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#sa writes
animentality · 3 months
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fic-over-cannon · 3 months
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Jason Todd will cockblock himself if he thinks you can’t give 100% informed consent.
A few too many drinks at a gala and you’re drunkenly trying to make out with your gorgeous boyfriend. He’ll stop kissing you once he can taste the champagne on your lips, notices the glassy sheen to your eyes. Jason folds your roaming hands back into your lap and makes you promise to be good. He’ll take you home early and get some water into you before tucking you into bed. He’ll go so far as to sleep on the couch, door open to the bedroom so he can hear if you need him.
Jason remembers what Catherine looked like, coming off of a high and not remembering what day it was. The fear in her eyes and the shake in her voice when she asked if anyone else had been in the apartment.
Jason remembers the early days after the pit. When he’d wake up after blacking out in rage and not remember what his body had done. Seeing the blood on his skin and not knowing where it came from.
Jason never wants you to wake up with that same fearful not knowing. So he’ll sleep on the couch and make sure you’re safe. In the morning he’ll cook you breakfast and kiss you silly. But you’re going to have a talk, the two of you, once you’re sober enough to have a real conversation. Establish boundaries and plan consent for if you do want to fool around if one of you is impaired, or how you want to handle it if you don’t. But it’s not tomorrow yet, and Jason’s tired. He can sleep soundly though, knowing that nothing’s going to happen to you.
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khruschevshoe · 5 months
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The problem with the handling of Ed's season 2 arc on ofmd is that it sets up the cycle of abuse so well. Demonstrates the way it destroys both Ed and his victims in the first two episodes so well. Shows the ways the trauma can keep destroying people and their relationships in episodes 2-4 (Lucius, Izzy, Jim, etc.). And then just...shames Lucius for trying to open up and shames him for being traumatized and makes fun of him for trying to talk about what happened to him. Makes Izzy apologize to his abuser for one comment he made what is implied to be months ago after the man he is apologizing to CUT OFF HIS TOES AND SHOT HIM IN THE LEG. Doesn't allow Jim (or for that matter, Archie) to be righteously pissed off for longer than episode 4. And then has the audacity to say that Ed making a "Youtuber apology" and using the loot that he blackmailed/threatened/forced the crew to steal in the first place to buy them party decorations somehow...makes up for everything he did?
Like, am I missing a part of this arc? Am I missing the part where he reconciled with literally ANYONE but Fang? Am I missing the part where Stede apologized to Lucius for telling him to stop talking when he was telling him about the severe trauma he went through? (Or even, as much as I love him and their relationship, Pete apologizing to Lucius for dismissing his trauma and wanting to move on before Lucius was ready because listening to Lucius' sa/abuse story was uncomfortable?) Am I missing the part where Archie and Jim found a reason to forgive Ed (and don't tell me that the Izzy-the-unicorn helped them forgive Ed- that was about the crew coming together to help IZZY to recover and had jacksquat to do with Ed)?
The set up was brilliant. Episodes 1-3 killed me. Episode 2 was my favorite episode of the show (bar the bit where Stede ran away when Lucius was unloading his trauma, and even THAT could have worked if he apologized later and allowed Lucius to talk). But the lack of payoff makes me feel sick. Because I understand this show is a comedy, but you don't introduce themes like that and give them that kind of ending.
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bruciemilf · 11 months
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I know I rave about Jason having a protective streak when it comes to Bruce, but Dick? Dick who wanted murder on his hands since he was 10? Oof.
Super angsty idea, but the Court of Owls abducting the batfamily, except Bruce couldn't slip into the cowl on time.
So it's just the robins and one heavily drugged Bruce Wayne in a room that promises damage.
"Cheeky," Damian tries biting one of them, because of course he does. Dick wouldn't expect less from his little war bird.
Shortly after there's rags over them all. Safe for Jason, who's positively fuming under his helmet, of that, Dick has no doubt. "Batman should've thought you manners. But,"
A collective shiver rips through them all when a gloved hand grabs Bruce's chin, " I'm no better than he is. Starting to feel it, Mr. Wayne?"
Maybe he's faking it. Dick hopes it. But that chilling, hollow numbness fogging Bruce's eyes indicates this is some heavy stuff. That whimper of discomfort sure sounds real.
"He could've joined us. But he wanted the slums instead. He just loves betting on losing dogs. But we're gonna have so much fun with him. And I for one, can't wait for you to watch."
When that sleazy bastard toys with Bruce's belt, Jason kicks the chair Damian's in. "Look away," the order is both quiet and steely and he doesn't think Damian listens over all his struggling.
A snarl fills the oppressive silence of the room. Jason thinks it might’ve been him. But at his right?
Dick is trashing, struggling, pulling, shaking, -- any effort to loosen his restraints. He's shouting behind his gag, growling, with a feral and savage blood-lust dripping off him.
"Aw, don't worry. After I'm done I'll let you have a turn. I know you're ...attached to him."
Dick is violance and rage with skin, and God help the court when he's out of those handcuffs. Batman can take care of himself. But his Tati needs him.
If it's blood they want, he's got the teeth.
I adore aggressive, protective Dick Grayson so much.
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konigsfaerie · 5 months
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thinking about creep!könig!
cw/tw: dubcon, noncon, abuse, bruising, intimidation
- könig who secretly watches you sleep through your window, palming his huge cock through his pants until he can’t stand it anymore. he stares at your ass poking through those tiny sleep shorts and cums all over your window and doesn’t bother to clean it up.
- könig who backs you up into corners and is so tall and big next to you his breath barely touches your face even when he is leaning down to stare at you through dead eyes
- könig who gets hard as a fucking rock when he sees your hands shaking every time he gets close to you. he loves the idea of you being terrified of him. so so afraid when he gets too close to you, you can’t even speak to tell him to go away. can’t even mutter a word, barely a whimper. it makes what he wants to do to you so much easier.
- and those whimpers. you involuntarily make them every time he wants to scare you into submission, and he does. every time he’s around you, you shrink in his presence. you can’t help but do whatever he says.
- he begins to start jerking you around whenever he wants something. pull you by the arm, lifting you up by the waist to move you. then you start noticing light bruises on your waist and your wrist.
- the next day he walks into where you’re working, you silently lift your shirt just past your bellybutton and show him. you turn your wrists over too, showing the purple marks. he licks his lips, and you can see something long and hard rising in his tan cargo pants. those bruised wrists begin shaking and you realize you never should’ve shown him. you, like an idiot, thought he would finally stop when he saw that he actually hurt you. that clearly is not the case. it only excites him further.
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sickmuseum · 11 months
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I am sitting down in the shower It is this dirty type of clean That keeps me trapped in here for hours Still, I scrub and scrub until my body bleeds Convince myself I am coming clean Forget and ignore who I used to be That kid is never coming back
Bathtub - The Front Bottoms.
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quinnnfabrgay-writes · 8 months
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a day beyond this night
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pairing: Joel x fem!reader
summary: After a night out with friends turned into a nightmare situation, you're faced with the hard decision of telling your new fiance about what happened while still trying to grapple with it and make sense of it yourself in the immediate aftermath.
wc: 5.5k
tags/warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, <- nothing graphic but my blog is 18+ only so, PLEASE HEED THESE WARNINGS I'M NOT LOOKING TO TRAUMATIZE/RE-TRAUMATIZE ANYONE; angst angst angst, straight up hurt/comfort, no outbreak au, aftermath of SA (not from Joel), mentions of SA, nothing explicit about the actual assault is described (besides a fuzzy memory and one thing the perpetrator says), but it is referenced heavily as reader works through some things, references/mentions of drinking, mentions of being a repeat victim, established relationship, Joel gets to have both of his daughters in this bc it made me feel better, although there isn't a lot of dialogue from the girls, but they're there!, PLEASE let me know if I overlooked anything and i will make sure to add it
a/n: this was purely for my own benefit, woke up the other morning straight up not having a good time and needed to channel my ptsd into something creative and idk, I guess write the comfort I wished I was granted in a few situations similar to this. naturally i gravitated towards Joel for this since at his core he is a protector, and idk it just felt right. what was meant to be a quick lil blurb quickly turned into a whole one-shot with (some) backstory and all, idk how to do anything small. and for anyone else this resonates with please, please, PLEASE know that you are not alone, no matter how isolating it can feel. you are NOT to blame. I see you, I hear you, I love you, and most importantly: I believe you.
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The specifics didn’t matter, they never really do in these situations. What good is rehashing every little detail when at best they get written down and filed away, left to collect dust among the others in some random police department filing cabinet with empty promises of “justice”. Or at worst, the wrong person finds out and word spreads; you become the next town pariah. Just another woman trying to ruin some man’s “promising” life because she can’t handle her liquor. 
No, neither of those options sound particularly favorable. So what then? 
Shove it down. Bury it. Maybe dissociate a little. At least while you’re in public. Sounds easy enough, hold it together just long enough to make it through the day. You can do that. You’ve done it before.
The cool chill of the November air whirls around you. A gentle breeze grazes the small amount of exposed skin of your hands and your arms, setting your nerve endings ablaze. You flinch, tugging the sleeves of your sweater down to cover the raw skin. You spent a better part of the previous night scrubbing every inch of yourself clean. As if taking off layers of skin could make it go away, could make it so it never happened in the first place. As if forcing yourself to stand under scorching hot water could shed the ever present feeling of disgust, of shame. 
You feel tears start to form and prick the corners of your eyes. The crushing weight of impending panic quickly starts to steal the air out of your lungs, threatening to suffocate you as you walk across the parking lot to the small office building housing the conference room your job has rented out for the week.
Focus. Breathe. What’s that five senses exercise again? 
Something about sight? And naming things… that’s right, name five things you see around you.
You look around, taking in your surroundings. Well, you see cars for one. Rows and rows of cars. But of fucking course you see cars, you’re walking through a parking lot. How detailed does this need to be? You take a deep breath, inhaling slowly, letting the cool air burn your nose and your lungs before exhaling and continuing.
You look back around as you continue your walk across the ridiculously and unnecessarily huge parking lot. Be more specific, okay you can do that.
Leaves, you see a few leaves, a few brown and dried up leaves scattering across your path from the breeze. You flick your eyes up at the cars, something bright catching your eye. A New Mexico license plate. The yellow text standing out from the teal background. It brings a small smile to your face, it’s a nice contrast from the countless rows of bland Texas plates staring back at you. You see the faintest of clouds from your breath exiting your mouth and dissipating almost instantly. That’s three. What else? You roll your eyes when you catch a glimpse of a discarded paper cup on the ground, just a few steps away from a trash can. That’s the last two, you think to yourself, moving to pick up and properly discard the cup. 
What’s next? It’s like a countdown, right? Name five things you can see, so you would name four things… four things you what? What are the five senses again? Sight, touch… touch! Identify four things you can touch or feel. Okay yeah, that’s easy enough.
You touch the comforting fabric of your favorite sweater; cozy enough to not irritate your currently tender skin, but still nice enough to wear to work. That’s one. Your hands immediately fly up to the strap of your bag slung across your shoulder, sliding your fingers over the cracked and worn material, making note of how cold the leather has gotten in the short time it’s been exposed to the chilled air. That’s two, two more to go. Your fingers automatically start fiddling with your ring, cool metal against inflamed skin. Your thumb brushes over the gemstone, startling you a little bit. You look down, finding yourself fiddling with your engagement ring.
Right. Your engagement ring. Because you’re engaged. Newly engaged at that. How are you supposed to tell him? Do you even have to tell him? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him… right? 
You quickly shake that thought out of your head. The two of you have always been open and honest with each other, that’s why your relationship was so great. And then this happened. How do you even begin to try and explain it to him when you don’t even remember most of it. Just bits and pieces your subconscious decided to file away, not enough to know what all happened, but just enough to haunt you with. 
Your jaw clenches in an attempt to ward off anymore tears threatening to pool in your eyes. That may have only been three things you named, but you were ready to move on to the next one in hopes of distracting yourself. 
Five, four, now three. Three things you… hear? That sounds about right.
You can hear the sound of your own footsteps hitting the pavement, the sound of your breathing starting to quicken as you feel another threat of a panic attack, your heart pounding in your ears. Okay, that’s not helping, moving on.
Two. What are two things you can smell? You can smell the soft notes of lavender and a slight hint of mint still on your skin from the soap you used to scrub and wash away any remnants from that night. You can smell the once comforting scent of honey and rose from your shampoo mixed with the warm notes of vanilla and strawberry from your conditioner. The scents would usually help calm you down or ground you, but all you can think about is raking your nails across your scalp in the shower, trying to get the stench of alcohol, sweat, and smoke out of your hair and off of your skin. Wasn’t this exercise supposed to get your mind off of that night?
Whatever.
One. Taste. Acknowledge one thing you can taste. The lingering, acrid taste of your burnt coffee from this morning. Cool.
You push your way through the front door of the building, making your way down a hallway, scanning the room numbers looking for the right one. Once you’ve found it, you head into the room looking around for a place to sit. That’s when you see it in big bold letters on the projector screen.
SEXUAL HARASSMENT IN THE WORKPLACE
You freeze. Of fucking course that’s today. That lingering taste of coffee is swiftly being replaced by the phantom taste of bile. Fun.
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You just barely made it through the presentation without having a breakdown in the middle of the conference room. 
It had all become too much. What little you were able to force yourself to eat this morning quickly threatened to make an unpleasant reappearance. So you crossed your arms across your torso, hugging yourself to appear smaller and ducking your head as you made your way out the door swiftly, uttering a small “excuse me,” as you passed by. Your eyes quickly darted around the practically empty office space, looking for the nearest restroom. You made it in and locked the stall just in time as you found yourself dropping to your knees and heaving into the toilet bowl. Your chest was already aching from crying and sobbing for the last 24 hours.
But now you’re sitting in your car, in the Miller’s driveway, clutching the steering wheel so hard your knuckles are turning white from the tension. You could go back to your apartment, maybe make up a story about how you had a rough day at work and needed some time alone. Technically it’s not a lie. Joel and the girls would understand, they always do, but you hadn’t seen them since Friday and you’ve been alone since waking up the previous morning. It hasn’t done you any good thus far. 
You’re practically moved in at this point, most of your stuff moved into Joel’s room or around the house, any furniture or large items you didn’t really have an attachment to either given to friends or still sitting in your practically abandoned apartment. 
It’s moments like this past weekend where you were relieved you had somewhere else to turn to without having to explain anything to anyone. You don’t really use your apartment much anymore, simply waiting out the lease term, but it did give you the opportunity to slowly move stuff in and go through your things. Joel and the girls had all but begged you to move in before he even popped the question, but you always had that lingering fear in the back of your mind that you would be an intrusion in their life. Like deep down you didn’t belong.
That nagging feeling was erased two months ago the moment you saw Joel get down on one knee, and the girls popping out with disposable cameras flashing and party poppers after you said yes. Nothing but happy tears that night. 
But now as you’re staring down the front door from your windshield, that feeling comes creeping back in. They don’t deserve to be weighed down by you and your issues. They deserve someone who doesn’t repeatedly attract chaos and trouble into their lives. Because now it’s not just you anymore. You have more than just yourself to look out for now. You don’t deserve them, they’re way too good for you. Always have been.  
A small sob escapes your lips, a hand immediately coming up to cover your mouth as you try to swallow down any remaining sobs, blinking away the tears already pooling in the corners of your eyes. You have got to get your shit together. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You can do this. You've survived this before and you'll do it again.
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By the time you got in it was close to 5:30, Sarah and Ellie had already begun making dinner and quickly turned down your offer to help out.
“There’s already two of us in here, we don’t need another to get in our way.” Ellie jokes.
You just nod your head and start cleaning off the table for them, desperate to keep busy and not let your current state be known. As you start cleaning up the girls' homework assignments, random articles you have drafted for your boss, and sticky notes Joel has strewn across the table, you let your mind wander. 
There’s no point in trying to force your mind into thinking of something else, that almost seems to make it worse. You turn to start grabbing things to set the table and start running through the list you've made in your head. 
I have my phone, I have my wallet, my friends made it back to their places safely, I checked in with them (more like lied to them) to let them know I was safe, I made it to work on time and got through (most of) the presentation, I got tested for-
Oh shit, that’s what you’re forgetting. You need to call your doctor and get tested for any possible STDs or pregnancy. Well, the pregnancy test might be too early, but she’ll know what to do and when to do it. You may not be 100% of everything that happened last night, but you’re not taking any chances. 
You continue to grab plates and silverware to set the table when a blurry image crosses your mind, a familiar shadow hovering over you in the darkness, accompanied by a voice barely above a whisper.
“C’mon, I want to show you what a real man feels like.” 
A chill runs up your spine, your chest buzzing in terror, a pit growing in your stomach threatening to make you sick. You gasp and drop the plate in your hand, the shattering sound of the ceramic hitting the ground echoing throughout the kitchen. You’re frozen staring down at the shattered plate around your feet, somehow not able to register what just happened. 
You think you hear someone calling your name, but it sounds off… as if they were underwater, drowned out by a ringing in your ears. Out of the corner of your eye, you barely register someone walking towards you until you see a hand waving in front of your face, switching to snap their fingers in an attempt to literally snap you out of whatever daze you have fallen into.
And just like that, the ringing is gone, the voices of Ellie and Sarah clear again as they call your name and talk worriedly among themselves. “What do we do?” “I don’t know, I’ve never seen her like this.” “Neither have I.” The girls couldn’t sound any more different, and yet you’re not certain who’s saying what right now.
You blink repeatedly, shaking your head to rid yourself of this fog. That’s when the broken plate finally fully registers.
“Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit,” you curse as you drop to your hands and knees, picking up pieces carefully so as to not cut your hand open and create even more of a mess.
“Hey, are you alright?” You look up to see Sarah looking at you expectedly from her place near the oven, her arms folded and eyebrows raised in concern. She really does remind you of Joel sometimes. 
You put on your best fake smile, the kind you have to force to meet your eyes. Y’know, really sell the delusion, even though you’re pretty sure your shaky hands are going to give you away. “Uhm yeah, I’m fine, just a little tired.” 
You know she’s not fooled. These girls were too smart for their own good, and with them being 16 now it was getting harder and harder for you or Joel to slip anything by them. But by the grace of god, she seems to let it go. She just nods her head, biting the inside of her cheek and looks back towards the timer. 
Ellie on the other hand doesn’t seem to be feeling as gracious. She softly says your name, bending down to help you pick up the pieces. “You don’t seem alrigh-”
The sound of the front door slamming shut cuts Ellie off, you clutching your chest and trying to regulate your breathing not expecting the sudden noise. You hear Joel’s heavy steps as he gets closer to the kitchen. 
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it this quiet- what happened?” He changes his train of thought as he sees you and Ellie crouching down on the floor still picking up pieces of the plate. Your hands are still shaking, your breathing ragged as you try to calm down. 
“Just me being a clutz.” You try to joke and sound lighthearted, but you’re not fooling anyone at this point. Ellie stands up and throws away the pieces she was able to collect. You’re still picking up the few pieces left as Joel wraps his girls up in what must be a crushing hug from the small grumbles coming from Ellie. “Missed ya kiddos.”
You finally stand up to throw away the rest of the pieces. When you turn around, Joel already has a hand on your hip, the other coming up under your chin to lift your head, urging you to face him. There is no hiding his worry right now, his face giving it all away, you know he can tell something’s off with you. 
“Are you okay?”
You open your mouth to answer, but before you can even get a sound out, Ellie decides to answer for you. “She said she’s ‘just tired,’” making sure that it's obvious to everyone she's using air quotes. You can’t help but crack a small smile, this girl's bullshit meter never fails to surprise you.
Joel just shakes his head at her interruption. “Late night?”
“Somethin’ like that.” You clear your throat, trying to cover the break in your voice. 
He cocks an eyebrow, not really satisfied with that answer, but you know he’s not going to further question you in front of the girls.
“Dinner’s ready!” Sarah’s voice cuts through the tension.
One by one you all make your plate and settle down at the table. After the first few bites, Sarah decides to start the conversation.
"How was work today? I'm surprised you actually got an early day."
"Yeah, it was somethin'..." He takes a bite of his meal, mulling over the day's events in his head before he swallows and continues. "It was a pretty rough day at work. But we don't need to get into that. I'm home now with my girls, that's all that matters."
You faintly hear Ellie pulling Joel's leg for getting all "mushy" while Sarah tries to not laugh after taking a sip of her sweet tea. You think you hear Joel joking around with the girls, but you're not too certain. Their voices are all distant at the moment. All that's replaying in your head is "it was a pretty rough day at work."
It was a pretty rough day at work.
He already had a shit day at work, and now you're here to make it even worse. 
What is wrong with me? Why does this keep happening, why do people keep assuming they have a right to my body? Is this all I’m good for? What- what am I doing wrong? Is it something I say or do? Am I too friendly? Too trusting? Joel deserves better, he deserves someone not so broken and- and so… used.
It’s all too much. A faint ringing in your ears blocks out the chatter at the table, darkness crowds the corners of your eyes as you feel the walls closing in on you.
You all but screech when you feel a hand on your arm. You jump out of your skin, quickly pulling your arm to your chest, cradling it with your other hand, and look over to the intruder with wide eyes.
It’s just Joel.
You feel so stupid and embarrassed. You look around the table to find both Ellie and Sarah looking at you with the same concerned look Joel has plastered on his face. You clear your throat and look back down at the table, looking for any kind of distraction. You reach a shaky hand out to your glass of water, concentrating all of your attention into this one simple task, but still end up spilling some of it as you bring the glass to your mouth, attempting to take small sips to cool your nerves.
Your name escapes from Joel’s lips quietly, concerned.
"Are you doin' alright?" You can tell he wants to reach out again, lay a hand on your arm to try and sooth you, but he refrains not wanting to upset you again.
"Yeah, I just didn't get much sleep this weekend, it must just be catching up to me." You look down and take a deep breath, deciding it would just be easier to remove yourself from the table. "I'm, um, I'm gonna excuse myself and go lay down. Dinner was really delicious y'all, I'm just too tired to finish. I'm sorry."
You go to grab your plate to clean up, but Joel’s already softly placing a hand over yours to stop you. Your slight flinch doesn’t go unnoticed by any of them.
"We've got it, baby. You just go ahead and lay down." You brave looking into those big brown eyes of his, always finding them a source of comfort. 
You just nod silently before getting up, pushing your chair back under the table, and heading up the stairs. You head up to Joel’s room to try and get ready to lay down, maybe getting some sleep will help, but once you’re in his room with the door shut behind you, everything you have been desperately trying to hold back just comes pouring out of you. 
You run into the bathroom, locking yourself in. Maybe if you just let yourself cry it all out real quick, you can go slip into bed before anyone else comes upstairs. You slump down on the floor, your back up against the cabinet under the sink. You bring your knees up and lay your head down, arms wrapping around your legs as you continue to sob.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Why won’t they stop? How is there anything left at this point? Is it possible to shrivel up from dehydration from crying too much?
There's a knock from outside the door. Of course someone would come check up on you, you've been acting weird all night.
“Hey, what’s going on?” It’s Joel.
“It’s nothing. I-uh… I just must’ve eaten somethin’ bad last night.” Smooth. Real smooth.
He pauses for a moment. “Huh. So that’s all then? Nothin' else botherin’ you?”
You go to answer, to tell him everything’s fine. That you just need to clean yourself up a bit from the day and then you’ll go lay down. You open your mouth with every intention of saying all of that, but all that comes out is a choked sob. You quickly bring your hands up to your mouth, attempting to muffle the sound, but it’s already too late. Joel’s already tapping at the door again.
“Can you open the door, please?”
You seriously contemplate not answering. Just go into full shut down mode and wait it out until he leaves before slipping into his bed and finally get this day over with. But Joel is just about as stubborn as you are. You already know he’d make himself comfy on the other side of the door, waiting for however long it takes for you to come out.
It’s now or never anyways. You can’t keep hiding from him and lying to him. You stretch and reach out to unlock the door, sinking back down against the cabinet resuming your previous position. Only now your chin is resting on your knees, your eyes cast down to the floor. 
The door slowly opens only enough for Joel to slip in, closing the door once he’s on the other side of it. You refuse to look at him, but it’s a start. He slinks down to the floor, leaning against the door, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles with his hands folded in his lap. God he is such a dad sometimes. There are a few moments of silence, Joel wanting to give you some time before he finally asks you what’s been on his mind since he got home and saw you on the floor, your expression as shattered as the pieces of the plate in your hands.
"Baby talk to me, what's wrong?" You just fold in on yourself more, maybe if you make yourself small enough you can just disappear and not have to deal with this anymore. "Did something happen with your friends?"
You sniffle and slightly shake your head. He deserves to know. You have to tell him something. You keep your eyes on the ground as you speak, your voice already wavering.
“I… I don’t remember what happened that night.” You shake your head again, wishing the Earth would just swallow you whole right now. Still, you continue. “I guess I had too much to drink. And then I woke up yesterday in an apartment that w-wasn't mine or Stacy's, no idea where I was or how I got there. And… and- I’m sorry Joel, I’m so so sorry.”
You bite your lip to try and keep from sobbing anymore, but the tears flowing from your eyes are harder to control. You flit your eyes up to his face, trying to gauge how he’s feeling from his reaction. You wince slightly when you notice the obvious anger in his eyes. His jaw clicking as he grinds his teeth. His eyes are bouncing around your face slowly, probably trying to formulate a way to tell the girls you had to go. Why would he want to keep you around after something like this after all? Still, there’s something else in his expression that doesn’t make you lose all hope.
"What are you saying?" 
Here it comes. The moment you’ve been dreading all day. The moment where he realizes you’re nothing but a pathetic mess who only attracts trouble and misery. The moment where he realizes he can do so much better than you and kicks you to the curb. The moment where he realizes he and his girls will be so much happier without you and your baggage. Because after everything you’ve been through in your life, how does this still happen? You should’ve seen the signs, they had to be there, right? Might as well rip off the band-aid. 
"I-I…Joel, I promise I would never- I mean I wouldn't- if I hadn't been-" You're cut off by your own sobs, unable to get it all out there in the open.
Joel scoots closer and reaches a hand out towards your face, his fingertips brushing your cheek before tucking your hair behind your ear.
"Did someone hurt you?"
Oh. The anger. It wasn’t directed towards you. He’s genuinely worried about you. The weight of it all finally cracks your already weak exterior, your lip trembling as you break down even more. 
And then there he is, right by your side on his knees, pulling you into his arms. You bury your face in his chest, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as you continue to sob. He just waits it out, lets you get out what you need to as he rubs small soothing circles on your back. You know his knees have to be killing him. Even though he’s not rushing you, you reel it all back in, calming down enough to where there are only silent tears falling off your cheeks.
"C'mon, let's get you in somethin' comfortable and lay down."
He gently sits you down on the edge of his bed, giving you a once over before moving to his dresser in hopes of finding you something more comfortable to wear. You look like a mere shell of the person he knows you to be. He saw it a little in your eyes when he got home from work, but it’s even worse now. You look checked out, like you’re not even here anymore. 
He walks back over with one of his t-shirts and sets it down on the bed before standing in front of you. You make no move to grab the clothes from the bed. You don’t even lift your head to meet his eyes. You’re just staring straight ahead, defeated and tired.
“I’m gonna help you change baby, is that okay?”
The only response you can give him is to slowly nod your head, your eyes never leaving the blank spot on the wall you can’t seem to stop staring at. You’re too dejected to care about how your skin is still sore and tender, just wanting this day to be over with.
He starts by slowly slipping your sweater up and over your head, your arms flopping back down to your sides once it’s off. He’s surprised to see you’re only wearing a bra underneath and not some tee or cami, you’re not one to skimp out on layers but then he notices how red and irritated your skin looks. Your expression hasn’t changed once, your body language practically shouting your defeated state.
He knows you know he wouldn’t hurt you, but he can’t help making it obvious that he’s only here to take care of you and nothing else. He keeps his eyes trained on your face as he takes off your bra and immediately slips the t-shirt over your head. Again, no movement, no expression from you. You’re basically a rag doll at this point.
He bends down on one knee, moving to quickly make work of your socks and pants. He can tell you’re just ready to turn in and shut off your brain. You’ve already shut down, the only thing he can really do for you now is just make sure you’re comfortable and get you tucked in. 
His eyes immediately fall to your exposed hip, his jaw clenching at the sight of faint fingertip marks bruising the skin there. The only concrete evidence that it wasn’t some sick fever dream. That it was real. His knee-jerk reaction is to demand you to tell him who did this to you. Did you know them? Were they some stranger? But it wouldn’t do either of you two any good right now. What you need is to be comforted, to feel safe. And what he needs is to be that for you; to hold you, to let you know you’re safe.
He can’t tell you that he feels like he failed you, that even though it makes no logical sense whatsoever he feels like this is somehow his fault. He can’t tell you that because he knows you think the same thing about yourself. Even without you trying to apologize for something out of your control, he knows you think you’re at fault. That you somehow hurt him. His only priority in this moment is to reassure you in any way he could: this was not your fault, you did nothing wrong.
And maybe he can remind himself of that too. That this wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t fail at protecting you. 
He continues his task, gently pulling you to stand up, pulling back the covers and sitting you back on the bed. He waits until you get comfortable to pull the covers over you. He leans forward giving you a kiss on the forehead, whispering wait right here, before turning to leave.
That somehow snaps you out of your stupor. You start to panic, no longer wanting to be alone. He’s almost out the door when you call out to him.
“Wait, where are you going?”
He turns around quickly, not expecting you to say anything, let alone sounding so scared of the thought of him leaving. “I’m just gonna go grab you some water, I’ll be right back.”
You stare at him for a moment, but then nod silently before retreating back under the covers. It’s only a minute before he’s back upstairs with a glass of water. He holds the glass out to you, clearly not planning to move until you take it and start drinking. As soon as that first drop of cool water hits your tongue, you’re gulping it all down, suddenly feeling parched.
He takes off his jeans before he climbs into the bed next to you, getting situated under the covers, and leans back against the headboard. With the now empty glass sitting on the nightstand, you start wringing your hands, not really knowing what to do. Not knowing what to say. Do you need to say anything? Is he expecting an explanation?
Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by his hand covering yours, stilling your movements. His thumb briefly swipes across the back of your hand before he pulls it back, leaning back with his arms open.
“C’mere.”
You don’t even hesitate. You immediately turn into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, your face buried in his chest again. He wraps his arms around you, one around your shoulders and one around your lower back, keeping you secure, keeping you safe. You could already feel the waterworks starting to build again, but it's only made worse when Joel starts rubbing your back gently and whispering everything he knows you need to hear, whether you believe it or not. 
“It’s not your fault, baby. You did nothing wrong. I’m so sorry someone hurt you, you didn’t deserve this.” Over and over again, whispered like some kind of mantra. 
You finally let it all go, no more trying to hold back your tears or sobs, clinging onto Joel for dear life. A desperate silent plea to stay tethered to this current state of reality, not wanting to shut down again. You let the weight of his arms around you hold you in place, his grip on you almost as tight as your own, as if you would disappear if his hold on you lightened any. You let the gentle strokes of his hand on your back soothe you. Finally feeling a sense of calm, a sense of safety that had been missing in the last 24 hours. Finally able to fully let your guard down, safe in the arms of the only man whose motives you never had to question. The tears don’t stop, the sobs still wrack your whole body, but for the first time you don’t feel so defeated.
You can get through this. You have before. But maybe this time you don't have to do it alone.
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a/n: This website has a list of different hotline numbers to call, ranging from DV and SA to numbers specifically for Native Americans, LGBTQIA+, Americans abroad facing abuse, human trafficking, and more. My asks and dms are always open as well if you just need to vent. Please go back and read that final line again, you don't have to do it alone. 🫂
I thoroughly considered writing in the morning after the party, bc there are a LOT of emotions that come with that, and I do think it’s important to shed light on just HOW isolating and defeating it feels in the immediate aftermath. But I just did not have the strength this time. I do know however that I eventually want to write something like that, even if it only helps one person feel more seen and less alone, it’s important to me that these things get talked about more. 
This is not an important note, but for whatever reason I thought I should share. The shampoo + conditioner combo I described was Lush’s Fairly Traded Honey shampoo + American Cream conditioner. Incredibly unimportant info, but that was my go-to combo for the LONGEST and it always made my hair smell like a warm field of flowers with a hint of sweetness.
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ivymarquis · 4 months
Text
A Little Death
Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 7k Kinks/Content/Warnings| The author has decided she can't be assed to edit this, Chubby!Reader, Kidnapping, nondescript mentions of torture. Ambiguous mentions of S/A (vague enough you can chose to ignore that part if you want tbh), Reader is traumatized from her ordeal but working through it. Fingering, PiV, riding, squirting, Simon has a moment where he's worried he triggered reader after sex but that is an incorrect assumption on his part.
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On days like this Simon can almost pretend he’s normal. 
The game’s on, a beer in one hand while the other has been commandeered by his girlfriend with a simple “Gimmie.”
Simon has never been one to worry about his nails beyond clipping them for practicality’s sake.
Having a SAS lieutenant for a boyfriend means she deals with what she insists is Simon’s paranoia and he insists is a healthy level of suspicion about the outside world. Having a nail technician for a girlfriend means every so often she’ll commandeer his hands to ensure they’re up to her standards. As it turned out, adhering to regulations wasn’t up to par for her. 
His neighbor is a popular woman.
It sets him on edge, all the traffic. One or two people at a time, usually other women- sometimes with a man in tow, other times not. They show up, they stay for maybe an hour or maybe 4, and they leave. Within 30 minutes someone else is knocking on her door.
Normal men humor their partners about things they don’t particularly give a fuck about when left to their own devices, as an acknowledgment of its importance to them. 
And so he sits, beer in one hand as she works on the other. Once she’s finished she gathers up the towel that acts as a catch for the various clips and trimmings before making her move to switch sides, Simon easily acquiescing to her whim.
“I’m not keeping you up, am I?” She asks one night. Music plays lowly from a laptop on her patio as he steps onto his for a smoke break. Just because he’s got his vice doesn’t mean he wants the whole flat smelling like it.
“Don’t sleep much anyway, pet. Bit of music won’t change that one way or another.”
Despite his insistence that he’s merely humoring her, he soaks up the attention she readily gives him. When she’s done and tidied after herself she returns with a small bottle of lotion.
He’s got one arm wrapped around her shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head as she massages his hand. If he plays his cards right tonight he can probably get her to soothe some of the aches and stiff muscles that always plague him. For now he melts as she seems to know exactly what points to hit in his palm and forearm. 
It’s domestic and normal and Simon can almost ignore the burner phone he keeps on him at all times.
It goes off at 5am on a Sunday, Simon already awake and having been watching the ceiling fan since 4:30. He can’t fall back asleep but can’t bring himself to separate from her. 
She burrows further into his chest as his shifting disrupts her. He’s fairly certain she would crawl inside his ribcage if she could, curl up right next to his heart and never leave. 
Simon would gladly let her. 
She’s a nail technician, he comes to learn. Sure as shit, he eventually memorizes the traffic that comes and goes on a roughly two week interval. Some of them are steadfast in their appointments. 2 o clock every other Thursday. 4 o clock every other Friday. Others not so much- they come around frequently but the days and times are random after the 14 day mark. 
The familiarity of some of the faces takes him slightly less on edge. He will never relax, not truly, but it settles him down now that he knows the pattern. 
It also explains why her hands have two completely different designs on each one. Color, pattern, the shape of the nails. Her left and right hand look like they belong to two different people. 
Simon doesn’t use social media, for obvious reasons. His little neighbor has formed an entire career for herself based off of it. 
But the phone buzzes on the nightstand, an omniscient presence that always hovers heavy in the air.
“Price?” Is all he gives for a greeting. Trying to keep his words short and concise. He doesn’t want to wake her, still under the lull she draws him into without trying. 
He keeps his work and his personal life separate with no intention of ever melding the two. 
“Laswell’s got intel. We meet in 2 days, back on base at 06:00.”
He is about to respond, both an acknowledgment and a hopeful end to the conversation, when she stretches next to him with a groan of protest at being awoken so early. 
“Tell your other girlfriend I said hi,” she grumbles, already knowing it’s Price on the phone and that the clock is officially counting down on the time they have left together. 
“You know at a certain point I'm going to just decide you’ve got a whole secret life with a wife and kids and a picket fence.”
He doesn’t want his work to ever follow him home. Not to her. He keeps them strictly separate. She knows he’s military- specifically SAS- and that he works in counter terrorism and that’s about all he’s willing to tell. She doesn’t need to know details. And more importantly the details don’t ever need to know about her. 
His past missions have haunted him in the worst way possible. He’s finally rebuilt something for himself as the ghost of a dead man, and doesn’t want anything to ever tarnish what he’s found. 
He can’t entirely blame her. It takes a leap of faith to accept the little he offers her. What does he have? A dead man’s name and most likely a violent end waiting for him. 
Eventually he does offer a small peace offering. Price is enough to settle the concerns that she hides as jokes. Provides enough credibility that she can let go of the concern that he’s living a double life.
Well, he is. But not the kind that nags at her. 
Price knows her; Gaz and Soap know that he’s got someone waiting for him at home, but Simon is already at his limit of how much intermingling he can handle. They’re both compromising, both making allowances for their comfort levels for the sake of the other. But he has to draw the line somewhere. 
If Simon had his way Gaz and Soap would be none the wiser, but a night of frantic coupling before he’d left had Simon bearing marks that are incredibly obvious in the changing room. 
“Steamin’ Jesus L.T.! You get jumped by a wildcat?” The chortle from the Scot makes it obvious that Johnny is yet again not afraid to push Simon’s buttons. 
There’s no denying what they are, nor how he got them. Neither Soap nor Gaz are stupid. 
Long, red scratch marks criss cross the broad expanse of his scarred back. He certainly hadn’t complained when his lovely girl had left her mark on him- those nails dragging across his skin had only encouraged him as his hips clapped wetly against hers, hands gripping her knees as he pressed them to her shoulders.
Most nights he is soft and gentle and strokes her skin while his lips press either in her hair or the soft expanse of her neck. He doesn’t roughhouse her tonight, but the knowledge he’ll be gone for weeks and tonight is their last together for the foreseeable future?
Well, the pair of them are a bit amped about the impending separation. It’s a good thing neither of them are particularly known for their good sleeping habits, because there’s not a lot of that usually happening on the nights before Simon leaves. 
Leaving without waking her up is an impossible task but he tries anyway.
Whereas Simon finds sleep difficult to achieve and eventually sleeps like the dead once he finds it, she drifts readily enough but will wake at the drop of a hat.
Usually she’ll settle soon after. Eyes following his form in the dark, waiting expectantly for him to come back after he dresses to kiss her goodbye. 
They carve out a routine for themselves. One for when Simon is home, and one for when he’s preparing to walk out the door until eventually coming back through it.
His therapist is equal parts shocked and pleased to hear that Simon is taking the leap and opening himself up emotionally to someone. 
His therapist is less pleased about the way he simply buries himself in her life when he’s on leave.
Simon is nothing- has nothing- when he is not acting in the line of duty. He is a dead man with nothing to his name and no one who gives a fuck if he ever walks back through the door that isn’t tied to his military career. 
He thrives on the stability and schedule on base. On the simplicity of nights spent out on the field. Wake up, piss, dont die, go to sleep. Wake up, repeat. 
Some days the only thing keeping him from trying to end it all (again, he bitterly acknowledges) when he’s gotten too far into a bottle of bourbon is his therapist and the thought of his team’s face at the news. 
Until, at least, he meets her. 
The mission is brief but successful. Simon is pleased. 
The deepest of the scratch marks has just finished healing and he’s already missing the sensation of her nails dragging against his skin- and he’s not picky about the context, either. 
There have been plenty of nights he’s fallen asleep with his face buried in her chest with one of her hands scratching gently at his scalp and the other tracing in broad strokes across his back.
Of course those nails also feel divine scratching at his abdomen while she is on her knees for him.
There’s a process he goes through when he gets home. It lets him shed the mantle of Ghost- to calm down as much as he’s able and be better equipped to deal with civilian life. Helps him give her the illusion that she is with a normal man who’s not holding onto himself with a death grip, desperately trying to keep the pieces together.
He feels fine when he leaves base and heads home. Everything is normal. 
Until he turns the corner and sees the door ajar.
Fear runs ice cold in his veins, hackles raised and on guard. 
I’m just being paranoid, he tries to self soothe as he steps towards the door. She tells me all the time.
Course, it was one thing when he gripes about how she answers the door without looking to see who it is. She doesn’t leave the fucking door open.
“Wish you’d at least look at the peep hole before just opening the bloody door,” he grouses into her hair, pulling her in so she’s tucked up to his side. 
“If I’m expecting someone to come at 3 and there’s a knock at 3, I already know who it is, Si.”
There are times when he is grateful that she has, by comparison, lived a life where she thinks he is paranoid and needlessly worries. She hasn’t had the experiences he has, and he doesn’t wish that upon her. He’s grateful with the knowledge that every time he’s sent out, thus far, that she’s been tucked away safe and sound until he returns. 
But of course the other shoe was always going to drop eventually. 
“Price?” Simon doesn’t know who else to call. 
He’s standing in the middle of his flat, evidence of an altercation scattered around the living room. 
She put up a fight if the state of the flat is anything to go by. He wants to be proud of that at least, use it as hope-
He just feels hollow. 
A group the 141 has dealt with prior are the ones all the signs point to. They wanted the team’s attention and by God they fucking got it. 
Simon doesn’t understand how they found she has any ties to him. He’s so careful- keeps her tucked away and hidden from any potential cross over with his work.
The next few days are a blur and Simon’s mental health has seen better days. 
He resigns himself, even when Laswell gets a hit and the 141 are loaded into a helo, to the fact that at best this will be a body retrieval mission. 
Even as Soap gives a reassuring knock into his shoulder- we’ll get her back, LT- as confident as ever. 
His sweet girl is dead, just like every other person Simon has ever cared about. 
He doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve losing them all. The only ones he has left are his team, and that’s a tenuous state at best. His family was good. They were normal people with normal lives. She is good and a normal person. 
Her only sin is being foolish enough to love him. 
Some time between getting on the bird and offloading, Simon forces the thoughts in a corner and blocks them off. 
Simon, the terrified boyfriend, gives way to Ghost so he can get through this in one piece. He just wants to find her, bring her home and bury her body. He’s numb to anything beyond the scope of the plan he’s formed in his mind. 
It’s laughably easy. A fringe group the 141 has had altercations with- she’s not exactly a high profile prisoner. They just wanted to fuck with Simon.
There’s no satisfaction or vindication as they clear the building floor by floor. 
He feels nothing.
The further they venture into the building with no sign of her, the pit in his stomach sinks just as far. There’s no sign of anything concrete or anywhere they’d keep a prisoner. 
And then there, in a corner of a hallway, Ghost spots it-
An acrylic nail lying broken on the ground, dried blood clotted on the tips. 
For the first time in days, Simon feels something. 
It’s not hope. He doesn’t dare hope. 
But it’s confirmation that she has, at some point, been in the building. 
It’s also confirmation that she gave it a fighting chance. 
She’s a civilian- nothing much she can do against professional criminals. But she tried and Simon has to find something in that.
They split into pairs down a hallway clearing rooms. Every door that opens only to not have her in it is like a knife that keeps twisting in his abdomen. 
Just let him have this one thing. 
It’s just as Ghost and Soap have called out clear on another room that he hears Price’s voice call to him down the hall. 
There’s only one reason Price would be calling for him specifically.
As he approaches he can hear the captain again, softer this time. Can’t make out what he’s saying but everything feels slow; like he’s moving under water. 
As his mind prepares him for every horrific potential image waiting for him beyond the threshold of the door- there’s nothing that prepares him for what he sees. 
She’s alive. 
Wide eyed and panicked, which is to be expected all things considered, but she’s here and she’s breathing.
Simon forgets himself entirely. He swings wildly from feeling nothing to feeling everything and it bubbles up all at once as he barrels towards her. 
He forgets that while she knows Simon is SAS she knows nothing of Ghost. Simon works in counter terrorism, yes, but she knows nothing about the mask.
So after being kidnapped and going through God-knows-what in her absence, she’s got no fucking clue the 6’4 fucker with the skull mask gunning for her is her boyfriend. 
The sharp, croaked “Stay the fuck away from me!” doesn’t cut but it does jog his memory enough to know she’s absolutely terrified.
Again there’s that part of him that is proud of her. After everything she’s been through even if she wouldn’t stand a chance in an actual altercation- She’s not huddled in the corner. She looks willing to fight him, until Simon rips the mask off his face. “It’s me, love! It’s me.”
“Simon? What the fuck is that?!”
Rather than scrambling to get away she turns to launch herself at him, a tangle of limbs as they cling to each other and reassure themselves that yes this is real and yes the other is there. That this fucking nightmare is over.
Simon buries his nose in her hair- was so certain he’d be bringing her home in a body bag he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. She’s shaking in his grip, sobs ripping through her as he shushes her gently and murmurs “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you now.”
“As much as I love a good reunion- we need to get going, Ghost.” Price is ever the voice of reason, because Simon’s head is not in the game right now. 
He wants to cling to her and never let her go- he needs to pull his head out of his ass. 
Price isn’t wrong. As much as he has to fight off the impulse to tuck her against his side and keep her there, they have shit to do. 
He won’t truly be able to relax until she’s safely stowed on the helo and they’re on their way back.
It’s a bit easier once he puts the mask on. His brain is trained to focus on work and not let his personal life muddy the waters. Where Simon can’t help but falter, Ghost is dauntless. 
Simon can barely string a thought together now that he has her back in his arms. Simon still cannot believe she’s alive and breathing even after touching, smelling and hearing her. 
But Ghost can focus on getting her to the helo. 
Everything is a blur as Price and Gaz lead with Soap bringing up the rear. 
Ghost can’t quite decide where he wants her- keeps alternating between keeping her behind him in the event they get blindsided, that he’ll take any hits that go past Price or Gaz, or getting her in front of him so he can keep an eye on her, and there’s two SAS soldiers in front of her and two behind.
The hostiles in the building wanted the 141’s attention. Mission fucking accomplished.
The ones they chance across are dropped with ease. Simon is no stranger to returning to a location and making his point. Right now he’s got bigger concerns to be worried about. 
A knot of anxiety lodges itself on his ribcage as they move through the building that doesn’t unwind until he’s got her strapped to her seat in the helo. 
For the first time in days he can breathe. The knot slowly untangles as they ascend.
It finally settles in for both of them that she is out and she is safe. She’s been quiet the whole trek to the helo but Price, Soap, and Gaz have been on enough hostage recovery missions to not be caught off guard as she bursts into tears and buries her face in Ghost’s vest. 
It’s finally safe for her to do so, the adrenaline wearing off as she sobs. 
For the most part the other three men try to avert their eyes and not intrude.
Simon’s always been reserved about his life off base and watching him soothe his partner is bordering too personal for the others to witness.
It comes and goes in waves; Simon will settle her down, crooning quietly in her ear too low for the others to hear. She’ll stifle her tears for a bit as he soothes her. They go straight to medical after landing to have her looked at. She starts up again while waiting for the nurse to come back, trying to apologize to Simon through choked sobs. 
He won’t hear it, softly but firmly brushing her apologies to the side and assuring her everything’s fine now, love. No need to apologize.
He feels physically ill when the nurse delicately asks if she needs a rape kit or screenings done.
The rest of the 141 gives them a wide berth- which is a marked accomplishment because all too often Soap and Gaz are trailing behind him and finding some sort of shenanigans to get up to. Simon is perfectly content with the arrangement. He wants to focus his attention on her and that’s easier to do without the sergeants under foot.
His room on base is much like his entire apartment was before she moved in.
It’s 3am, Simon needs to take a piss and as he’s doing so, he’s not-quite eye level with a sign that says
“★★★★★ -
Would poop here again”
He’s got no idea when or where she found that, let alone put it up, but rolls his eyes good naturedly as he tucks himself away.
Normal people have bathroom decor.
Simon can appreciate a bit or a joke as much as the next person- but while this space is his it’s not something he’s ever felt the need to decorate. It’s a bed for him to crash on in between missions or if he’s too bloody exhausted to safely make the trek home.
There’s only one piece of any sort of personal touch to the room- a framed photo of her.
Simon intends to see her through the next few days- they’ll head home in the morning and realistically there’s only so long John can hold off on calling the boys in again. But the captain says he’ll do what he can to keep Simon home while they settle back in. He’s been due for some leave anyway.
He doesn’t sleep the first night. She swings drastically between being knocked out and jolting awake screaming and crying. Even once she’s gotten over the initial shock of her rescue it still takes time for her nervous system to calm down.
“I’ve got you, love- you’re safe here” he murmurs into her ear as she trembles like a leaf. “We’ll be home soon, yeah? You’ll feel better once you’re in our bed.”
The question is twofold- it is to soothe her, and also to gauge her reaction to the prospect of going home. Simon won’t hesitate to set the flat ablaze if it makes her feel better. 
Start fresh.
For now she seems to sleep better if he’s got her pinned up against the wall- the bulk of him a physical barrier to anything that might enter the room.
He’s always slept between her and the door so that’s no hardship- it just takes time to realize she feels safer trapped between him and the wall.
They make it through the first night in one piece, although the next morning she will not stop chewing on her nails. With someone else, he wouldn’t necessarily be surprised- but she’s never been a nail biter.
It dawns on him, as she sits on the couch and bursts into tears, that she wants the nails (or at least the ones that survived the ordeal) off, and is winding herself up too much to take them off the way she knows she should.
Simon goes to her office; he’s watched her enough that he knows the steps and the materials she’ll need, gathering them up before coaxing her to the table.
There’s no interest in redoing them but Simon manages to get the current sets off of her so she doesn’t damage her nail beds- assuming she stops chewing on them (which she does).
Over the next few days he lets her set the pace. She’s jumpy at home and calmer when he takes her out to run errands or just to stretch their legs. 
Maybe he will propose moving sooner rather than later. Their building is a shithole anyway.
He puts her in therapy after a week. It’s the only time he’s away from her. Realistically he knows it’s not good to have her so used to always being within arms length or eyesight of him- it’s not sustainable when eventually he will be called back in. But he has no qualms for the coddling he subjects her to while he’s able to. She’s quiet and comfortable with his hovering in a way she’d never tolerate before she was abducted- he figures he’ll know when she’s feeling a bit like herself again when she starts complaining about him not giving her any space.
Knowing she’s got the therapist gives him some security on how she’ll mentally cope when eventually he needs to leave again.
Her bursting into tears occurs less frequently. If Simon has to pry himself away from her to take a piss in the middle of the night she’s not up, back ramrod straight and waiting for him to come back with wet, teary eyes.
As the days tick on, bleeding into months later, Simon idly acknowledges that-short of when he’s on deployment- this is the longest they’ve gone without having sex. There’s nothing else that goes with that acknowledgement- he’s far more concerned with her well being than he is getting his kicks. He’s just taking stock of all their ‘normals’ and prior to her abduction they’d had quite the active sex life.
It’s one day as they’re watching a movie that it’s apparent Simon isn’t the only one aware of their dry spell.
They’re laying on the couch, her back pressed against his front with one of his heavy arms draped across her rib cage to keep her snuggled up against him as they watch the screen in front.
At first he thinks that she’s repositioning- thinks nothing of it and lifts his arm just enough to allow her the freedom to wiggle to a more comfortable spot. She keeps wiggling though and Simon is trying to keep his mind off the sensation of her arse grinding into his groin. Trying to ignore the way his dick twitches in interest, because- God help him- he's not dead and the love of his life is grinding her arse on him. Bodies are going to do what bodies do, and he can feel himself stiffening in response.
“Sweetheart, you need to sit still,” he whispers the plea into her ear. 
Her head tilts back towards him and lust jolts through his body at the look in her eyes while she still continues to grind against him.
“I miss you, Simon,” and given how he is rarely further than grabbing distance from her, there’s very few other ways to interpret what exactly it is that she is missing.
He’s a goner when she gives him that wide, doe eyed expression paired with the prettiest “Please?” he’s ever heard in his life.
One moment they’re quiet and content laying on their sides on the couch- the next Simon’s gripping her arm and pulling her on top of him as he settles onto his back. She follows his lead and moves so her weight is settled on his hips as his hands grip hers.
It is no hardship on his end to wait for her- the patience never truly even registered in his brain. She can have as much time as she needs and Simon will give it to her gladly.
But his pretty girl batting her eyes at him and pleading softly for him? His patience isn’t the only thing he’s willing to give her.
“Are you sure?” He doesn’t mean to second guess her or make her question herself but he does want to make sure that she’s not acting on obligation.
“Yes, Simon- Please,” and who is he to deny her?
His hands are on her immediately- pulling her towards him and encouraging her to grind, knowing her sweet clit will light up at the friction of her soft panties dragging across the rough material of his jeans.
His lips find hers, separating only briefly as he hauls her dress up and over her head, happily discarding the material in a heap on the floor.
His hands grip her hips, Simon relaxing into the couch while his fingers dug into the pillow soft skin perching above him. He’s straining against the fabric of his jeans- knows the tip of his erection is leaking clear pre and it’s not just going to be her being the reason the fabric has a wet spot.
The couch is certainly not the worst place to be, his beautiful girlfriend’s tits in his face as she grinds down in his lap with little hitching breaths.
“Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, kissing down her jawbone, the length of her neck and across her collar bone before happily mouthing at her breasts which are blessedly right in his face.
Simon groans in pleasure as he teases one nipple, her sweet mewls and the grip on his hair only spurring him on.
Grabbing a handful of her plush arse, he groans in anticipation while switching from one breast to the other.
It’s been a fair while since his back has been shredded by her nails and he can’t wait to feel the bite of them dragging down the length of his spine.
“Lift up, sweetheart,” he instructs, somewhat loath to release her plump bottom but eager to get her dripping for him.
She pulls up enough for him to slip one hand between her legs. Exploring fingers are quick to spread her wetness, dipping between her folds and dragging back up to circle her clit softly.
“Fuck- Simon!” she whines in his ear.
He knows enough by now what makes her tick. Once she’s all warmed up and ready to roll, that sweet cunt of hers could take a thrashing. But warming up involves feather-light touches to get her squirming and squealing for him.
“Feels good, pretty?” he asks despite knowing the answer in the way her arms wrap around his neck and she sags against him, hips twitching as she lets him tease her.
“Ye-yeah,” she murmurs, and presses her lips against his neck as he takes another pass- finger pulling away from her clit just to draw shivers from her as he traces back down her folds and presses ever so lightly against the entrance on her- just to the first knuckle- and making his way back to tease her clit.
Each pass has her rocking her hips more as he slips more of his finger inside, eventually adding a second that has her mewling and squirming in his lap.
He’s going to have one hell of a hickey from how she’s sucking on his neck, but Simon can’t bring himself to care. Not when his ears are graced with the delightful little noises she makes- whimpers of protest as he pulls his fingers out of her, the shaky inhales as he circles her clit and the trembling moan when he once again slides his fingers inside of her to give a few pointed strokes to her g-spot just to get her shivering and blinking up at him with lust-blown eyes.
“Fuck you’re wet,” there’s absolutely zero resistance now, even when he slides a third finger inside her. 
“Please,” she mewls into his skin, hips rocking in time with the thrust of his fingers into her.
“What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.” He’s always found her an absolute delight to tease- she gets so flustered and stares at him with that doe eyed, betrayed look- how dare he make her ask for anything when it’s obvious what she wants.
“Please let me cum,” she pants as her eyes screw up in pleasure while his fingers trace and circle her clit for several passes.
“You wanna cum, love?” His tone is just a bit too soft to be a mocking tease despite the way she glares at him. Spoiled little thing so easily sliding back into her old habits.
“I’m going to bite you,” she grumbles in bemused annoyance, brows furrowing as she tries to follow his hand while teasing her.
He doesn’t doubt his little viper for a second, mollifying her displeasure with three fingers digging for that spot that makes her see stars.
“Oh~,” she mewls against him as he stokes the fires of her orgasm with a vengeance. He doesn’t stop, angling his hand so his thumb can stroke against her clit and enjoying the way she trembles against him like a leaf caught in a windstorm.
“That the spot, hm? Right there, innit?” He rumbles low in her ear, a satisfied smirk on his face as she nods in a big sweeping motion against his neck. “Come on, pretty. You wanna cum so badly? Do it.” he baits.
Mission accomplished.
Fuck he’ll remember the vision of her crying and cumming and trembling in his hold, soaking his forearm and abdomen as she squirts, for the rest of his days. His free hand runs soothingly down her back for a few passes before pulling both hands away from her.
She’s immediately whining against him, upset at having his touch taken away. “Simon, please-”
He shushes her with a kiss to her temple, “I know what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs while deftly undoing his pants and freeing his cock.
It only takes a few strokes, already straining and ready to perform, before they’re shuffling as he pulls and maneuvers her so she’s hovering above him and Oh fuck has Simon missed this as she sinks down on him.
It always takes a couple attempts- he’s not a small man, and doesn’t want to risk injury. Not to mention there’s just something fucking delicious about only giving her a few inches, pulling back and feeding her just a few more. Slow, short, steady thrusts that get deeper bit by bit, having Simon ready to melt into the couch at the bliss of being buried in her by the time she sinks all of her weight onto him, her groin pressing against his.
She’s so fucking warm and wet, clinging to him as she shuffles to get good leverage on top of him to bounce.
Bloody fucking hell does she feel good. “That’s it, pretty. Take it all,” he encourages her while she whimpers above him- if he angles himself just right he can grind her clit against him in a way that has her sucking down air and shivering.
She’s so good for him but he knows there’s only so long she can bounce in his lap- even resting on one knee on the couch and her other foot on the floor so she can shift her weight and give leg a break every now and then, Simon throwing his head back and groaning loudly.
It’s one of the only times he’s particularly verbose- Usually content to be silent and broody unless he has a specific question in mind, the bedroom (or in this case the living room) is the one place where he is a chatterbox. The mouth on him is surreal at times, and while one would think his sweet girl would be use to the filth every now and then he’ll catch her off guard with some particularly out of pocket comment.
For now though, he’s a bit reserved- doesn’t want to go from zero to a hundred out of nowhere.
No, for now his attention is focused on the goddess bouncing on his cock, wondering if he can get her to squirt a second time if he just- he shifts underneath her, changing the angle and fucking hell does that seem to do the trick for her. Swiping one of his thumbs across his tongue before pressing it to her clit and circling again, Simon can’t help the smug look on his face when she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck,” he grunts as he thrusts up into her. From how those pretty thighs are trembling, her legs are about to give out as he fucks into her. 
“Simon!” She’s yelping his name with glassy eyes and a clenching cunt “Fuck- Simon! Please-”
She doesn’t have the energy to get herself back up again- poor thing, her thighs must be burning, and he can’t help but be a cocky fuck about the fact that she loves riding his dick to the point that she physically can’t keep going.
“On your back, sweetheart,” he instructs with a light swat to her ass- appreciating the way her body jiggles at the impact.
His sweet girl has done so well and worked so hard, it’s only right that he rewards her. Once she’s on her back he grips her under her knees and folds her legs back- gives himself room between those gorgeous thighs.
“Fuck, baby- please don’t stop,” she pants underneath him, back arching in pleasure as his mouth drops to her breasts again. Her arms wrap loosely around his neck, and he twitches in anticipation at the feel of her nails tracing ever so lightly against his back.
“Not gonna stop, pretty girl.” he groans against her skin, alternating between which nipple he has between his teeth.
Fuck she’s clenching down on him like a vice. He knows she’s getting close; squirming in his grip, keeping her legs nice and spread for him. The feel of her nails reaching down his back and dragging up his spine pulls a groan that would be embarrassing if Simon could find it within himself to care in the slightest. The slight pain encourages him as he cants against her.
“Simon!” The sound of his hips knocking into the back of her thighs is loud and messy. Fuck he’s such a goner when she looks up at him with that sweet expression on her face- pure adoration and wonder in her eyes.
“Just like that, sweetheart. Fucking hell, love,” he grunts out, a second wind reinvigorating him when she starts shaking. Those plush thighs shaking in his hold as he knocks the sense out of her pretty head, he’s so fucking close he can taste it but is determined to get her across the finish line first.
“Such a good fucking girl,” he purrs in her ear, “You feel fucking perfect taking my cock. This wet cunt’s all mine, innit?”
All she can do is chant “Yes! Yes! Yes!” over and over again- Simon’s not sure if even she is certain if she’s repeating the word to answer him, or if she’s just babbling because he’s making her feel good and she’s getting close.
“You gonna cum again love? Gonna soak me, hm?” He’s just running his mouth now- knows the shit she likes to hear, reaffirmed by the way she’s shivering in his hold and crying for it with a glassy eyed gaze.
Whatever she is going to respond with is cut off with a squeal. Simon rears back, enjoying the show as she makes a mess all over his cock with her eyes rolled back. He lets go of one of her legs in favor of teasing her clit just shy of overstimulation to prolong her orgasm- she lets him for a time before her hands abandon shredding his back in favor of wrapping around his wrist in a plea for mercy. 
“Simon it’s too much,” she laments with teary eyes as he pulls his hand away with a chuckle and a chaste kiss. 
He stays curled over her, hips driving into hers. “Tell me where you want it,” he instructs.
“Inside! Please, I want it inside!” Her answer is sharp and immediate, the leg not pinned to her chest wrapping around his waist like she is daring him to even try to pull out.
And fuck there is something cathartic about his orgasm when it hits. Burying his face in her soft body while his hips snapped into hers a few times, Simon groans as his vision damn near whites out for a second.
Simon knows better than most that there’s good days and bad days- and a presumed good day can become a bad day quicker than one can blink. But overall he feels like consistently she’s doing better all around. They take their time calming down, Simon showering her in attention and getting a feel for where her head is at. Praising her for how well she did and making sure she feels stable.
He lets out a breath, feeling confident that she’s settled, having a good day, and everything is fine for now. 
And it is. Until about two hours later.
One moment they’re finishing the movie they’d initially started before the impromptu romp on the couch, and then Simon has a 3 second warning of her sniffling as she obviously tries to fight back the tears and then she’s sobbing harder than she has in weeks.
Simon goes from content to concerned in a second, his blood turning to ice in his veins. His immediate assumption is that their prior activities finally caught up with her mentally and now that she’s had time to think it over it wasn’t good. It was too fucking soon to have sex. He should have told her no, should have been gentler, should have-
“Sweetheart? Talk to me,” his voice is tinged with a thinly controlled concern (not panic he convinces himself) and while he means to comfort her, she can hear his tone and that just sets her off anew.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she blubbers, turning to face him. “I don’t know why I’m crying!”
That settles Simon’s nerves somewhat, stroking her back and pulling her close to comfort her. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” he soothes her, listening to her sniffle against his shirt after shoving her into the crook of his neck.
“I just want to feel normal again,” she sobs into his collar.
“You will, love,” he assures her- never mind that ‘normal’ is something that even he struggles with on a near daily basis. “It’ll take time but you’ll get there. I promise.”
He’s a bastard for making a promise to her that he can’t guarantee to keep. There’s a part of him that knows that- hell, he’s been working on his shit for years and he still doesn’t feel normal most days.
But while he can’t promise that she’ll ever get back to feeling exactly the same as she did before all of this happened, he can promise that he’ll be by her side and ensure she’s adjusting. It will take time, and work, but Simon will make sure she gets there one step at a time.
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skibasyndrome · 5 months
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I'm completely obsessed with and emo over the way Wilhelm carries himself now that he knows Simon loves him, too.
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(just a sidenote, but the duality of love and devotion towards Simon on one side and revolt and confident deviance towards everyone watching him, including us on the other.... these frames make me unwell...)
Like, that's absolutely the stance and face (and smile) of someone who's done with putting his own and his boyfriend's (!!!) needs behind those of the people who never cared about what he actually wanted.
Knowing him and Simon are on the same page now, finally, really is all he needs to face off against the consequences of living authentically and openly. He knows that together, they'll be fine.
I'd like to think his resistance is starting here already, facing off Jan-Olof with this stare and not pulling away as fast as Simon - who after all just offered to be Wilhelm's secret - is.
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It's so beautiful to see how much this has done for him in the S3 snippet. I feel like it's the first time he's moving like he's not a stranger on his own home anymore, like he's now commanding the place, like he's finally calling the shots. Sure, there are and there will be adversities (“I just wish it wasn't because of this”), but Wilhelm won't let them get in the way of him and Simon loving and supporting each other.
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“They won't start without us” He knows it's true and really isn't giving a fuck anymore who might get mad at them, he knows that they won't be able to play this down, make him deny everything again, they can't take back his confession in front of every single phone in all of Hillerska, and he won't let them try to, either. He's ready to fight, that revolution they started back in season 1 is now really picking up, and they're in it together.
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And god, it looks like it's healing him so much, he's so confident now, Simon by his side really gave him the strength he needed.
Like, the journey from the way he's desperately holding on to him at the confession, seemingly drinking it all in, those words he probably hasn't even dared dreaming of hearing from Simon and do taken aback by his emotions to the way he exudes confidence, strength, and conviction even in the face of adversity... the development is so beautiful.
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The combination of love and confidence is one hell of a drug, and Wilhelm gets both from and through Simon... I'm convinced they are going to be one hell of a power couple this next season.
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muddyorbsblr · 3 months
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slipping between future and past [SAS secret santa 2023]
View the full SAS Secret Santa 2023 Masterlist here! See my full list of works here!
Summary: You give your friend a few pointers on what to know about Yule, and come across a familiar looking stranger in your bookstore.
Pairing: Loki x Reader/OC Talia Williams
Word Count: 3.8k
Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, please leave I'm asking nicely); unprotected p in v sex; cunnilingus; magical restraints; language; possibly wonky interpretation of time travel & timeslipping; possibly wonky understanding of Yule [let me know if i missed anything!]
Things to be aware of: established relationship; still written in 2nd Person POV like my other 'x Reader' stories, but this time Reader has a name and it's "Talia Williams"; this is a secret santa request for @acidcasualties
Dick-tionary: smut starts at "the feel of your hands being brought" and ends at "as he marked your skin"
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It was uncharacteristically slow today in the bookstore, barely a handful of people walking in, browsing for a few minutes, and then promptly exiting when they see that you didn't carry the middle school dystopia book series all the kids were raving over. It was a colossal waste of their time and yours, considering there would have been less effort had they just taken even a cursory look at the sign by the door.
You didn't carry children's books. Classics, Myths, and Romance only.
Of the number of people that walked through the doors that you could count on your two hands, you could only count those that actually made a purchase with one. Half of one.
The sound of the door chimes brought your attention to the entrance again, seeing your friend Ariadne bounding into the front area of the store with a frantic look in her eye. "Talia," she panted, headed straight for you. "Babes, I need your help. Are you busy? You got a customer back there?"
"Nope. Just me," you called out, stepping out from behind the counter. "What's wrong? What do you need?"
"Okay so…you know that guy I'm seeing?"
"Uhh…I think so? Lee, right?"
"Leif. Think trees, Babes. Anyways, he wants me to meet his family and apparently they're super into the ancient Norse traditions, so I need a crash course on how they celebrate Christmas." She paced back and forth by the table that held the New York Times bestsellers that you did hold stock for, picking up a copy of the stalker dark romance duology. "His sister likes to read, you think she'll appreciate this?"
You immediately rushed over to her, grabbing the book and nearly slamming it back down on the stack. "You gotta let them crawl before they walk. Let alone sprint," you explained, giving her Beautiful Bastard instead. "This should be a good enough in between, just in case she's not into guns being shoved up anyone's vagina--"
Up where?! she shrieked, grabbing the first book again, along with the sequel and the book you were handing her. "Okay I'll take that for his sister, and these two for me."
"This is exactly why we're friends," you quipped, ringing up her order. "Now about that other thing…you do know that just because I own a bookshop, it doesn't mean that I know everything about everything, right?"
She rolled her eyes at you. "Yeah, but I also know that you live for all these myths and folk tales, so I bet you know a thing or two about Viking Christmas."
"Alright fine. Find a chair and settle in," you said with an overly dramatic wave of your hand. "First things first, it's not called 'Viking Christmas', it's called 'Yule'. Immediately if you wanna get on his family's good side, you say Good Yule because it shows that you did at least a customary Google search before you stepped foot on their property." You handed her a small notepad and a pencil. "You're gonna wanna write this down."
When her scribbling down stopped, she perked up with a question. "Do they have a Santa Claus?"
"Yes and no," you answered her, prepping two cups of coffee and handing one over to her before plopping down on your own seat in the reading nook, your favorite one in the entire shop. "Santa Claus is what we call who the Brits refer to as 'Father Christmas'. The Brits got that from 'Yule Figure' from the Viking mythology and Mr Yule Figure himself is...Odin."
"Wait wait hold up." She shot up her hand like a kid asking questions in class. "So Odin is Santa? He goes around little Viking kiddies' neighborhoods and slides down the chimney to give them wooden axes and swords?"
"Hmmm not quite. The whole making a list and checking it twice to give the good little boys and girls presents on Christmas is...not quite how the Vikings do it. Instead they engage in something called the Wild Hunt, where Odin aka Big Yule Father Kahuna calls on his posse of gods and plays a game of non-consensual hide and seek with the living souls. So us being the 'living mortals', we have to find a safe enough hiding place that Odin and Thor and the rest of the Norse gods don't find us, because if they do…they drag us to the Underworld."
"Okay first of all, yikes." Ariadne made a big show of shuddering in her seat over what you just told her. "Can't it be something a little bit less morbid? Like if Thor finds you he drags you to his den of iniquity and has his wicked way with you?"
"I mean it's all myths and folklore anyway," you shot back with a small shrug as you finished off your coffee. "So maybe when the big girls are off in their own corner, we can smut it up and pretend that if someone other than Odin finds us, we can get some happy fun times." You both broke out into giggles at your wording. "And when we're telling the story to the smaller kiddos, we say that the gods only go after the naughty kids. Keep with the spirit of Christmas and all that." You wagged a finger in her direction, giving her another suggestion. "Or in the case of meeting Leif's family, just think which one's gonna have him more devastated, your soul getting dragged into the Underworld or your body getting dragged to Thor's man cave."
She wrote down some more notes on her little notepad before standing up, brimming with excitement. "Okay I think that's all I need. Hopefully…"
"Babes, you're there to meet the family, not get gatekeeper gamer boy levels of interrogated on what you know about Yule. As soon as you don't say 'Merry Viking Christmas', you're in the clear."
She squealed, rushing over to wrap her arms around you and give you a tight squeeze. "Thank you thank you! You just saved me from looking a total ditz meeting his family. I have a really good feeling about this one, you know?"
You gave her a squeeze back, happy that she was finally in a relationship that felt stable enough to start on that family she'd always wanted.
Maybe one day you could be so lucky with your own love life.
"I'm really happy for you, Aria. Let me know how it goes when you get back, okay?"
You worked on wrapping up the book she intended to gift Leif's sister as she asked you another question. "What about mistletoe? Do they have that in Yule?"
You scrunched her nose and shook your head at her question. "Yes and no again. Yes, they've assigned meaning to the plant but no, you don't kiss under it for fear of spending the next year all alone. They believe it to be a symbol for fertility, so it's been known for couples to hang it above their headboards so that their holiday fun times might lead to a child. It's also seen as a symbol for new life or resurrection because there's another folktale that says that Loki fashioned a weapon from the mistletoe plant to kill Baldur, and Frigga's tears turned the white berries red and resurrected her fallen son. Which if you ask me is a steaming pile of horse shit that's almost more ridiculous than how Siegfried was felled in the Nibelungenlied, but that's a story for another day."
"Hold up, but isn't Loki also a son of Frigga?"
You shrugged. "Who knows what's real and what's not at this point? These tales are thousands of years old. All we know right now is that Thor's real and he's friends with a billionaire that made a fancy iron suit and a soldier from the 40s that doesn't even look like he's hit his mid-20s. And that he dated an astrophysicist. Tell you what, if I ever meet him, I'll ask him myself. Maybe I'll even ask him what exactly goes down in the Wild Hunt if they still do it in this century."
"Ooh, if he walks into the store please text me?" You gave her a questioning look. "What? He's my hall pass. Leif knows all about it. Natasha Romanoff's his."
You handed her the gift-wrapped book. "Pinky promise, I'll tell you as soon as a 6'4 muscular Barbie looking dude from Asgard swinging a hammer and summoning thunder and lightning walks into my shop. Maybe I'll even text you if the Black Widow herself walks in so that Leif would owe a favor or two."
"Hey, it could happen," she quipped, sticking her tongue out at you like you were back in the sandbox. "We're in New York, after all. And Avengers Tower's just a ten minute walk away. You never know, you know?"
"Right," you breathed, waving her off as she neared the door. "Merry Yule."
"Merry Crisis," she shot back, blowing you a kiss as she stepped into the cold New York night.
You started cleaning the store so you could close up for the night when a new voice pierced through the quiet.
"I appreciate your refusal to believe that hokum about the mistletoe, darling. It warms my cold Jotun heart knowing that it's safe in your brilliant hands."
Large hands found themselves at your waist before your new visitor's arms wrapped around you from behind, your body going frigid at the action. "Who--?"
"Oh no..." He immediately released you from his hold, allowing you to come face to face with a towering man with onyx curls and a devastatingly handsome face that seemed vaguely familiar. "I must have gone back too far this time." He took a step toward you, his hands twitching in your direction as if he wanted to go back to where he was just a few seconds ago. If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn't object. "Sweetheart, who am I to you?"
"What? This time?" You raised an eyebrow at him, confusion coating your words. "You trying to tell me we met before? Because trust me I'd remember meeting someone that looked like you."
"Who am I to you? What do you know of me?" he asked again, his brows upturned at the center of his forehead, his expression reminding you of a baby kitten pleading for affection.
"Not much," you admitted. "You look like the guy that tore up a hole in the sky and rode some space chariot while leading an alien army that laid waste on the city that I call home...and the guy that went up against Iron Man and his friends, including that big green scary monster looking dude."
He hung his head, looking down at the ground as he let out a long sigh. "I don't just look like that guy, darling, I--" He exhaled sharply before composing himself again. "I am that guy. Well, I was. And Banner's honestly not that terrifying once you get to know him." He looked at you again, seeing your hand and beginning to look emotionally deflated. "I went too far back."
"You know who else you look like?" you asked him, a smirk playing at your mouth as you reached for the chain around your neck, showing him the ring that hung in its center, closing the distance he put between you. "You look like my future husband."
The relief was written all over Loki's face as he eyed the ring he'd given you, a brilliant smile gracing his features when he pulled you into his arms and laid his lips on yours.  You melted into the kiss, pressing yourself against him as the god's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer.
"My darling little mortal," he mumbled against your lips. "Somehow managing to fool a trickster god, for any amount of time, is a feat in and of itself." He kissed you again, lifting you off the ground and spinning you in a circle when you put your arms over his shoulders.
"Well you said it yourself, I'm brilliant," you answered him back when you pulled away, your fiancée keeping your feet off the ground. He adjusted his hold on you to hold you up by a single arm, making you giggle when he started walking toward the front door and made your keys materialize in his now free hand. "What're you doing, Mischief?"
"You're finished here for the night," he stated simply, all the lights turning off, along with the doors locking closed, and the sign in front flipping to "Closed" to indicate you'd retired for the night, with a simple wave of his hand. "I'm taking you home, little mortal. Close your eyes."
A breeze flew by your face and the next thing you knew your back was pressed against the familiar wooden column of your kitchen area. Loki crushed his lips to yours in a desperate kiss, both of you moaning into each other's mouths as he pressed your chests together, hands traveling down the sides of your body to wrap your legs around him.
The feel of your hands being brought above your head despite the god's hands still roaming and grasping at your thighs had your eyes snapping open, breaking the kiss with a little squeak from the back of your throat as you looked up. A thrill shot up your spine seeing a thick glowing ring of Loki's seiðr fastened around your wrists and keeping you tethered to the column behind you.
"I could not decide whether to reward you or punish you for getting the better of me earlier, my love," he rasped, latching his lips to your neck and sucking a bruise into your skin. He smirked against you when you started whimpering and arching into his touch within seconds. "So I shall do both."
You let out a whiny sound that had him lightly grasping your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip to coax it into a pout. He kissed you again, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away. Then another ring of his seiðr appeared at your hips, keeping them flush against the column as both rings began to lift you up, your feet soon leaving the ground until he was eye level with your pelvis.
He made a motion with his hand and suddenly you felt a breeze all over your body as he bared you to him, your clothes disappearing in a flash of green.
"Loki…" you whined, squirming under his predatory gaze as another ring of seiðr went around each of your legs, just above your knee, and opened you to him.
"I've not been home in ages, my darling mortal," he rasped, not taking his eyes off of your arousal as he licked his lips. "And I am famished." He took a step closer to you, lightly running his fingers up your inner thigh.
"Let--Let me down, then," you said shakily, feeling your walls quivering and clenching around nothing as he traced up your inner thigh again, only this time with the tip of his nose before pressing a tender kiss to your skin. "I can fix us something to--"
"Oh no, sweet Talia." He kissed you right below your belly button, groaning into your skin. "I do not crave food, my love." He continued to press kisses to your stomach, faintly chuckling when you tried to close your legs and his restraints kept you from moving even an inch. "Your reward is that I will not deny you any ounce of pleasure tonight. I have longed for you too much to deny you much of anything."
He moved his head lower, and you let out an obscene moan of his name as he ran his tongue along the length of your slit before slowly circling your clit.
"Your punishment…" he breathed, pressing slow lingering kisses and laving his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. "No touching."
"Loki, wait--Oh f-fuck!" The room filled with your moans as he proceeded to alternate between long licks at your entrance and close his lips over your clit for what felt like a blissfully torturous eternity. He kept his word on not denying you anything as he brought you over the edge over and over again.
Your throat was raw from your constant moans and screams of his name and various expletives, already having lost count of how many times you came for him when he slid two devastatingly long fingers inside you and curled up, brushing against the spot that had you seeing stars. "One more, sweet girl," he mumbled around your clit, the vibrations from his voice already bringing you to the brink of orgasm yet again.
He moved your legs to rest your thighs on his shoulders, moaning against you when your entire body tensed as you came for him again, your pussy quivering against his mouth as he lapped at your release with languid strokes of his tongue. The restraints around your wrists and hips moved you down the column until your face was level with his, a weak whimper slipping from you when you saw how his lips glistened with your juices.
You barely registered the sound of the zipper as he kissed along your chest, biting and sucking more bruises into your skin. He lined himself up at your entrance, sliding into you in a single effortless thrust and eliciting a staggered sigh of relief from the god. "I've m-missed this," he whimpered between thrusts. "Missed you." Thrust. "My precious mortal." Thrust. "My wife." Thrust.
He threw his head back, letting out a decadent moan when you clenched around him after what he'd just called you. It had you desperately longing for your wedding day. Desperately aching to touch him. Just desperate for him.
"Please…" you whimpered, feebly fighting against the restraints again. When the rings holding you to the column finally disappeared, you could only let out a sharp exhale, your hand immediately clawing into your fiancée's back, the other weaving into his onyx curls.
Loki pressed you harder against the column, driving himself deeper inside you, his hands roaming and grasping wherever he could, as if he couldn't get enough of you. Couldn't touch you enough. He slanted his mouth over yours, moaning into the kiss when your tongues tangled together and you could taste your release on him. He adjusted his hold on you, letting out another muffled obscene sound into each other's mouths when the motion caused you to bounce on his cock.
Once he held you securely in his arms he started walking you further into your home, each step making you bounce on him and further weakening you in his embrace. He eased you down onto your bed, breaking the kiss and rendering you completely speechless watching his clothes melt away and baring his godly physique to you.
All you could do was breathe his name as he moved to hover over you again, pressing his lips to your cheek as he picked up the pace. He wrapped his hand around your knee, raising your leg to wrap it around his waist so he could drive into you harder. When you felt his fingers rubbing over your clit, the only sound that came out of you was a sharp moan, your body weakly arching against his hand before squeaking out, "I can't--"
"Just one more, dear heart. For me," he grunted, latching his lips onto that spot between your neck and shoulder as he kept on rubbing tight circles on the over-sensitized nub. Your legs shook and your walls convulsed around him, bring him to his own release as he marked your skin.
Once you both came down from your high, you felt his seiðr wash over you as he pulled you into his arms, putting the covers over you both with another wave of his hand. "I gotta be honest with you, sweetie, that felt a little pent up," you exhaled, a tiny part of you finding it unfair that he'd already resumed his regular breathing as if he didn't just fuck you senseless.
Damn Asgardian endurance.
"Because it was, precious mortal," he told you simply, tracing his finger along your cheek. "How long has it been since last you saw me?"
"Three months…give or take a week?" You braced yourself, already dreading what he'd say next.
"I have not seen you for over a year, my love," he confessed, pressing another kiss to your lips. "At least not like this. Every time I had seen you, you were yet to know me. There were worlds where you even outright feared me, scurrying away once you'd realized where you recognized me from. When I got to your shop earlier, I nearly believed I landed in another iteration of that world."
Suddenly your 'prank' from earlier left a sinking feeling in your stomach. "Loki, I'm sorry, I didn't know." You wrapped your arm around him, pressing yourself even closer to him if that were even possible, resting your head on his shoulder. "I just thought it'd be a bit of fun--"
"You have nothing to apologize for," he reassured you, brushing the tip of his nose along your own before softly kissing the spot. "But I have missed you terribly. Getting to hold you, to love you. To simply be here with you and enjoy a moment with my wife."
"Future wife," you pouted. "We're still in the planning phase, sadly. I take it the last time you saw me was sometime in our…future? I'm sorry this still gets confusing for me." He nodded his answer, pressing his lips to  your forehead. "Well then the timelines better fucking behave because I refuse to let you go anywhere. I get that you're a big powerful hero now, and knowing that you're out there making sure that everyone's safe and gets to come home to their families? I couldn't be prouder. But you should get to come home, too." You pressed a kiss to his chest, just over his heart. "Preferably for longer than a quickie with your fiancé."
His brows furrowed, shaking his head at your sentiment before pulling you to lay on top of him, chests pressed together with his arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace. "I've come from a time where we were married and I called you my wife. Regardless of our pending ceremony, that is what you are to me now and what I will call you moving forward. No more of those semantics."
You nudged his chin with your nose, a giggle escaping you when he pulled you up to capture your lips in a soft kiss. "Tell me about it. The future…"
"When I found you, you were a force to be reckoned with. Planning your friend Aria's wedding--"
"Ah, so she and Leif really are headed for the fairytale happy ever after?"
"No no, you were planning the wedding in Asgard." You eyes widened at the new information. "She was set to marry Thor."
"Wait she what?!"
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A/N: I'm so excited to participate in this year's Secret Santa again! This has been so much fun to write for both times around, and hopefully the story did justice to the request 🥹💖
The request from @acidcasualties:
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secret santa 2023 taglist: @joyful-enchantress @mochie85 @holdmytesseract @sailorholly @lady-rose-moon @superficialdomina @cultofcarter @coldnique @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @smolvenger @loz-3 @catsladen @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @divine-knight-hand @quirkiest-turtle @glitchquake @nyxlaufeyson @fandxmslxt69 @holymultiplefandomsbatman
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So now that we’ve seen modern dad aemond, could we please also see canon dad aemond? 🥰 (also maybe how/if he would react differently to a son vs a daughter, if you think he would) tia!
We most certainly can, friend! thank you for asking! Like I've said, dad!Aemond is something I enjoy reading a lot but never thought to venture into it myself. Here goes!
Dad!Aemond headcanons
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Ever the dutiful son, the prospect of extending the bloodline was a certainty in Aemond's mind.
But he rarely thought about it, always considering it a distant event. He never thought of himself as a parent or imagined how he'd be. He didn't have the greatest examples after all. And because he thought he'd be betrothed to someone he didn't love, he was less than enthused about children.
But he married you.
He married you and now his whole world changed.
The first year, he was content with being alone with you. He wanted to bask in your presence, to thoroughly enjoy yourselves before adding another person into the mix.
But as soon as that last year was through, whenever he bedded you, some primal feeling began to seep inside his mind each time he made the conscious decision to cumming inside of you instead of pulling out like he'd been doing before.
It was all fun and games but when the Maesters told you you were with child, it all became so real. And he began to worry.
Could he be a good father? a loving one? or would he damn his child to a fate similar to his own? He bowed to be better than Viserys, but of course, it was all easier said than done. Especially when your pregnancy had been so difficult.
He worried constantly about you; it seemed the pregnancy had brought more anguish to you than joy. You were constantly in pain, and the delivery was complicated. He thought he was going to lose you, so he bowed that you would only have one child. He couldn't put you through this pain again, couldn't risk losing you.
Then finally, she came into the world.
Time stopped, the moment the baby was cleaned up and wrapped in a fine cloth, then placed into his arms. His heart had never beat this quickly, and he'd never known a tenderness like this.
She was the tiniest little being he'd ever seen in his life, the tiniest thing he'd ever had in his arms. What he felt was a rush of anxiety but also an overwhelming amount of love.
Elaena Targaryen was born, to a man that had suddenly become the most loyal, protective, and loving parent in the whole realm.
Because you'd suffered so much pain during childbirth, he had no problem with letting you heal and relax and preoccupy himself with the baby's care. He wanted to do everything himself, not trusting the Maesters or handmaids with anything whatsoever.
Sometimes he's a little too overprotective, and you have to calm him down and talk some sense into him. Assure him that nothing would ever harm Elaena when both of you are around, but that he needs to let her explore and discover the world on her own sometimes, otherwise she'll grow to resent him.
Still, when she's playing in the gardens, he keeps a watchful eye over her.
Elaena takes after her father in many ways. She's well-behaved and mostly calm, but she's adventurous like you. She's also very loving, and loves to be in her parent's embrace at all times.
Though she has most of Aemond's physical features, all her mannerisms and quirks are yours. During the first two years of her life, he was endlessly amazed at learning more and more about her, to see her personality develop and mirror that of her mother. As if Aemond didn't love her enough already.
When Elaena is two years old, something unexpected happens.
You find out you're with child again. An accident this time, but certainly a welcomed one.
This pregnancy leaves you even weaker than the last. You're convinced, at some point during labor, that you're not gonna make it. But by gods, you push through, if only thanks to Aemond's strong will, holding on to your hand the entire time and begging you to stay with him.
Finally, with fierce cries, Aeron Targaryen is born.
And Aemond is just, speechless. He was so used to being the father of a girl, that the prospect of raising a boy suddenly made him mad with glee. He was instantly curious about the personality of his boy, if he was going to be as calm as he himself had been, or if he was going to be mischievous like Aegon, brave like Daeron. Would he connect with son, as easily as he had with his daughter?
He didn't much time to think about it on the spot because suddenly, the Maesters were urging you to push! Again?
And in came his third child, Vaella.
Twins!
As he held both children in each of his arms, he didn't quite know what to do with himself. He thanked the Gods for this wonderful gift and thanked you for blessing him with three loving children. For giving him all the love he always yearned for, and that he thought he'd never get.
He never knew love could just, keep on growing like this. He was afraid of taking something from Elaena and making her feel left out, but it wasn't the case at all.
Elaena, even for her young age, was excited and very caring to her siblings.
Aemond used to think that happiness could only be found on dragonback, or in the solitude of the library.
But now he knows that happiness is a lazy morning in bed, surrounded by his wife and his three children, who want their father to tell them stories while holding them close. In their eyes, Aemond is the greatest man in existence. Period.
Happiness is a sunny day out by the shores that surround the Red Keep, with the sound of his children's laughter mixing in with the splashing of ocean waves.
It's when he watches Elaena on her first ride with Vaghar, and even better when she rides her own dragon.
When Aeron beats him during a sword match when he’s still a preteen, and then, when he beats everyone that defies him in tourneys by the time he’s a young adult.
And when Vaella fills his desk with drawings, as the calmer and quieter of the two children. When her two siblings yearn to go on adventures and see the world, Vaella wants nothing more than to stay home with her father. Taking walks with him through the gardens or roaming around the city, hidden with cloaks.
Aemond thinks he used to know pride, after riding the largest dragon in the world, being well versed in history and philosophy, and being the most agile swordsman in the realm.
But pride is when he stands during a family gathering, with Elaena by his right; a far graceful dragon rider than he. Strong and protective of her parents and younger siblings. Shooting death glares to anyone who dared looked at Aemond wrong.
Aeron to his left; intelligent and brave, more cunning than Aemond ever hoped to be, able to outwit whoever doubted him, and get back at those who spoke ill of his father with polite yet deathly responses. Though he was kind and had a strong bond with his mother. Just like Aemond and Alicent.
And young Vaella, forever holding onto Aemond’s hand, the most attached to her father out of the three. The most creative and calm spirit Aemond had ever known. She brought peace into his household when Elaena or Aeron’s temper got a hold of themselves. She’s Aemond’s eternal companion during the night, both cuddling against one another while reading a book.
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waiting-so-long · 1 month
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Cw/Tw- SA to reader and talk of ghosts past (not very graphic and NOT by the boys but still proceed with caution and keep yourself safe 💛)
Ghoap x reader
Note- this is just a rambling and was supposed to be like two paragraphs oh well
Yknow that TikTok audio (idk what it was originally from) but it’s a girl crying and she says “he tried to touch me” and the guy says he’ll kill them but she asks him to stay? Yeah I can’t stop thinking about ghoap being the ones you go to after being assaulted
You come into the room crying, stumbling over your feet and immediately they’re both rushing to you, hands just hovering, assessing you for any physical injuries
The relief when they thankfully don’t find any bruises or wounds is short lived when you manage to choke out the name of the creep who’s been obsessing over you
“What happened? Tell us what he did.” Soap demands meanwhile Ghost just tires to sooth him and tells you to take your time. You grasp onto them and they hold you until you can catch your breath just enough to tell them that he cornered you and tried to touch you
Johnny sees red, hands curling into fists and he’s already halfway to the door before you can even finish telling them what happened. You break again at the loss of his presence and ghost is the one to call him back. To reel him in.
“Stop, just- just stay. Please. She needs us. He can wait. She needs us, Johnny.” His voice low and broken. Because he knows… he knows that you can still feel the disgusting touch of those hands on your skin. He knows how it feels to be used and discarded like you’re nothing. Simon remembers the fear and the pain and he refuses to leave you alone in that feeling.
They help you calm down, get some water in you, get you changed, they hold you and keep you safe the whole night. Johnny is still seething under the surface and simon is doing everything he can to keep himself together so that johnny doesn’t run off for revenge. It’s not until he’s certain you both are asleep that night that he slips out of the room and lets himself feel the anger and sadness that’s been building. He lets himself break under the memories and the trauma he’s still healing from. Just for a moment.
When he comes back to bed, johnny is awake, knowing eyes beckoning simon in, both of them careful to not disturb you. Soap lets Simon curl on top of him, both of them always keeping a hand on you, while johnny whispers into the dark.
“Ye’re safe, Si. She’s safe. I got ye both. ‘m here.”
The next day they go with you to report what happened, making sure you feel safe and supported.
a week later you pretend not to notice when they come home with bloody knuckles and you never hear of the creep again.
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thewhumpcaretaker · 25 days
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Things that Whumper Can Do to an Undead/Immortal Whumpee
Induce a heart attack, as many times as they please
Induce a stroke
Induce a seizure
Electrocute them
(Depending on the rules of the immortality) Remove, electrocute, or cut into the brain, creating effects similar to an extremely bad drug trip
Drain their entire body of blood
Waterboarding (also potentially in blood)
Encase them completely in concrete, immobilized and unable to breathe
Embed a sharp object inside them, which stabs them continuously from the inside out
Embed a sharp object inside them, which stabs them continuously from the inside out, but sexually
Play the long game with their connections, getting them attached to someone for whole years or decades before forcing them to kill that person
Play the long game with their hope, giving them some form of freedom for whole years or decades only to rip it away again
Play with their memories by falsifying historical documents and gaslighting them that they're starting to forget details from early on their long immortal life
Indefinite starvation
Indefinite sleep deprivation
Indefinite solitary confinement
Cut off limbs (they'll grow back)
Blind them
Cut out their tongue
Cut off that one special limb
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sickmuseum · 5 months
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milk and honey - rupi kaur.
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