I was playing Starshine Legacy (finally) and this image of Mr. Sands in the old newspapers seemed very familiar...
And then I realized because it's exactly like THIS LENIN PHOTO!!!!
If you want a little bit more context for this image:
This is a Photo from a speech Lenin held 1920 in Moscow. There is another version of this image where these two people, Trotsky and Kamenev, were removed after Stalins "Great Purge".
This is the edited image:
You can even see two people in Mr. Sands picture, so it seems that the unedited Lenin photo was used as a reference. I assume the person who drew the Mr. Sands photo was Johan Egerkrans. So why did he choose this Lenin picture as a reference😭 Was it a little easter egg or did he do it on accident? At least it is a photo of a speech, just as Mr. Sands does in this newspaper.
Now I believe that the other images of the old newspaper might also have real life counterparts. Though none of them look familiar to me, so searching for a possible real life counterpart could be quite difficult.
Anyways, this was so surprising to me😭 I did NOT expect to see a Lenin reference on SSL, whether it was purposefully or accidentally. A long time ago my history teacher showed us Soviet photos that were edited and this Lenin photo was shown once or maybe twice. Then I completely forgot that it existed, until this incidence lol.
CW: Dead dove don’t eat, abuse, domestic abuse, suicide attempt, alcohol, violence, blood, implied rape, sexual assault, angst, hurt/comfort, description of wounds.
AN: This is a rough one so strap in. I have been holding on to this one for a while wondering whether or not I should post it but this does have a happy ending.
Resources below
UK domestic violence help
UK suicide hotlines
US domestic violence help
US suicide hotlines
Stay safe out there.
Nothing has changed and nothing ever will.
But it’s okay, because it’s all your fault.
That’s what you tell yourself as you stand in the bathroom looking at your gaunt face in the mirror. The new busies on your face and neck are going to be hard to cover. You’ve put off going out all weekend hoping they would have faded by Sunday but they’re still there blue and black against your pale skin.
You open the cupboard under the sink and take out your only tube of concealer, it’s not really perfect to your skin tone but it will have to do. At least it’s cold enough for you to wear a scarf to hide the ones on your neck. You don’t bother trying to hide them with make up, you just focus on the one around your eye.
You deserved it. You tell yourself. You shouldn’t have fought him, you know how angry he gets but he’s working on it. He’s really trying, it’s been the first time in a long time he’s been so violent. It was your fault anyway, he works so hard, he doesn’t deserve you accusing him of not helping around the house.
It was stupid. You love him, you know how busy he is. You already do everything and it’s not a problem, bringing it up only got you in this position. You finish patting the concealer around your eye and blend it in before reaching back into the cupboard to put it away.
Your hand brushes over his razor. He has a nice razor, an expensive old metal one with removable blades, you pick it up looking at the sharp edges and feel the weight of it in your hands.
Could you do it? You’ve thought about it. You turn your hand looking at the inside of your wrists. You’ve heard it’s painless, if you do it right of course. You feel a sick sense of curiosity burn in the back of your mind. A couple of long slashes and it would all be over. Gone forever.
It almost feels reliving.
There’s a bang on the door pulling you out your head and you drop the razor on the tile floor.
“Hurry up! What are you doing in there? I need to piss.”
“Sorry.” Your voice shakes like you’ve just been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. He doesn’t wait for you to come out, instead opening the door just as you stand back up. He steps over to you looking around your face before seeing the razor in your hand.
“What have I said about messing with my stuff? This was expensive.” He snaps, yanking it out your hand and putting it back.
“I know, I’m sorry.” You say hanging your head and stepping out the way so he can get to the toilet. You leave the bathroom quickly and go into the kitchen to get your list and bags. You wait until you hear your boyfriend make it back to the sofa before leaving the room. You grab a beer from the fridge to give to him. Maybe he’ll take it as an apology and forget about it.
“I’m going to the shops.” You remind him as you pass it to him. He hums from the sofa but doesn’t turn to look at you or stop you so you go over to pull on your coat and a scarf. He opens the can distracted by whatever show he’s watching. You open the door.
“Don’t forget anything.” He snaps just as you walk through the door.
“I won’t.” You promise hoping the store will have everything you need today. Without saying goodbye you close the door and lock it behind you. You let out a shaky breath still feeling the adrenaline pulsing through you warming your face. You go over to call the lift and shuffle in your feet trying to calm yourself.
You like being about to go out to the store, he never wants to come and it’s the only real time you get away from him. Other than work you’re with him almost 24/7. The lift dings and you step back waiting for the doors to open. As they do you see a man stepping out.
“Oh, sorry.” You mutter moving out the way.
“S’alright.” He smiles and you get a better look at him. He’s your neighbour, you’ve only seen him a handful of times since he moved in a few months ago. He frowns at you and you immediately panic, hoping he can’t see the bruise around your eye. “What happened?”
Shit.
“I fell in the bath. Hit my head on the tap.” You lie as best as you can.
“Oh, you know you should get one of those nonslip bath mats.” He says walking over to his door.
“Yeah, thanks.” You say taking your place in the lift.
“I’m John by the way.” He holds his arm out, you’re frozen in the lift doors. You’re never allowed to talk to other men let alone shake hands with one but you don’t want to be rude so you shake his hand telling him your name. The lift doors try to close and you quickly jump in so you don’t get squished.
“See you round.” He waves, you force a smile back at him as the doors close. Your heart hammers in your chest, if your boyfriend saw that you would never live it down. You were being friendly, he’s your neighbour, you try to rationalise with yourself but it doesn’t work. Any man is a threat, especially someone like John.
…
When you make it back to the flat a couple of hours later you’re almost scared to run into John again. The handle on the bag you bought broke half way home and now you’re having to hold it in both hands against your chest as you struggle to press the buttons on the lift.
You sigh thinking about how horrible the last few days have been. Maybe it will get better on Monday, it’s just been a bad week you’re sure. When the lift dings and the door opens your blood runs cold.
There in the doorway of his flat is John, he’s dressed in a casual shirt and jeans kneeling on the floor with a screwdriver in one hand pressed into the lock.
“Hey.” He beams as he sees you, you step out the lift, your heart pounding so hard you feel like you can’t breathe. “Lock keeps jamming.” He gestures at the work he’s doing. You swallow hard, not sure what to say.
“We had the same problem. Had to replace the lock.” You manage to say. He sighs and stands up.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” He looks good, strong arms and a flat chest with a slightly rounded belly, he looks good and he’s still smiling as you struggle to get the key out your pocket.
“Need a hand?” He asks.
“No, thank you.” You reply a little too quickly. You could use the help but you can’t risk it, heat rushes to your face as you struggle to hold the heavy bag. When you finally do get the key your hand is shaking and it takes you two attempts to get it in the lock. You’re well aware of his eyes on you.
You open the door with such force you trip over the small step losing control of the bag, you watch as the packet of dried pasta hits the corner of the hall table and splits, spreading the pasta all over the entryway.
Shit.
Your boyfriend looks up from the sofa, you can see the irritation on his face. You put the bag down next to the shoe rack and pick up the split bag of pasta, you hear him muttering curse words as he stands up to come and see what's going on.
“Sorry.” You say looking at the mess. You’re humiliated, worse you’ve messed up and now who knows what he’s going to do. You were supposed to be cooking this tonight.
“Sorry, I think that was my fault.” John says stepping into the doorway, your boyfriend's eyes narrow onto him.
“It’s not.” You protest turning to make sure he’s not going to shout at John.
“Well, clean it up.” He says, you nod and rush into the kitchen to get the dustpan and brush. When you come back you see that your boyfriend has stepped around the pasta and is now shaking hands with John.
“Nice to meet you.” He says, you can hear the clench in his teeth.
“John Price.” John introduces himself.
“Martin.” Your boyfriend replies. “Don’t worry about her, she's always dropping or tripping over things. Fell over the sofa yesterday, her head went smack right into the coffee table.”
You wince, you told John a different lie, you hope he doesn’t bring it up. Instead you feel heat rushing to your face as you scoop up the rest of the pasta.
“It’s no bother, I just moved in next door. If there is anything you need just give me a shout.” John says quickly moving the subject on. Your hands shake as you brush up the pasta into the pan. “I’ve not been around much work keeps me busy.”
“What do you do for work?”
“Army.” As he says it you can’t help looking over at him again. You never would have guessed the army but now you see him you pay more attention to how strong he looks, he looks older than most military men you’ve been around.
“What a coincidence!” Your boyfriend exclaims making you jump and you focus back on your task of cleaning up your mess. “I was too, navy!” barely, you think spitefully, not that he would have anyone know. As far as everyone is concerned he served his four years then got discharged.
“Well, it's always good to meet a fellow soldier.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek so you don’t react and get up having successfully swept up all the dried pasta.
“Ah, you should join us for football this Saturday!” Your boyfriend says, you turn and look over at John who’s eyes quickly land on you before he smiles and turns back to Martin.
“Could do, I’ll let you know.” John replies.
“Good, well. I won’t take any more of your time and again. I’m sorry, she can be so stupid sometimes.” His words should sting more than they should and you head into the kitchen to throw the pasta away. You hear them say bye and the front door is closed and locked. You don’t dare look at your boyfriend right now, it’s almost like you can feel the anger seeping off him.
He comes over to you with a look of disgust on his face. You expect him to hit you or something worse instead he just leans in and you can smell the smoke and alcohol on his breath.
“If you ever embarrass me like that again you will live to regret it.” He hisses, you flinch and bite down on the inside of your cheek again tasting blood. “Get this fucking mess cleaned up then go for a shower. I’ve been waiting for you for hours.” Before you can say anything he presses a rough kiss onto your lips forcibly parting your mouth open and pressing his tongue in.
When he breaks from the kiss you see his eyes dilate and he slaps you hard on the arse before turning back to the sofa. You grip the kitchen counter so hard you break one of your nails. You deserve this, this is your fault, all because someone tried to help you.
It’s better if no one helps you.
You clean up as quickly as possible then rush into the bathroom, at least in the shower your tears will be washed away. You strip and open the cabinet reaching in for your body wash and you see the razor sitting there almost like it’s taunting you.
If you had done it this morning none of this would be happening. Your hand reaches over to pick it up. You could do it now, end the pain now before he can hurt you again. Instead you put it back down and close the cupboard.
Not now, you’re too scared to do it now. Just like all things in life you’re too scared to take the leap, even if this leap ends the pain.
___
It’s not a friendly invitation to watch the game, it's a mission, and John has two objectives. Get a good layout of the flat, and get a key. He heard a few people showing up, there are at least 4 other guests tonight, John guesses. He waits until a few minutes before kick off before making the short cross over to your flat.
When he knocks he rolls his shoulders, this is just recon. Nothing is going to happen tonight. Martin opens the door with a beer in his hand and smiles at John, John does his best and smiles back.
“Still down for the game. Bought a case.” John says holding up the case of beer he bought from the shop last minute.
“Thanks man. Yeah, come in.” Martin says stepping to the side so John can walk into the flat, he looks around for you but he can’t see you anywhere. He counted right there were 4 guests who all introduce themselves to John. They all look around the same age as your boyfriend who hands John a beer.
“So, John. Martin says you’re military too?” One of them asks.
“Yeah.” He nods, he doesn’t exactly want to get into his military past right now. Besides he needs to make sure they don’t see him as a threat, if they learn he’s a SAS captain it’ll intimidate them.
“What branch?” Martin asks almost sceptically, John looks at him and smiles. He already pulled Martin’s file. Dishonourably discharged after three weeks in service, one of the messiest records he’d seen in a long time.
“Just regular TA’s.” John says, taking a drink of the beer.
“We all served together.” Martin says, gesturing at his friends. John nods looking around them all, none of them seem like a threat, although he wishes he had someone here to support him. No, he can do this.
The topic for the first half of the game seems to be boasting about their service. Two of them still serve while the other 3 including Martin have left or been discharged. John listens intently trying to figure out which boasts are truth and which are lies. He adds his own knowledge just enough so they know he’s not lying but doesn’t elaborate much.
“I’m going to get another.” John says shaking his empty can and getting up.
“Sit down, we’ve got someone for that.” Martin reaches over to pick up a bell from the coffee table. He’s going to call you like a maid, John fights the urge to slap some sense into him right then and there. He needs to see you, preferably in private.
“I’ll get it, I need to take a piss anyway.” John says, excusing himself from the sofa.
“Second door down the hall.” Martin says. John walks down the corridor peaking through the door to your bedroom on the way. He doesn’t see any pictures of family, only pictures of you and Martin, maybe from happier times. He goes into the bathroom, the place is immaculately clean and he sits down on the toilet thinking about what he knows.
He knew the moment he saw you with the bruise on your cheek he was going to do something, he knew the moment he saw the fear in your eyes from just talking to him. He’s seen it before and he couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. The layout of the flat is similar to his, one bedroom one bathroom, the only difference is his kitchen is open plan whereas yours is closed.
He could try sneaking into the bedroom and look for something to give him more information about your life but it would be too easy to get caught. His main concern is you, he needs to make sure you’re okay after the last time he saw you almost a week ago. Then he’ll think of a plan. He flushes the empty toilet and runs the tap for a few seconds before leaving and heading to the kitchen.
When he walks in he sees you sitting at the small dining table with your head in a book. You look just as beautiful as he remembers.
“Hey.” He says trying not to spook you.
“Oh, John.” You jump and stand up putting the book down, you look worried like you’re expecting him to shout at you or something.
“I just came for another round.” He says trying to put you at ease but it just makes what's left of your colour drain from your face and you move over to the fridge.
“Sorry. I should have been out with more. I was just-“ You stop and pull out another six pack handing it to him. He looks over at the book on the table. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, it’s okay. Thanks.” You force a smile and look up at him, he can see the sadness in your eyes, the fear. He wants to tell you it’s going to be okay, that he has a plan and he’s going to get you out of this.
“Whats your book about?” he asks. You turn to look at it quickly.
“Nothing, just a silly romance.” John watches your beautiful eyes as you inch back towards the kitchen table.
“Well, if there is anything you need. Let me know.” You say sitting back down. John nods and forces himself to turn. “Who’s winning?”
“City.” He says turning back.
You breathe a sigh of relief. “Good.” John nods and leaves the kitchen.
“Where’d you go for that, mate? Africa?” Martin scoffs accepting a new can and cracking it open. I’m not your mate. John thinks to himself before sitting down on the other sofa. Martin chuckles.
“Got caught up in the kitchen.” John sighs, opening his second can.
“Ah yeah, she loves to talk, ain’t I lucky.” Martin says as he rolls his eyes.
“She’s a looker at least.” One of his friends chuckles. “You could have done worse.”
“Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything up there though.” Martin chuckles. “Honestly, she just says the stupidest things.”
“Isn’t that all women though?” Another friend asks and they all laugh, John smiles gritting his teeth.
“What about you John? Is there a woman in your life?” Martin asks. John’s happy for the change of subject and shuffles forcing another smile before shaking his head.
“Work keeps me busy, I never have time for all that.”
“Well, maybe we’ll find someone for you.” Martin slaps his leg and it takes all of John’s strength to slap his hand off letting Martin turn to him, his eyes going wide. “Who was that chick you met at the bar?”
“Emily?” One of them says. “Yeah she was good for a fuck if that’s what you’re looking for.” More laughs, John again bites his tongue.
“Speaking of a good fuck.” Another says, John watches him raise an eyebrow at Martin. John’s not quite sure what’s going on but it seems to peak everyone's attention as they wait for Martin to answer.
“Not tonight. Painters are in.” They all huff, seeming disappointed then turn back to the game. John’s stomach twists. Now he gets it, he doesn’t want to believe it though. That people would stoop down to such level. He drinks his beer again before he does something he might regret. Martin moves his hand off John’s leg and calls your name.
John’s holding his breath as you make your way out the kitchen and everyone’s heads turn to you. You have two bowls in your hand.
“Ah, perfect.” Your boyfriend says and you walk over to the coffee table to place them down. John should be watching you but he can’t help fixing his gaze on Martin and his guests whose eyes stare at you like you’re made of diamonds. You smile kindly at them and as you lean over the coffee table, a hand from one of them reaches up the back of your thigh and squeezes your arse.
John watches trying to keep his expression neutral as you tense and stand up almost stumbling to get away from the man violating you while your boyfriend does nothing but smile keeping his angry eyes trained on you. John can read the warning in them. Don’t embarrass me.
John takes another sip of his beer to give him something to do. You turn to leave, John can see the redness on your face. You walk between the sofas and your boyfriend grabs your wrist. You instantly freeze bringing your other arm up over your chest.
“Forgetting something?” He asks, his voice low. You force a smile, shaking your head before leaning down and pressing a kiss on his lips, your boyfriend smiles and even though the kiss is clearly supposed to be quick he forces his tongue into your mouth deepening it.
Your back is conveniently turned to the other sofa and the other friends don’t even try to avert their gazes, their eyes falling on the curves of your arse. It makes John feel sick, the beer in his stomach sits heavy. He wants to leave, he can’t stand this. You break from the kiss and quickly make your way back to the kitchen.
John turns his attention back to the TV. It’s almost half time, he could make an excuse during that and leave. No, he has to stick this through to the end he doesn’t need any of them getting suspicious, besides the longer he stays the more likely one of them is bound to slip up and give him the confirmation he needs.
He’ll stay for you, because at the end of the day it’s not about his comfort, it’s about you and your rescue.
___
You’re alone for the first time in over a year. Your boyfriend has left you alone for the first time in at least 14 months. At first you’re not even sure what to do with yourself. You spend your first evening alone watching a show you’ve always wanted to see but never had time.
You even splashed out and bought yourself a bottle of wine. It almost feels like a perfect evening, a time for you to enjoy yourself, the wine helps mull you out but your head is preoccupied with John and your boyfriend.
You love him. Even though he’s mean sometimes you’ve been with him for so long, you couldn’t imagine being with someone else. Your mind trails towards John though, and how kind he seems. You wonder if he’s in and what he’s doing. You wish you could get to know him but Martin would never allow that. Maybe you will though, by proximity, Martin does seem to like him and if he comes regularly for the football you’ll see him at least once a week.
You don’t know how he would fit in with Martin’s friends though. You sigh looking at the clock and knowing he’ll be back in less than 14 hours. You wish he wouldn't come back, you regret the thought almost as soon as you have it, you do love him.
Suddenly the wine is not cutting it and you drain your last glass before going into the kitchen. The only thing you can find is a half bottle of vodka, it's Martins but you’ll buy him a new one. You don’t care right now, you just don’t want to feel anything. Liquid courage burns through you and before you can regret it you take a long swig straight out the bottle.
It’s horrible and you immediately regret it. You cough and splutter as it burns your tongue and throat, it hits you quickly though warming your body and dulling the thoughts in your head. It does little to dull the pain in your chest though, the thought of your boyfriend coming home soon brings so much dread it’s unbearable. You wander back into the living room taking another long swig if not just to clear your mind for a few seconds.
It feels like fire down your throat as you swallow a whole mouthful of the putrid alcohol. This is his fault, that you have to do this to yourself. Maybe if you were drunk more often he’d be easier to be around. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt you, maybe when he did it wouldn’t feel as bad. The sex is the worst, always when he wants it no matter what.
You’ve tried saying no, it never ends well.
You need to do something, you can’t just sit on the sofa all night feeling sorry for yourself, you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself. You go into the bathroom and start to run a bath, you’re unsteady on your feet now. You leave the vodka in the bathroom and go into the living room to clear up your plate and the empty wine bottle you know you’re going to have to hide.
You hate that, you hate that you have to hide things from him. You pick up the empty bottle rolling it in your hand. A sudden surge of anger over takes you and before you can stop yourself you throw it at the living room wall. It smashes against a picture shattering both the glass bottle and the glass protecting the picture as they both fall to the floor.
Fuck.
Fear grips you, you shouldn't have done that. He’ll be so mad, you rush over to the broken glass on the floor forgetting you have no shoes on and you almost step on it. You look at the mess as you feel tears come, he’s going to be so mad he might just kill you. How are you going to explain what happened?
“Fuck.” You swear under your breath. You just can’t do this right now, maybe you’ll feel better after a bath. Then you’ll be more level headed and you can clear this up. You sob kicking yourself for being so emotional and crying over this then head for the bathroom.
The bath is almost full so you stop the tap and go into the cupboard for the bath salts. As you do you see his razor. He must have forgotten it. Your heart stops, you could do it. Right now, it would all be over. You don’t have to worry about cleaning up your mess or his anger. There would be nothing, just peace and silence.
Your hand shakes as you take the blade in your hand. You stand up and look at yourself in the mirror, your face is red from the tears, the bruise around your eye is barely there, just a little discoloured yellow. The bruises around your neck have been an almost permanent feature recently. You pick up the vodka bottle and take another long swig.
It burns but this time you don’t mind it. It helps clear your mind, it would be so easy then it would be over. You don’t pay attention to what's happening and climb into the bath with the razor still in your hand. You don’t even think really, you’re already unscrewing the proactive body to get to the blade inside.
It’s so simple. You finish the last of the vodka letting the empty bottle roll away on the floor as you sink down beneath the warm water leaving only your head exposed. For once you feel at peace, your head is clear and the thought of not being here tomorrow is a relief. You look at the inside of your wrist with the blade in your other hand.
You deserve this, this is all your fault.
You take in a deep breath and drag the blade down your wrist.
…
It feels like you’re floating, like your body is drifting off somewhere far away. Maybe it’s the water or maybe this is what death feels like. It feels strangely surreal.
“Fuck.” A worried voice travels to your ears but you keep your eyes closed. Something warm touches you, pulls you. You open your eyes but everything is a blur, you see red then someone's arm passes in front of your face. They’re too late though.
“Sorry.” You murmur.
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” It’s John, you turn to look at him blinking to clear your vision. He grunts as he pulls you out of the bath like you weigh nothing.
“What?” You barely manage to say, your voice doesn’t sound like your own and there is so much blood. John places you up against the side of the bath and starts to pull towels down.
“It’s not your fault.” He says again, softer this time. Your heart is racing, pain travels down your arms and you groan trying to touch your blood soaked wrists.
“No, don’t touch.” He sounds calm unlike your racing mind. Your arms throb as he uses the towels to dab them. You made a mess of the bathroom, you should have succeeded instead you’re a failure, you can’t even kill yourself right.
“Where is he?” John asks, you know who he’s talking about.
“Blackpool.” You slur. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Okay, okay.” He says, sounding relieved as he looks over your wrists. “It doesn’t look too deep. Looks like you missed anything major.” He says, you look down at the wounds on your wrists. You should have done better, a sob leaves from low in your throat. He wraps your wrists in the towels then reaches up with one hand to cup the side of your face.
His thumb traces under your bruised eye. You look away as more tears spill out over your eyelids.
“I’ll be right back.” He says and stands up, you’re not sure what to say to him. He doesn’t have to help you. You unwrap one of your wrists, it stings and you can smell the blood in the air, it’s harsh and unexpectedly makes your mouth water as watch fresh drops pool out the wound.
You should have cut deeper.
John comes back making you jump and pull your legs closer to your chest. You’re naked, you don’t remember taking your clothes off. You feel exposed and use your legs to cover your chest. John reaches for another towel and rests it over your knees. You pull it off and over your chest as he bends down in front of you. You see him open a small brown pouch and he pulls out a sealed bandage.
“Can I see?” He asks, reaching out for your towel wrapped arm, but he doesn’t touch you. You’re not used to people asking for your permission, you don’t know what to say. You’re not sure if you want John —who is basically still a stranger — to touch you so intimately.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He says in a low voice. You look up and see the sincerity in his eyes. You swallow and reach out offering him your covered arms, he nods and gently cups your wrist unwrapping the towels. You watch as he inspects the wounds again, turning your arm before he starts to wrap it with the bandages he bought.
“I’m sorry.” You say. You feel stupid, you should have cut deeper.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He says in a calm voice, it puts you at ease and you sniffle blinking more tears. He works in silence wrapping your arm until the roll is finished then he reaches back in the bag for some tape. He rips a section off with his teeth then uses it to secure the bandage.
“Did you do anything else?” He asks eventually. You shake your head, maybe you should have. Maybe then you wouldn’t be sitting here with your neighbour, it would be over and you would have peace. Now you have no idea what's going to happen. You offer him your other arm and he starts to do the same.
“How did you get in?” You ask, you could have sworn you locked the door. You meet his eyes and see a deep compassion in them. They’re dark and blue and they remind you of the ocean. You could lose yourself in them, one of his hands comes up and he brushes a strand of your wet hair off your forehead.
“I have a key.” He says but doesn’t elaborate. “I heard a crash, when you didn’t answer the door I assumed the worst.”
“If he was here.” You choke on the words. If he was here he would have killed you himself just for making a mess.
“He’s not here.” John says. You swallow hard but the lump in your throat doesn’t move. He will be though, tomorrow he’ll be back and if he finds out what you did who knows what he will do. Suddenly the guilt and sadness is replaced with fear, your heart rate picks up and your breathing becomes shallow. John squeezes your wrist gently as he finishes taping it up.
“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He says in a calming tone, you do. You look over his face as he grabs your wrist in his other hand. “He’s not here. He can’t hurt you. Not now, not ever.”
You don’t believe him. But what is he going to do? More tears come, you let out a sob trying not to completely break down in front of him. You try to hold on to the last semblance of self respect you have but it doesn’t matter and you drop your head and sob into your knees.
You expect him to leave, run away and never look back. You’re not his problem. Instead he does the opposite. He shuffles closer to you then wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest.
You don’t care that he’s a stranger. You sob and cry as he rubs your arm and the top of your head. He doesn’t seem to care about the state he found you in, he just holds you gently, touching you and shushing you but it’s not patronising. It’s comforting, he lets you get it all out. You scream at one point, your nose is running as much as your eyes but he doesn’t move and he doesn’t leave.
“I’m sorry.” You manage to sniffle when the worst is over and you’re left with a blocked nose and a throbbing head.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He repeats as his hand strokes your arm. He lets out a sigh letting you lean against him for a little longer before he speaks again. “How about this? Let me find you something to wear then we can talk?”
“Okay.” You manage to say and he basically has to pry you out his arms. You sit there alone as he leaves to go to the bedroom. You can hear him opening drawers and the wardrobe before he’s back with fresh pyjamas and underwear in his hands. As he walks into the room he kicks an empty bottle of vodka out the way.
You feel embarrassment heat your face not able to make eye contact with him. He places the clothes on the toilet but hesitates before he leaves.
“I’ll be waiting outside.” He says, you force yourself to look up at him and he picks the empty bottle up before leaving the room. You sit there stunned looking around at the blooded floor and the towels you’ll have to wash. Maybe you could have gotten away with pretending its period blood but not now there is way too much.
The bath gurgles and you stand up and turn to see the last of the blooded water drain away. You dry yourself as quickly as you can; each move pulls on the wounds you’ve just made. Maybe when you’re changed John will take you to the hospital. You don’t want to do that, they'll section you then you’ll have no control, but you’ll be away from your boyfriend, you won’t have to see him if you don’t want to.
You pull the clothes on then leave the room, as he said John is waiting for you. You feel embarrassed, and stupid. If it wasn’t for you smashing the wine bottle he would never have found you. He said the wounds didn’t look that deep and blood is not seeping through the bandages. What would have happened? Would you still have bled out?
“Do you drink tea?” John asks, you look up at him and nod, biting back the tears threatening to come. You feel sober now, almost like you didn’t drink a bottle of wine and half a bottle of vodka.
“I can make some.” You reply automatically, his hand reaches out to rub the top of your arm.
“Sit down, I’ll make it.” He says gently squeezing your arm and moving you towards the living room. You go over to sit on the sofa pulling one of the throws around you while you listen to John in the kitchen.
A few minutes later he places down a cup of tea and you pull the blanket around you tighter. He sits down next to you but keeps a little space between you. You don’t touch the tea, just watch the steam swirl in the air. You can’t believe you’ve done this, all of a sudden it hits you and you shiver realising what you’ve done.
“Do you want to talk?” John asks after a few more moments of silence. You have no idea what to say, where do you even start.
“I don’t know.” You reply quietly. John’s arm wraps around your back and he shuffles closer to you and before you can stop yourself and lean your head against him. You can hear his heart beating steadily in his chest, you can hear his lungs filling with air. He’s alive, you’re alive but you’re not sure if you’re happy about that or not.
If your boyfriend knew what you did, about the mess you made he’d kill you himself. You dread to think what would have happened if he was the one who found you in the bath. This is why he doesn’t let you drink, because you make stupid decisions like this.
“You don’t have to stay.” You say turning your attention back to the tea’s steam.
“I think it’s best if you’re not alone now.” John says, you nod. You want him to stay, it hurts so much. You can’t remember you had someone like this in your life, someone you can lean on for support. It makes your heart ache.
“When he gets back.” You can’t finish the sentence, he’ll kill John then he’ll kill you. John’s hand comes up to your face and you sit up turning to look at him as he cups your cheek.
“I’ll deal with him. You’ll never need to worry about him again.” He says, your breath catches in your throat, you can hear the sincerity in his words. The thought of never having to see him again is suddenly the best feeling in the world. You feel a flood of emotions but mainly relief, your shoulders sag and you drop your head letting the tears fall. John’s hand travels down to your neck, his thumb traces your jaw.
“I-“ You stammer over your words. “I never want to see him again.”
It feels like a weight has been lifted off you and you sob. You’ve never felt so relieved in your life. Here is someone who is telling you you never have to see him again. Someone who even though you’re not close with is ready to help you.
“And you never have to see him again.” He says gently, you look up at him and he smiles slightly, tipping his head to the side. “I will be here, he’s never going to hurt you again.”
The tears come and before you can stop yourself you throw your arms around him, it hurts but you don’t care.
“Thank you.” It’s all you manage to say, it’s all you need to say.
…
The hours feel like they’re going all too fast. John doesn’t leave your side, he stays with you on the sofa keeping you company. You don’t talk much but he rubs your arms or legs and fills the silence when you want him to. You stay away from subjects about your boyfriend but it’s hard. You’re finally realising how controlling he is of you.
You’ve never been allowed to do anything other than work and take care of the house. Thinking about it you’ve always been so busy, between work and cooking and cleaning you have very little time for yourself. What time you didn’t have was to be dedicated to him, he always told you how hard he was working to keep you afloat.
He controlled the finances, what you ate, who you spoke to. When and where you could go, you never put much thought into it because you were in love and you thought this was just what people did for those they love. Apparently you were wrong. You have been so naive and stupid.
John reassures you though, he lets you talk but is quick to comfort you when guilt slips into your voice and tears well in your eyes. You don’t even realise you’ve been up all night until the sun peaks through the living room window. He talks about his job and his team to keep your mind busy, when it turns eight it feels like your heart is about to combust with nerves.
You can’t keep still, fidgeting and your breathing becomes rapid and unsteady. John just holds you, he doesn’t judge, he just comforts you in a way you never thought you were worthy of.
When the door clicks open you jump up. John gets to his feet. This is it.
“John?” Your boyfriend asks, he looks past John then at you wrapped in a blanket on the sofa. Tears immediately come and you almost want to wish John would leave. You don’t want him to get hurt.
“Martin.” John replies, taking a step around the sofa and placing himself between you and the man who is currently shooting daggers at you. He drops his bag to the floor and it makes you stiffen.
“What the hell is going on?” You can tell he’s already losing his cool, the facade he spends so much effort on keeping up is slipping quicker than you expected.
“Why don’t we talk outside?” John offers.
“No fucking way. You’re going to tell me what you’re doing in my fucking flat with my woman.” Martin snaps. You grip your wrist tight and dig your nails into the covered wounds. It burns and more tears spill over your eyes.
You have to do something, you can’t let John get in trouble for this then you’ll never be able to see him again. Then you’ll be stuck regretting that you failed each and every day. You want to get up and stop this but your body betrays you and you go stiff, not able to move as your boyfriend's eyes still drill into you.
You reach out for John but he’s too far away, no one is saying anything and all you can hear is the pounding of your heart in your ears making your arms sting with each throb.
“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” John says taking another step to your boyfriend. Martin’s eyes flick to John before he’s hidden from your view.
“I think you do.” He scoffs.
“It’s time for you to leave.” John says, lowering his tone. It makes you shiver, there is no room for ignoring the order.
“Is this what you’ve been doing? Shacking up with the neighbour?” Martin scoffs again trying to look around John but he doesn’t let him. You can’t really tell what's going on but your boyfriend is definitely getting up in John’s face.
“Put your hands on me and you’ll regret it.” John says, now that’s a threat. One your boyfriend ignores and he pushes John. What happens next is so quick you almost miss it. John dodges a swing then lunges at Martin and presses him against the wall twisting one arm behind his back. Almost like you’ve seen police officers do.
“Fuck you! Get the fuck off me!” Martin screams but John is stronger, you watch as he keeps him pinned against the wall reaching into Martin’s pocket and pulling out his set of keys all without breaking a sweat. John throws them to the side before pressing Martin harder to the wall, his mouth level with his ear.
“This doesn’t need to get messy. I just wanted to talk.” John’s taller too, towering over your boyfriend, or should it be ex-boyfriend, there is no way you’re going back to him. Watching him being manhandled by John fills you with a strange sense of confidence, something you haven’t felt in years.
“You’re going to leave. Take that bag and walk out of this flat before I throw you out.”
“Fuck you! I live here.” Martin snaps trying to struggle under John’s grip.
“Not anymore.” John says simply. Martin’s eyes flick to you and he laughs.
“So this is it. You’re fucking someone else?” Your ex-boyfriend grunts. You can’t help shaking your head, you shouldn’t care what he thinks, not anymore. “I always knew you were a cheating whore!” John twists his arm tighter causing him to cry out.
“Did your mother never teach you how to respect women?” John spits at him.
“Did you never learn how to do a proper hold?” To your surprise Martin shoves John off him, it seems to take John by surprise too and you gasp as Martin takes a swing at him. You close your eyes not wanting to watch, you hear skin hitting skin and open your eyes again to see Martin stumbling back, blood spilling out his nose.
“Idiot.” John snaps, grabbing your ex by his collar and pulling him over to the front door. Your heart is racing so fast it feels like it’s about to jump out your chest. John throws Martin out into the hall then picks up his bag before throwing it out after him.
“If I ever see you again it’s not me you’re going to have to worry about.” John says, you’re not sure what that means but before your ex can reply John slams the door closed locking it behind him. You expect your ex to bang on the door and demand to be let in which John seems to also be waiting for as he hangs around the door for a few moments before walking back over to you.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I need to make a few calls.”
“Please, I don’t want the police to be involved.” You say, you’re not sure why though you have every right to go to them. The bruises on your face and neck are enough proof for a restraining order at least.
“Okay, okay. We can talk about that later.” He says as he comes it sits down next to you and rests his hand on top of yours.
“No police, no hospital. Please.” You beg him. He nods but you can tell it’s somewhat reluctantly.
“Okay. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” He says unlocking his phone. You feel like asking who he’s calling is rude but you want to know, you hate secrets.
“Who are you calling?” You ask as he puts the phone up to his ear, he turns to you and smiles. It helps put you at ease.
“Just a friend, someone who can help.” He says.
“With what?” You ask, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond as the call connects and he stands up.
“Simon. I need a favour.” John walks around the sofa and over to the kitchen standing in the doorway so he can still see you but the distance muffles his voice. “No nothing like that.” He smiles at you again, you trust him.
“Yeah, bring him too. Actually pick Gaz up on the way as well. Yeah I’ll send the address. No, no just the usual.” You’re not sure what’s happening but you have a feeling you might be introduced to a few people by the sound of it.
“Copy, see you in a few.” John says before hanging up and coming back over to you. He stands on the other side of the sofa and you turn to look up at him. His hand comes down to stroke your cheek again.
“Whats going to happen?” You ask trying to swallow the apprehension. He smiles, his hand gently cups your face.
“Whatever you need, we’re going to help you. Like I said, you never have to see him again. He’s gone and so help me God I’ll make sure it stays that way. I don’t ever want to see you hurt again.” You see how moisture builds up in his eyes and you smile at him reaching up to rest your hand on his.
“I don’t deserve any of this.” You say, he immediately bends down behind the sofa so his face is level with yours.
“What you deserve is to be free, you deserve not to be treated like you’re less than human. And you deserve help, so no matter what, whatever you need I’m going to help. Starting by making you some breakfast, then maybe you could take a nap. It’ll be a while before they get here.”
“Who are they?” You ask as he continues to stroke your cheek.
“My friends, you can trust them, they’re good people I promise.” You nod, you believe him.
“Just don’t leave, please.” You reach out, running your fingers through his beard cupping his face.
He smiles, his eyes shine. “Never. Don’t worry, you’re not going to be alone.”
“Thank you.” You breathe, closing your eyes and resting your head against his hand. The exhaustion of the day is finally pulling on you. You’re safe, Martin is gone. Nothing bad is going to happen. You let yourself believe it for the first time. Nothing bad is going to happen.
None of this is your fault and you don’t deserve any of this. No matter what, whether you’re ready for it or not you just know deep down in your heart everything is going to change, and you couldn’t be more relieved.
I swear, if i see one more Sabine cosplay for the villain submissions , I'm going to flip.
there are also so many random outfits, I have no idea who they are supossed to be and just a lot of black and red. where is the flavor, the creativity? Give me evil witches, mad circus directors or even the other dark riders! GIVE ME SOMETHING THAT IS NOT SABINE OR JUST A GOTH OUTFIT!
The type you have to have your phone on you at all times and no one can use your phone unless you’re watching them because he sends them at the most random times.
It’s in the middle of his work day he’ll in uniform, holding his heavy length that’s throbbing, pre spurting out and coating his cock, ‘Thought of you Dovie. Have a good day x’
Or it’s late and your having dinner with your family, your phone will chime, you absentmindedly will tap on the notification just to check what it is under the table, eyes practically going out of your head before you slam your phone face down in your lap.
Putting your face in your hand to hide the embarrassment, heat rushing through your body as you think of the pick.
“What was that?” You mom asks amused.
“Just- somethin stupid a friend sent.”
It’s ridiculous if anything, an HD picture your fucking uncle’s got your underwear is soaked in cum and wrapped around thick member, veiny and strawberry red, the tip brushing against the pillow he knows you love to use at his place. The message after, ‘Miss you kiddo, see you this weekend. X’
a/n: can’t scroll down cause some of them dicks, think of my parents going through my shit or whatever Doja said
18+
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f! reader, established relationship, lil pinch of angst and assumed cheating (no actual cheating don’t worry), PIV sex, tipsy sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, and a tiny bit of dub con.
WC:2.9K
Summary: At the end of every mission that calls him away for weeks at a time, Simon has coming home to you to look forward to. But there’s only so much loneliness you can take until you’re forced to act out.
Divider credit: @/cursed-carmine
You were really pushing it.
It’s 3.43AM by the time the cab pulls up, Simon barely budging from his spot on his chair as he listens to you drunkenly holler goodbye to your equally drunk pack of friends as they depart. The click clack of your heels on the cobblestones leading up to your front door makes his jaw clench, thick arms crossed over his broad chest, thicker legs filling out a pair of grey sweats, bare feet set apart.
When you manage to work your key into the lock and get the door open you jump a little at the sight of Simon sat there waiting for you in the almost dark, a half-drunk bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and just the one light on beside him. Usually, you would have bounded to him, so tipsy and bubbly as you pounce on to him, peppering a rain of kisses all over his face as he grunts in reply with a couple of soft pats on your ass.
This wasn’t one of those times.
All traces of that bouncy, excitable buzz you’d carried with you up to the door fizzles at the stern look on his face, one of your own taking over as you roll your eyes and let out a curt little ‘hmpf’. You tip your chin up, locking the door behind you, ready to make your way to the bathroom when he finally speaks up.
“How long are you going to keep this up?”
“Oh, so you can speak after all, huh? had me fooled.”
You turn your back on him, slipping your tired feet out of your heels before bending over to pick them up and place them on the shoe rack. You’ve barely set them down when you start at the sudden sound of Simon leaving his chair, the legs screeching against the floor from how quickly he’d gotten up and pushed it back.
In a moment he’s in front of you. Towering. Looming. Casting a shadow that swallows you whole.
“Sweetheart…”, though there’s no warmth or fondness there when he says it. It has the cadence of a warning more than anything else.
“Where the fuck are your panties?”
You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, your eyes remaining sharp despite the fresh dews of sweat beading at the nape of your neck. Maybe you shouldn’t have bent over in a dress this short.
“I said”, he repeats, just as imposing as the first time. “Where. The fuck. Are your panties?”
This close, the smell of smoke, booze and the little wisps left of your perfume only tick him off even more. He can practically feel the beat of the deafening club music thumping on his skin as it had done yours, dancing in a room filled with strangers. Men eyeing you. Offering to buy you drinks. Trying to work their way in between you and your friends on the dance floor. Trying to coax you into a cab and back to their place.
Simon wasn't the jealous kind. When you’re big enough and skilled enough to beat someone’s ass in a myriad of ways it makes other men seem barely a threat. Them coming on to you? Not a bother. Even when he wasn’t there, he knew you knew how to take care of yourself. But you? Indulging them?
That was a problem.
“None. Of. Your. Business”, you seethe back.
Turning on your bare heel, you’re about to stomp away when one of those giant hands of his reaches out for your tiny wrist, pulling you back around to face him before he uses the other to yank up your tight little black dress.
He gets the hem up to your hips, the vein by his temple swelling and pulsing as he finds your pussy completely bare.
You didn’t…did you?
It’s hard to remain composed when all he can do it picture you sat there on one of those squeaky stools by the bar, sipping on a sugary cocktail with a little paper umbrella hanging over the rim of it as you part your legs a few inches to let the man sat beside you, likely the one to have bought you said drink, see you bare yourself for him.
You try to wring yourself free.
No use.
“Damnit, Simon, get off”.
That’s when he notices the peaks of your nipples showing through your dress too. On another day it would have excited him but now it has him roughly slipping his fingers into the neckline of your dress. He rips it fast. The band aid approach. The material rips down the middle, black stitching coming apart like tissue paper in his grip.
“SIMON, WHAT THE FUCK”, you scream at your forced undressing, arms coming up to hide your breasts though there’s hardly any use in doing so.
“What’s the matter? Didn’t you want to show yourself off?”
“NO!...I just…I just…”
“What? Come on. Out with it. Or did you not think that part through yet?”
It’s a entirely different kind of humiliation to be stripped bare like this in the middle of a fight. How can you stand your ground when you’re standing there completely naked?
“Well?”, he prompts again, even more acidic than the first time.
“I didn’t think you’d care”, you shoot back, letting your hands fall to your sides, fingers clenching into fists.
Despite everything his eyes fall to your body, like strings puppeteering his gaze. He shouldn’t be staring. He shouldn’t be ogling. He shouldn’t be letting the sight of you like this make his cock jump in his sweats.
He’s pissed after all.
And so are you.
All because he’d done it again.
Simon had promised to cut back on these kinds of missions. The ones that went on for weeks and required him to go dark. No communication outside of the team. Weeks of leaving you alone in your shared house, waiting for a text to say he’s still breathing.
He’d gotten back this evening. All of your things were still there. Only you were missing. It didn’t take much to deduce where you’d gone. Your makeup sat out in disarray on the vanity. The hanger in your closet where that tiny dress of yours had hung from was empty. The black stilettos also missing from the shoe rack. That Italian perfume, the one you reserve for nights out, still hung in the air.
He knew you’d seen all the messages too. The ones that came after two weeks of silence. Asking where you were. When you were coming home. So on and so on.
You had a right to be mad. He knew it.
But the thought of you feeling so lonely that you were willing to tease a bunch of strangers for attention made him want to force his fist through the heads of any man who’d dared to look.
Even if it was just looking and no touching, it didn’t feel even slightly better. Both just as acrid as the other to him.
“…You knew I was coming back. You didn’t have to do this”
“No actually, I never know when you’re coming back. I never knew you’d even gone this time until I came back and found your note, if you can even call it that, Simon. I deserved better than a little scrap of paper.”
“You know the kind of work I do.”
“You promised me you’d stop.”
“I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Yeah, that’s what you keep telling yourself”, you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your naked chest.
“Even Price spends more time with his wife than you and I do. They barely ever leave the room, Simon! You should have seen all the hickeys on her body the last time we went out for brunch.”
He goes mute. Completely unreadable. You can’t bear it.
“I’m going to shower”, you try to take your chance to leave but he reaches for you again, this time he latches on to your upper arm, pulling you back to him.
“You’re not going anywhere”.
Simon's foot hooks behind your heel and he pulls it forward quick, upsetting your balance, sending you backwards, back hitting the carpeted floor, the air leaving your lungs with the blow.
You’re about to yell at him again, cuss him out good for knocking you over but there’s no time. He’s on you quick, getting down to cover your body with his, one hand gathering your wrists together and pinning them above your head.
The other makes for your cunt, cupping his hand over it and squeezing.
“It’s mine, right? Or have you forgotten?”
In his hot, none too gentle hold you’re reminded of all the times you’ve spread your legs for him and told him it was his. His pussy to fuck. His pussy to make a mess of. His pussy to own. That he’d take care of it best. Make it feel good, so good, and all you’d have to do was lay back or get down on all fours and let him. He’d been a man of his word in that regard. Paying your pussy all the attention you craved and more. Sometimes even overwhelming you with it.
“What happened to all that tough talk, huh? Speak up”, he taunts, zeroing in on your clit with his cruel fingers, pinching the poor pearly bud. It sets those thousands of nerve endings alight, fiery pinpricks making your knees wobble and quake.
“It’s yours! It’s yours, Si, I’m sorry”, you buckle and yield embarrassingly quickly, anything to make him take some pity on you.
“Yeah? Then you ought to know better than to flash what’s mine around, shouldn’t you?”
“I-I was just…”
“Yeah? Go on”
“I was mad at you. I went out with the girls. I drank. I danced it out-”
“Alone?” he asked, only this time the question lacked the severity he’d injected into the others. His sharp eyes softened somewhat, enough for you to recognize the little glimpses of hurt that showed. The kind that made your tongue turn bitter in your mouth and your throat feel like it might close up.
“Simon...of course.”
“But-“
“I took them off in the bathroom before getting into the cab, Si. I was going to surprise you but then I got mad all over again when I saw you…so yeah. It was a shitty thing to do but I kind of wanted to get back at you for a moment”, you admit with a wash of nauseating shame.
The man says nothing though you can see the relief cloud his features.
“ 's my own fault”, he releases his hold on your wrists, slipping his fingers in your hair and around the back of your neck to pull your face closer to his, his lips meeting yours at last.
The lingering taste of whisky settles on your tongue in the same way the taste of your many cherry daquiri’s settle on Simon’s. Boozy, heady and sweet. Your hands, now free to wander and roam, press flat against his chest, thick meaty muscle only a thin layer of cotton away under your palms. They trail lower, over the softer plane of his stomach and then to the waistband of his sweats around his hips.
“Get them off”, you mumble against his lips, slipping one hand into his sweats to find that you’re not the only one here not wearing underwear. Of course, it’s too big and stiff to cover with one hand so you have to start with cupping his balls, the grainy hair there scratching pleasantly against your palm. The hair at the base of his cock feels the same until things start to smoothen out when you get to the shaft. Sturdy and hot, you trail your hand up and up every inch, thumb finding the slippery tip all wet and only getting wetter with every glistening drop of precum. He withdraws for a short moment, yanking his t-shirt off over his head and then makes quick work of discarding his sweats too. The last time you’d been naked together feels eons ago despite it only having been 14 days.
When he dips back down, he’s even quicker to manhandle you, folding your legs up against your chest and as far apart as possible. Your folds part, unfurling, enough so that he can easily stare down at your wet hole, only getting wetter when he gathers the saliva in his mouth and spits a hot glob of it onto your pussy. The way your face twists in response might have fooled anyone else but Simon knows all too well how much you like it when he’s crude. When being gentle is substituted with something more unseemly but just as pleasurable, if not more.
“Simonnnn”, you drawl dumbly when the wet plap plap plap of him slapping his shaft down on your clit and coming away sticky sounds out. Your impatience goes unacknowledged as he fits his veiny cock between your plump folds, grinding it up and down in a slippery smooth motion, swollen tip catching on your swollen clit.
“I know I know. You’re not the only one whose been waiting for this”, he grunts without sympathy.
“Then hurry up”, you sass back.
Your skin had been so warm when you said it, enough to make a layer of sweat sheen down your back. But one look at Simon and the way the corner up his mouth twitches up into a smirk and ice strikes deep inside to hug to your bones. Pulling his hips back, his cock slips lower, notching against your waiting entrance and then, swiftly and without remorse, he plunges in.
All you can do is choke on a scream, choke and attempt to gulp down as much air as he’s punching out of your lungs.
“You’ll take it like this or not at all, understand?”
“Yes…yes- yes!”, you shudder and call out, both in answer and begging for more of his harsh thrusts.
“Guess I have no choice. Gotta be around more to make sure you’re not going to act up again”
“That- yeah. That’d w-work”, you whimper and whine.
For the next stretch of minutes nothing else is said, only a harmony of sighs and moans and gravelly grunts taking over. Your lower belly bulges with the outline of his cock and your ankles hang uselessly on his shoulders while Simon draws in and out of cunt, working with and against the way it tries to suck him in and squeeze.
It’s then that it occurs to him to lean down and suck the sensitive skin of your neck into his mouth, pulling wine stain bruises to the surface with ease.
“For the next brunch”, he huffs, then chuckling when he sees the way your blissed out eyes light up.
“More…please?”, you plead between airy gasps.
“You trying to show off to your friends?”
“Yes”, you reply, blunt and entirely too honest.
“Alright then”, he grins.
You’re like a slinky, purring feline under him as his mouth seeks out other places to mark – your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, your inner thighs as he leans in further until the undersides of your knees hang over his shoulders instead of your ankles.
“Baby, I think I’m almost there”, you whimper pitifully, your fingers curling into little fists where they press into Simon’s chest. Feeble and trembling.
“Go on then. Think you’ve been denied long enough, yeah?”
He says it like he’s not teetering on the edge himself, his cock aching to let loose and spew an obscene puddle of cum all over your insides. When you cry out and your cunt bears down on his cock just seconds later, that’s when he lets the façade strip away. His thrusts become uneven and stutter, jaw clenching tight and his short, blunt nails drag along the floor. It’s a desperate display, wanting to carry you through your orgasm all the way before he allows himself to enjoy his own.
Simon denies himself for as long as he can stand, the way you flutter around his cock turning softer and softer to show that you’ve reached the end of your own pleasure. That’s when he feeds his own urges. Fuck, he must be filling you to the brim as he starts to shoot hot, messy rope after rope inside your poor overstimulated cunt. It’s not like he’s had any time to steal away during his mission to jerk off. All of that fell to the very back of his mind but now, all backed up, it’s a blissful relief to spill inside you and stuff you full.
“Fuckkk, I missed this”, you groan, soaking up every drop he can expel.
Simon stays inside you when the last of his thrusts peter out, slowly scooping you up to rest on his front while he turns over to lay on his back.
“No one else gets me going the way you do”, he strokes your hair with a soft touch as things start to quieten.
“No one else gets me going the way you do”, you giggle back, your ear pressed against his scarred-up chest, eyelids growing heavy to the sound of his heartbeat.
“Promise I’ll cut back. Mean it this time, love”, he commits sincerely.
“You better. Or I'll come down to the base and say hi to the rest of the boys in a tinier dress and no panties.”
Simon chuckles. Your threat might be halfhearted but he knows better than to dismiss it entirely.
Neighbor!Simon who notices his new neighbor as soon as he sees the U-Haul truck pull up at 7:39 am.
Neighbor!Simon who offers to help the “sweet thing” move her boxes into the apartment, but she refuses. He nods, ready to go on with his day. “Names Simon. Right next door if ya need anythin’.”
Neighbor!Simon who was planning on asking you out on a date, but finds a man opening your door instead of you. “Jus’ wanting ta see how ya liking the neighborhood. Seems like I interrupted, g’day mate.” He plays it off, scoffing as he walks back to his door. “Fuckin’ idiot. ‘Course she got a boyfren.” He thinks to himself, once in his own apartment.
Neighbor!Simon who notices the man brining over other girls while you’re out. He was going to tell you, but he just couldn’t see such a sweet thing in pain.
Neighbor!Simon who’s proud once he sees a U-Haul truck pull up again, seeing the pathetic excuse of a- man load up boxes into the truck, and drive off by 9:30 pm.
Neighbor!Simon who of course has to check up on you. “Sweet thing like yourself deserves a real man, sweetheart.” He tells you, rubbing his oh so large hand over your back as you cry into his shoulder.
Neighbor!Simon who comes over a week later, ending up in between your thighs the second he walks through the door. “Fuckin’ idiot for lettin this go.” He swears under his breath, before digging right back in.
Neighbor!Simon who makes you cum 3 times right on his tongue. Had you crying and begging for more. Left you with a kiss and fresh sheets. “I’ll be back soon, lovie.”
Neighbor Boyfriend!Simon who convinces you to sell your apartment, saying it’s a waste for you to spend $2000 a month when you could live with him. “Spend that money on something’ nice, yeah? New set for me to take off ya nice body?”
Boyfriend!Simon who’s so grateful you moved in next to him 2 years ago.
hii this is my first write ever🫣 if you see this please interact!!
"si com eget me plsd" and then, instead of a location pin, a screenshot of a map with your street barely visible in the corner, which tells him everything he needs to know about the state you're in. he stares at it for a moment. closes his eyes. gets his keys.
you're outside when he pulls up, leaning against the brick wall with your shoes dangling from one hand and your hair half out of whatever careful style it was when you left, and the moment you see his car your entire face brightens and you push off the wall and stumble toward him like he's the best thing you've seen all night.
"simon!!," you say, drawing his name out like it's something you've been saving.
"yeah," he says. "i'm here. come on."
you stumble and crash directly into his side, both arms winding around his waist, your face pressing into his chest with a contented sound that he feels more than hears. he stands with your shoes dangling against his back and your hair tickling his chin and after a moment of trying to help you to walk, he ends up picking you up bridal style and carrying you.
"you're so strong si" you mumble dreamily, staring at him in absolute awe. when he places you into the car and buckles your seatbelt for you, "you're responsible too"
you manage the passenger seat for almost a full minute before you migrate.
he's not entirely sure of the mechanics — one moment you're buckled in beside him, the next you're somehow mostly across the centre console, sideways, your chin on his shoulder and your hand warm and certain on his thigh before he's even made it out of the car park. he pulls over at the first opportunity and sorts your seatbelt properly, reaching across you, and you look up at him while he does it with an expression that has no business being that specific given the circumstances.
"you're so good to me," you tell him, with complete sincerity.
"sit still," he says, and pulls back onto the road.
you sit still for thirty seconds. maybe thirty five.
then your hand starts moving on his upper thigh. slow, idle, the kind of absent touch that might be accidental on anyone else but on you, right now, tilted toward him with your eyes tracking his profile you're gazing at him with pure lust.
he watches the road. says nothing. when your hand shifts onto his bulge he picks it up and deposits it back in your own lap without comment.
you put it straight back.
he lets it stay, this time, because clearly moving it isn't working and he's a practical man.
this turns out to be a mistake, because you start rubbing there too. he tries to stare straight forward and focus on the road, but his pants are undeniably getting tighter.
"simon," you say, in a voice that is different from your usual voice — lower, a little slow, the careful diction of someone choosing words through a pleasant haze.
"mm."
"you're so pretty" you say, very seriously.
"not the word most people would use," he says.
"well you are pretty. so pretty si." in some form of cuteness aggression, you lean over the console and softly bite his neck. then you decide its not enough and give sloppy kisses down his neck.
"lovie sit back."
"i am sitting back. i wanna sit on your face though siiii." you mumble against his neck and your nails drag lightly against his bulge. his jaw tightens incrementally. "simon."
"ten minutes," he says. "we're ten minutes away."
"i just want—"
"i know what you want."
"and?"
"and ten minutes."
you consider this for a moment, apparently decide ten minutes is a negotiating position rather than a statement of fact, and say something directly against his ear — low and unhurried and specific enough that every muscle in his body contracts simultaneously. the car remains in its lane. it takes more effort than he would like to admit.
"christ," he says, very quietly, to the windscreen.
"is that a yes," you say, settling back with the satisfaction of someone who knows exactly what they've done.
"it's a keep your hands where they are and let me drive," he says.
you keep your hands where they are. you also keep talking — which, as it turns out, is considerably worse than the hands. a steady, uninhibited stream of observations and suggestions delivered in the candid cheerful tone of someone who has temporarily misplaced their filter, all of it aimed at him, all of it landing exactly where you intend it to. simon drives. he keeps his eyes on the road. he responds to none of it, which he's aware is not the same as not hearing it, and the ten minutes stretch out into something that feels significantly longer than ten minutes.
he gets you inside.
the lift is its own specific trial. you're facing him with your back against the panel, arms loose around his neck, looking up at him with those eyes that have always been a problem. you're talking again, softer now, something about his hands and something else about what you'd like and he reaches past you and hits the button for your floor and keeps his eyes forward and breathes steadily and thinks about absolutely nothing at all.
"you're ignoring me," you say.
"i'm listening to every word," he says, which is true and is the problem.
you stop twice on the way to your door. once to tell him something about his shoulders that he files away against his better judgement, and once to make a suggestion so detailed and vulgur that he stops walking entirely for a moment, stands in the middle of the hallway, and takes a slow breath before continuing. you look pleased with yourself.
he gets you through the door. gets you to the bedroom. you sit on the edge of the bed and reach for him with both hands, expression open and warm and wanting, and he catches your hands gently and holds them.
"lie down," he says.
"come with me," you say.
"in a minute. i'm getting you water."
you lie back against the pillow with a small sound that does nothing helpful for the ache in his pants, and he turns and goes to the kitchen.
when he gets back he sees you face down on the pillow, one arm thrown wide, your shoes finally abandoned somewhere between the door and the bed. there you were, fast asleep in your dream world, a small pool of drool already forming at the corner of your mouth, breathing slow and even and completely, utterly unconscious.
and there simon stood, water glass in hand, watching you, while he was sporting a throbbing hard-on and nothing he could do about it.
As a sso lore sucker I've found it incredibly hard to find some of the original sources, even the instagram comics. I mean, they're all published and still available but you need to scroll soooo far back, especially for the older ones. And since they continue to post, you'll just have to scroll further with time.
Therefore I've set my sights on creating a library of all the sso instagram comics, and you can find links below the cut!
Not all the comics have actual names, not as far as I can tell at least, and in those cases I've just for this library/masterpost's sake created my own. Feel free to reach out if I've missed any official name.
If you want to design your character in the old style (before the 2023 character update)...
I found some entries of the sso website on the web archive, and some actually let you design your character and horse! I've been wishing there was a way I could do this for a while (I've been playing SSO since 2019, but I didn't have many good pictures of my old character) and I'm so glad I found them. So here they are, if anyone else is interested...
t141 are used to simon muttering about his missus. to be honest johnny and kyle thought he was insane, because there is no way in hell lieutenant simon 'ghost' riley has a wife. especially one that he describes to be so soft and sweet.
when they pry and ask about you, he happily tells details, but will never disclose your name or show them a photo. he just has to keep you alllll to himself. naturally kyle and johnny don't believe him.
then simon starts arriving on base with lunches. real good lunches. johnny watches in envy as simon will lift his mask over his mouth and open his little (big) box, juicy steak covered in a real nice sauce.
"y'must be an awful good cook sir" johnny mutters, entranced in the smell of good food.
"told ya my missus makes it for me" simon would grunt. he silently pockets the small notes you would leave him.
i miss u <3
or
im proud of u <3
or
want u to fuck me real good tonight ;)
he would pocket the latter to jerk off to in his office later.
one day simon forgets his lunch. and being the everso caring and worrying wife, you rush down to the base to bring it to him.
when a pretty thing such as yourself arrives on base, the recruits can't keep their eyes off you. especially johnny who approaches awful confident.
"you lost lass?" he can't help his eyes drifting to your pretty tits spilling over your top.
"no" you bat your pretty lashes at him, "my husband left his lunch at home, i thought i could give it to him!"
johnny nearly fell to his knees in agony when you said husband. sighing he said, "aye then, do you know his rank or platoon number?"
you hum trying to recall. "i think task 141, his name is simon riley." you quickly reconfirm, "oh wait everyone here calls him ghost"
johnny stops dead in his tracks.
"you're LT's wife?"
you look up at him with a pretty smile and nod proudly. johnny had to hold back a groan, god you were beautiful.
and you were real.
you follow behind johnny while he leads you to simon and when you reach his office, johnny knocks once.
"come in" is grunted out slightly harshly
any hostility is quickly wiped off simon's face when he sees his pretty little wife standing next to his sergeant.
"hi si! you forgot your lunch" and you almost gallop over to simon in excitement holding out his lunchbox for him.
fuck. when is it johnny's turn :(
"you're excused soap" simon grunts, "although i'll get you to escort her back off base so stick around."
thats how johnny ends up sitting outside simon's office getting having to listen to the clattering of items on simon's desk as well as your sweet moans and whimpers while simon thanks you for making his lunch.
he can't stop staring at you when you stumble out on shaking legs with messed up hair and smudged lipgloss.
he has got to tell kyle that not only are you real, but you're fucking ethereal.
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