about fictional character
hopefully genuinely thoughtful insight and commentary to the post at hand
deeply baring my soul for the whole fucking world to see
"this is so fucking swag awesomesauce badass"
#error 0#honestly i dont think i could ever totally click with any social media type site that doesnt let me make tons of commentary#without it getting in the way of others' blogging#i have so many thoughts! i have so many things to say!#i dont know how anyone can just silently reblog posts; are there no words in your head or do you prefer to keep them to oneself?#i dont say this as a statement of judgement of course becasue everyone lives the ultimate bloging their own way#but i cant imagine being given what is basically a free ''put commentary that doesnt interrupt the post'' box on every post#and then NOT using it constantly all the time#of course there are pros and cons to this - it is nice to have a diary of my thoughts but also at the same time#many things i say are a tad embarrassing to look back on.#but i would rather they continue to exist. i deleted too much of the picture of myself when i was much younger and i regret it dearly#but i promised to myself i wont obliterate the me i was in the past anymore. even if i say something embarassing#oh look here it is again - me talking too long tangentially related baring my soul in the tags#i like to spin around and talk in public to no one in particular in a place where no reply is necessarily Expected!#where i will be perceived but no other expectations exist. i get shy about it sometimes but#there's a sort of joy i get out of just logging my thoughts and feelings into this silly little blog!#and while i suppose it does not matter too much if it doesnt since i do this for myself#i do hope my rambles bring some small joy or entertainment to my followers#i mean i certainly must imagine the tags must be what you follow me for if ur not one of my personal friends LMAO#given how themeless and arbitrary this blog is#actually im curious now - if you read this far and youre not following me Just because we're friends#then what DO you follow me for? very interested to know#ok i need to go eat something i post this now and stop talking until i eat.
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STOOOOOOP wtf is wrong with youuuuuuu. Fucking 76288 fucking that is NOT a thing!! This "desktop" only has six of the things I have on my desktop?? I'm not great at computers but I genuinely do not understand the issssuuuueeeeee
#im just trying to move my PPT onto my flashdrive đđđ#when i save it its like 'we cant conect sith the server rn but we saved it locally :)'#BUT ITS NOT SAVED LOCALLY???#hold on wait i just thought of somehting#edit: anyway that didnt work so like i cant fuckig move the file to my flashdrive cause it literally doesnt exost on my computer?#like it DOES because its openable within PowerPoint. like its saved. but i cant access those files?#i just took the time to search literally the entire computer and it didnt show up so there must be some sort of search block or something#on the internal files or something idk im just guessing. this is so.#its not even frustrating im just like. What. what is this issue. you have my file. i dont care if its in your cloud. just save it to my#computer.#if i was on mac i coukd fix this so faaaaaast. why doesnt windows keep the internal files for an application accessable from the like.#the finder. thing. like im not explaining that right and i dont know what im talking about really i just AHH.#like on mac i can use finder to access my like browser history. idk how to do that on windows. you probably have to use the terminal or some#thing nerdy like that. pleas ei just. want my powerpoint to exist. on my computer. so i can click and fuckijng drag it to my thumbdrive#im feel like im fucjing praying in the tumblr tags pleassepleaspekpelase computer if u can hear me.
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how to find literally any post on a blog in seconds (on desktop)
there are so many posts about ~tumblr is so broken, you canât find any post on your own blog, itâs impossible, bluhrblub~
I am here to tell you otherwise! it is in fact INCREDIBLY easy to find a post on a blog if youâre on desktop/browser and you know what youâre doing:
url.tumblr.com/tagged/croissant will bring up EVERY post on the blog tagged with the specific and exact phrase #croissant. every single post, every single time. in chronological order starting with the most recent post. note: it will not find #croissants or that time you made the typo #croidnssants. for a tag with multiple words, itâs just /tagged/my-croissant and it will show you everything with the exact phrase #my croissant
url.tumblr.com/tagged/croissant/chrono will bring up EVERY post on the blog tagged with the exact phrase #croissant, but it will show them in reverse order with the oldest firstÂ
url.tumblr.com/search/croissant isnât as perfect at finding everything, but itâs generally loads better than the search on mobile. it will find a good array of posts that have the word croissant in them somewhere. could be in the body of the post (op captioned it âlook at my croissantâ) or in the tags (#man I want a croissant). it wonât necessarily find EVERYTHING like /tagged/ does, but I find itâs still more reliable than search on mobile. you can sometimes even find posts by a specific user by searching their url. also, unlike whatever random assortment tumblr mobile pulls up, it will still show them in a more logically chronological order
url.tumblr.com/day/2020/11/05 will show you every post on the blog from november 5th, 2020, in case youâre taking a break from croissants to look for destiel election memesÂ
url.tumblr.com/archive/ is search paradise. easily go to a particular month and see all posts as thumbnails! search by post type! search by tags but as thumbnails now
url.tumblr.com/archive/filter-by/audio will show you every audio post on your blog (you can also filter by other post types). sometimes a little imperfect if youâre looking for a video when the op embedded the video in a text post instead of posting as a video post, etc
url.tumblr.com/archive/tagged/croissant will show you EVERY post on the blog tagged with the specific and exact phrase #croissant, but it will show you them in the archive thumbnail view divided by months. very useful if youâre looking for a specific picture of a croissant that was reblogged 6 months ago and want to be able to scan for it quicklyÂ
url.tumblr.com/archive/filter-by/audio/tagged/croissant will show you every audio post tagged with the specific phrase #croissant (you can also filter by photo or text instead, because I donât know why you have audio posts tagged croissant)Â
the tag system on desktop tumblr is GENUINELY amazing for searching within a specific blog!Â
caveat: this assumes a person HAS a desktop theme (or âcustom themeâ) enabled. a âcustom themeâ is url.tumblr.com, as opposed to tumblr.com/url. Iâve heard you have to opt-into the former now, when it used to be the default, so not everyone HAS a custom theme where you can use all those neat url tricks.Â
if the person doesnât have a âcustom themeâ enabled, youâre beholden to the search bar. still, Iâve found the search bar on tumblr.com/url is WAY more reliable than search on mobile. for starters, it tends to bring posts up in a sensible order, instead of dredging up random posts from 2013 before anything else
if youâre on mobile, Iâm sorry. godspeed and good luck finding anything. (my one tip is that if youâre able to click ON a tag rather than go through the search bar, youâll have better luck. if your mutual has recently reblogged a post tagged #croissant, you can click #croissant and itâll bring up everything tagged #croissant just like /tagged/croissant. but if thereâs no readily available tag to click on, you have to rely on the mobile search bar and its weird bizarre whims)Â
#tumblr#tumblr tips#tumblr tags#tumblr search#tumblr how to#new to tumblr#why did I pick croissants as the example? who knows!#but I'm a pro at finding things on people's blogs especially my own#takes me like 4 seconds to find Exactly The Post I'm Looking For no matter how long ago I reblogged it
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đđ”đž eSims for Gaza masterpost đ”đžđ
Which eSims are currently being called for?
Connecting Humanity is calling for:
Nomad (âregional Middle Eastïżœïżœ plan): code NOMADCNG
Simly (âPalestineâ plan)
Gaza Online is calling for:
Holafly (âIsraelâ and âEgyptâ plans): code HOLACNG
Nomad (âregional Middle Eastâ plan): code NOMADCNG (can now be used multiple times from the same email)
Airalo (âMiddle East and North Africaâ plan)
Sparks (âIsraelâ plan)
Numero (âEgyptâ plan)
For Connecting Humanity: if you sent an eSim more than two weeks ago and it is still valid and not yet activated, reply to the email in which you originally sent the eSim. To determine whether the eSim is still valid, scan the QR code with a smartphone; tap the yellow button that reads âCellular planâ; when a screen comes up reading âActivate eSIM,â click the button that says âContinue.â If a message comes up reading âeSIM Cannot Be Added: This code is no longer valid. Contact your carrier for more information,â the eSim is activated, expired, or had an error in installation, and should not be sent. It is very important not to re-send invalid eSims, since people may walk several kilometers to access wifi to connect their eSims only to find out that they cannot be activated.
If a screen appears reading âActivate eSIM: An eSIM is ready to be activatedâ with a button asking you to âContinue,â do not click âContinueâ to activate the eSim on your phone; exit out of the screen and reply to the email containing that QR code.
Be sure you're looking at the original post, as this will be continually updated. Any new instructions about replying to emails for specific types of unactivated plans will also appear here.
Check the notes of blackpearlblasts's eSim post, as well as fairuzfan's 'esim' tag, for referral and discount codes.
How do I purchase an eSim?
If you cannot download an app or manage an eSim yourself, send funds to Crips for eSims for Gaza (Visa; Mastercard; Paypal; AmEx; Canadian e-transfer), or to me (venmo @gothhabiba; paypal.me/Najia; cash app $NajiaK, with note âesimsâ or similar; check the notes of this post for updates on what I've purchased.)
You can purchase an eSim yourself using a mobile phone app, or on a desktop computer (with the exception of Simly, which does not have a desktop site). See this screenreader-accessible guide to purchasing an eSim through each of the five services that the Connecting Humanity team is calling for (Simly, Nomad, Mogo, Holafly, and Airalo).
Send a screenshot of the plan's QR code to [email protected]. Be sure to include the app used, the word "esim," the type of plan (when an app has more than one, aka "regional Middle East" versus "Palestine"), and the amount of data or time on the plan, in the subject line or body of your email.
Message me if you have any questions or if you need help purchasing an eSim through one of these apps.
If youâre going to be purchasing many eSims at once, see Jane Shiâs list of tips.
Which app should I use?
Try to buy an eSim from one of the apps that the team is currently calling for (see above).
If the team is calling for multiple apps:
Nomad is best in terms of data price, app navigability, and ability to top up when they are near expiry; but eSims must be stayed on top of, as you cannot top them up once the data has completely run out. Go into the app settings and make sure your "data usage" notifcations are turned on.
Simly Middle East plans cannot be topped up; Simly Palestine ones can. Unlike with Nomad, data can be topped up once it has completely run out.
Holafly has the most expensive data, and top-ups don't seem to work.
Mogo has the worst user interface in my opinion. It is difficult or impossible to see plan activation and usage.
How much data should I purchase?
Mirna el-Helbawi has been told that large families may all rely on the same plan for data (by setting up a hotspot). Some recipients of eSim plans may also be using them to upload video.
For those reasons I would recommend getting the largest plan you can afford for plans which cannot be topped up: namely, Simly "Middle East" plans, and Holafly plans (they say you can top them up, but I haven't heard of anyone who has gotten it to work yet).
For all other plans, get a relatively small amount of data (1-3 GB, a 3-day plan, etc.), and top up the plan with more data once it is activated. Go into the appâs settings and make sure low-data notifications are on, because a 1-GB eSIM can expire very quickly.
Is there anything else I need to do?
Check back regularly to see if the plan has been activated. Once it's been activated, check once a day to see if data is still being used, and how close the eSim is to running out of data or to expiring; make sure your notifications are on.
If the eSim hasn't been activated after three weeks or so, reply to the original email that you sent to Gaza eSims containing the QR code for that plan.
If you purchased the eSim through an app which has a policy of starting the countdown to auto-expiry a certain amount of time after the purchase of the eSim, rather than only upon activation (Nomad does this), then also reply to your original e-mail once you're within a few days of this date. If you're within 12 hours of that date, contact customer service and ask for a credit (not a refund) and use it to purchase and send another eSim.
How can I tell if my plan has been activated? How do I top up a plan?
The Connecting Humanity team recommends keeping your eSims topped up once they have been activated.
See this guide on how to tell if your plan has been activated, how to top up plans, and (for Nomad) how to tell when the auto-expiry will start. Keep topping up the eSim for as long as the data usage keeps ticking up. This keeps a person or family connected for longer, without the Connecting Humanity team having to go through another process of installing a new eSim.
If the data usage hasn't changed in a week or so, allow the plan to expire and purchase another one.
What if I can't afford a larger plan, or don't have time or money to keep topping up an eSim?
I have set up a pool of funds out of which to buy and top up eSims, which you can contribute to by sending funds to my venmo (@gothhabiba), PayPal (paypal.me/Najia), or cash app ($NajiaK) (with note âesimsâ or similar). Check the notes of this post for updates on what I've purchased, which plans are active, and how much data they've used.
Crips for eSims for Gaza also has a donation pool to purchase eSims and top them up.
Gaza Online (run by alumni of Gaza Sky Geeks) accepts monetary donations to purchase eSims as needed.
What if my eSim has not been activated, even after I replied to my email?
Make sure that the QR code you sent was a clear screenshot, and not a photo of a screen; and that you didnât install the eSim on your own phone by scanning the QR code or clicking âinstall automatically."
Possible reasons for an eSim not having been activated include: it was given to a journalist as a back-up in case the plan they had activated expired or ran out of data; there was an error during installation or activation and the eSim could no longer be used; the eSim was installed, but not activated, and then Israeli bombings destroyed the phone, or forced someone to leave it behind.
An eSim that was sent but couldnât be used is still part of an important effort and learning curve. Errors in installation, for example, are happening less often than they were in the beginning of the project.
Why should I purchase an eSim? Is there any proof that they work?
Israel is imposing near-constant communications blackouts on Gaza. The majority of the news that you are seeing come from Gaza is coming from people who are connected via eSim.
eSims also connect people to news. People are able to videochat with their family for the first time in months, to learn that their family members are still alive, to see their newborn children for the first time, and more, thanks to eSims.
Some of this sharing of news saves lives, as people have been able to flee or avoid areas under bombardment, or learn that they are on evacuation lists.
Why are different plans called for at different times?
Different eSims work in different areas of the Gaza Strip (and Egypt, where many refugees currently are). The team tries to keep a stockpile of each type of sim on hand.
Is there anything else I can do to help?
There is an urgent need for more eSims. Print out these posters and place them on bulletin boards, in local businesses, on telephone poles, or wherever people are likely to see them. Print out these foldable brochures to inform people about the initiative and distribute them at protests, cafes and restaurants, &c. Also feel free to make your own brochures using the wording from this post.
The Connecting Humanity team is very busy connecting people to eSims and don't often have time to answer questions. Check a few of Mirna El Helbawi's most recent tweets and see if anyone has commented with any questions that you can answer with the information in this post.
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â§âË â
i'll show you, rafe cameron
stepbro!rafe x fem!reader
masterlist
synopsis. in which your stepbrother kindly offers to show you porn for the first time.
warnings. stepbro!rafe, innocent!reader (but she's not an airhead), virgin!reader, smut, fingering, rafe putting in just the tip, oral sex (fem receiving), rafe licks his own creampie.
word count. 4k.
author's note. idea by @matts1andonly. english isn't my first language so there might be spelling mistakes, don't hold it against me. enjoy!
it's past midnight when you finally slide out of your bedroom without making a sound. you have been waiting patiently for your mom and ward to go to bed so you can do this without risking getting caught. wheezie is already asleep too, sarah is out with john b somewhere, and rafe left the house earlier, not telling anyone where to, so you know he's going to arrive late, as always.
it's the perfect moment.
rafe's room is down the hallway, so you make your way there quietly not to wake anyone, your barefoot feet making soft footstep sounds when you walk. once there, you open the door as carefully as you possibly can, knowing it creaks every time it gets open. this time, thanks to god, it does not.
you manage to sneak into the dormitory unnoticed, then shut the door behind you. the place is dark, only a faint glimmer of moonlight coming in through his curtains, but you want to lay low, so you don't turn on the lights. by all means, the dim lighting is enough for you to spot what you're looking for.
rafe's mac, laying there on his desk.
what's the point behind all of this? you might be wondering. well, let me answer you real quick. turns out, this handsome, muscled college guy has invited you on a date. problem is, you have never been on a date. you haven't even hold hands with a guy romantically before, much less kissed or fucked one. you simply refuse to come off as a prude, which honestly you are, but that dream of a man doesn't need to know that.
and that's why you have decided that it is a good idea to break into your stepbrother's bedroom and borrow his laptop, since yours broke last week, to watch porn in it for the first time.
well, now that you hear it out loud, it probably sounded better in your head. anyways...
you stroll towards the desk with languid steps and sit down on rafe's chair, small hands reaching hesitantly to open the laptop. you turn it on and the screen light illuminates your pretty face right away. you swear your fingers are shaking a little bit as you open up the browser and type 'porn videos' on the search bar.
somehow, you feel like you are doing something wrong, and you can't seem to shake the guilt away. either way, you don't back out. you click the enter button and, after just a few seconds, a million search results pop up. honestly, you don't know where to start, so you click on the first one, which redirects you to a website called pornhub.
the home page is full of videos, the first thing to catch your attention being the obscene thumbnails of each one of them. your cheeks flush a deep shade of red. you read some of the titles as you bite your lip nervously, realising most of them contain the word 'stepsister' in them, and you wonder if that is the only content posted on this page.
how innocent of you not to know that the website is making recommendations based on your stepbro's most searched tag.
before things escalate further, you spot rafe's airpods max sitting there on the desk and decide to grab them, connecting them to the laptop and putting them on âthis way you can make sure no one overhears anything. after that, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through the page, during which you discover that there's a ton of categories to choose from.
how are you supposed to know which one to pick?
you are so invested in your little research, headphones canceling the noise, that you don't hear neither rafe opening the front door nor him walking up the stairs and, surely, don't notice him standing behind you until he speaks. and it's too late by then.
"the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?" he blurts, complete and utterly shocked to see his naive stepsister fuckin' watching pornhub.
well shit, maybe you aren't as innocent as he thought you were.
you jolt instantly, jumping out of your seat as you feel all the colour draining from your cheeks. no way rafe just caught you in the act. this can't be real. despite how bad you want to run away, you are left with no other choice but to turn around and face him, wishing the earth would swallow you up.
"iâ this is not what it looks like, i swear i can explain," you stutter nervously, taking of the airpods with trembling hands. from here on, the anxious rambling begins, "i wasn't doing anything... this guyâ well, i... i uhmâ i got a date, 'kay? with this guy from class andâ listen, i know this is silly, but..."
"jesus christ, baby, slow down, 'kay?" he stops you, his heart nearly melting from how cute you look, so shy and flustered. he almost feels bad for interrupting whatever the hell you were doing here.
the colour has returned to your cheeks, and you are all flushed now, from head to toe. your face feels like it's on fire; you have never been this embarrassed before.
"could you please start over?" he asks, hoping to hear a coherent explanation to why you are in his room, in the middle of the night, and watching porn on his laptop.
you take a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you are so deeply ashamed that you don't seem to remember that you are wearing nothing but a flimsy white singlet and a tiny pair of matching panties. rafe's very aware of that fact, though, hungry eyes trailing all over your beautiful body.
"i've got a date with a guy from class," you start explaining, white teeth nibling occasionally on your plump bottom lip, "but i've never dated anyone, ya' know? i've no experience, and i don't want him to think i'm pathetic if we..."
"fuck?" he finishes your sentence, a roguish grin spreading across his handsome face.
if possible, your blush deepens even more at the vulgarity while you mutter a quiet 'yeah' in response.
honestly, he is a bit jealous of that guy. not only you are willing to let him fuck you, but you are also trying to learn how to do it properly so he has a good time doing it. yeez, what a shame for him he is going to kill him as soon as he finds out who he is; there's no chance rafe's letting you near any other man but him.
"i thought, uhm, maybe watching that would help..." you add coyly, his silence making you more nervous.
it is cute how you try to avoid saying words like 'fuck' or 'porn', like it is a crime to pronounce them or something.
"you know what? let's watch it together," he proposes.
there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed. you swear your cheeks might just explode at any second, and you can't help the pathetic stutter that comes out when you talk. "uhm, i don't think that'd be appropriate," you refuse, shaking your head.
"why not? you want help, and i can help you here, sweetheart," he answers, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle âunlike rafe, "that's what big brothers are for, aren't they?"
he takes a few steps in his direction until he is standing right beside you. then, he grabs the laptop in his large hands as he flashes you a wicked smirk, his curtain bangs falling messily on his forehead. you gulp, having him so close makes you feel a certain way; you cannot deny that.
"you, uhm, being my stepbrother is exactly why not," you stammer as you tilt your head back to look at him, his height towering over you.
"bullshit," he retorts, huffing. "you trust me?"
your first mistake is, probably, trusting rafe cameron. "yeah, i do, but..."
"that's why 'm perfect for the job, baby," he interrupts you. his words are clearly intended to manipulate you, but you are way too innocent to notice it, "i'm probably the guy you feel most comfortable with, aren't i? i can give ya' all the advice you need."
to be fair, he isn't wrong about that. you don't have any male friends, and you are honestly too embarrassed to ask your girlfriends for help on this department, not wanting them to think less of you. plus, rafe is a guy; he knows better what guys like, right?
"wouldn't it be kinda... weird ?" you ask, clearly hesistant.
"weird?" he repeats. "no, 'course not."
only a few more sweet, reassuring words is all it takes for him to gently coax you into watching his favourite pornos with him. his cock starts to harden in his pants just at the thought of having you like that. when you finally accept, he swears he's on cloud nine.
god, he's been wanting you for months now; he can't believe this is happening.
"c'mere, baby," he eagerly instructs you, getting on his bed.
he sits with his back resting on the headboard and pats the spot between his legs to invite you to sit there. he places the laptop next to him, the pornhub website still open on it. you move slowly towards him, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment as you settle on the mattress in between his parted thighs, your back pressed to his hard chest.
he wraps one strong arm securely around your waist, his hand coming to rest gently on your tummy. with his other hand, he reaches for the laptop sitting beside him, carefully bringing it closer so the two of you can see the screen properly.
your heart is beating so fast in your chest that he can probably hear it, too. the way he is touching you is not making it easier for you to stay calm, either, his fingers tenderly tracing patterns on your belly over the thin fabric of your shirt while he scrolls through the page.
he seems to sense your discomfort and chuckles low in his throat, his warm breath tickling your ear. "relax, sis," he whispers teasingly, his voice laced with amusement. "i'm not gonna make you watch anything that'll traumatize you."
"it's justâ this is a bad idea," you babble, fidgeting nervously when he finally clicks on a video and a pretty young woman appears on screen.
the actress is beautiful; she has a gorgeous body and face. her lips are full and pink, and she has these big, expressive eyes that appear to gleam. and you don't realize it, but she looks exactly like you.
the scene starts playing; in it, the girl is watching some movie with a guy that, apparently, is her roommate âat least that's what the title says.
"shhh..." he hushes you softly, his voice barely audible over the sounds emanating from his laptop's speakers. "just watch. don't overthink it."
"okay," you answer between gritted teeth.
your pretty eyes are fixed on the laptop while you try not to cringe at how bad the script and acting are, which is nearly impossible, to be honest. despite that, you keep watching in silence as the video plays, growing more flustered as the clock ticks.
you didn't know mouths could be used for that... interesting.
as opposed to you, rafe's pretty chill behind you, like he's unbothered by this whole situation âhe's actually hard as fuck inside his pants, the thing is you haven't noticed. you wonder how he can act so unfazed, since you keep pushing your thighs together to try and soothe the throbbing sensation building in between them while you take in the lewd actions occurring on screen.
you weren't expecting your body to have this reaction, and now you don't know what to do to make it stop.
rafe soon becomes aware of the way you keep letting out soft sighs and squirming in his arms, plush ass rubbing against his cock every time you do it. it's a miracle he is still holding back, though he doesn't know how much time he will be able to.
he's not even paying attention to the video anymore, his entire focus put on you. he finally ventures to lean in, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "you know, i could do that to you..." his hand slowly slides to your plush thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.
his movements are measured and controlled not to scare you, but your breath hitches in your chest at his actions either way, body tensing up in his grasp. your brain is telling you to push him away, but the insistent throb in your sex doesn't like that idea, not one bit.
"youâ you could?" you utter quietly, not taking your eyes away from the laptop.
rafe notices the uncertainty in your voice, but the way you haven't pushed him away yet emboldens him to continue, his large hand gradually sliding north.
"yeah, baby," he murmurs huskily against your ear, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh. "i could put my fingers inside you, just like he's doing to her..."
his words make you blush heavily as a little gasp is released from your pouty lips. "would it feel good?" you ask naively.
your eyes are transfixed in the sight of the guy on the screen pushing his fingers inside the girl's pussy. god, she seems like she's enjoying it so much... and you desperately want to feel like that too. you can't even bring yourself to care that it's your stepbrother offering to show you.
rafe's fingers creep higher and higher until they're barely brushing against your cotton panties. "yeah," he growls huskily against your ear, "it'd feel real good, sweetheart. i promise..."
you shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. you tear your eyes away from the screen, head falling back against his chest as you look up at him.
"it's throbbing, rafe..." you whine, self-control slipping from your hands. "can you make it better?"
rafe's fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. he rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.
"oh, baby, you're soaked through your panties..." he pants out.
your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure. the girl in the video moans, and you do too, both sounds echoing in the silence of his room.
taking your moan as an invitation, rafe carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.
"such a pretty little pussy..." he praises, eyes hungrily taking in the pink expanse of flesh.
you squirm and let out a soft whimper, biting your lip right after to avoid keep making noises; the last thing you want is to wake up your parents or wheezie. rafe notices your struggle and swiftly reaches up to cover your mouth with his free hand, muffling your sweet moans.
he gathers some of the wetness dripping out of your cunt before trailing his fingers all the way up to your clit, rubbing it gently. your eyes roll back, hips bucking up against his hand instinctively. the way your swollen bud throbs beneath his fingertips is going to make you mad. he begins to touch your clit in fast, tight circles, his other hand still holding your mouth shut to keep you quiet.
he leans in to whisper against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "if you make a sound, i'll stop, got it?"
you nod obediently in response, making your best effort to comply; you don't want him to stop doing this, never. as a reward, rafe slides a thick finger down your slit and presses it against your clenched entry, steadily applying pressure until your tight muscles finally give in and allow his digit ingress.
"so fuckin' tight," he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his finger.
withdrawing his finger almost all the way out, he teases your entrance with the tip, making you tremble with anticipation before pushing it back in to the knuckle, his palm cupping your mound as he starts to thrust in a smooth, lazy rhythm. you swallow a whiny cry while your eyelids flutter shut, pretty face scrunched in a blissful expression.
rafe works his finger in and out of your slick pussy slowly, marveling at how your velvety walls flutter around the digit. he curls it inward, searching for that special spot that's guaranteed to drive you wild.
after a few experimental pokes, rafe's fingertip finally brushes over your g-spot, eliciting a muffled moan from under his palm. he smiles wickedly against your skin, and you shudder in his grasp, pleasure waves running through your body.
"that's it, sweetheart... feel good?" he croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.
you can't bring yourself to reply, the sensation of his large digit fucking your pussy, added to the constant rubbing of his palm against your puffy clit has your mind feeling all fuzzy. your body language is the only answer he needs, though.
rafe leans in to tenderly nip at your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your slender throat as he keeps pumping his finger steadily in and out of your dripping cunt. he knows you're close when he feels your inner muscles starting to clench erratically around his digit.
"rafe," you moan onto his palm as you feel this new, strange sensation building in your tummy, pussy tingling so nicely.
heaven help him. hearing you, his stepsister, moan his name like that makes rafe's hard dick throb almost painfully against his zipper.
and then it happens. the coil in your belly suddenly snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as you cum for the very first time, on your stepbrother's hand. rafe continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure.
when you finally come down from your high, you're all shaky and flustered in his arms, panting heavily to try and catch your breath. he has a satisfied smirk on his lips while he slowly withdraws his slick digit from your quivering hole to bring it up to his mouth and lick it clean, savoring your taste.
"did so well for me, baby," he coos as he uncovers your mouth, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips.
you return it sloppily, eyes fluttering shut in the process, and you sigh contently against his mouth. he can't help but rock his hips against your ass, rubbing his hard on against you.
"did i make you feel good?" he asks between little kisses, his breathing growing uneven. you nod in response. "yeah? then it's just fair you make me feel good too, sweetheart... wanna do that f'me?"
"yes," you whisper against his lips without even thinking, feeling him smirk into the kiss.
"such a good girl," he praises.
at some point, the porn video playing on his laptop ended, so he simply closes it up and tosses it away, the device landing somewhere on his king size bed. then, he turns you both around, until you are laying on the mattress and he is on top of you.
he is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his raging hard on, which bounces against his abs. let me tell you this, he's big, the tip pink and fat, already leaking precum.
suddenly, realization hits you. this is your stepbrother for god's sake, are you really gonna let him fuck you?
he notices how your body tenses up, one hand reaching to stroke your plush thigh reassuringly while the other wraps around his shaft, giving it a slow pump.
"hey, baby, relax..." he whispers gently, "i'll put just the tip in, yeah? there's nothing wrong with that."
you hesitate. his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug you closer. then his cock brushes your pussy and you whimper. how are you supposed to say 'no' ?
it's just the tip.
"mhmm, 'kay" you end up agreeing with a little nod.
rafe flashes you a lopsided smirk, his hand gripping his cock again while the free one yanks your panties aside once more. keeping eye contact, he slowly glides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your arousal. you shudder as his tip eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.
"rafe," you whimper.
rafe's eyelids droop, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the reddened head up and down your chubby pussy lips with squelching sounds. his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick folds, reveling in your breathy whimpers. he feels like he's about to burst already, pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip and onto your flesh.
he can't fucking take this anymore.
with a slow, gentle thrust, he sinks his cock into your warm, slippery pussy, just the head breaching your entrance before he pauses, savoring the initial penetration. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.
"jesus, fuck." he grunts.
your cunt starts fluttering around him. he has barely slided the first two inches in, as he promised, but he's so thick that even that feels like a tight fit. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from rafe as your velvety walls clench tightly around his swollen cockhead.
"gonnaâ might just nut already, shit" rafe mutters through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to just drive forward and hilt himself deep. "so goddamn tight."
your hips buck unconsciously against his, making him slip in just a tad further âwhich nearly makes him lose all his self-control. somehow, he manages to keep his shit together, hips rocking slowly to thrust in and out of you while his veiny hand strokes the rest of his shaft.
you're totally enthralled by the sight, liquid heat pooling in your belly while you watch him use your body for his pleasure. he looks so good, you can't believe he's real. your chest fills with pride at the knowledge that you're making this greek god feel good.
this is the fastest rafe has ever cum, the movement of his hips becoming jerky and sloppy after a few minutes as he spills his sperm inside you. he's panting heavily, sweat beading on his brow while his fist squeezes the base of his cock tightly.
you're left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, pussy stretched out and leaking white spurts of cum. he gazes down at you with a smirk, lightly tapping the head of his dick against your swollen clit, which has you writhing beneath him.
"so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," he whispers, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your slit. you mewl in response. "hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart, lemme clean it up, yeah?"
you blush in response when he leans forward, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the heavenly feeling, his playful tongue delving between your folds to lap up his own release. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to mess you up again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he makes you cum again.
after tonight, you are cancelling that date, that's for sure.
#đ â§âË â
rafeysbunny#đ â§âË â
one shots#obx#outer banks#obx smut#outer banks smut#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron outer banks#outer banks rafe#rafe obx#obx rafe cameron#outer banks rafe cameron#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe x you#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe outer banks#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron x virgin!reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x innocent!reader#just the tip#stepbro!rafe#stepbrother!rafe cameron#rafe cameron x stepsister!reader
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â trouble will find me
[part ii | masterlist]
bodyguard!logan x mobsterâs daughter!reader
rated e - 3k
tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship
a/n: I canât stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl heâs guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! đđ
His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, ââs a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.â
Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.
âSupposed to keep me out of trouble,â You hum, âBut what if I want a little in me?â
You can feel his eyes follow you.
Which shouldnât really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.
But thereâs something in the way he watches.
A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.
Indulging, almost. Unashamed.
You might have a crush.
You're trying not to think about it too much.
Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.
It's all bright lights.
The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.
He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.
Logan is so different from the ones before him.
Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.
Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.
It was exhausting.
Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.
Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.
It's not how you saw him, though.
His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.
You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.
Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.
You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.
Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.
He'll last longer than the others, at least.
More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.
An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.
Youâve been thinking about that for days.
There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.
But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.
Itâs been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.
The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.
With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.
A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.
Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.
You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.
Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.
A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.
There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.
"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.
A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.
"Come on, man. I saw her first."
Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."
Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.
"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."
And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.
The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.
You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.
Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.
"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.
His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"
Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.
"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.
"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"
That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."
"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.
Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.
You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.
The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.
There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.
But it hasn't been like this.
Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs. Â
"That the only reason you whisked me away?â Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."
"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.â
Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.
You break the eye contact first.
âWell, itâs fine.â You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, âI didnât want him anyways.â
Logan grunts. Thereâs the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before heâs pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.
âAre you going to ask me what I do want?â
Thereâs the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.
âI know what you want, sweetheart.â He rasps, âNot gonna happen.â
The rejection stings, and you pout, âWhat isnât?â
A sigh, and heâs stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.
âYou want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.â Loganâs eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, âIâm not that guy.â
You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.
Wondering if heâs thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.
âYouâre wrong,â Your head shakes, âI donât want that.â
A breath, before youâre confessing, âI want you.â
Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.
ââs a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.â
Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.
âSupposed to keep me out of trouble,â You echo, âBut what if I want a little trouble in me?â
The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.
âYou wouldnât know what to do with me.â He rasps, voice low.
Youâre undeterred.
âCould get on my knees.â You coo, âYou could show me. Would you like that?â
Loganâs jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.
âItâs not going like that,â He husks. The tone is the same as when heâs ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, âThose are staying right there. Got that, honey?â
All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.
The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.
Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.
âLook at you,â His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, âNeed this, donât you?â
Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.
âGood girl.â He muses, as your hands flatten again.
The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.
Pressing, and circling. Itâs agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.
It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.
âMaking a mess.â
You can only whine in reply. Afraid that heâll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - heâs made it clear heâs in charge here, and for once youâre willing to follow.
The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.
âThat for me?â
Your head nods, âLogan, please-â
Thereâs a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, âYou want me here?â
âYes.â
You need him. Need anything heâll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.
âAsk me.â He coos.
âPlease put use your fingers,â It comes in a rush, âWant you in me-â
Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before heâs parting you.
The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.
His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.
Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as youâre stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.
The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.
Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.
âI wanna watch. Let me see you.â
He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.
The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open. A throaty groan when he sees you, one that he can't quite manage to bite back - the rough sound shooting straight through you.
You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.
Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.
The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.
âYou been fucked like this before?â Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.
Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.
His other hand taps against your thigh.
âWords, sweetheart.â
âNo,â It comes out hushed. Needy. âNever.â
His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - itâs not long before he has you close.
A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.
Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.
âLogan,â You pant. âThat feels, ah, I think Iâm gonna come-â
He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.
âGive it to me,â Logan growls, âCome on my fucking fingers, baby.â
Itâs impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.
The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.
It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.
âThatâs fucking it. Come on, honey.â He coos, âJust look at you, so fucking pretty.â
The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.
His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.
Before heâs focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.
âOpen.â
They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.
âGood girl.â
Itâs soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until youâve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.
A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. Thereâs the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.
Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until youâre pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.
Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.
Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Loganâs forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.
Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word âfuckâ rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.
âYou going to listen now? Get that out of your system?â It comes out ragged, and youâre nodding.
All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.
âGood.â He growls, âCome on.â
A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.
âIâm taking you home.â
ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because itâs pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants đđ)
#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#logan howlett x you#wolverine smut#logan howlett#james logan howlett x reader#xmen x reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett x f!reader
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PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1
simon riley / reader
FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3
tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI
cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes
note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!
you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.
part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k
Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed.Â
It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off.Â
People your age didnât struggle like this, you convinced yourself. Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of.Â
By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.
You didnât even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in.Â
âHey, Simon!â you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting.Â
He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you.Â
âWhat's with you?â he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously.Â
âUm,â you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, âWhat do you mean?â
âYou lookâŠâ his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, âYou look tense.â
Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, âThatâs no different than usual.â
He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator.Â
âWhereâs all your fuckinâ food?â he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.
âDidnât get a chance to shop this week, Si,â you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.
âWhy?â he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.
âPaycheck was short again this week,â you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldnât look into it anymore than that.Â
He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, âYour boss fuckinâ stiff you again?â
âI-Itâs not a big deal, Simonââ you attempted to quell him.
âNot a big deal?â he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, âIt is a big deal when you canât even afford to fuckinâ eat!â
âSimonâŠâ you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, âI wasnât going hungry, I have likeâŠramen and stuffâŠâ
He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, âWhy didnât you tell me that you couldnât afford proper groceries?â
âI didnât want to bother you with it, Si,â you mutter, âI-Itâs my problem, not yours.â
He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.
He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.
âSimon, noââ you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.
He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, âYouâll take this and youâll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or Iâm going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckinâ hands around your bossâs throat until he coughs up your money.â
âYou donât have to do this, Simon!â you argue, exasperated, âY-You donât have to take care of me like this.â
âYes, I fuckinâ do!â he counters, âYouâre my responsibility and Iâm not going to let you exist on fuckinâ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.â
He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.
âThank you, SimonâŠâ you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.
âShut up and go,â he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now.Â
You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it.Â
You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before heâs taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. Itâs like heâs always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.
âIs something wrong?â you ask, still standing by the table.
He grunts, shaking his head, âOrderin' dinner.â
âOh,â you mumble, âWhatâre you getting?â
âGettinâ from that breakfast diner you like,â he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone.Â
âYou donât even like that place,â you giggle, âIn the mood for a breakfast sandwich?â
âNot for me,â was his clipped response.
âWhat?â you whine, âSimon, donât order me food!â
âDid you eat today?â he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.
âI had cup noodles!â you point an accusing finger at him, âSo yes!â
âThatâs not real food,â he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation.Â
You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out.Â
You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when thereâs a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed.Â
âAre you tired?â you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, âYou want to spend the night?â
âGuess so,â he responds after a few seconds, âYou work tomorrow?â
âTomorrow night,â you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, âI hate working Friday nights.â
âI can stop by tomorrow if you want,â he offers, finally opening his eyes.
You think it over for a minute. It wouldnât be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, âI think itâll be okay. Last week was fine.â
He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesnât argue and youâre thankful for that.Â
Simonâs been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that youâve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders.Â
The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom.Â
It wasnât a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent.Â
You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit â not that you would want to escape.Â
You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed.Â
Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14.Â
It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!
You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine.Â
Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.
He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.
Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered.Â
It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you.Â
âGoodnight, Simon,â you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.
He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well.Â
The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual.Â
Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule heâd been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver.Â
After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV â the morning news, it seemed.
âGood morning,â you called.Â
âEat,â was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.
You purse your lips but do as youâre told â not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious.Â
As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.
âIâm going to go to the store after I eat,â you called, âDo you want to come?â
âNah,â he grunted, âGotta go soon.â
âOh,â you tried to hide your disappointment, âWill you be back tonight?â
âProbably not,â he responded, your disappointment only growing at that.Â
The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was â but you didnât mind being pressed up against him. You didnât think he minded either because he never bothered to move away.Â
You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around.Â
âYou leaving?â you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.
âGot to,â he mumbled, still glancing around, âWhereâs my phone?â
âYou leave it in the bedroom?â you offer.
He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them.Â
âSee you later, Si,â you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving.Â
You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when heâs home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldnât because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.
He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.
âIâll come by when I can,â he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.
Then heâs gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned.Â
Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didnât buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldnât be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet.Â
When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar.Â
As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show youâve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize youâre squeezing your thighs together.Â
And your panties are feeling awfully sticky.Â
Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize thatâs doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself.Â
But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better.Â
Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?
You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching.Â
With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication.Â
You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. Itâs embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesnât really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit.Â
You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. Youâre quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself.Â
But then the inevitable happens â itâs like you hit a wall.Â
You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you donât get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate.Â
Tears sting your eyes, âNo, no, noâŠâ you beg no one.
You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But youâre too frustrated to try anymore.Â
You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.
âWhat the fuck is wrong with me?â you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.
Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready.Â
Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didnât get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life.Â
You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.
What would you say, âHi, I canât make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?â Absolutely not.Â
You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar.Â
At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar.Â
Itâs not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread.Â
It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit youâd ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with.Â
He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didnât belong and cutting his employeeâs pay for no reason â or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you âgot enough in tips to make up the lossâ â you didnât. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you.Â
You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you werenât willing to go back to looking for work.Â
So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasnât the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldnât be the last.Â
You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.
The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted.Â
That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly.Â
Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be.Â
You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell.Â
You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell.Â
âThis goes to the corner table,â the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldnât be older than 20, but you honestly couldnât even recall his name.Â
You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.
âHereâs your drinks,â you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them.Â
âThanks, beautiful,â one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.
âUm, is there anything else you need?â you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray.Â
âMaybe,â another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked â like he could see through your clothes.Â
It certainly wasnât the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.
âWhat is it you need?â you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation.Â
One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, âIâll tip you this if you show us your tits.â
Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads.Â
âN-No thank youâŠI-I donât think that would be appropriate,â you hope that they canât hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.
âCome on, sexy,â the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, âBet theyâre real nice. Câmon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!â
âM-My shift is over, I really need to go,â you shakily smile and take a step back, âI-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.â
Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong.Â
The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face.Â
The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.
You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face.Â
The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state.Â
She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.
Your coworker called your name and you paused.
âHey, take a breath,â she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them.Â
âWhat happened?â she asked softly, âDo you want me to call someone? The police?â
You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldnât even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply.Â
The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious.Â
âGet out,â he snaps at your coworker.Â
She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure â leaving both of you alone.Â
He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you canât get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.
âAre you broke in the fuckinâ head?!â he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, âYou put your hands on a customer?!â
âTh-They put their hands on me first!â you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, âThey touched me!â
He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but youâre panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.
âI donât give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!â he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, âYou better think fast and hard about how youâre going to rectify this. Do you understand me?â
His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesnât look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until youâre sitting on the dirty floor.
âYou go out there and you apologize to them,â he hisses through clenched teeth, âOr Iâm going to fire you and youâre gonna be out on the fuckinâ streets, got it?â
You nod your head, holding back your sobs but canât control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open.Â
Youâre left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and youâve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.
The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But itâs your coworker again.Â
She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, âAre you okay? Did he hurt you?â
âI-I have to apologize t-to them,â you manage to choke out.Â
Her eyes widened, âNo way! You didnât do anything wrong!â
âI canât lose this job,â you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, âI need this job. He says heâll fire me if I donât apologize!â
âOkay,â she whispers, âIâll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, thatâs it.â
You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.
She whispers your name, âAre you sure he didnâtâŠâ
âHe only ripped it,â you assure her, sniffling softly, âBut I canât go out there like this.â
It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one.Â
âYou can borrow my hoodie,â she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, âGo on, you can return it to me another day.â
âThank you,â you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that youâre covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.
You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second youâre out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it.Â
You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon.Â
You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table.Â
âThere you are!â the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, âThought you were gonna run away without apologizing for beinâ a raging bitch.â
You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, âI-Iâm sorry for slapping you.â
âThatâs fuckinâ right!â another one jeered, âPractically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?â
âIâve got a few ideas!â a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.
âHow about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?â you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.
âHow about I bring you a round on me, huh?â she quickly intervenes, âIâll buy.â
That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.
âGo on home,â she says softly.
âI-Iâll pay you back for the drinksââ she shushes you quickly when you start.
âDonât even worry about it,â she coos, âGo home.â
With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door.Â
You donât even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But youâre sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath.Â
You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time.Â
You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.
He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isnât soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. Heâs always clipped and blunt. Sure, heâs kind but never gentle.
Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly youâre sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.
You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back.Â
âYou didnât answer your phone when I called,â he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, âGot worried so I rushed over.â
You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything youâre feeling.Â
Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until youâre just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. Youâre taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you.Â
He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips.Â
The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, âSiâŠâ you finally manage to choke out.
His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.
âYou want to tell me what happened?â he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap.Â
You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell youâre supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, heâs going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your bossâs head through the wall and find those assholes from the table.Â
You really canât afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, youâre scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If youâre jobless for even a week, itâs going to fuck everything up. Youâll never make rent and you canât end up on the street.Â
âJust aâŠbad shiftâŠâ you supply lamely.
Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, âI donât know whatâs worse. The fact youâre lying in the first place or the fact you donât think you can tell me what really happened.â
âSimonâŠâ you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, âJust let it go, please.â
He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasnât taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots.Â
You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.
âIâm not letting it go,â he responds, âI think you know me better than that.â
âSimon, please!â you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep.Â
âI want to know what happened,â he argues, clearly growing exasperated.Â
You know heâs not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like youâre overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie â you need it off or youâre going to go mad.Â
Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands.Â
But you canât get the damned thing off, youâre uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why wonât it come off?Â
âG-Get it off,â you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.
Simonâs hands are back, âIâve got you. Iâll get it off ya.âÂ
True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself.Â
He says your name softly but you canât bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach â the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.
Heâs not an idiot. If anything, heâs more intelligent than anyone youâve ever known.Â
Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. Youâre running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave.Â
You donât hear any movement from Simon. He doesnât follow you to the bathroom. Youâre briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.
âSimon!â you cry, his footfalls an immediate response.Â
He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, âYou finished?â
You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, âI-I want to shower.â
Heâs quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.
He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, âNot goinâ anywhere, love.â
He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. Youâre terribly stuffy from crying so you canât even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.
You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.
âAre you hungry?â Simon suddenly asks.
âNoâŠâ your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that youâre completely emotionally drained.Â
âAlright,â is all he says in reply.
You approach the door, where heâs still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom.Â
You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You donât make any movements.Â
He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his.Â
âWas it your boss?â he asks softly.Â
âHim and some assholes I was serving drinks to,â you tiredly answer. You donât have it in you to fight in anymore.Â
âWhy didnât you want to tell me?â he pries, squeezing your hands.
âBecause I know you, Si,â you sniffle, âYouâre going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.â
âAnd?â he scoffs, âThey fuckinâ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.â
âBecause I canât lose my job, Si!â you finally cry, âI barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I wonât be able to afford rent. Iâll be on the streets!â
âI would never let that happen,â he says firmly, âYou will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.â
âI canât do that to you, Simon,â you mutter, sniffling again, âY-You already have so much on your plate I donât want to be another problem you have to deal with.â
âIs that what you think?â he scoffs, standing up, âThat I deal with you? Youâre important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. Iâm not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.â
You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.
âIâm going to make you something small to eat. Youâre going to eat and drink some water and then youâre going to get some rest, understood?â he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance.Â
Once youâre alone, you go over his words again. Youâre important to him, thatâs what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young.Â
As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy â except for one memory.
You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. Youâd known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother.Â
He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldnât find out.
You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him â like liked.Â
You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didnât feel the same. And that was that.ïżœïżœ
You never brought it up again.Â
But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And thatâs how it had been ever since.Â
Simonâs voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen.Â
Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup.Â
He knew you well, you couldnât deny. You picked up the fork heâd placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat.Â
After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands.Â
âUm, Simon?â you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, âDidnât you have something going on tonight?â
âWas gonna be out the lads,â he responded, âDoesnât matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.â
âYou shouldnât talk about your friends like that,â you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.
âAint my friends,â he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.
âSimon Riley doesnât have friends?â you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.
âGot you,â he said as you followed him down the hall, âAll I need.â
A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.
Friends. Thatâs what you were, you reminded yourself.Â
Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light.Â
Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldnât close your eyes. You felt like you couldnât relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work.Â
âSimon..?â you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, âCan IâŠtell you what happened tonight?â
He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.Â
âThis stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,â you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, âThey were just chattinâ shit, saying theyâd tip me if I showed them my tits,â he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, âI said no and tried to leave and they wouldnât let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.â
âFuckinâ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,â Simon growled from beside you.
âI got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,â your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, âHe grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.â
âOf course thatâs all that bastard would be angry about,â Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.
âI tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he saidââ your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, âHe said that he didnât care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didnât apologize to them.â
Simonâs arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, âHe made you apologize to them?âÂ
You nod your head, âIt was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didnât want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.â
âPieces of shit,â he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, âThey better hope I donât find them.â
Youâd really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldnât be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them â someone like Simon.Â
âI should have gone to the bar tonight,â he sighed, âEven though you told me not to, I wanted to.â
âItâs okay, Si,â you sniffle, âIâm just glad youâre here now.â
You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms.Â
You wake up late, well into the afternoon. Youâre groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isnât in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him.Â
As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and werenât in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor.Â
Heâs relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.
âSleep well?â he asks. You nod your head, âHungry?â You nod again.
He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch.Â
âSimon?â you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen.Â
He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.
âWhere did my clothes from last night go?â you ask softly.
He pauses his stirring of the food, âThrew them out. Figured you wouldnât want to see them when you woke up.â
âOh,â you respond.Â
Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel soâŠin love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved.Â
No, he doesnât love you.
You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking.Â
The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things.Â
You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big.Â
His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built.Â
Handsome.
You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.
Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue.Â
Youâd never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred.Â
Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back.Â
Kissing SimonâŠyou pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because heâs so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge.Â
Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.
âIâve got to take a shower,â you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.
You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing.Â
What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?
You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them.Â
Shouldnât you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken.Â
You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut.Â
You fight back tears as you begin to wash up.Â
By the time your shower is done, youâre exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.
âYou scared me!â you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.
âWanted to check on you,â he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.
âIâm fine,â you assure him, âI just got really tired and Iâd like to turn in early, thatâs all.â
âAlright,â he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, âJust call if you need anything.â
âI will!â you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him.Â
You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily â maybe you were more tired than you thought.Â
Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk.Â
When you start to dream, youâre acutely aware that itâs a dream. Youâre not sure how but, you just know that youâre sleeping and none of this is real.
But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it.Â
Simon is there, youâre both in your bed. Heâs got his shirt off and heâs on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly.Â
He doesnât smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his â a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And heâs so warm against you.Â
You realize that youâre only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you canât help but moan.Â
âSiâŠâ you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and itâs intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon.Â
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place.Â
Simonâs hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. Heâs so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes.Â
âSiâŠâ you whimper again.
âIâm here, love,â he coos, âIâve got you.â
He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties werenât in the way. Youâd love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. Youâd love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that.Â
You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that youâve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. Youâre sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.
If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him.Â
Just as you swear itâs going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize youâve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed.Â
You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry.Â
Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes youâre awake.
âWas doinâ some laundry,â he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.
âOh,â you whisper, sounding hoarse, âThank you, Si.â
As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until heâs finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.
âI uh,â he clears his throat, âIâve gotta go tonight.â
âGo?â you ask, eyes going wide. You donât want him to leave, âGo where?â
âIâve got some work to take care of,â he replies, âPaperwork Iâve been puttinâ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.â
âI-I donât want you to go,â you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you havenât been without him since it happened and youâre scared to be alone with just your thoughts.
âI know,â he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, âIâll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, Iâll be there.â
âPromise?â you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles â bruised and split open. They werenât like that last night you were sure of it, âSimonâŠâ
He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, âDonât worry about it.â
He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day.Â
Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice heâs on his phone a lot more, typing away. Itâs unlike him, heâs more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass.Â
You have a feeling heâs lying but you donât pry.Â
Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You canât help but wish that heâd change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all.Â
But he doesnât. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you.Â
âDonât cry, love,â he coos, wiping a stray tear away, âI promise Iâll get all my work done and Iâll be all yours for a good long while.â
âOkayâŠâ you sound so miserable but you canât bring yourself to care, âIâll miss you.â
He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He canât give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder.Â
You donât want him to go. You donât want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much.Â
You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because itâs scared itâs going to be alone forever.Â
By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse.Â
Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger.Â
You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isnât there.Â
Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that youâre experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.
You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.
Youâre so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you.Â
You know he doesnât feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But youâre willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as heâs with you, as long as heâs in your life.Â
But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately.Â
You wish that he loved you.Â
You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep.Â
Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you.Â
A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.
You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and youâre reminded that he isnât home tonight.Â
You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.
Iâll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, Iâll be there.Â
He promised.
You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.
You hang up and try again. And again. And again.
He doesnât answer. Why wonât he answer? He promised.
You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you.Â
But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him.Â
Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. Youâre fucking angry.Â
You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. Itâs loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you donât feel better. Youâre still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like itâs all bottled up inside you and it hurts.Â
You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it.Â
Then you do it again. And again. And again.Â
You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. Youâre sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek.Â
You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldnât even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise.Â
Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow â wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness.Â
Youâre there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room.Â
You canât even find beauty in it. Youâre so exhausted. Your heart aches. Itâs agonizing.Â
Itâs early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You donât feel excited to see him. Youâre not happy heâs back. You donât feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping.Â
You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave.Â
You didnât want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. Youâve never felt like this about him before. You donât know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him.Â
God, you hate him.Â
Heâs surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway.Â
He wanders further into the room before pausing.Â
He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that youâre awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you.Â
âYou called,â he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simonâs never anxious. But he is right now, âIâm sorry I didnât answer. I was justâŠbusy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.â
Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. Heâs wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. Itâs a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy.Â
Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. Heâs not used to feeling scrutinized. And thatâs exactly what your gaze feels like.Â
Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. Itâs tan, just a light stain. Thereâs a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red.Â
He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didnât know any better. This isnât guilt because he missed your call. Heâs guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you.Â
Thatâs why he ignored you? To fuck someone?
Youâre no longer numb. Youâre angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. Itâs like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out.Â
Youâre moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious.Â
You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him.Â
Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe heâll feel a fraction of what you feel right now.Â
âAre you out of your fucking head?â he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable.Â
You donât even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too.Â
When youâre out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. Itâs when youâre about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room.Â
Heâs standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself.Â
âI hate you,â you finally spit, standing on your knees. You donât have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much.Â
âI hate you, I hate you, I hate you!â you scream. Youâre so loud youâre sure the neighbors can hear but you donât care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesnât do anything but stand there and let you. Heâd never lay a hand on you, even when youâre doing it to him, âI needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!â
He doesnât say anything but heâs trembling now. Youâre not sure if heâs just that angry or if heâs holding himself back from wringing your neck.Â
You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but heâs staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged.Â
âArenât you going to say something?â you spit, raising your hand as if youâre going to slap him across the face but you stop. You donât want to do that.Â
âSay what?â he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the roomâs temperature, âI have a life that doesnât revolve around you. Thatâs the difference between us. You need me but I donât need you.â
You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesnât seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like youâre dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.
âYou hate me?â he scoffs, âThatâs just fine. Weâll see how long you last without me before youâre hanging from a bloody rope.â
He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door.Â
And youâre all alone. And you canât do anything but cry about it.Â
You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you canât bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit.Â
Then you watch the sun come up and decide that itâs a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when youâre plagued with nightmares.Â
You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. Heâs always on your mind.
You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. Youâd been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you.Â
He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didnât have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him.Â
What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didnât need you like you needed him, after all. Heâd surely been spending his days in dread of you â of your texts, your calls.Â
This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you.Â
What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise.Â
You wake up one day and realize youâre not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness.Â
You cry all the time. Day and night.Â
You try to use your phone, you want to call him but itâs broken. The screen wonât even turn on. Youâre completely alone, canât even contact somebody â not that you have anyone but him.Â
God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and youâve been holding out for him since you were a kid.Â
Youâre suddenly aware of the fact you havenât showered in days. Youâve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen â a slice of bread is what you usually settle on.Â
You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than itâs ever been but the hot water is completely welcome.Â
When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You havenât cleaned it in a while but you canât bring yourself to care.Â
You let yourself cry again, since itâs all you can do. By the time youâre done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again.Â
Itâs when youâre crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you donât have a job. You hadnât shown up to your shift in days. And you donât have Simon anymore.Â
Panic takes shape and you realize you canât relax. If you donât find a job soon youâre going to be on your ass and homeless by next month.Â
You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear.Â
Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. Youâll do anything if you have to.Â
Youâre going to prove to yourself and to Simon that youâll make it without him â and you wonât end up hanging from a fucking rope.Â
The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and itâs already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar.Â
Youâre filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. Thereâs a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is.Â
You look around, searching for your old boss. Heâs nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back.Â
You only realize youâre trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when youâre reminded that you need the job. You need it.Â
âEnter,â you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, âYou.âÂ
âM-Mr. Dawson,â you shakily whisper, âI-I know I havenât showed up in a few days and Iâm really sorry butââ
âYou want your job back,â he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, âYou want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?â
âSent whoâŠ?â you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking.Â
âThat asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think Iâm going to let you back in after that?â he laughs again, âYouâre out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.â
You wince at the insult, âI-I didnât send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own butââ
âYou can have your job back,â he says suddenly, making you freeze, âIf you come over here and bend over my desk for me.â
âWhat..?â you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.
âYou heard me,â he snickers, âBend over my desk and let me fuck you and Iâll let you have your job back.â
Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you canât. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself.Â
âN-No,â you find yourself whispering, âI wonât do thatâŠâ
His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, âShould have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.â
You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in.Â
When you get home, you stand there and cry. Thatâs all youâve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simonâs prophecy is going to come true and youâre going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel.Â
You crawl back into bed and donât get back up that night. Or the next day.Â
The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread youâve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold.Â
You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didnât even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time.Â
So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left.Â
As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs canât hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet.Â
You almost want to laugh at yourself over what youâve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself.Â
You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you donât have much hope.Â
Then, youâre back in bed. And youâre so exhausted. Itâs impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep.Â
But then you have another nightmare. You canât even remember what it was about, youâre too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do.Â
Instead, your eyes open and theyâre already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact youâre awake.Â
So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and youâre left exhausted as usual. Itâs become your default state and you begin to wonder if youâre going to feel this broken and hurt forever.Â
You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it.Â
You donât even hear your front door open. Donât hear the boots on the floor. Donât hear your bedroom door open.Â
You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you donât hear anything else.Â
Your imagination? You donât have a lamp anymore to turn on. Youâd thrown it at Simon and it broke.
Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway.Â
He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat.Â
âSi?â you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room.Â
Heâs got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. Heâs so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him â hold him so fiercely that youâre worried you may actually break him.Â
âShh,â he coos into your ear, âItâs alright, everythingâs alright.â
âS-SimonâŠâ you canât help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was.Â
âIâm here,â he sighs, kissing the top of your head, âIâm here. Itâs okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and weâll make everything better, alright?â
âIâm sorry,â you find yourself apologizing through tears, âI-I donât hate you, Si. I donât, I promise. I-I was just mad. Iâm sorry I was mean.â
âYou donât have anything to apologize for,â he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, âIâm the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckinâ mistake.â
You canât even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, youâre almost scared that heâs going to disappear if you let go.Â
But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed.Â
Before long, your cries finally quiet and youâre left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go.Â
After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, âWhy donât you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. Iâll fix you up some food, sound good?â
You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, âI donât have anything.â
âIâll make you some ramen cups,â he responds.Â
He doesnât like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach.Â
âDonât have any,â you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.
âNone?â he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap.Â
You shake your head, âI didnât buy any last time I went shopping.â
âWhat the hell have you been eating then?â he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed.Â
You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, âI havenât had much of an appetite but Iâve got some breadâŠâ
Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.
âIâll order then,â he assures you, âGo ahead and shower, yeah?â
You do as youâre told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until youâre both mentally prepared for it.Â
You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat.Â
When you slip into your bedroom, youâre shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged.Â
You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you donât undo the work that Simon had done.Â
You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen.Â
Heâs methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well.Â
It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls.Â
You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.
You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldnât afford to buy groceries â although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldnât have felt like going out to get any. You wouldnât have been able to order since youâd broken your phone.Â
You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didnât want to order you anything too hefty given the fact youâve been existing on bread.Â
He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over.Â
He honestly looked the same as ever. He didnât have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didnât have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even.Â
His words ring out through your head like a bell.Â
âWeâll see how long you last without me before youâre hanging from a bloody rope.â
Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash.Â
Maybe he was right, you couldnât survive without him. Couldnât even wash your own damn laundry.Â
âWhatâs goinâ on in that head of yours?â he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts.Â
âOh, um,â you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, âI was just wondering what youâve been up to these few days!â
You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. Youâre positive he doesnât buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. Youâre grateful because you donât want to cry again.
âI was uh,â he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, âI was on base, actually. Nothinâ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?â
You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, âNothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,â you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, âTurns out your ex-boss doesnât like when he gets beat to shit because of you!â
Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, âYou tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know itâs not good for you!â
All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and youâre shouting at him before you know it, âWhat the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,â you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, âAll you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.â
âYou should have known me better than that!â he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, âI never would have left youââ
âThatâs exactly what you did!â you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, âYou left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuckâs sake, Iâm a fucking wreck and you look like you couldnât have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.â
For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and youâre stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again.Â
âI should have known you better?â you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, âApparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.â
Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time.Â
The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away.Â
Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now.Â
With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on.Â
But he doesnât reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you canât bear to look back at him.
âI didnâtâŠâ he pauses, taking a breath, âI wasnâtâŠâ he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, âI wasnât okay while I was gone.âÂ
He doesnât say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more.Â
âI donât know how Iâm supposed to get past this, Simon,â you whisper, âEverythingâs so fucked up. Iâm fucked up.â
âI am too,â he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, âWeâll fix it.â
His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But itâs silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it.Â
Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer.Â
Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is.Â
âSimon?â you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, âWhat time is it?â
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, â9:20.â
âOhâŠâ you respond, tucking your head back into your knees.Â
Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what heâs doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and youâre finding it so hard to think clearly.Â
Youâre pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and youâre met with Simonâs sweet, brown eyes.Â
âMade your bed,â he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, âGo ahead and get some proper sleep.â
You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.
You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You donât even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you.Â
When you wake up next, itâs from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself.Â
A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simonâs cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed.Â
âYouâre okay,â he whispers, voice thick with sleep, âIâve got you.â
âI want it to stop,â you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, âThe nightmares.â
Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, âWeâll get you fixed up.â
As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place.Â
You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. Whatâs most shocking is that youâre still wrapped up in Simonâs arms â and heâs still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.
You find yourself staring at him. It wasnât often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more.Â
When you wake up next, itâs because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.
âDidnât mean to wake you,â he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.
âYou slept late,â you find yourself commenting.
âYeah, uh,â he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, âI havenât had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.â
You want to mention that itâs never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response.Â
As youâre left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You donât know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, youâve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again.Â
But on the other hand, there feels like thereâs a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air.Â
You love him, you really do.Â
But youâre still so angry at him.Â
And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly.Â
The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still donât have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.
âSomethinâ I need to ask you,â he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.
Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, âAbout?â
âYou said that,â he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, âYou almost slept with that guy for your job back.â
Your heart dropped to your stomach, âYeahâŠwhat about it?âÂ
Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, âYou really almost did that?â
You frown, âSo what? I can do what I want, Simon.â
He sighs softly, holding his hands up, âIâm not tryinâ to fight, love.â
âI donât know why itâs your business,â you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, âI just needed a job is all.â
He nods, âYou donât need to worry about that, alright. Iâve got you.â
You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, âThereâs something I wanted to ask you too.â
âGo ahead,â he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered â some kind of soda if you had to guess.
âThat nightâŠâ you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, âYou, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?â
He places his sandwich down and sighs, âYeah.â
â...Why?â you finally ask, âI meanâŠâ
You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer heâs quiet. You think he isnât going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head.Â
âI wasnât thinking clearly,â he finally says, âIt was aâŠlast minute choice and it shouldnât have happened.â
He says it but you donât feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isnât eased in the slightest. Itâs an excuse, something heâs saying to get you off his back. And that doesnât feel good.
âI umâŠâ you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, âIâm sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldnât have done that, it was wrong of me. So, Iâm sorry.â
âYou donât have to apologize,â he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, âYou were upset.â
âSimonâŠâ you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, âI want to talk. About everything,â Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, âI-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it â really talk about it.â
He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. âI donât want to talk about anything.â
âBut I do,â you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, âYou said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!â
He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell heâs uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But youâre not going to let him avoid it.
âI donât,â he snaps, final and harsh.
âI do!â you argue again, âI-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you couldââ
âFuck sake!â he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto.Â
He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place.Â
âWhat are you doing?â you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, âWhere are you going?â
âOut.â he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.
âDonât run from me, Simon!â you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, âAre you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?âÂ
You canât fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. Youâre left alone again, frustrated, sad and utterly confused.Â
You wished he would stop leaving.Â
You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait.Â
Youâre jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know itâs Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has.Â
The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simonâs soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep.Â
âI canât do this, Simon,â you find yourself whispering. Itâs quiet but you know he hears it, âI want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you wonât let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I wantâŠâ you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.
Simon is painfully silent and still. Youâre positive heâs not going to say anything. Heâs going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because thatâs what he does best â avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague.Â
You suppose itâs from the way he grew up. A mamaâs boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult â he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do â mean something to him, that is.Â
âIâm sorry,â he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, âIâm sorry,â he repeats, voice thick with emotion, âFor what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have neverââ he lets out a heavy breath, âI never should have said it.â
You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles.Â
âYou meanâŠâ he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing itâs difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, âYou mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. YouâreâŠimportant.â
You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.
âIâm sorry,â he whispers again for good measure.
He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.
PART TWO.
do not modify, translate, or repost.
#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost smut#ghost x reader#cod smut#cod x reader
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DEFINITELY NUTS ᥣđ© ‷ next
pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader
synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife
tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff
Ghostâs strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. Heâs not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that heâs going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play.Â
âPrice, âam not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.â
All eyes are on him, everyone stills. âWIFE? Since when?!â Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. âNever told you about her?â Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottishâs exclaim. âJohnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything âbout you, mate,â Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused.Â
âAinât no way heâs telling us the truth. That man ainât got no bone in his body to bag someone,â Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. âI mean..â Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if heâs agreeing to some extent. Thatâs when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar.Â
Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. âHey, lieutenant.â Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. âHow was the date with your wife?â Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They werenât as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.
âIt was okay. The missus had fun,â Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. âCan we see pictures?â Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. âAh, we didnât take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.âÂ
Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying âSee? Heâs definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.âÂ
âHow about just a picture of your wife?â Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. âI have none with me but..â With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine!Â
âHe's definitely lost itâ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. âItâs fine, mate⊠we understand how difficult it must be.â ânot having a lady at allâ
Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. âItâs quite tough but we make it work,â he chuckled which made everyone wince.
âDefinitely nuts!â
Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, âAh, wifeâs testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. âS been practicing and asked me to bring one.â Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap.Â
âHeâs too far goneâ
âHowâs work?â you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simonâs chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. âBeen getting a few weird stares,â he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. âWhy?â you peer up, resting your chin on his shoulder. âI donâ know, princess.â
MeanwhileâŠ
âShould we just⊠finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his âwifeâ making him lunch,â Johnny sighed.
âProbably the best idea,â Kyle nodded.
Now Price⊠he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghostâ which ended horriblyâ but heâll lying if he said heâs not getting a kick out of this.
ê°á â à»ê±: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. đ
dividers by @cafekitsune
Please reblog!! Ask is open!
check out my other works in the masterlist: à!
#simon ghost x you#simon riley cod#simon riley fluff#simon riley call of duty#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x you#ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#task force 141#john price cod#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#ghost fluff#cod x reader#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#canaryâs melodies
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the limit does not exist!
how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.
MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgentâŠlike REALLY self indulgent⊠hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!
You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest.Â
Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But thereâs something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet.Â
A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.
You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.
What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencerâs birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.
You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.
âTeach me calculus,â you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencerâs lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him.Â
âI thought we agreed on an hour.â
âYeah. But it wouldnât be a very productive hour if I didnât know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.âÂ
He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him.Â
âWhat do you not understand?â You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.
âRelated rates. Like, conceptually.âÂ
Spencer hums in response.
âItâs October. Youâre not even supposed to know related rates yet.â
âFine. Then let's open presents,â you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.
âNo. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going fromâŠletâs say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-â
âThat wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,â you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.
âFor the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.â
You roll your eyes.
âHey,â he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. âDonât do that. Donât be difficult. Iâm helping you.â
âSorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I donât really get why Iâm learning this as a whole.â Spencerâs eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.
âCalculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,â Spencer says simply. âEinstein once said that, âPure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,â which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.â
You cuddle deeper in his lap.
âThink he would agree with that?â you ask. âI do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.â Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.
âI think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, âGravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.â He said, âHow on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.ââ
Spencer takes a deep breath.
âMath doesnât explain how I love you. It canât. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.â
You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.
âŠÂ
Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.
Youâre now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam.Â
âI really like it. You look great. Do you like it?â you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.
âIâm gonna wear it to work tomorrow.âÂ
You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.
âYouâre so pretty,â he mutters.
He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, heâs just in his boxers.
âYouâre the pretty one,â you say quietly. âCome to bed.â He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. âHappy birthday, Spence. I love you.â He dips his forehead to your shoulder.
âI love you.â
Before you know it, heâs shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what heâs doing.
âWhat? No, I was gonna do that. Itâs your birthday. You donât have to,â you protest.
âBut I really, really want to, darling girl,â he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.
You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready.Â
âWell. Um. Okay. If you insist. I canât really deny the birthday boy.â Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday.Â
He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes.Â
âYou know you can, though, right?â he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly.Â
âYeah. I know.â
Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it.Â
âSoft,â he murmurs, like heâs making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. âAll this from a few kisses?âÂ
You blush, unable to respond.Â
Spencerâs fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. âThese?â he checks.
âYes, please,â you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.
âHow many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?â he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.
âFuck,â you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate.Â
Itâs not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. Youâre both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans.Â
âSpencer,â you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. âYouâre too far away.â He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.
After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so youâre propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so heâs more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.
His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.
You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. âHoly shit, I love you,â you murmur.
His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. âAngel,â he breathes out, so quietly. âI love you too. This okay? Are you okay?â
You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesnât even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.
He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. âThere we go. You always feel like heaven around me.â
Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth.Â
âYouâre so perfect,â you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.
You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.
Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.
This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?
This is how he sees you?
The thought is almost too much.
Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. âTake a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?â
You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. âBaby,â he coos softly at you.
It wasnât just your sensitivity heâs currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.
You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis.Â
âSpencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,â you say eventually, overstimulated.
âYouâre okay. Did so good.â he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you.Â
His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.
âDonât cry, you always cry. Itâs my birthday. Donât cry on my birthday,â he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.
âIâm not.âÂ
Another one falls.Â
You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. âIâm not crying.â
Spencer lets you lie.
#spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#fanfic#piperâs works
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·.â đđđđđđđđ. you leave megumi with your husband so you can make them breakfast. you quickly realise that that might have backfired.
wc. around 1.3k
tags. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff. reader gets called âmamaâ by both toji & megumi. half beta read.
âow, careful there, brat.â
your husbandâs deep voice echoes from within the bathroom. youâve left megumi in his care this morning so youâd be able to make breakfast in peace. toji was all grumpy about it, since he had to wake up early when he had no work, but eventually agreed to your proposal.
you hum your favorite song while frying eggs. the sizzling in the pan did help avert your attention from tojiâs grunts of annoyance somewhere in the distance, though only for a couple seconds. your hear your childâs laughter slip between the noises of aggravation. it piques your interest.
âone more time and iâm putting yâr ass in time out,â tojiâs deep voice sounds muffled. he sounds rather serious about whatever is bothering him.
you turn the stove off and walk towards the hallway, standing at the doorframe as you look in the direction of the bathroom. you tilt your head and try your best to pick up on snippets of the conversation between your husband and son.
the sound of bottles dropping on the floor is the first thing that allows you to guess that megumiâs acting up. you know how mischievous your little toddler can get, especially at his age. toji isnât one to gentle parent his kidâhe tries to, of course, but sometimes he canât help but be a bit rough.
âmegumi fushiguro.â
you raise your eyebrows as toji uses your childâs full name. he rarely does, only when heâs really upset or about to lose his marbles. you decide to see what was going on for yourself. you walk towards the bathroom, cleaning your hands against the material of your apron. you knock once before pushing the door open.
you stick your head through the little gap, ready to identify the cause of the commotion. the first thing you notice is the chaos on the floor; bottles, tubes, toothbrushes, and all other kinds of products lay cluttered on the bathroom tiles.
your eyes then land on your husbandâs broad and scarred back, âhey, honey. did something hapââ
your voice trails off once toji turns around, revealing the jaw dropping scene. nearly his entire face is covered in loads of shaving cream and even his black hair hasnât escaped the soft foam.
the bathroom counter is completely wet, and the water runs down the edges in small drops. the culprit of this entire scene is sitting right on that same counter, clapping his dirty hands together that were smeared with tojiâs shaving cream.
you blink and walk towards the two. you canât possibly be mad at the sight, finding tojiâs situation more funny than worrisome. You try to act serious and clear your throat, âuh, yeah. so whatâs happened here?â
your husband rolls his eyes and nods his head at the little boy in front of him, whoâs giggling and kicking his legs. toji tries to wipe the shaving cream from his nose, attempting to get it out of his hair as well, âi tried to be a good dad and include him in my morning routine, thatâs what.â
the man clicks his tongue as he now realises how dumb of a mistake that was, âgave him the opportunity to put some shaving foam on my jaw ân the brat totally blew it. started attackinâ me with the stuff.â
toji grumbles. he wipes away the foam that got on the mirror afterwards. itâs nearly gotten everywhere. he lightly nudges megumiâs forehead with a scoff, ânever again, yâhear? the little shit canât sit still for even one second.â
that explains the stuff on the floor. you know that megumi could grow bored easily if he isnât the centre of attention. heâd start doing anything to be the focus of his parents. toji probably didnât pay him much mind, wanting to get his morning routine over with.
âlanguage, honey.â you sigh and look down at megumi whoâs still reaching his messy hands up to his dad.
toji huffs and leans back, not giving the little boy a chance to put more shaving cream on his face. heâs learnt his lesson; kids do not understand it when you tell them to âonly put a little bitâ.
megumi whines and threatens to throw a tantrum. you notice that immediately and try to keep his mind off things by picking him up. you turn on the faucet and try to wash his little hands, âcâmon. give mama your hands.â
the little boy shakes his head furiously, squirming in your embrace in attempt to get away. you sigh and grab his little wrists gently. you lower him to the sink, trying your best to wash away the shaving cream as the first step of solving this grande mess.
âno, mama!â megumi is stubborn as he voices his complains. toji watches from a distance whilst he struggles to clean the overload of shaving cream from his face.
you make the mistake of letting go of your childâs wrists to grab a washcloth. megumi takes his chance and pats his messy hands against your face, leaving you no space to process what heâs doing.
your mind takes a second before you realise whatâs happening, âhey! quit it, âgumi.â
you try to grab ahold of megumiâs tiny hands again, but they move too fast for you. plus, heâs pretty skilled at avoiding yours. you can feel the foam slowly cover your entire face; from your jaw and cheeks, to your nose and forehead.
it was inevitable at this point.
âtoji, do something,â you grunt and struggle to contain the energetic toddler in your arms. you take a peek at your husband and find him grinning at the predicament youâve gotten yourself in.
toji simply shrugs and enjoys the fact that youâre experiencing exactly what he had experienced just moments ago. seeing you struggle to contain your disobedient child only proves that his parenting skills are not the problem in this situation, your toddler is.
âye did that to yârself, mama.â toji hums in amusement. he leans against the wall, the blue towel now loosely hanging off head after heâs given up on getting the foam out of his hair, ânow yâknow what iâm talkinâ about. heâs a lilâ monster.â
megumi squeals in victory after heâs gotten both his parents covered in shaving cream. you want to say something to your child, but youâre at a loss for words. even now, you cannot bring yourself to be mad at him. heâs just a kid whoâs having fun with his parents.
âi made mama pretty! hehe.â megumi grins and encourages you to look in the mirror. he points at your reflection and awaits the words of confirmation. his blue eyes look up at you, nearly sparkling with joy, admiring how pretty heâs made you look with that white foam all over your face.
toji joins in on the fun. he comes to stand behind you, looking at you through the mirror. he snickers, already forgotten about his irritations that occurred in the first place. he nods in approval at megumiâs words, âgotta agree, son. yâr mama looks much prettier like this.â
your husbandâs teasing comment adds fuel to the fire. though again, you cannot bring yourself to be upset at the situation.
you look at the reflection in the dirty mirror. you all may appear disheveled due to the foamy mess on your bodiesâand yet even at that momentâthe only thing you actually manage to see is a happy family of three.
#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader#toji x reader#jjk fluff#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x you#jjk x you#toji x y/n#jjk x y/n#female reader#divider by cafekitsune
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