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jaybren · 11 months

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I Believe...Steddie

I normally don't mind angst (though I avoid drama fics in general). Miscommunication is the biggest trope in romance, so I'm all for it, but for some reason Steve x Eddie fics / drabbles where Eddie still thinks of Steve as Steve THE KING Harrington always sit weirdly for me. Sometimes, if the Upside Down didn't happen (AUs in general) or pre-UD setting, maybe -- sure, then that could work. But close to canon fics where Eddie lives and Steve legit confesses to him? Always just -- strikes me as wrong.

Finally realized why -- it's literally the antithesis of canon Eddie. Canon! Eddie is quick to acknowledge Steve has changed. He literally runs up to him in the Upside Down while a bunch of madness is happening and where he has every right to be consumed by his own shit-tastic situation, but instead, he's telling Steve how he is a great guy and has changed.

Can Eddie be bitchy and prejudice? Yes.

Does Eddie have grudges against jocks / the popular crowd? Yes.

But he also goes full on bowing gentlemen for cheerleaders (going out of his way to help Chrissy and make her smile) and he's quick to acknowledge Steve's not that same popular AH anymore.

With Steve's bitchiness not aimed at him, Eddie would be eating his Honeycomb and snickering when old habits popped back up, and maybe he'd feel conflicted about jocky Steve, complaining about going to games or something until somebody smacked some sense into him. Totally believe tension and disbelief about one liking the other or some bias about things, but I just can't see Steve proclaiming his love or whatever and Eddie assuming it is a trap or trick or prank or something.

Maybe he'd think Steve was confused. Maybe he'd assume they were doomed, but I can't see him blaming Steve for that or blowing up their relationship IF Eddie accepted the confession and they started dating. Eddie's way more down on himself.

If someone can explain how it makes sense, please do. I'd love to enjoy all Steddie tropes, and that one seems popular lately, but where my brain sees so many problems with them getting to the confession point or even a number of big arguments that could happen afterward due to outside aspects, those two strike me as highly tactile, highly clingy romantics who would be convinced they were the height of discrete while practically fused, constantly touching and being snide little judgy dudes together.

#steddie #Steve x Eddie #Eddie Munson #Stranger Things #Only way Eddie doesn't see how Steve's changed is if the Upside Down doesn't exist but then Steve might not have changed #the second Steve asks him out Eddie is 100% in #won't accept anything different #Eddie is a drama king but he's the the sort to be clingy and pushy and cause problems by being too tactile and obvious in a homophobic town #which is why I 100% believe fics where Eddie and Steve fight over Steve refusing to come out or leave Hawkins #Despite also 100% believing Eddie would understand #frankly I fall for all the tropes EXCEPT Eddie not believing (in a canon compliant Upside Down having universe)that Steve has changed #where are my double date fics with Eddie and Steve taking out two girls only to get dumped because they spent more time chatting themselves #What about the fics where Eddie sets Steve up with a metalhead girl only for Steve to be like 'wow I'm super into this'#but then he realizes partway through he is 100% imaging she's Eddie #Or Steve setting up Eddie on a double date only to have a 'oh no I fucked up' moment as he realizes halfway through that he loves Eddie #Steve: Cool Eddie might score (*and it was at that moment he realizes he fucked up) I don't want Eddie to score #Give me hooking up duo who 'just like making out' and 'just aren't ready to get back out there yet' who feel pressured to do so #and they end up throwing hands over it and banging #Eddie: So...that happened. | Steve: Do you think Dustin was right? | Eddie: No way that butthead is right. | Steve: But what if he is?#Eddie: Obviously we can't tell him. | Steve: But we can still make out right? | Eddie: Fuck yeah #Give me dumb bets between guys friends inspired by Steve trying to relate to Eddie like he used to Tommy

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totaleclipse573 · 6 days

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I just had an idea for a Freaky (/pos) oc (probably sonic) but I don’t know if I should make this character into a character…..👀

#wouldn’t exactly be canon to oc universe #the idea was : what if a character could see and exist in EVERY universe as one person and not a counterpart every time #might do it after some human world au sketching #like a dimension hopper of sorts #how do they do this #no idea yet lmao #they just do #maybe they could rival with silver if they’re chaotic enough

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iinexorabile · 7 months

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smth smth, this blogs muses have a main connected universe via their fandomless au's

#//pretend jia is here too i just haven't revamped his icons yet lmao #//also specifically their modern!fantasy shite #//like sure tanba and the count do technically exist together within their main fgo verses #// and jia and tong also def exist in a few verses together on account of their origins being from rotk. but that's all /different/#//i've not written about it much but i do picture them ALL existing within each others fandomless au's in a sort of loose 'canon'.#// kinda like what i have going on with my bl.each muses on other multi. just less cohesive atm gGHJSFGHD #//i've hinted at this here and there in some older threads of tong's / jia's / tanba's from their past blogs but yeah #//might eventually write up some drabbles about it to more strongly connect things #//the connection is there though #;outofenergy;#headcanons: tanba #headcanons: tong #headcanons: jia #headcanons: the count of monte cristo

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steelycunt · 1 year

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actually can u pls speedrun a couple facts about baby r because I’m going insane actually

hii absolutely i can im glad you asked xx in the context of. the wip i was referring to there are still a lot of details about his character i need to work out and decide on HOWEVER. at some point s will inevitably have to be in the lupins' house WHICH MEANS he will see baby pictures WHICH MEANS i get to describe them...the possibilities here are endless really i am having a real picture book / the kinks (1968) moment already...thinking of him sitting on his dads shoulders or having his little school picture taken in his little jumper in front of that cloudy blue background everyone has their school picture taken in front of...and his big brown worried eyes that take up most of his face and his chubby cheeks and his floppy hair...he is going to sit on someone's patio and eat a choc ice....he is going to sit on a tricycle his dad fixed up for him outside the miners' welfare club even though he doesnt want to and he is going to look so so sad with those big saucer eyes of his...and hope will be alive to show photos to s and s is going to be so so struck by fondness maybe he'll die...

#crying and sobbing over this version of r and he doesnt even exist yet he might not ever exist but all the same i want to put him in my #pocket he is. hes just this lonely little guy hes like. canon r at like 10 years old being very lonely except that doesnt change when he #turns eleven and now hes in his early twenties and he is still like that....until the prettiest and worst boy in the whole #entire world turns up to his town on a little bus and inexplicably decides he wants. him.......#telegram #anon #pride au

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victortalkingmachine · 2 years

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i am writing a script for a choose-your-own-adventure game about the mckinley assassination that will almost definitely never be made and having the time of my life

#(warning for some long tags)#it's part of a dlc that doesn't exist for another game that also doesn't exit #the main game is an original story related to time travel & dimensional warping & etc #and this hypothetical mckinley assassination game that i mentioned would not make much sense without the main game #bc lore and stuff #but i don't care about the main storyline as much as i care about one where you interact with leon czolgosz #i'm drawing some of the character sprites(?) too. so far i've done one of atlas (oc; from main game) & one of victoria czolgosz #atlas is there at the very beginning with janai (another main game oc) to tell you what's happening & give you some items #he shows up later in the game to help you out a little if you go to crystal beach #victoria shows up when you go to the restaurant where she works. you ask if she knows a leon f czolgosz* and she's like 'my brother? how do #you know him?' and you talk to her and she says that the last she heard from him he was in fort wayne but that was over two weeks ago so #she's not sure what he's up to right now. then she cries a little over how she's worried about him and quickly writes a letter and asks you #to give it to him if you find him then asks you to keep him safe. caroline** can then respond like 'ok :-) i will' or be like 'i'm not his #mom or smth i don't even know this guy why are you asking this of me.' and this will influence your relationship with her which can have #effects later. bc depending on what path you take you might see her again. also can affect your relationship with leon later if they end up #interacting.#*you start the game in cleveland so you know that some of the people there know him #**the protagonist's name is caroline. she has no canonical surname but she calls herself 'ascher' here as an allusion to motka from the #anarchist. i want to put more the anarchist allusions in there but idk where yet.#leon czolgosz

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juniaships · 2 years

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Reincarnation au? Dedyet dies FOR REAL but is reincarnated in the modern day as Ramses' new secretary Amani Nesar (renas spelled backwards; also an islamic name for sun or moon). That way it shows the tragedy of the De Niles and that death has consequences. At the same time Amani exists meaning that their differences&similarities are explored while also the idea of a token human interacting with monsters all the time and is just as weird as them at times & someone who isn't scared of Nefera...

Wait a second this sounds awfully familiar *looks at aida and rath's storyline*

Me:

#OKAY BUT i want like actual consequences for dying but also makes ramses' change in personality a lot more sense #The dude lost his wife at the hands of his own brother thatll piss anyone off #but ALSO bc i am a monsterfucker and want to include just one monster x human lol #BUT as well as dedyet only being used once and we know so little about her i forgot she existed so i opted to go for an oc instead #so technically Amani is the OC stand in for canon Dedyet #the idea of one soul yet two completely different ppl and the De Niles learning to see Amani as her own person & not a clone of Dedyet #THIS CAN WORK IN BOOYORK BOOYORK TOO #i might not go with it but....#besides this is so similar to the set up of Rath and Chesney's arc

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rivilu · 22 days

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see i'm not even opposed to the concept of canon/trickster Ellu surviving but the thing is in order for it to happen there would need to be a second vulnerable conversation regarding his side of things. where he couldn't lie his way out of it either. So basically he's fucked

#unless the dlc coincidentally gives me exactly that skjgs which i doubt #it's only something that'd be achievable in a fic world where Daeran has his own sidequest he's doing in the sidelines kjdfg #he's the one that romances the kc after all might as well be paying attention #succeed any one in a series of really high dc (but decreasing through the course of the game) hidden perception checks to trigger a convo-#where he can corner the little fucker into admitting the council thing and all but say out loud he's going to throw himself into the wound #from that point on convincing him not to do it wouldn't be That hard. frankly the noticing itself is half the battle #from then on the more time they got left till threshold the easier the convincing would be but tbh again the bar isn't that high #even if he noticed at the very last moment in the room with areelu- if he said something he could sway him with little effort #cause again ellu doesn't WANT to die/get shyka'd he's just completely guilt ridden about the council-#the essences he got already and on top of that he's just convinced he'd never get a happy ending #which gets sadder the more you think on the fact that he has reality altering powers <3 and yet #anyway yes that fic exists in my head but it'll never be put to paper because writing canon characters scares me

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stuck-in-the-ghost-zone · 2 months

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🤍 jrwi!

ok i havent actually been around jrwi fanspaces for long enough to see horrible discourse and/or general fandom opinions (awesome for me!) so i dont know how accurate this is but. im gonna say mark winters

#like obviously hes not a Good Person. but also. hes soooooo. nuanced #i can visualize the terrible discourse people propably got into abt him early in pd and while it might not exist (i havent seen it yet)#ive been in enough other fandoms to know its Probably There #ALSO IN ANY OF THE ROLLEDS WHEN GRIZZLY OR CHARLIE WILL BE LIKE “HES UNREDEEMABLE” IT MAKES ME SO SAD. NO HES NOT.#sorry im a mark winters apologist <3 it will happen again #except like. he did all that shit and if you ignore it ill be mad. or however that one post goes #asks #shilo-bathroy #<< incredible canon url btwww

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airanke · 1 year

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I just feel like RAMBLING rn - I have a hero character who is also a serial killer and he only gets away with it because he exclusively targets villains, since he learned from a young age that in order to get away with murder, it was best to be a hero who targeted villains 😂 (”learned from a young age” subject to change, tl;dr is he figured out that if he WANTED to get away with murder, it was best to be a hero that targeted villains).

BTW I highly doubt this is something the HPSC would ACTUALLY let slide, but it’s a lil unnerving how it essentially makes sense AND sounds like something that is entirely plausible based on how little hero society actually cares about the lives of villains when you look at it surface level.

#Air's antics #he's in STIL but not introduced yet #Scary guy with a lightning based quirk #expl-ding heads is his specialty #😂😂😂#I also say surface level because literally up until recently #NO ONE in hero society considered that villains also might need help #or deserved help #or deserved to be saved #which is ALSO exactly why Abiteth cannot exist in the canon #Because she firmly believes that villains deserve to be helped #and that they deserve to be saved

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arthur-r · 1 year

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hello im actually really happy with the script we just finished???? two and a half hour zoom call was extremely taxing but i’m okay

#me and this kid from my school are co-writing a 15 minute musical for the winter play festival and we just finished a first draft!!#it’s a jukebox musical which means it uses pre-existing songs instead of writing our own. which made it way easier #and it has songs from death note the musical (which nobody told me existed???? honestly might become obsessed with it soon enough)#matilda the musical (which i saw at the children’s theatre a couple years ago and then netflix last week)#frozen (we included. the entirety of love is an open door) and then this one random country song about loving this bar #basically the premise is there’s this reporter looking for his big break doing a boring piece on this tavern when he’d rather write about #this dragon infestation that’s like a serious health code violation. but so the dragons gradually become more and more obvious but the #tavern owner just keeps trying to distract from the matter at hand in a variety of methods #and also the camera person falls in love with a frequent customer. thanks to a love potion. not my idea. but made it as uncreepy as possible #by having the love potion canonically wear off pretty early in and they just still love each other. i do my best in the face of tropes #but so anyway the camera person is too distracted by being in love to like. take video of any of the crazy suspicious stuff that’s going on #and so then the reporter leaves upset and everyone remaining including the camera person sings part of i love this bar by toby keith #anyway for having been written entirely over the course of two days. i think we did pretty good. and real people are gonna perform it!!#performance isn’t until the middle of next month but my work here is nearly done. will keep you guys posted #but so yeah that zoom wasn’t as bad as i thought it would be. and haven’t texted people back yet but it can wait #if there’s anything like actually important i’m here and available!! just not up to planning a dinner party shdhdf #but still let me know if you need anything. love you all. hope you are well #me. my post. mine.#delete later

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months

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What Are We (3 of 4)

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): light angst, soft!Price, heavy suggestive themes, canon-typical swearing

Word Count: 978

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Not interested in playing games, Price makes it clear what he wants.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // what are we masterlist

“Are we doing this or no, love?”

You glance up from your morning tea, surprised. “What?”

John crosses his arm and leans against the edge of the counter. He’s only wearing sweatpants, and his bare chest is distracting. He might be older, but John is just as strong as the younger men that work under him. Those large arms of his are all corded muscle and protruding vein. His chest and stomach have a thickness to them that speaks to more than simply going to the gym.

“Us,” he replies. “What are we? What are we doing?” He sounds slightly huffy. Not angry, just impatient. In need of an answer.

You swallow down the burning liquid and nearly grimace from the heat. “I—what do you mean?”

One eyebrow rises, almost in chastisement. Which is fair since you know what John is pushing back about even as you feign innocence. Right now, you don’t want to face the reality. What you and John have is so peaceful that pushing it forward—or back—might disrupt the quiet, shattering it all like smashed glass.

John sighs, and reaches out, placing his large palm over the mouth of your tea mug. His fingers grip it, and you know to let it go, to release your hold. John sets the mug down on the counter next to him.

Spreading his legs, John uncrosses his arms, holding them out in front of him. “Come here,” he murmurs, and the tone is so soft and inviting that you immediately comply, entering his arms like melted butter over toast.

Fuck, he’s warm. A furnace.

You wrap your arms around his middle, and John does the same, tucking you against his body. “We live together,” he says.

“Yes.”

“We sleep in the same bed.”

You nod. “That we do.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “I’ve met your bloody parents.”

“What’s your point?” you ask, haughty and stubborn.

Price’s hand drops lower. Squeezes. The power behind it forces you further against him, and you feel everything, especially the hardness that hasn’t appeared to abate since the morning’s quickie.

“My point, is that we need to call this what is it.”

Shit. This is it. You’re going to have to face the reality of this and look it in the face. You and Price are not simply friends. You are not even friends with benefits or a uncomplicated fling. This is real. Truly and utterly real and yet you keep denying what sits in front of you.

You and John are a couple. That is what this is.

He has met your parents. He has met your friends. You know his coworkers—at least the ones he trusts enough to share your existence with. The two of you talk about the future together, never pivoting away from the possibility of separation.

Everything happens together. Everything.

So why keep denying it?

“I’m not looking to play games, love.” John reaches up and slides his hand to the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your throat. “With my career, I need stability when I come home.” He hugs you closer. “I want you as my wife. Little versions of us running around.”

He closes the distance, lightly pressing his lips to yours. With the hold on your throat, John is a bit possessive with it, a little rough in the way he holds you. It’s such a contrast to how his lips caress your skin, tasting softly.

John releases your lips, pulling back just enough to stare into your eyes. “If you don’t want these things, you tell me now.” The husky drop in his voice sends a shiver straight to your core, makes you slick between the thighs.

Returning to your lips, John’s pressure increases, becomes slightly desperate. Slightly choking with his need to get his point across. You need to make a decision. You need to tell John what you want.

Because, you do want him. You crave him every second of every day. But this is a massive step, and John’s life is an unpredictable assortment of missing time and extended absences. The stability John desires is something you are more than willing to give, but you also don’t want to carry that burden all on your own.

“What happens when you’re not here, John?” you ask, once he’s ceased kissing you. “And even when you are, am I to take up the mental load?”

There are times when you will need to give more, or John might have to, but you don’t want to be left to do it all yourself. John’s job is difficult. It can be traumatizing and stressful, but you need to know if he’ll be present when he returns.

You don’t need to elaborate. You don’t need to explain. John already knows. He understands.

“Coming home to you in between is the happiest I’ve ever been. I just want you here. Everything else is negotiable.”

You smile against his mouth. “I thought you said you wanted little versions of us running around?”

John shrugs. “I do. If you don’t, that’s fine.” Both hands fall away from your body to firmly squeeze your ass. “But I will fuck you like we’re trying.”

“John!” you rear back and playfully smack his chest.

He nuzzles your neck and inhales, drawing you right back into him. “We can go try right now.” John lightly presses his pelvis against you and you smile as his desire creates a pressure between your bodies.

“We don’t have anything planned today,” you murmur.

John squeezes harder. “Exactly, love. We have the whole day.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glassgulls @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

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moondirti · 1 month

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Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!

My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.

Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?

What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?

Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.

Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?

Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!

shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev

cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.

Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.

Or even understand, really.

Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...

You don't mind it.

But you still don't like him.

It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.

That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.

Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.

You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–

The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.

But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.

Things only get worse from there.

"An' where d'you think you're going?"

You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.

If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.

"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.

But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.

And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.

"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."

He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.

"Where are you going with this?"

Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.

"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"

"N-No–"

"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"

"Yes. Yes but–"

"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."

Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.

Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.

That cruel fuck.

"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."

Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.

As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.

"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."

"Si–"

He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.

"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."

You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.

"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."

You make it one block before hightailing back home.

Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.

You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.

But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.

You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.

Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.

Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.

Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.

"Miss me 'lready?"

A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.

The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.

Good dick be damned.

But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.

Account does not exist.

Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.

So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.

It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–

Account does not exist.

Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.

Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.

And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.

It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.

"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."

"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.

"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"

You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.

The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.

And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.

You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.

Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.

Just as Simon barges into your room.

You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.

But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.

"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.

Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.

(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)

That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.

You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.

"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."

"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.

He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.

If anything, he's the stray.

"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."

#do not be a cute girl around this man he will ruin your life #unedited #sorry this took me ages to pump out #tumblr deleted the first draft (?) so i had to rewrite #hate this dumb site #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost #simon riley #x reader #x female reader #call of duty #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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