18+ thoughts about ghost angst-smut-comfort-fluff-idk (tw domestic violence mentions, dissociation)
ik a lot of people like to headcanon that ghost would be really rough during sex and he would just use you—and i love it. not trying to shame anyone because i love reading that shit—but i honestly dont think he would ever hit you, or choke you, or degrade you.
Simon already had problems with intimacy. When you started dating, you were lucky when he squeezed your hand while you were watching movies together. It took a while before you even kissed, let alone had sex. And he was so sweet, always asking if you were okay, always making sure you were satisfied.
But you wanted a little bit more.
The one time you asked for more roughness, he was immediately hesitant. He even avoided eye-contact. You told him you wanted to be called a whore, you wanted him to spit on you, but even so, his throat clenched at the thought, and not in excitement. In dread. But he loves you. And how could he say no when you mentioned it so sweetly, reassuring him that there was no pressure on him if he didn’t want to do it?
He was fine, at first. He gave your ass a little smack when you began, and you giggled. He smiled. You were okay. You were enjoying it.
But then, as things got more heated, your legs wrapped around his bare torso, you gently took hold of his wrist, and brought it to your neck. Simon practically froze in place. The sight of his hand on your neck, you urging him to squeeze just a little, made his stomach drop.
And then the memories. Oh, the memories.
His mother, losing circulation to her brain as his father tore her in for some miniscule passive agressive remark she made towards him. Simon, only twelve years old, screaming, pleading for his father to stop. Tommy trying and failing to shield his eyes as he took Simon to his room, locking the door before grabbing the headphones. Tommy put them over his ears, as if they could force Simon to forget what was happening.
And then your voice brought him back. He saw the look in your eyes: concerned, caring. He looked down at where your bodies met, and noticed that he had softened, his arousal shriveled into dust. He shook his head slightly, eyes glazed over, expression numb. And then, without another word, he got off the bed, put on his boxers, and headed for the bathroom.
•••
He tried. He really tried to get himself going again. Tried a few strokes, only to feel sick to his stomach. Thought of you naked, but then his mind traveled back to his hand on your throat. He couldn’t get it up again.
When he looked in the mirror, he saw the same broken boy from that day, and his jaw clenched.
But when you softly knocked on the door, he surprisingly opened it and let you in.
You didn’t pry, didn’t question, didn’t say a goddamn word. As if soothing a cat that was scared from a thunder strike, you hummed and embraced him from behind, cheek resting against his back, being careful not to make any sudden movements. It didn’t take long before his shoulders untensed.
If Simon Riley taught you anything, it’s that you don’t need to say anything to show your love to someone, and he preferred it that way. You knew it. So you stood there like an anchor and showed him.
After a few minutes, Simon turned around in your arms. He looked tired.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured finally, voice shaky. “I can’t…”
“No, Simon,” you interrupted him. “Don’t ever be sorry for protecting your peace. I never want to do something that you don’t want to. Okay?”
His eyes softened, brows lowering as he stared at you. How did he get so lucky? He always wondered that.
“Okay.”
You two decided on cuddling for the night and trying again much softer in the morning. You couldn’t deny that the vanilla sex was a bit boring, but at the same time, being with Simon never felt boring.
Plus, he went down on you like you were his favorite breakfast, so you couldn’t complain.
blehhhhh :P