La-de-vil - Lust For Life

ՏͲᎡᎬᎪᎷᎬᎡ ᎽΝ

°•Streamer yn on QMSP

Author's Note:ᴡᴇʟʟ, ғɪʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴍ sᴏ sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ɪɴᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs, ɪᴛs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, sᴏ ɪ ᴇɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʀᴇssᴜʀɪɴʜ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴀʟsᴏ. ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏs, ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋs💓

~

°The announcement.

Y/n ᴡᴀs sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ ʀɪɢᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛᴇ ᴏɴ ϙᴜᴀᴄᴋɪᴛʏ ᴍɪɴᴇᴄᴛᴀғᴛ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴍsᴘ.

ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛ sᴇᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴀsᴋs ʜᴇʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ sʜᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ.

sʜᴇ sɪɢʜs,"ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴅ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ, ɪᴍ ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ sɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍɪɴᴇᴄʀᴀғᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғs ɪᴛs ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ, ᴏʀ ɪғ ɪᴛs ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ" sʜᴇ sᴀʏs ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴄ,"ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴs".

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°ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ.

ʀɪɢᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴏɴ sᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʏɴ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴇʏ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ʜᴀs ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴇɢɢ sɪɴᴄᴇ sʜᴇ ɪs ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ.

ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ғᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ y/n ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ ᴀʟsᴏ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀs ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴄᴛʜ ɪᴛᴇᴍs.

"ɢᴜʏs, ɪᴍ ᴏғғɪᴄᴀʟʏ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ɪs ᴛᴏ ʀᴀɪsᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜɪᴅʀᴇɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴅᴜᴄᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ, ɪ'ʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇsᴛ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀ sᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʙʀɪɢᴛʜ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ."

Cheerytree69: why you sound so dramatic lol.

riveryn:watch her kill her egg on the first day.

"ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ,sᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs, ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴋɪʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴛʜᴀᴛs sᴏ ᴍᴇᴀɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ, ᴛʜᴀᴛs ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ sᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇɢɢ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀs ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴇ, ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴀʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ sᴇᴇ ʜᴏᴡ sᴇʀɪᴏᴜs ᴛʜɪs ɪs?"

Slaylishous: They dont have a name yet?.

"ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴡᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏғ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʏ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴄᴀɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ, sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴏɴᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴡɪᴄʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ."

Finegirl:what are the plans you were talking about in the announcement stream?

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴘʀᴏᴍɪssᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ?, ᴡᴇʟʟ ɪᴍ ᴘʟᴀɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀғᴜʟ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴍsᴘ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʙᴇ sᴜʙᴍɪssɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛғᴜʟ ᴡᴀʏ."

Flowerboy:How was interacting with the other member of the server?

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ,ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴇᴇᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴅʏ ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs, sᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɴɪᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ.

°•°•

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀʟsᴏ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀsᴋs, ᴏʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴘɴɪᴏɴs ᴏɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏʀ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.

ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ʏɴ ᴏɴ ϙᴍsᴘ.

MW2 Reaction to You Having an OnlyFans

Warnings: 18+, Non-Explicit Implied Sexual Content, Implied Sexual Imagery, Territorial MW2 👀, Possessive MW2  👀👀, MW2 having a Crush on Reader, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Ghost

Initially, he was in disbelief.

Denial, even.

But when you accidentally sent him a link to your OnlyFans instead of a link to the website of the restaurant you were visiting, Simon’s heart almost stopped.

You deleted the link immediately after, but it was too late.

The tab was already open on his browser.

Despite his agility and lightning reflexes, this situation is not one he’s going to be able to bounce back from quickly.

Will just stare at his phone for a minute or so before eventually starting to understand that yes, you did just send him evidence of your goings-on online.

And yes, you had just confirmed that you made intimate images of yourself accessible to whoever wanted them, though for a hefty fee.

You know your worth; you charge above average.

For days afterwards, the idea of you compromising yourself haunts him.

He doesn’t condemn you for your actions. Far from it !

He’s just surprised he hadn’t found out sooner. That he’d failed to read you well enough to know that this is what you did for work.

And, trying to justify to himself that it’s ‘just out of curiosity’ and ‘a need to confirm that it is actually you’ who is featured on the account, Simon buys a subscription.

He’s glad he waited a while since the appearance of a new subscription days after the incident is much less suspicious than receiving one right after.

Let’s just say, whatever morbid fancy Simon had before seeing your work transformed into a ravenous appetite after he’d seen what you had to offer.

Can’t see you the same way afterwards. But in the best way possible.

When he looks at you, he feels like he knows a secret.

Sure, he does feel creepy when you look at him, not knowing that he’s beaten himself off to videos and pictures of you approximately eight times that week.

But he tries to justify it. Again.

He’s supporting your business, he’s being a good friend (he winces when the word passes him by like a phantom), he’s…

He’s absolutely eneamoured with the way you look.

And the fact that he knows you personally – that he can (and has) heard you call his name – makes whatever little fantasy you’re acting out feel that much more real.

His favourite image of you is one where you have your arms bound above your head.

He always finds himself coming back to it.

Until one day he realises…How are you tying those ropes by yourself ?!

It’s impossible. Simon knows because he’s tried it on himself (don’t ask). So now he’s faced with the burning question of: Who is helping you with these shoots ?

And why isn’t it him ?!

König

Didn’t realise what he’d stumbled upon at first.

One minute, he was checking your socials to see how you were doing while he was away.

The next, he was at a sign-up page for something he’d never heard about.

The fact that it asked for his bank details left him somewhat suspicious, but your endorsement of the site – your claim of it being ‘The best investment of your life <3’ eased him into a false sense of security.

Oh, how König condemned his trusting nature.

Past the paywall, König didn’t know what to expect.

Whatever he could have dreamt of, he never expected it to be…this.

You in the most indecent images he’d ever seen.

Yes, König did scream when he realised what he was seeing. Yes, he did close the tab out of sheer panic.

After a minute, then two, he found the ability to breathe again.

His phone quivered in his hand, his grip a python about its glass neck.

Sighing shakily, König dared to unlock his phone.

Swallowing thickly, he approached the OnlyFans tab.

Opening it, he gasped, your likeness filling his screen and his mind once again.

“Oh, (Y/N),” he said, nobody else about to hear him save for himself. “What have you done ?”

After the aftershock fizzled out, König’s cheeks warmed.

Though, whether of anger, disappointment, or something else, he could not be sure.

He’d enjoyed thinking of the two of you as more than friends. For a while now, too.

And you hadn’t helped: not with how you took to his lap as if it were your throne, how you’d bend and hit him at just the right angle when he was behind you, reaching up for something.

Not with how you clung to him and whined his name at night when you slept over, always a doe-eyed look accompanying whatever minimal favour you were about to ask of him.

So to see you capitalise on yourself like this before he’d ever even seen your bare torso made him…

Territorial.

“I can’t let you get away with this, Engel,” he promised. Your smiling face was oblivious to his threat.

He palmed the bulge in his pants, his grip on his phone tightening.

“One way or another,” he found himself smiling. “You will be mine.”

Soap

Buys a subscription immediately.

He genuinely only did it as a joke to embarrass you. At first.

A rather expensive joke, mind you.

He almost choked on his energy drink when he saw your lowest monthly rate.

Whatever.

He bought it.

And his mind promptly went blank.

When seeing a friend in a compromising position, one typically tends to look away, either out of respect or embarrassment.

Soap didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He just stared at the image of you with your legs spread and your face the image of viscous lust.

Only after every pixel of that image was burned into his memory could Johnny look down.

And there, between his legs, sat a growing, pulsing, aching problem.

One which he had been vaguely aware of yet entirely unwilling to accept.

Every time your likeness throbbed in his mind, he felt himself twitch.

He sighed, his hand a resting place for his face as a dark dawn of realisation washed over him.

For what was unlikely the first time, Soap dealt with himself to the image of you, a euphoria he’d never known before shooting through him now he had you to look upon in such delicious detail.

At first, guilt impeded him, strangled his chest, propelling the likelihood of you walking through his door at any minute and catching him like this.

But all caution threw itself to the wind as the promise of release clouded his judgement.

“Besides,” he told himself. “You let other guys do this. So why not me ?”

After he finished, post-nut clarity settling over him, Johnny couldn’t help but feel dirty.

Getting off to the image of his best friend in such gruesome detail while they were completely unaware…

Sure, he’d done it before, but the fantasies had been vague enough for Soap to evade guilt.

Until now.

But, even so, with the weight of his actions on his shoulders, Johnny couldn’t bring himself to loathe his actions.

Not when you made yourself up so pretty for him.

Something tells him that this won’t be the last time he visits your page.

Valeria

This woman is already possessive to the max, so to see you posting content of yourself at your most intimate angles is nothing short of infuriating.

Regardless of whether you’re hers yet or not (you already belong to her, Valeria just doesn’t have the official title of ‘girlfriend’ yet), she will have something to say about your page.

Of course, she’s upset. Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But more than anything, she’s…

Hurt.

Hurt that you never told her about your little account. Hurt that you didn’t trust her enough to let her know that this is what you did for work.

You weren’t obligated to, but where Valeria is concerned, there is no excuse.

Will drive up to your house in the dead of night and interrogate you.

And when she’s got you crying and shaking and apologising for having a career, she consoles you.

“I’m not angry,” she says, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are hard; black pearls. “Just disappointed.”

Female manipulator 100%.

She’ll tease you every now and then because of your account, nothing but playful banter (as she calls it). But you can tell there’s venom to her words.

Especially when she refuses to let you pursue it as a career anymore.

“Your body is for me to see alone, Mi Amor.”

Price

This DILF may not know how technology works, but he does know that he likes what he sees when a grotesque little picture of you floods his screen.

Don’t ask how he got here; that’s not important.

What is important is how full of you his mind is both during and after the initial discovery of your OnlyFans.

All he can think about as he’s scrolling through your portfolio is how devilishly sly you’ve been as to keep such an impressive career a secret from him of all people.

Like some kind of secret.

He’ll definitely tease you about it – drop eerily familiar turns of phrase into conversation with you, ones which you’d used on the captions of your pictures.

Calls you things which you refer to yourself as online: “Prince/Princess”, “Puppy/Kitty”, an extremely specific nickname that you’re certain you’ve never mentioned around him before.

He just loves watching you squirm under the false scrutiny in his eyes as you question yourself as to whether he’s found you out.

Little do you know that he’s your most generous benefactor, tipping you most ardently on your posts where the angle of the camera gives him a glimpse of what lays beneath the thin layers of your robe.

Comments something like ‘Fucking beautiful, Love. Keep up the good work for Daddy x’

And, when he’s ready to let you know that, yes, he has been following you for months, he’ll repeat that same sentence as his mouth is to your ear, his head just over your shoulder, as he guides your hands as he teaches you how to defend yourself.

And the feeling of your body stiffening, stepping back into him in disbelief and rubbing him just right is enough to send him over the edge, his breath shuttering, his hips pressing into yours.

Horangi

Despite the disciplinary values the military taught Horangi, nothing can restrain the sheer carnality brewing in his lower half as the video of you bent over a desk, an unknown antagonist taking you from behind filled his computer screen.

If it weren’t for your breathy, whining moans, your glassy eyes and the overwhelming fact that the person I like most is literally on full display in front of me, Horangi may have been mad enough to question who was railing you right now.

That, and why did one of his associates have a subscription to your OnlyFans ?

Better yet – since when did you have an OnlyFans ???

So many questions, and Horangi can’t focus on any of them.

His first instinct is to close the tab – to preserve your privacy, your dignity

But…something stops him.

Call it logic. Call it a sick need to fulfil his own desires, but Horangi stops just short of exiting the tab.

You’re putting this online with only a paywall to separate you from the common man. So why should he feel guilty for seeing it ?

Long story short, Horangi’s shame dies, and there is little that can resurrect it or stop what’s coming next.

For the rest of his mission, his mind drifts back to you – in that position – more often than he’d like it to.

Granted, his mind had wandered to such places long before now, but he’d never had anything so visual to fuel his fantasies save for a time or two when you bent over and your underwear peeked out from beneath your shirt whenever you slept over.

When he gets home – his long-awaited reprieve – he purchases his very own subscription to this newly-found slice of Heaven.

And he gives no indication that he knows of your activities, instead waiting for the day that you ask him for his help in filming your latest masterpiece.

Despite the disciplinary values the military taught Horangi, nothing can restrain the sheer carnality brewing in his lower half as the video of you bent over a desk, an unknown antagonist taking you from behind filled his computer screen.

If it weren’t for your breathy, whining moans, your glassy eyes and the overwhelming fact that the person I like most is literally on full display in front of me, Horangi may have been mad enough to question who was railing you right now.

That, and why did one of his associates have a subscription to your OnlyFans ?

Better yet – since when did you have an OnlyFans ???

So many questions, and Horangi can’t focus on any of them.

His first instinct is to close the tab – to preserve your privacy, your dignity

But…something stops him.

Call it logic. Call it a sick need to fulfil his own desires, but Horangi stops just short of exiting the tab.

You’re putting this online with only a paywall to separate you from the common man. So why should he feel guilty for seeing it ?

Long story short, Horangi’s shame dies, and there is little that can resurrect it or stop what’s coming next.

For the rest of his mission, his mind drifts back to you – in that position – more often than he’d like it to.

Granted, his mind had wandered to such places long before now, but he’d never had anything so visual to fuel his fantasies save for a time or two when you bent over and your underwear peeked out from beneath your shirt whenever you slept over.

When he gets home – his long-awaited reprieve – he purchases his very own subscription to this newly-found slice of Heaven.

And he gives no indication that he knows of your activities, instead waiting for the day that you ask him for his help in filming your latest masterpiece.

Alejandro

He may not look like it, but Alejandro is lowkey an internet sleuth.

I’m talking, you mention a YouTube video you watched once when you were younger that’s since been removed, based off a blurry thumbnail and Alejandro will finish your sentence like: “Oh, the one with that cat who steps on that leaf and jumps up its owner’s leg,”

So, finding your OnlyFans account isn’t exactly detective work for him when, after an outing with the boys™, he sees you get particularly jumpy when you pull out your phone.

Through the process of elimination, Alejandro concludes that you’re pursuing a more adult career.

And since he follows all your socials, he knows what your handle is likely to be.

And when he finds you in some rather compromising positions on your beloved little app, he can’t help but crack a smile.

“My, my, mi Corazon…What have you been up to ?”

He takes a leisurely stroll through your portfolio, makes a note of some noteworthy posts. Then, he makes a decision. An investment.

He purchases a subscription.

Sure, he could feel guilty about doing so – feel ashamed of his deep-rooted desire to see someone he’s seen as more than a friend exposed in ways he’s only dreamed of so far.

But he takes comfort in the fact that he’s admiring your artistry for what it is; hard work, dedication, and beauty.

Yeah, he still gets off to the stuff you post, but unlike the basement-dwellers who’ll pop a shot to a lewd picture of you and then go upstairs for their dino nuggies and their off-brand energy drink, Alejandro takes time, care, to really analyse your work – to see the colours you’ve used, the camera angles.

And to try and capture even a reflection of the guy who seems to “help” you in your productions.

Rodolfo

Screamed out loud the first time he caught sight of your page, which was open on Alejandro’s phone.

To be honest, he was too dazed by the risque picture of you in a very frail-looking swimsuit to consider the implications of Alejandro having access to your OnlyFans.

At first, he did the only thing he could think of – the gentlemanly thing to do.

Which was to look away; to grant you your privacy and pretend he’d seen nothing.

At first.

Rudy managed to make it a whole 24 hours before, after fighting a losing battle of wills with himself (one which he put little fight into the longer that image of you stewed in his mind), he found himself on your page. Again.

Shamefully, one might add.

And, much to his chagrin, he didn’t hate it.

Nor did it satiate his growing hunger for you.

And, considering how he already liked you well before making this discovery, Rudy is…conflicted, to say the least.

On one hand, you’re letting whoever has an internet connection and a bank card see you in ways that, even in his wildest imagination, Rudy never had.

Conversely, you’re letting whoever has an internet connection and a bank card see you in ways that, until now, Rudy never had.

Two sides of the same coin. Identical outcomes. It just all rested on how Rudy wanted to view the situation; as a hurdle, or an advantage.

A loyal follower of two months now, his evenings spent worshipping the visage of you in what one could barely consider clothing, Rodolfo chose the latter.

And you have no idea. And Rudy is going to keep it that way until he feels you’re ready to learn that your top contributor is the man who’s sat beside you right this second as you stay at his house for a sleepover; one upon which you rest your head and listen to the deceptively steady beating of his heart.

Graves

Not that he would admit it, but he felt somewhat offended the first time he found out about your OnlyFans account.

Bruised his ego considerably ☹️

He took your self-sufficiency personally.

Did you not believe he could provide for you ? Is that why you turned to…adult practices ?

He sulked about it for a little while – about a day or two – before the fact that the person he’d been – dare he say it – crushing on for the last few months had an ONLYFANS ACCOUNT.

Needless to say, he hopped right back on his computer and got to buying your most elite subscription available.

Yeah, perhaps the idea that a couple thousand or so other weirdos were ooglign your body aside from himself bothered him. But he wasn’t exactly whiter than white himself, so he dropped the subject (with himself).

However, his jealous tendencies do lead him to some rather unorthodox places.

Has genuinely, seriously considered acquiring OnlyFans to try and get you scrubbed off the platform.

His accountant managed to (eventually) convince him otherwise after drilling it through his skull “How questionable this would look on your company record, Sir.”

And then, obviously, Graves decided to just try and buy the internet.

Bless him, he may be a CEO, but he isn’t a boyboss. Or tech-savvy.

Regardless, he eventually cools off and actually sees this situation as playing to his advantage.

He could already feel the cogs in his turning as he realised that you didn’t know he’d seen your account, nevermind contributed to it.

And thus began Philly’s plan to make you so financially dependent on him through anonymous donations and financial contributions. A hostile takeover, as it’s known in the trade.

Gaz

Since he is both the youngest and the most tech-savvy of the 141, he knows what he’s doing.

He’d heard a whisper while traversing your socials that you owned a fabled OnlyFans account.

And, like the good friend he was, instead of embarrassing you and asking you directly, he went on the hunt for it himself.

Okay, maybe he didn’t do this without your knowledge out of pure chivalry – rather a need to see if there was a possibility that, yes, you posted yourself online for money.

And, perhaps, a need to see if he can get his hands on some of those images himself…

Eventually, ever the internet sleuth he is, Gaz found your account.

And boy, did he underestimate what he thought he’d find.

“Jesus, (Y/N)...What have you been doing ?”

But that isn’t to say he didn’t like it.

On the contrary; he couldn’t help but feel drawn to it.

Especially when, in one of the pictures, he saw you drenched in a shirt of his he’d lent to you months ago. One which he still hadn’t gotten back.

He doesn’t pester you about it anymore. Even jokingly.

Though, he is somewhat envious that his shirt gets to be that close to you, especially in those conditions.

That, and…

Wait, who’s taking these pictures ?!

Not that you’d know this, but, his chest alight with the need to identify this mystery victor, those dark rings under Gaz’s eyes when you meet for lunch the next day are for you.

“Gaz, Sweetie, did you get into a fight or something ?”

And Gaz can’t bear to tell you how much an effect the jealousy you’d inadvertently inflicted on him has had on his psyche – had on his sleep schedule as he burnt through the night trawling every image and video of you for any identifying feature of your work partner.

As evidenced by the crusted tissues piling up in the bin beside his desk, to dry his tears and…other fluids.

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

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

the effect you have

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader

(helen!reader/ medic!reader)

wc: 2.5k warnings: helen and simon post proposal as things shift for helen. bit of angst, bit of fluff, bit of reader struggling, mainly softer!ghost. summary: ghost enjoys how you always look up at him like he’s something special—like he matters.  it’s evolved and transformed in time. a softer look in your eyes now when you stare at him, your hand gripping his cheek

simon ghost riley masterlist

You remembered when he had ignored you like he hated you. 

Doing so intentionally as if proving to himself that it meant nothing outside of the moments he pulled you into dark corners.

Even if it was he who lifted the mask—brushed his chapped lips over your neck, blew his breath over your skin until it prickled and raised.

It meant something now.

Seeing the evidence of it as you remove your gloves—eyes catching the ring he placed on your left hand. It had meant something for longer than it had been there, pulsing around the two of you. 

When he’s not on base, your memories are what keep you warm until he returns. Remembering how his bare fingers had felt fanned over your hip, the sound of how his slow breaths had filled the air, darkness blanketing the room as you wished the night never ended. 

You’re growing tired of spending more hours away from him than together. Not just because you miss him, but because you’re tired, drained…

There’s a calmness Ghost feels when you’re close.

As though, by seeing you, he doesn’t need to look for you or wonder if you’re safe, if you’re unharmed and your heart is beating. 

He doesn’t believe it when people tell him—he has to see it. He needs to. Otherwise, the little voice grows louder until it’s shouting, shrieking and using his skull as a hammer. 

It’s different when he’s alone with you. Then, he likes how you look when you’re under him. 

Ghost enjoys how you always look up at him like he’s something special—like he matters. 

It’s evolved and transformed in time. A softer look in your eyes now when you stare at him, your hand gripping his cheek—or on his shoulder—when he curls his fingers inside you. 

He relishes in watching you come apart. He likes knowing it’s him that’s doing it—that he gets to for as long as there’s air in his lungs, and you’ll have him. 

Simon likes that he barely has to lift his mask over his nose before your lips find his—hungrily, desperately like you crave him. As though you want to consume and be consumed. 

Almost like you don’t understand that you’d consumed him so long ago. You’d left a hole in him that added to the many others. 

It was just that yours could be filled—and filled it was, when Ghost managed to hold you again. When years ran their course, and you were there, showering the air with your laugh, smile and wit. 

He thinks he’ll deserve you. Ponders over it when you're lying in front of him, thinking how you’re a literal piece of art when you’re spread in front of him. When your limbs are bare, there’s the lightest sheen on your skin. 

He knows every curve, every scar. He knows the feel of every part of your body. He knows how your smile feels under his thumb and the tears under his knuckles. 

Every part of you, every emotion—he’s seen. He’s held you close and pulled you even closer. He’s watched you fall apart and placed shards of you back into place. 

Not out of obligation, but need—want. 

The same as you do to him, for him. Both of you have become excellent puzzlers over the years. Each time he’s been granted the pleasure of fucking you, he’d committed it. Written over what he managed to mentally absorb, ensuring he has the perfect render of you living in his dreams. 

Ghost still did it now, even though now you’re his. You chant it like a prayer when he pulls you close.

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

His beacon—the light that leads him. You’re his moon, his sun—the thing he never wanted to orbit but does all the same. He won’t admit it. Not a whisper of it. Not any of that or that you’re his escape, a welcomed retreat. Something dangerous in the day and sweeter at night. 

He’s always loved that about you. That when the day is done, your walls come down. The fire inside of you slowly smothered so people could get close. He’d walk through your flames if they ever rose around him, storm through until he stared at the soul in the middle. 

He wouldn’t lose you again. 

Wouldn’t squander the chance of being loved by you.

It’s why his eyes linger on the ring on your finger. The one that had been a welcomed weight in his vest, but suits being on your hand even more. 

The hand which is splayed across his stomach, the sun slowly rising, shimmering its orange hue across his base room. 

“I can hear you thinking, Simon.” 

His lips twitch as he closes his eyes. Wanting another minute, another hour, another day. 

“Go back to sleep.”

You look for him in your nightmares. 

The ones which happen nightly, more frequently than they’ve ever done. 

Your hands are dripping with cherry red, the sound of a flatline being the soundtrack until he arrives. You expect him, need him—practically call for him even if your dream-lips don’t part, and your dream-chords don’t scream. You wish for him, secretly plucking a chord for him to arrive. 

And he does. 

Whether it’s his projection appearing to pull you from the darkness, no mask on his face as the shadows and smoke swirl around his boots. Whether it’s his hand spraying across your body, pulling you back to the physical world. 

He saves you, over and over.  

Your map home, your light, your reason. 

Sometimes he feels he can keep you safe.

He pulls you from your dreams, when you’re sweating, shaking and whimpering. He holds you when your eyes mist over, your light flickering as he guides you to the shower, watching crimson wash down the drain. 

Other times, he wonders if he’s imprisoned you—shackled you to a life he can’t protect you from. 

Irrespective of him, you’re in the centre of danger—a member of 141, all the same. Your hands keep the team together, doing your bit to keep the wheels turning and the operations ticking. 

He has no part to play in you still being here. That’s a choice you make, and one he has nothing but respect for. But it’s outside of that. 

When he watches you trace his scars in a shoddy bed or when you say nothing but tighten your fingers when the two of you walk down a street, off duty. It’s those moments he wonders if he’s trapped you—made you carry his fears, carry the weight of his grief. 

Doubt rears its head then, smothering over nicer moments as he wonders if the past will take away his future. Whether he’s condemned you to a half-life because there’s only half of him left. 

He feels it when there’s a noise in the darkness. The flat the two of you live in groaning and creaking—whether it's the pipes or the floorboards. It grips his heart, and makes him kick his legs from the sheets. A need to keep you safe, to protect. 

There are times you find him, sleep in your eyes, weariness in your bones as you take his forearm and pull him back to bed. Others, he returns to find you curled in on yourself, a need to pull you close, feeling your warmth smother over him as he tries to close his eyes. 

That same feeling roars when he’s running through the dirt, kicking up dust, yanking his comms from his ears. He hears you call for someone through the comms, your whimper, your pleading. 

Ghost knows why you don’t call for him. He’s the reason you don’t—his silent request you abide without ever being asked. 

And that fills him with fury, the fear exploding into a panicked rage that would give him the strength to tear whoever came in his way. He’d rip through it, them—whatever attempted to stop him, person, moment, world—in two. 

Something in him taking over, the killer in him, the Ghost. That part of him dispatching one after the other as they fall, allowing Simon to hunt for his Helen. 

You’ve been hurt before. Too many times for his liking. He’s stroked his fingers over the scars, and traced them with the tip of his tongue. His ears have captured whimpers that turned into moans. He should be used to it, but he never is.

The twist in his chest at the sight of you on the floor, knocked back from an explosion you should never have been near. Still, your eyes land on his. Finding him—seeking him. Lips parted, hand to the back of your head—

Even concussed, you look for him. 

A sight and thought which renders him breathless. Something which stirs in him, making him find you, even in the middle of an operation. He’d do what he needed to do, take the lives that were necessary, and collect or extract what was required of him before.  

It’s what you’d want. And he’s also nothing but dedicated to the cause. But after, when the main objective is complete, he will begin his second. You curl into him, finding the spot you usually have when the two of you are alone—pulling you close, not caring about the odd looks, as he lifts you easily. 

“Keep your blood in you, Helen.” “Roger that, Ghost.”

Your eyes flick over him as though unsure if you’re dreaming or in reality. Keeping them on him, your training appearing—the usual thing you tell those who you’re taking care of:

Eyes on me. Do not close them.

He doesn’t need to tell it to you, doesn’t need to remind you of your famous words—you’re doing it already. Continuing to do so until you’re in a bed in your own workplace—a machine beeping, white bandages covering you where necessary. 

Sometimes he feels he can save you. Sometimes he feels he’s always too late. 

It’s gnawing. 

Worsening, as you call another time of death again. 

Like you have done constantly since the 141 had managed to hijack space on another base. Your expertise is needed in the medical area, watching more light fade from eyes than your heart can handle. The death is more constant than you’re used to. 

Your hands are good, but not great; your brain is quick, but not quick enough. 

Confidence wavering, determination squandered. 

In truth, it’s the damage, the injuries too severe. But your mind is a liar, a cage of deceit that reminds you you’re not good at what you do. That you lose, over and over again…

The reason he’s so good—why he can and used to work alone—is that he notices things.

Ghost spots things, the tiny flicker of reflection, the tyre marks, the kicked-up sand and oddly placed buildings when they scan satellite images. 

It’s why he knows you’re running on nothing. Something has changed inside of you. Something had been broken—ripped in two and left dangling, withering in your chest where hope once was. 

Often, a break helped. You mended and sowed yourself back together with the same magical hands you save lives with. But the last two-week break at home didn’t do that. Your body was small, curled up in bed for reasons he didn’t like. The smile he loves to bottle stares at him, all forced and different at the edges. 

He should have asked, but feelings aren’t his strength. He fixes, builds and repairs…

Ghost isn’t sure how to fix this. How to heal you. So he doesn’t, even if he should. 

A part of him praying you’ll blink one day on base, and he’ll see the embers in your eyes. His prayers are unanswered, watching more of your fire being taken, more of your body slumping, a tiredness sleep couldn’t fix. 

“Think we should buy a house.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, holding your hand in your office. Tired of watching you dwindle, shrink and wane. Forcing his way into your office, just like he always does. He waits for the usual smirk, pauses for it. Watching as he finds a soft smile there instead, replacing what he usually knows.

He’ll take it. 

Fuck, he’d take anything you gave him. Forever lucky to have a speck of you, never mind all of you.

Rolling your hand between his gloves, he doesn’t miss how you sigh contently. “Somewhere quiet. A fixer-upper.”

“You gonna be fixing it up?” 

Smiling, he looks at you. 

Does so until the seconds bleed into a minute, watching the walls come down—the sheet of pretence—watching that tiredness return. The one you try to hide, but he sees all the same. 

“Think y’could do with a project.”

“You do, huh?”

He grips your hand a little tighter, more purposeful. “It’s alright that sometimes enough, is enough. Y’know?” 

He watches as you bite the inside of your lip, blinking—a shimmer growing in your eyes as you try to hold it all back. He studies you and keeps his eyes fixed until you sweep your tongue across your bottom lip. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Casper.” 

He nods, loosening his grip begrudgingly on your hand before he pulls it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. Savouring the softness, feeling your ring under his thumb, before he lets it go, watching you, watch him. 

“You remember when you used to hate me?”

“Never hated you.”

Smirking, you fold your arms. Keeping your left hand—the one which sparkles—on the top. On display.

“Jus’ wanted to keep you safe.” 

Your smirk drops, blending into a smile, as your head tilts and you let out a heavy breath. “I prefer how you keep me safe now than you did then.” 

He knows. Feels it too. Has kept you safe differently since he had you back then he did before. Then it was about keeping you out, now it's about keeping everyone else away.

Swallowing, he nods, picking up his balaclava from your desk, turning it in his hands as he stares at you. “Me too.” 

You drop your eyes, shoulders sinking as he stands from the chair. It creaks, the noise disrupting the quiet of the small room the two of you are hiding in as he begins to put his balaclava on. 

“Simon…”

He halts, the fabric coming down to his nose as you lean forward, pressing your lips to his before wiping a finger to remove any chapstick from his lips. 

“You should ask Soap to be your best man.” 

Snorting, he shakes his head. “Not a fuckin’ chance, Helen.” 

The fabric coming down over his face, the Ghost smothering over Simon as your fingers help slide the bottom into his top. 

“I need to cut your hair when you’re back.”

"Thought y'said you're not doing that anymore."

Shrugging, your hand cups his fabric-covered cheek, his head turning, pressing his lips against it as he watches something light in your eyes. 

“Be safe, need you back with me if we’re doing house viewings, Casper.” 

He smirks, hoping you can see it, lifting his hand up, showing one finger, then four, then three. 

⇝ resolution .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART FIVE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A letter in the mail changes everything.

WARNINGS: Mentions of canon typical violence, gore, blood, death; angst, fighting, slight NSFW, a really big rollercoaster of emotions, I'm sorry.

A/N: AFTER ALMOST THREE WEEKS!! I AM SO SORRY IT'S HERE IT'S HERE SOUND THE BELLS!!! Please don't froget to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, it helps so fucking much!!

WORD COUNT: 8.4k

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged in future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account - @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

“You know you can just go to bed, right?”

“Mmm...” You yawned, leaning your head on the cool porcelain of the bathtub’s edge as you watched Tommy try to grab at one of the toys you’d placed in the water for him, leaning over to push it towards him. “...’m fine.”

“You haven’t slept properly for a few days.” Simon tried again, arms crossed over his chest as he tried his best to not just grab you and shove you into bed and finish Tommy’s bath on his own. 

“Noted…” You said, voice groggy and throat sore but still with enough energy to snap at him. “Just go…”

Go where? He wanted to snap back, but kept himself quiet, looking away from your body slumped on the floor to your bed, letting out a frustrated sigh. 

It’d been a few days since he’d come back from the mission that had ended with him and the task force in your home, and despite the warm farewell you’d both shared, when he came back, you’d seemed to have grown colder towards him for no apparent reason, and God, did he hate how much it reminded him of the first few months of whatever this was, insisting to do everything by yourself and leaving no room for discussion, taking up almost all of Tommy’s time with yourself. 

Which was fine, you were his mother, after all, but it just felt a bit like… You were pushing him away, keeping him from your son all over again.

He didn’t like it. 

“I got some curry, go eat and let me finish him up.” He took a few steps towards you, leaning down and placing a hand on your back, immediately being taken aback as you jumped away from his touch, arm placed protectively over yourself as if he’d just tried to attack you.

“No!” You all but screamed, staring up at him in shock before seemingly realising what you’d just done. “No. I- I said it’s fine, Simon. Go eat, I’ll finish.”

He furrowed his eyebrows beneath the mask, clenching his fists at his sides as he watched you turn around again to call out softly at Tommy, who turned his head to you with a bright smile, unaware of the tension filling up the room between his parents. 

“Fine.” He said gruffly, not missing the way your shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. 

He really didn’t fucking understand what had happened between you two, what could’ve occurred in the span of the few days he’d been gone to change the way you acted towards him completely…

It was worrying, the whole scenario that was playing out making him sick to his stomach as he took out the food he’d bought, making you a plate before his and pouring you a drink, simply staring at his own food while listening to you whisper to Tommy through the walls, suddenly having lost all his appetite. 

You hadn’t even gotten to talk like he’d promised when he came back, you’d dismissed any and every attempt to start a conversation, keeping it to short words and sentences, seemingly not wanting anything to do with him apart from the things you were basically obligated to talk to him about. 

And god, did he fucking hate it. 

“Let me feed him.” He spoke as you walked out of your bedroom with Tommy in your arms, his hair damp and curly from the water, chubby hands clinging onto one of his toys. 

“I can-”

“I’m going to feed him.” Simon snapped, walking over to you and reaching for his son, his towering figure and the fire in his eyes immediately shutting you up as you didn’t put on more of a fight, letting him take the small boy. “And you’re going to eat and then go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Tommy was placed in his chair, a plate of rice in front of him. “You need rest.”

“Maybe I don’t want to rest.” You retorted, voice almost gone, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your head away from him, yet still keeping a watchful eye on him and Tommy, once again insinuating further that you didn’t trust him anymore anywhere near your son. 

Keep it calm. Not around Tommy.

You saw it by the way he clenched his hand around the fork in his hand, he was trying his best to not snap with your son present, not wanting to subject the small boy to that kind of spectacle. 

And yes, you didn’t either, but you couldn’t just act like everything was normal around him, you knew how you were acting now was just a trauma response to what had happened in the time he’d been gone, that it would all hopefully be better if you told him about it, but the mere thought of the files you’d received in the mail that were currently sitting in one of the cupboards’ drawers made you feel nauseated. 

You just… couldn’t see him the same. 

Yeah, you were once a kid with unlimited access to the internet, yes you accidentally saw some gore shit online, you’d heard some disgusting things thanks to your grandfather that had served in the military, you’d seen all the mess and blood after you’d given birth, you weren’t fully desensitised to gore or blood, but you’d seen it across the years. 

But those pictures, fuck. It wasn’t any surprise that you’d immediately thrown up after opening them, having expected maybe some letters about rent or something, not- whatever that was. 

What you’d been able to discern after flipping through them a few times was that they were not the original military’s file but copies, which by the way the ink was smudged on a few of them and the lettering was off, seemed to have been made under a lot of pressure and on a time limit. 

You didn’t understand at first, why they had been sent to you, too in shock and terrified of the images amongst them to even connect it to Simon until you saw his callsign. And as you started to read through them more carefully, you realised that it was everywhere. 

And fuck, you’d never been more terrified in your life. 

Of course, you were aware of what a man in his position did, but you’d never explicitly asked him about it, never wanted to actually be exposed to whatever things he and the task force did to protect your country. 

But seeing it written down, all the specifics along with the pictures, it was traumatising. 

You hadn’t even realised how much time you’d spent staring at them until Tommy alerted you with a cry, snapping you out of it and forcing you to put the files down (although putting them down anywhere in your house made you feel sick), body shaking and bile rising into your throat once again. 

Obviously, there was no name on the envelope and of course, no return address, so the person who sent the files to you remained a mystery, but it didn’t take a genius to deduce that it was someone who’d been close to everything that had been depicted in them, someone who’d figured out who you were and what relationship you had to the SAS Lieutenant, and either wanted to send some type of message that you were to shook up to decipher or to simply toy with your emotions, all you knew was that somehow, they’d figured out Ghost’s oh-so secretive double life out. 

How, you had no idea. But you did know what that meant. 

You and Tommy were in danger. 

And you didn't know how you were supposed to react. 

Seriously, how?

Everything was too much at once, the files, the pictures, the fear, Tommy, Ghost, you- 

And then he came back. 

Acting like he’d never done anything of what you’d seen, holding your face in those warm hands and being so sweet towards you and your son, conflicting you even more. 

You didn't feel safe anymore, not just around Simon, but in general. And seeing him lean down to pick up Tommy with those hands, those hands that had caused what you’d seen, you just jumped into action, scooping Tommy up before he could reach him and insisting he would need to have a shower before touching him. 

You just couldn’t fathom how a man like that could treat you both with such kindness, how his hands could go from doing that to someone and then holding you softly at night, it was confusing and sickening and all you wanted to do was get rid of everything, go back to before where you had no idea of what happened while he was gone and you could indulge yourself in his touch without that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

How were you supposed to bring up a topic like that to him? How were you supposed to look him in the eyes after that information, hand him the files and receive confirmation that they were in fact real and true? And what would you do? Force him to explain himself like a wife confronting her husband over an affair? This wasn’t anything like that, this was his job, something he’d been doing for ages and needed no explanation, especially to you. What, would you force him to apologise to all the people he’d hurt? 

Of course not. 

But still, you couldn’t just act normal. 

Even if you felt slightly bad. 

Even if he looked at you like that, the way he’d done at the beginning of your relationship.

You… Couldn’t…

You didn’t even process the tears running down your cheeks until he shot up from his spot and his warm hands came into contact with your cheeks, pulling your head up to look at you properly, making you stumble as the exhaustion and overwhelm finally caught up to you. 

He called your name with such confusion and care, despite how mean you’d treated him these past few days, your hands coming up to grab at his arms for stability as he asked you what was wrong, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. 

“Hey, listen t’me, come-”

“I can’t- I’m sorry, I can’t-” You sobbed out, your breathing erratic as you tried your best to stop yourself from crying, but once the dam had been broken, there was no way of fixing it. “Simon-”

“Come ‘ere.” He let go of your face, arms falling to your body and wrapping around you, pulling you into a hug and letting you grab at his shirt, despite that repulsive feeling stirring deep within your chest once again at his touch. “Fuck, lovie…”

“Don’t…” You murmured into his shirt as soon as the pet name had slipped out of his lips, squeezing your eyes closed. 

“What?”

“Don't” You repeated, pushing yourself away from him and taking a few unsure steps back. “I- I can’t I-” You shook your hands as if there were muck on them, confused and anxious as you tried to breathe, spiralling further and further into a panic attack. 

You weren’t really there for what happened next, Simon could tell as he held you almost limp in his arms, trying his best to calm you down from whatever was happening. Panic attacks for the both of you weren’t unnormal, he knew that, you’d both been subject to anxiety for a long time, so this wasn’t completely new, but you fainting from the exhaustion and him having to bring you to bed was. 

And because you were asleep, he had no way of figuring out what had happened, what the cause of this whole mess was and how he could help you through it. 

He’d placed Tommy in the crib you'd brought into your room a few days ago, letting you both take a well-deserved nap while he cleaned up the abandoned food outside. And well, after that, he picked a beer out of the fridge, convinced that he was deserving of one too after everything. But of course, the bottle opener was nowhere to be found, so he was forced to look through all the different drawers in the kitchen and living room until he found it. 

But… He didn’t. Instead, he was greeted with a file envelope messily shoved into one of the cupboards beneath a few pictures of Tommy you’d put up, blank and very much looking like some of the files that they kept back at base. 

He pulled it out, looking down at the drawer that was filled with little trinkets, stones and incense, definitely not the drawer where you’d stick something like this. 

Maybe he should have put it back, but he finally decided against it, pulling the contents out and spilling them across the wooden top of the small cupboard, fear immediately being stricken within him as he laid eyes upon the papers. 

What the actual fuck. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen them, some of these he’d written him fucking self, all the reports for recent missions where he’d been the one to finish off most of the enemy’s team. 

He recognised each and every picture that came along with the textual description, remembered the face and the voice of the person who had been unfortunate enough to meet him during a mission. 

He knew them, he’d had them in his hands at one point, that didn’t fucking explain why you had them. 

A thousand scenarios rushed through his brain as he stared down at them, hands gripping at the edges of the wooden piece of furniture in order to keep himself from breaking his hands from the force he was clenching his fists with, a shaky sigh leaving his lips as his mind went down the deepest rabbit holes to explain why you had this. 

Had you been using him to get inf-

No.

Was this all a game to y-

No!

No, you weren’t… You weren’t a fucking enemy. You weren’t his enemy. You weren’t that type of person. You wouldn’t just fucking babytrap him to get information. 

No one was sick enough for that. 

…right?

“Fuck!” He roared, slamming his hands down onto the wood and staring deep into the picture of the soulless eyes of one of his victims, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. 

No. He wasn’t going to think of you like that. You loved Tommy too much for it all to be an act. He loved y-

Simon raised his hands up to his face to press them into his eyes until he saw flashing lights, trying to calm himself down. 

He turned around as soon as he heard the squeak of the floorboards, furious eyes landing on your dishevelled figure as you clung to the doorframe, staring at him like a deer caught in headlight as you saw what he’d been looking at. 

“Sim-”

“Why do you have this?” A shiver ran throughout your body at the sound of his voice, calm and calculated, like he hadn’t just woken you up with a shout loud enough to shake the building. 

“Si-”

“Answer.” Ghost replied, eyes focused solely on you as you looked down at your feet, a pressure building in your chest as you tried to speak. 

“They were sent to me.” You finally choked out, flinching back as Simon made a move to pick them up, unknowing of the connotations that answer could have.

Silence. 

“Do you really think I’d go out of my way to find those? Do you think I wanted to see you like that- like Ghost?” You started, voice wavering. “Fuck, Simon, those- I couldn’t even look at them a second time, I feel sick just fucking thinking of them!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me!?” He shouted, turning around in a flash and taking a few jarring steps towards you, files all bunched up in his shaking hands. “Why didn’t you think to mention that you were being sent shit like this!?”

“Because I was fucking scared, Simon! I was fucking terrified that this meant that they know who I was, who Tommy is, who he’s related to! That they know about us and therefore can use us as leverage against you! Unlike you, I’m not that fucking desensitised to pain, to whatever you do, to the fear of getting hurt so that they can get to you! I’m not part of the fucking military, I’m just a fucking civillian who is clearly very much in danger thanks to a fucking mistake she made with you!” You screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks and blurring your vision as you shoved a finger into his chest. “So I’m sorry, okay!’ I’m fucking sorry that I was too afraid to bring this up! To bring up the fact I can’t see you the same, that I’m scared Tommy’s going to be hurt and I won’t be able to do anything about it, I’m fucking sorry!”

You let out another sob as you finished, your voice sore and throat dry from letting all of that out. 

“‘M not like you, Simon.”

Fuck.

Everything came crashing down onto him, guilt the only thing weighing Simon down.

“I’m… scared.”

“Of me?” He finally breathed out, raising his free hand to cup your cheek, relief flooding his body as you didn’t move away but immediately being crushed as he saw the fearful look on your face. 

“...I don’t know…”

A beat.

“...Should I be?”

Maybe.

“...I’d never hurt you. I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. You and Tommy are my family, and I’m going to protect you both no matter what. I won't let anyone ever lay a hand on you. You need to know that. The man I’m out there isn’t the same as the one I’m here. But neither of us would hesitate to rip apart whatever bastard is making you feel like this.”

He let the files fall, cupping your face with both hands, shaking you slightly so you got the message to look up at him. 

“I know I can’t undo this, what you’ve seen, what I’ve done, but I want to be here for you. You know I’ll always be here for you.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know.” You said, voice breaking. You couldn’t fully express what you were feeling right then, you… you didn’t hate him, it would be impossible to truly hate Simon, after everything he’d done for you; you just needed time and space. His view of you might’ve not changed in the whole time he’d been with you but yours definitely had, and that was normal, considering everything he did. You just couldn’t act like everything was normal after what you’d seen.

“...go back to bed. We’ll talk this out once you’re rested.” He let you go, watching you walk back into your room with a guilty look on your face before turning to his now still beer, the appetite he’d had for one having vanished. 

“...Simon?” You whispered before closing the door, hand clinging onto the wood. 

“Yeah?” He replied, a bit gruffly. 

“...Tommy’s going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” He repeated, giving you a reassuring look, one he hoped you caught despite the mask. “‘Course he is.”

He watched you hesitate at the door for a split second, almost like you were deciding whether or not to say anything to further the conversation, but seemingly decided against it, closing the door after a quick nod and leaving him in silence. 

Silence. 

Something he used to enjoy before, when he was alone at home or at base with only himself for company, letting him unwind and think about whatever he wanted to. Now, it was overwhelming. 

It felt like every single thought rushing through his brain was out to catch him or hurt him, showing him the most horrific scenarios and ideas of what could happen thanks to whatever fucker had decided to play some sick joke on you. 

Was it even a joke? It could be hundreds of things, a joke, a message, a threat… 

Or just a form of psychological warfare, a way of messing with you and no doubt hoping to distance you from him, to leave him weak and defenceless like the enemy anticipated. That was the more credible reason, even if the mere thought of someone sending you shit like this in hopes of breaking you drove him insane to the point of wanting to catch and dispose of that abstard with his own two hands, ironic considering that those acts of anger and violence had been the whole reason for your dispute. 

It pissed him off to no end. 

But, even though a lot of people would’ve acted on the current emotions rushing through him if they were in his place, Simon knew that focusing solely on finding the bastard wasn’t the most important subject at hand. As much as he wanted this threat on your happiness and safety disposed of, he couldn’t just fuck off and leave you here to deal with the damage and Tommy all on your own. 

He’d repeated it to himself countless times before going on a mission, he was a protector, he was your protector, even if in the future you decided you hated his guts or something happened between you two, you’d always be safe and secure with him, no matter what. 

And so, he swallowed that horrible need for retaliation and picked up his phone, dialling in his captain’s number.

“What’d you do with them?”

“Burnt them.” Simon grunted, wiping away the mess Tommy had made around his mouth. “Best way of disposing shit like that.”

You hummed, clearly out of it, staring at the news playing out on the tv. 

“I told Laswell about it. ‘Said she’d do her best to find out who was the one who made the copies.” 

“Right…” You drummed your fingers against your mug with feigned disinterest, truly not knowing what to say back. 

“And, until whoever it is is caught, I’m not going anywhere.”

That caught your attention. You turned to him with an inquisitive look, confused. “What?”

“Asked her to stop givin’ me missions until they’re sure you’re not in danger.” He clarified, picking Tommy up from his high chair and straddling him to his side. “So I’m here in case anything happens.”

Tommy was carefully handed to you, Simon’s body plopping down onto the sofa next to you a few seats away, his feet coming up to rest on the coffee table as he picked up his own tea. 

“‘That okay? Figured you’d feel better if it was me and not some random guy sent by the SAS. Though Gaz was pretty up for it when asked…” He mumbled the last part, showing you did indeed have an option if you truly didn’t feel safe with him around anymore (his heart stung a bit at the thought of it, but it was what it was), but you soon shut it down with a simple shrug, pulling Tommy closer to you so he could rest his head on your chest, rubbing his back with your free hand. 

“It’s… okay. I’m just going to need some time.”

You were a bit ashamed of how you’d reacted last night when he’d confronted you about the files, but you still stood by everything you said, even if you’d said it a bit too harshly, it didn’t matter. You weren’t like him, after all, you were still afraid of things happening to you and of course, your son, and just needed some time to process what you hadn’t in all the months of knowing Simon: that whether you liked it or not, you would always be tied back to him, even if the mere thought of being hurt just because of who you’d randomly decided to go back home with one night.

“You said something last night.” He began, outstretching a hand towards you both so Tommy could grab at one of his fingers. 

“I said a lot of things last night.” You tried to humour, but stayed quiet as the expression in his eyes didn’t change. 

“You said that you were in danger because of a mistake you made.”

You flinched at the words, biting down on your lower lip as you recalled back to the outburst you’d subjected Simon to last night, that particular part having slipped out in the heat of the moment.

“...did you really mean that?”

“Fuck! Of course not!” You whisper-shouted, not wanting to disturb Tommy any more than you both already had in the last few days, shaking your head to further your point. “No- Fuck, tat- that was so disgusting of me to say. It might’ve been a mistake back then when it first happened-” You saw his shoulders slump slightly, so you moved to grab at the arm he’d put out, catching his attention. “-but I’d never change it. Not for anything in the world. If that didn’t happen, I wouldn’t have Tommy, and he- God, Simon, he’s my son, of course he isn’t a mistake, he’s my everything…”

He let out a relieved sigh, nodding along with your words as you both looked down at Tommy, curious big eyes switching between you two as if able to understand the conversation that had just transcurred, giving you a toothless smile. 

Well, not really toothless, since he had been crying for almost a month now due to the pain of his teeth coming in, so there were a few flashes of white across the smile. 

“Yeah, you’re my everything too.”

“Huh?”

You’d expected him to immediately backtrack on his answer and say he was talking to Tommy, but he simply shrugged again, eyes darting from you to Tommy with a fond look reflecting in them as he did everything but take back what he said. “Both of you. Might be corny, but it’s true. I told you.”

His everything.

Simon’s everything. 

That shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did. 

Everything was going to be okay. 

Yeah, it would take some time for you to adjust like you’d told him, but he was okay with that. He’d wait for you.

"Come on, please, wake up."

Simon's hands were shaking, gripping at your lifeless body as if you were the only thing that mattered in the midst of this living nightmare, his mask growing wet as tears formed in the corner of his eyes, his breathing growing erratic as your body slumped in his grasp. 

He called your name desperately, your body shaking in his hold from the way his own hands were trembling and in a feeble attempt at getting you to wake up, to open your eyes, to say his name in that fucking beautiful voice of yours, anything. 

His gloved hands came up to cradle your paling face, running it over your features to rub off the dust and ashes that had stuck to the now drying blood, dropping your body in horror as instead of the grime he wanted to wipe off, he was left with nothing, his hand growing warm as the blood from your now horrifying carcass started to flow. 

He was drowning, he was choking, he couldn't fucking breathe, he couldn't think, you were dead, you were gone, his fucking life didn't have meaning anym- 

Simon jolted up as the pressure that had been building in his chest finally exploded, the dam that had been working so hard to keep his fears at bay breaking, letting the tears that Simon always tried his best to contain out. 

Fuck, it felt like he'd really lived it, like he had held your dying body in his hands as you slowly slipped away from him, like his the recurring fears of him causing your end had come true. 

He felt pathetic, like the broken man he really was, lying on the fucking sofa like always trembling like a little kid, the tears a constant stream down his cheeks, all the emotions and stress from the past few months finally catching up to him.

His breathing was raspy and uneven, reflecting the anxiety rushing through his veins at that very same moment. 

He felt awful, he was awful, an awful, destroyed, broken man who had been tipped over the edge by a stupid fucking dream. 

Someone undeserving of everything you’d given to him. 

He was sure his heart was going to break through his chest with how quickly it was beating against his ribcage, one of his hands coming up to clench at the material of his creased shirt. 

He felt like he was about to pass out. 

His eyesight was blurry, his limbs shaky and his mouth dry, clear indications of the oh-so familiar panic attacks he’d been prone to every since he was a young boy, hat he’d grown enough to know how to control, but he knew that right now, he did not have enough willpower to keep himself from spiralling down into his own thoughts. 

He blindly got up, staggering around the living room as the blanket that had been draped over him pooling onto the floor. He pushed open your door, breaths staggering as his teary eyes made contact with your sleeping body, darting towards the crib right next to your bed where Tommy slept peacefully, making sure to stay quiet as he entered the bathroom. 

He didn’t want to wake you up, to annoy you even more than you already were with him after everything that had happened, despite almost a month having gone by after it all, you deserved rest, you deserved fucking better than h-

His hands gripped the porcelain sink as he stumbled into the room, staring at his uncovered reflection in the mirror, his cheeks red and blotchy from having cried mere moments ago, a few stray tears continuing their pathway down his face. 

He felt ridiculous. 

He was supposed to be some hard willed strong Lieutenant, not the pathetic man who cried at a mere nightmare he really was. 

"...Simon?"

The sound of shuffling sheets reached his ears, your muffled voice coming from beneath the covers as you stirred, his panicked footsteps and the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door enough to wake you from your slumber. 

"'S that you?"

Who else would it be? He wanted to joke, but stayed quiet, hoping you would just go back to sleep. 

But clearly, you weren't satisfied with no answer.

He watched the door open behind him from the mirror, freezing like a deer in headlights as you walked in sporting one of his dirty shirts he'd told you once you could wear, hiding the fact he wanted to see you in his clothes behind the pretence that it would be easier to do laundry, sweatpants (his, as well) tied at your waist so they wouldn't slip down your legs. 

"Simon." You mumbled, eyes barely open and vision blurry as you held onto the door frame for stability, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as you yawned. "What's wrong?"

You knew something was off as soon as you'd heard him creep into the bathroom, already knowing from experience that Simon never got up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet, fearing that he'd wake you up like he’d done just now- 

“Nuffin’, lovie. Go back to bed.”

You frowned, squinting at him through swollen eyes, the bright lights from the bathroom and the sleep in them not helping your vision in the slightest, moving your head to rest against the cool wood of the doorframe. “It’s not, though, is it?”

A beat. 

“Simon…” You said, mid-yawn, outstretching a hand to blindly grab at his sleep shirt, tugging at the material. “Tell me.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to not break down like he knew he wanted to, his grip on the sink slowly growing stronger as you stumbled towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing the side of your face to his warm back, giving him a comforting squeeze. 

"I said it's fine." He whispered, hand coming up to yours and attempting to peel it from his body, giving up once it immediately snapped back. 

Part of him wanted you to stay like that, but the other, more reasonable part knew that it would be best if he didn't burden you with his nightmares and if you just went to bed.

"You wouldn't be crying if it was." You murmured, unlinking your hands and running them over his chest, feeling his muscles tense beneath his shirt. 

"'Not crying, lovie."

"You have to stop lying to me, Simon. It isn't healthy." You mumbled angrily, pulling yourself away and looking up at him, feeling the blood leave your face as you realised you were staring at the back of his actual head instead of the black material of his balaclava like you'd gotten used to. 

Simon had never explicitly told you that he was uncomfortable with you seeing his face, but you could only assume after all the time he spent with his face obstructed, even with Tommy. 

So you looked down at your feet, making sure to not peek at the mirror like you knew you really wanted to, not wanting to upset him by breaking his trust. 

"...I know." He sighed, turning on the tap and splashing his face with some of the water, finding it a bit humorous that he did it with you still clinging onto him, placing a damp hand over one of yours and giving it a squeeze. 

"Come on…" you sighed, letting go of him reluctantly and turning your body towards the door, flipping the light switch off before blindly outstretching an arm out to him, letting out an amused huff as you immediately met his own hand, pulling him out of the small bathroom and back into the comfort of your room. "Stay?"

"...'course." He breathed out, following you mindlessly as you returned back into your spot in the bed, almost like routine now after all the times you'd brought him to bed with the same comforting hold on his hands, kneeling on the mattress and all but collapsing onto the soft covers, running his hands over them until they met your warm body, running his fingertips over the patch of skin that had been revealed by the rise of your shirt, letting out a shaky breath as your own hands came up to run over his arms.

He fluttered his eyes shut, closing the distance between you to and letting his body fold into your touch, snuggling his face into the valley of your breasts (he thanked whatever god was up there that his shirt was big enough to expose your cleavage, a very welcoming sight), and grasping at your thighs for stability. 

Your arms came to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer into you until he'd grabbed at your legs to wrap around his waist, fingers running through his coarse hair, stopping at the top of his head every few seconds to scratch at his scalp, and if Simon was a cat, he knew damn well he'd be purring right then. 

"It's okay to cry, you know that, right?" You whispered, voice muffled by his hair as you let out a breath, his short hair tickling your cheek from how you'd pressed your face against it. "Better out than in."

"You sound like my mom." He grumbled, pulling a snort out of you as you ran your nails down his nape. "'Always said shit like that."

You stayed quiet, ignoring the nagging feeling in your chest that wanted you to continue on with the conversation, curious for learning more about his mysterious family. 

"'Said'?" You whispered, almost nervous, scared you'd overstepped. 

He stayed silent, only furthering your fear that you'd insulted him until he let out an elongated sigh, hands pulling you impossibly closer as his warm breath hit your skin, face flushing at the reminder that if was his actual face pressing against your cleavage, not the rough material of the painted balaclava. 

"Don' see her as much. Not in the best condition to have a chat. Tommy takes care of her mostly."

"Tommy?" You said in confusion, eyebrows furrowed as your eyes darted over to your son's crib, the glow-in-the-dark stars you'd stuck to the sides of it illuminating it enough to reflect your sleeping son's cute little face.

He froze in your arms as if he'd said something wrong. "My… my brother."

"Your brother's called Tommy?!" You almost shouted, peeling yourself off of him to look down at him (ignoring the slight whine that formed in his throat at the feeling of your body being torn away from his), despite not even being able to see him. 

"Yeah…" he grumbled, trying to pull you back into his arms, frowning as you slapped at his shoulders to catch his attention. 

"That's - Why you reacted like that, right?" You mumbled, thinking back to the night he'd met Tommy for the first time, the way his eyes had gone blank like you'd just reminded him of some painful memory. 

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse. 

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

You hadn't thought much about it at the time, since by then, you had more important things to worry about, but now that he'd revealed his brother's name, his shock made sense. 

"Yeah…Was kind of… Tragically funny, lovie." He sighed, running your hands over your waist as you finally pulled him back into your hold. 

"Yeah… I didn't know."

"How could've you? I left before I could even give you my last name." He huffed, rubbing the side of his cheek on your chest. 

Silence filled the room once again, only being broken by the shuffling sounds of the sheets over you or Tommy's occasional whines, continuing your brushing of his hair with your fingers. 

You didn't want to pry further into the topic that had been at hand before you'd interrupted, squeezing your eyes closed as you inhaled his shampoo, shivering beneath his touch as he ran his fingers around your belly button. 

"She's in a home. Near where I grew up. Nice one. I only talk to her on the holidays." He started, running them up to the space below your breasts. "It's better that way. Tommy's the nicer one of us."

"Didn't he used to terrorise you?" You teased, trying to lighten the mood, letting out a cry as he licked a stripe up your clavicle, no doubt grinning into the darkness as you slapped his head. 

"Going to stop telling you things from now on if you insist on using them against me in the future, lovie." He murmured, pressing a kiss to where he'd just licked as an apology, ignoring the way your skin grew warmer beneath his touch. "But… he's cleaned his act up. Not as much as a cunt. Probably afraid I could rip him in two, now."

You snorted, hesitantly pushing his bangs back to press a kiss to his forehead, almost giggling at the pleased hum that left his lips. "Si… you, uh… want to talk about why you were crying?"

Simon noticeably tensed beneath your touch as you brought up the whole reason as to why he was in your bed, another breath hitting your skin. 

He thought about lying to you once again, but finally decided against it, throwing a glance at his son over his shoulder as if the boy would understand the next words that would come out of his mouth. 

"Just… a stupid nightmare. You… I jus’ wanted to make sure you were safe. I didn't mean to wake you, really." He let out all in a string pulled together by one breath, hands coming down to grab at your thighs and rub at them through the material of your bottoms, letting out a shaky sigh as you moved them to wrap around his body. "Fuckin' stupid, isn't it?"

"It's not stupid if it affected you this much, Si…" You tried, not wanting to pry further into the contents of the nightmare, but still not wanting to drop the subject all together. “Even the strongest people need a shoulder to cry on.”

You cupped his face, bringing it off your chest, looking down at what you could only assume to be his face. 

“Let me be yours.”

You didn’t move as he shuffled closer to you, running your thumbs over his cheekbones as he leaned closer into you, feeling his warm breath hit your face. 

“Mine?” He mumbled, your hair standing on edge as you felt his lips brush against yours ever so slightly. 

“Mhm… Yours.” You breathed out, nodding as if he could see you. 

Heat rushed to your face as soon as his lips crashed into yours, swallowing the moan you let out as his hands moved beneath your shirt, tightening at your waist. 

And God, did it feel right. 

Nothing had ever felt as right as this did right then, the feeling of his lips slotted against yours and his hands seemingly everywhere on your body, causing you to go near dizzy and drunk on his touch. 

“Fuck, love.” He said between kisses, moving you onto your back so he was hovering over you properly, leaning down to catch your lips back into a passionate kiss, not even giving you the chance to breathe or let out your own moans, immediately swallowing up each and any sound you made. 

His hands came down to your thighs, helping you wrap them around his waist before he moved away to press pecks along your jawline, moving further down until he was leaving a trail of sloppy kisses all over your upper chest, his stubble tickling your skin. 

“S-Sim-”

He shushed you, sucking on the pressure point of your neck, pressing closer to you as you let out another breathless whine, his eyelashes brushing against your skin from the way he's snuggled his face into the crook of your neck, almost as if he was trying to have you impossibly close to him. 

He stayed there for a few minutes, covering your neck in kisses and love bites, answering with a “markin’ my territory” and a chuckle when you asked why he was so adamant on kissing you everywhere but where you needed it the most, his hands doing wonders as they went over your shirt to cup one of your breasts, immediately surprising you both my the loud moan that left you. 

“I-”

“Christ, lovie. That fuckin’ sensitive? Barely even touched you and you’re moaning like that?” He huffed out in amusement, leaning upwards in hopes of laying his eyes on the mess he’d left across your skin only to be met with darkness, grunting as he raised a hand to run over the marks, feeling the indents from his teeth around your neck. 

“It’s- It’s been a while, Si-” You mumbled out of embarrassment, thankful for the darkness since it was the only thing keeping you from fully breaking down from the shame of being so sensitive after a single touch, but you couldn’t really be blamed. 

It’d been almost a year and a half since you’d last indulged in any type of self-pleasure, the last time ironically being the night you’d spent with Simon before his mission, it was no wonder a simple brush of his warm hand to your breast had you writhing and moaning like a bitch in heat, you basically were. 

“Hm…” He grunted, leaning down to press some kisses along your flushed cheeks, still purposefully avoiding your mouth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he thought of what to do next. “...I want to see you.”

What?

“Properly.”

You felt his lips brush against yours slightly, knowing full well how titillating he was being. 

“Wh-”

“Turn the light on.”

You froze. 

You were staring up at the darkness of your ceiling, letting out soft breathless sounds as he leaned back down to continue kissing your neck, letting the words he’d just spoken sink in, letting out a chuckle against your ear after a minute or so passed. 

“Go.”

You acted on instinct only, stretching your body over to the lamp on your bedside table with the little space he had given you, the man still insisting on having his hands all over your body, your mind and thoughts reeling. 

It would’ve been different if he had his mask on, the small request would have been just for him to see the marks he’d left on you, to continue whatever you’d started in the light so you’d both be able to see your body’s reactions properly, but this was oh so much more than that. 

He didn’t seem to want to make a move to go get his mask or to cover his face, he was actually telling you to turn on the light so you could see him, see his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips, Simon

As soon as your shaking hand found the switch and had pressed it, your eyes closed in time for the room to be filled with light, a nervous sound leaving your lips as Simon pulled you back into place, his calloused fingers running over the length of your nose before poking at the middle of your furrowed brows. 

“Y’can open them.” He whispered, his own voice sounding slightly terrified. “Please.”

“What if you’re ugly?” You blurted out as a joke, trying to lighten the mood, immediately slapping yourself mentally the moment he didn't laugh, opening your mouth to apologise only for him to poke you again. 

“Jus’ open them.”

The first thing your eyes landed on was the smile pulling at his lips, leading them from the scar that adorned the left corner of his mouth past his crooked nose and up to those beautiful eyes of his, his blond eyelashes framing them perfectly like always. 

And fuck… He was beautiful. 

The stubble covering the lower part of his face, the scars littering his face telling stories and tales of all his time on duty, his cracked lips and scarred nose only complementing his beauty even more. 

It was everything and nothing like you’d expected, it was just… him. 

You didn't know what to say, what were you supposed to? But by the way his smile grew bigger at the sight of your dumbfounded face, you were sure that your expression told him everything he needed to know. 

Now, Simon knew that he wasn’t the worst looking person, but the way you were staring at him like he was a god incarnates, like Persephone herself had given him a piece of her beauty, it didn’t fail to tint his cheek a soft pink, quickly leaning into you to meet you in another kiss in hopes of hiding how flustered he was from you. 

“Mhf-” You tried speaking as soon as you had regained consciousness through his kisses, a giggle leaving your lips as he gave you no time to speak. “You’re- Mm- S- so pretty, Si-”

Pretty? He thought to himself as he continued his kissing assault, the adjective a very foreign concept, never having been referred to in that way in his life. But, it did feel nice when you said it, the way you were looking at him with that sultry gaze as the compliment oozed out of your mouth like honey, it had him grabbing at your thighs for stability, wrapping them around his waist and letting you make contact with the product of your make-out session and cute words. 

“F-fuck!” You mewled, grabbing at the back of his head for stability, tugging at the roots of his dirty blond hair, shivering underneath him as he let out a breathy groan, the sound sending pleasurable shocks down to where you both were connected, despite the amount of clothes that separated you both. “W-Wait- Hng!”

He stopped as soon as the word left your mouth, pulling back and moving his hands to hold your waist, giving you some time to regain your breath before asking. 

“‘vrything okay?” He said breathlessly, looking down at your equally dishevelled state, your lips red and sore from all his kissing and body littered with all the marks he’d left, taking a few seconds to admire his handiwork and how truly fucking perfect you looked covered in his claims before going back to waiting on you. 

“Y-yeah.” You swallowed, breathing and heart pulse erratic, coming down from the sudden pleasure. “I- I’m sorry, I just don’t know if I want to continue- Sor-”

“It’s okay.” He interrupted you, grabbing your thighs and pulling them away from their spot around his waist, pushing them together and placing them away from him, placing a comforting hand on the one that was still pressed next to his. “We don’t have to. Whatever y’want, love. ‘S been a long time, I get it.”

You nodded, sending him a small smile that he returned in an instant, leaning up to press a final kiss to his lips, thankful that he’d understood your fears so quickly. 

“You’ll stay, right?” You mumbled against his lips after pulling away slightly, looking at his through half-closed eyes, his deep beautiful pools staring back at you. 

“Always.”

His arms wrapped around you from behind once you situated yourself back in the bed, arms pressed tight and securely against our stomach as his thumb rubbed over the skin, a constant reminder that he was there and that you were safe like he’d promised, soft kisses being pressed against your nape from behind, a sweet contrast to the bites that now littered your front. 

“‘You going to wear the mask again?” You spoke drowsily, turning your head slightly so his lips pressed against your cheek, his breath tickling your ear. 

“Not unless you want me to.” He mumbled back, half-asleep. 

“Rather you did… Can’t focus with that ugly mug of yours…” You teased, letting out a high pitched yell as he bit down onto the space between your neck and shoulder, immediately soothing the pain with a kiss and a chuckle. 

“Only mug you’ll se ‘round here, lovie, better get used to it.”

So,semeone just told me that all they can see is boxes, so, i need to know how it look for you guys, can you read it well?

ՏͲᎡᎬᎪᎷᎬᎡ ᎽΝ

°•Streamer yn on QMSP

Author's Note:ᴡᴇʟʟ, ғɪʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴍ sᴏ sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ɪɴᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs, ɪᴛs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, sᴏ ɪ ᴇɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʀᴇssᴜʀɪɴʜ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴀʟsᴏ. ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏs, ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋs💓

~

°The announcement.

ᴄᴀʀᴏʟ ᴡᴀs sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ ʀɪɢᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛᴇ ᴏɴ ϙᴜᴀᴄᴋɪᴛʏ ᴍɪɴᴇᴄᴛᴀғᴛ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴍsᴘ.

ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛ sᴇᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴀsᴋs ʜᴇʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ sʜᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ.

sʜᴇ sɪɢʜs,"ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴅ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ, ɪᴍ ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ sɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍɪɴᴇᴄʀᴀғᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғs ɪᴛs ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ, ᴏʀ ɪғ ɪᴛs ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ" sʜᴇ sᴀʏs ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴄ,"ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴs".

-

°ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ.

ʀɪɢᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴏɴ sᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʏɴ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴇʏ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ʜᴀs ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴇɢɢ sɪɴᴄᴇ sʜᴇ ɪs ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ.

ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ғᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ ᴄᴀʀᴏʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ ᴀʟsᴏ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀs ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴄᴛʜ ɪᴛᴇᴍs.

"ɢᴜʏs, ɪᴍ ᴏғғɪᴄᴀʟʏ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ɪs ᴛᴏ ʀᴀɪsᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜɪᴅʀᴇɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴅᴜᴄᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ, ɪ'ʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇsᴛ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀ sᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʙʀɪɢᴛʜ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ."

Cheerytree69: why you sound so dramatic lol.

riveryn:watch her kill her egg on the first day.

"ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ,sᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs, ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴋɪʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴛʜᴀᴛs sᴏ ᴍᴇᴀɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ, ᴛʜᴀᴛs ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ sᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇɢɢ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀs ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴇ, ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴀʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ sᴇᴇ ʜᴏᴡ sᴇʀɪᴏᴜs ᴛʜɪs ɪs?"

Slaylishous: They dont have a name yet?.

"ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴡᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏғ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʏ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴄᴀɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ, sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴏɴᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴡɪᴄʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ."

Finegirl:what are the plans you were talking about in the announcement stream?

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴘʀᴏᴍɪssᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ?, ᴡᴇʟʟ ɪᴍ ᴘʟᴀɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀғᴜʟ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴍsᴘ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʙᴇ sᴜʙᴍɪssɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛғᴜʟ ᴡᴀʏ."

Flowerboy:How was interacting with the other member of the server?

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ,ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴇᴇᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴅʏ ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs, sᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɴɪᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ.

°•°•

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀʟsᴏ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀsᴋs, ᴏʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴘɴɪᴏɴs ᴏɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏʀ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.

ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ʏɴ ᴏɴ ϙᴍsᴘ.

Heyyy! A request for simon Ghost riley x fem! Reader where reader is dead and simon is having a REALLY hard time getting over it and is not eating, sleeping, or drinking but only drinking alcohol WAY to much, and the 141 is worried about him. So one night, he comes out of his room and is like to weak to stand on his feet from the lack of sleep and food and collapses in front of the others, and he ends up in the hospital. I'm a SUCKER for angst.

(You're so sick for this bestie)

Reaching back (for what is not there).

Warnings: death mentions, suicidal thoughts, suicidal conduct, alcoholism, depression, dark themes, dark "open" ending, angst, hallucinations, grief, implied afterlife (but up to you), kinda gross tbh. Unedited bc holy fuck. Good luck.

He wonders sometimes, if human kind will ever develope enough to create something that could pull memories out of brains and play them on a screen, plug something on your skull and connect it to a device that digs around your head. He wonders too, what it would do to society if it ever were to happen. People live in their heads enough as it is -doesn’t he know it-, but having your object of longing play out in front of your eyes, unreachable? He would go mad. Madder.

He can't say he would die, though. He's been wishing that for months, and it hasn't happened yet. Even when your laugh rings by his ears all day, and then turns into your agonizing screams by night. Despite that around 2 AM, the picture of you he has by the nightstand gets stained by blood and the trees outside look like they'll grant him his wish and murder him, he's, unfortunately, still alive.

He stopped wishing he could go back months ago.

--

"Do you ever get tired of the balaclava?"

Simon raises his head from where it's buried in a book just to look at you. He feels himself get warm just by being in the same room, seeing you standing at his door while he's sitting on his bed. He almost feels small.

"I'm used to it now," he answers sincerely. It was tiring at first, when he wore that and shades on top. They would get foggy real quick, and he'd run out of patience real fast too. Then he almost got burned alive and now, everything pales in comparison. The change to a skull helped, too.

He doesn’t say any of that to you, but he somehow knows you read it on his face. A sad look comes over your features, tying up a knot around his throat. He feels guilty, and he doesn’t know why.

"Why not a face mask and some shades?"

He chuckles. "You'd be surprised by how much more suffocating that is."

When you start walking to him, he almost recoils back. You look like you're on a mission, and something tells him the mission is him. You lean close to him, making his breath hitch.

"What?" He asks, once you're inches from his face and you're breathing the same air. He feels his face heat up.

"I just think a face mask would be easier to pull down," you answer, nonchalant. He frowns, confused.

"Why would I want it to be easier to pull down? Defeats the whole purpose."

You roll your eyes, annoyed. "It would be easier to kiss you that way."

You say it just like that, no big deal, and leave his room the same way.

He just sits there, stunned.

---

He was not a particular fan of alcohol, before. He knows better than to let your past fears control your life, wears a mask to remind himself of it, but the stink it gives off always makes him sick. It isn’t the taste, the amber look it usually has, the loss of control it causes, it’s the smell. It pushes him back to beatings, to a crying mother and an addict.

He finds it oddly ironic, how his entire house is drenched in it now. No matter where he goes, where he sets foot in, it smells worse than a fucking pub. His room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room. It all smells like bourbon, beer, vodka, tequila, mixed all together to create something that makes his head swim.

Which is exactly what he’s aiming for, has been for months. He's starting to think his sweat smells like alcohol too.

Dizzy on whiskey and not a single ounce of food in his system, his body makes an effort to desintoxicate him and makes him retch with nothing coming up. He just lays besides the toilet, and lets it happen until he passes out.

--

"You have a nice smell."

His head snaps up, frowning under his mask. Do you even think before you speak?

"Excuse me?'

You shrug, focused on cleaning your gun. "You smell nice. I don't know what it is, or how you manage to, for that matter, but you do. It's pleasant."

He stops cleaning his own weapon, setting his tools down on the table so he can get a good look at you.

Nothing in you shows a joking stance, you're completely serious and relaxed. You're not even shy or hesitant, like you’re talking about the weather.

He clears his throat, hot under the collar. "Thank you, I guess."

You smile briefly, shaking your head. "Just keep it up."

--

He has Johnny's arms around his waist, keeping him upright while trying to get him out of the small room.

The first few times it happened, he fought. Drunk and delirious from lack of sleep and eating, he had tried his best to free himself from Soap's grip, giving him a bloody nose the first time and a split lip the second. After the fifth though, he just let him. He doesn’t see a point anymore, like in most other things.

"Price's gon' be furious, man," Johnny mutters, clutching him closer until he's practically carrying him. His vision is blurry, but he thinks he's being carried to the Sargeant's own quarters.

A few moments after, he's proven right when Johnny shoves him inside and then drags him to his bathroom.

Cold water pours over him, making him gasp and jump. Soap laughs briefly, but it's bitter and angry.

"Take your clothes off, you reek."

Despite himself, Simon obbeys. Johnny steps out.

--

He absolutely hates military balls. He doesn’t get them, can’t tolerate more than 5 people around him and even less if they're asking for attention. There's easily 200 bastards in the building, and he breathes ego no matter where he goes.

He changes his mind as soon as he sees you though.

The red dress hugs your body perfectly, he thinks he's dizzy just by looking at you. His gala uniform is making him itch, the face mask is suffocating him and he hasn’t been this uncomfortable in years. But the moment he sees you arrive, shining and beautiful, he thinks it's worth it.

"Hello, Lieutenant," you greet him, nodding. He can see your eyes taking him in, and he stands more straight without meaning to. "You clean up well."

He feels himself get flushed, but he's not really in the mood to play games.

"You look beautiful," he tells you, sure of himself even though he can feel his hands shake. He squeezes them together behind his back, just to hide it from you.

You beam at him, giggling and shaking your head. You’re surprised, he notices. Probably because he's always stunned or shying away when you give him any sign of interest.

"Thank you," you tell him softly, stepping closer. He can feel all the other soldier's eyes on the two of you, more you than him. Possessiveness burns up his spine, but he ignores it for the time being.

He extends his hand, almost regretting it when he sees the way his fingers shake. But you don’t seem to mind, and wrap your own around it. He feels steadier now.

"Would you like to dance with me?"

You nod, squeezing him slightly when he walks the two of you to the center of the room.

He could kill just to keep your smile intact.

--

"If you don't stop, I'll have to request a leave for you."

In the best of cases goes unsaid.

Price looks at him with so much pain in his eyes it almost makes him feel guilty. Almost. He's angry too, he can see it in the way he's frowning and the pen between his fingers is not far from being torn apart.

He knows he won't request a thing though. They won't admit it and won't say it to him either, but he's been falling to pieces for months and the entire team has been the only thing there to keep him from going too far. At least John must know that letting him out of his sight would be the worst option.

"Have you eaten?" Price asks him. He doesn’t answer, and the Captain sighs. His eyes rake over his body. He's thinner, paler. He's like a corpse.

"Go eat," he orders him. "I'll be there shortly."

He's not eating. Nothing has a taste anymore, the only sensation he gets comes from the sharp sting of whiskey down his throat. He looks at actual food and wants to gag.

Price shoots daggers at him with his eyes.

Simon sighs.

--

"Your Manchester accent gets worse when you're tired."

He smiles at you, delirious from lack of sleep and rest, mixed with some glasses of bourbon. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, doing your best keep him upright to get to your quarters. If John sees him like this, he'll hang you both.

"That ain't true, an' y'know it."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You're right, it’s always this horrible."

He scoffs at you, offended. His hand raises to pinch your arm, and you swat him away like he’s a little child. It's the most carefree you've ever seen him, high on a succesful mission and drinks. He even laughed back at the pub, leaving you pumped full of giggly happiness.

"Y'like it though," he mutters, low and hesitant. "Y'do, don’t ya?"

You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing again.

"I do, Simon," you reassure him. He smiles brightly again, pulling you closer and making you stumble.

"I like you too," he slurs, "I like you qui-quite a lot."

--

He startles out of his slumber with his heart pounding.

He hears your voice.

He stands up in complete panic, shaking and with a knot lodged inside his throat. He manages to pull himself outside his room, weak. His legs almost give out when he hears you calling his name again.

He runs. He's not sure where it comes from, but his entire body forces him to stumble his way through the corridors, searching for you with his heart bleeding out.

"L.t.!"

He ignores Soap, trying to go faster when he notices your voice is getting more quiet. Desperation claws inside his chest, burning all the way up to his nostrils.

"Ghost!"

He falls down to his knees. Still, he keeps crawling, refusing to stop when you're so close, so close. He needs you, you sound so sad and scared, he needs to get to you. You can’t leave him again, you can't. You can’t you can’t you can’t you can’t please please-

"Price!"

You shriek, somewhere in the distance. He drags himself through the floor, barely making out your figure through blurry eyes. He can't breathe, something is choking all the air and keeping it from entering his lungs.

Fury invades him for a second. He's been asking for this, has been for months. He has you so close, why now? Why not when he was covered in your blood and had your body in his arms? Why not when he saw you get buried and heard the gunshots ring? The first time he had to go back to base without you? When he had to take care of your things? Why now?

A piercing scream makes his ears pop. Only when he passes out does he realize it was his.

--

"Doing this won’t bring me back, you know?"

His eyes sting.

"I didn't exactly took that bullet for you only to see you kill yourself slowly. It's worse than Hell."

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He feels an IV in his right hand, hears a monitor somewhere on his left, smells antiseptic no matter how much he wills it away, and he's terrified to open his eyes.

"You don’t have to open them Si, it’s okay."

He tries to swallow the knot inside his throat. Something close to him moves, or it sounds like it. Then, he feels something cold near his hand. It twitches, stopping himself from reaching out.

"I miss you a lot, big guy." Your voice is dripping with sadness, even though he can hear you trying your best to conceal it. "But I'd rather miss you than have you with me so soon."

He takes a shaky breath, trying his best to stop the tears gathering inside his eyes. It gets harder by the second.

"Can you try for me, love?"

A sob manages to escape. He can't. He can't try, and the crushing weight of disappointing you robs him of oxygen. He can't hold back anymore, hyperventilating and sobbing his heart out. He falls into pieces, beyond any possible fix and with no desire for it anyways. Everything crumbles, ends with nothing more than dust.

He's crying long after he stops hearing your voice and the med team rush inside to sedate him.

--

"He's getting worse."

He barely makes out the words from inside his hospital room.

"But how? You've been pumping him full of shit. It's not doing anything?"

Silence.

"So what? What then?"

"We're doing all we can, Captain, but-"

"But what? Tell me how it bloody is, goddamit."

Silence again. Then:

"You should call loved ones, in case-"

"There are no loved ones, doc."

He passes out again when Johnny comes inside his room.

--

"You ever thought of retiring, L.t.?"

In truth, he never did before. Life outside of the SAS seemed pointless and empty, not something made for a man like him. Not even before his family was killed did he consider retiring. He always figured he would be K.I.A.

Just as Johnny asks, you pass by them. You have earphones in, so he doubts you hear, but he chuckles at the coincidence anyway.

But then...

"I have," he says, when you smile at him from where you're picking up your food. It looks like absolute shit, and still you beam at him like you just got handed a ticket for a free buffet. He smiles back, even if you can’t see it.

"You have?" Johnny asks, surprised. He just nods, not looking away from you.

It would be nice, to retire and have a home with you, a place to arrive after a day of normal, civil work. To see you smile down at a homemade meal, watch trash tv while making out on the couch. And maybe, just maybe, see you take care of a little fella with his hair and your eyes.

The black velvet box inside his room may be a good start.

"I hope you get what you wish for, L.t.".

He hopes so too. If only to make you happy.

--

Simon has a desk.

He has an office, actually. Boxes of paperwork are lined by the walls, making it feel smaller than it is. The desk is in the middle, and a tall drawer shoved at the back wall just behind the chair. Nobody knows what he has inside it.

On top of his desk, he has a picture. It's dark, clearly taken at nighttime. Aside from an airplane toy on top of the drawers, it’s the only personal thing he has.

The picture is of the two of you. He had taken you camping, almost a year after he stuttered his way through a confession and recieved a kiss in exchange. You have your arms wrapped around his waist, and his wrapped around your shoulders. He's not smiling, of course, but you're looking up at him like he just tied a rope around the moon and pulled it down just for you.

Johnny is the one tasked to clear the office by the next day. He does so efficiently, like he clears rooms when on a mission. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare pry inside the drawers and just dumps the contents inside black trash bags. Nobody bothers him through the day, not even Price. He thinks Kyle stands outside the door for a while sometime in the afternoon, but he doesn't dare knock, much less come inside.

He picks up the picture at night, burning inside when he sees the two of you. In what he knows is a moment of weakness, he gets it out of the frame and shoves it inside his jacket.

He ties the bags up, gathering them in front of the desk for the people in charge of cleaning to find and dump.

When he steps out, he makes sure to turn the lights off.