thinking about price inviting the boys over, but you're just so desperate for his attention...
18+ mdni (smut, literally no plot LOL)
cw: sub!fem!reader, cnc (reader says things like stop, too much, but it's established there's a safe word), dom/sub dynamics, exhibitionism, poly!141, daddy kink, squirting, spanking, mean!141 lowkey, abrupt ending, word count: 1.4k
John knows how much you hate it when he invites people over unannounced.
It’s not that you don’t love his boys– you do– but you were so ready to have a nice, relaxed evening all to yourself. Now, you’re stuck sitting on the couch watching some football game you couldn’t care less about.
“John, I think I’m gonna go lie down,” you try to whisper, hand on his chest as your curled up into his side.
He scoffs, shaking his head and wrapping his arm tighter around you. “Nonsense, love, the boys haven’ seen you in ages.” As if to prove his point, Kyle– who had been at an appropriate distance away– is suddenly closer to you, his fingers brushing against your leg.
“Did ye not miss us, hen?” Johnny pouts, staring at you from the opposite end of the couch.
“I just had a different evening planned– alone time.”
For the first time that evening, John’s eyes stray from the television over to you. “Really, now?”
You regret your choice in words, now, four hungry sets of eyes locked on your body. “Not like that–”
Kyle grins, finally digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs. “Like what then, love?” Simon stares at you unblinking, and you know that if you glance over at Johnny, you’ll see his dick straining against his jeans.
You swallow hard as your mouth suddenly dries. “Answer him, sweetheart.” John’s not asking you– he’s telling you.
“I was gonna read a book,” you whisper, body feeling flushed, you try to resist the urge to curl up against John.
Johnny looks at you, eyes glazed over with want. “What kind of book?”
You hesitate, and John’s grip on your waist tightens. “Romance.”
“A naughty book then?” Kyle’s voice sends a shiver down your spine.
Your eyes widen, quickly shaking your head. “No, no, a normal romance book, I swear, John.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart, I believe you– I know my poppet wouldn’t read that filth, would you love?”
Your blood freezes when Simon speaks up. “Wouldn’ be so sure, Price.”
You don’t know exactly when he left the room, but he’s returned holding the book that was once sitting on your nightstand.
You reach out to snatch it from him, only for John to yank you into his lap. Kyle whistles once he glances at the cover. “Read that one a while back, Cap, ‘s downright manky.”
You’re mortified, and you don’t know why they’re doing this– trying so hard to get you in trouble. Every glance that the four men exchange makes you feel more uneasy, lost– like they’ve got something planned.
“Awe, go easy on the lass, ‘s not her fault you havenae been payin’ her attention,” Johnny comes to your defense. It should be comforting, but the wolfish smile he gives you just makes you squirm harder in John’s lap.
John coos at you, mocking you with his faux-sympathetic tone. “Is that right? You need some attention, lovie?”
Ghost gives a low chuckle. “She’s practically gaggin’ for it, yeah?”
A small part of you screams at yourself to shake your head, argue, prove them wrong– you don’t.
A whimper falls from your lips, and your thighs instinctively squeeze shut as John finishes undressing you, dragging your underwear down past your ankles. Your cunt clenches as you notice Johnny practically diving across the room to pick them up.
You're sitting in his lap, back to his chest, and you can feel his hard cock underneath you. His fingers run through your folds, and you’re painfully aware of the eyes on you.
Your breath hitches as he slowly pushes two fingers past your entrance. “Mhm, please–” you whimper, head leaning back on his shoulder. He roughly grabs your jaw, forcing you to look around the room.
To your right, Johnny’s underneath Kyle, slowly grinding against each other as their lips clash together. When they briefly pull away, you can’t take your eyes off the string of spit connecting their mouths.
When you look straight ahead, you see Simon, staring at you like he always does, meaty thighs spread wide to show his thick, hard cock. Despite the leaking and red tip, his hand is only loosely wrapped around the base, lazily stroking it.
The sight is obscene– you choke out a moan as you cum all over John’s fingers. “You barely touched ‘er, and she creamed all over you,” Simon chuckles.
John’s fingers pull out of you completely, and you whine, your fingers digging into his thighs. “I know, sweetheart, it’s okay. Your poor little cunny's been so neglected, hm? Got just the thing for ‘er.”
Your mouth falls open, a choked gasp leaving your lips as John’s eager cock slowly fills your cunt.
You can’t help but glance over, moaning as you watch Kyle bend Johnny over the side of the couch. Their clothes have been discarded, and you can see Johnny’s eyes flutter with each thrust– your wet underwear stuffed in his mouth as a makeshift gag.
You turn your head toward Simon, cunt clenching as you watch him slowly stand up, making his way towards you.
“This is what you wanted, sweetheart? Just needed to feel some eyes on ‘er?” John grunts into your ear as he continues to thrust up into you.
You try to respond, but Simon’s kneeling in front of you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut, but you know he’s touching himself– you can hear it so loud.
You put your hands on his chest, weakly shoving him away from you. It’s too much, the sounds, the feelings, you feel a knot form in your stomach far too fast. “John, John, gonna–”
His movements stop completely, a broken sob leaving your mouth, tears welling in your eyes. “That’s not what you normally call me, is it, poppet?”
“Dinnae, hng, be embarrassed, Bonnie,” Johnny’s words are muffled against the lacy fabric.
Kyle’s hips don’t falter once. “Not gonna make fun of y’ love.”
You shake your head, heat spreading across your chest as you’re unable to escape their stares. “Can’t,” you choke out.
“Why? Because we have guests? Not acceptable, sweetheart.”
Simon scoffs, one of his hands reaching out to paw at your chest. “Though’ you said she was a good girl? Good girls, don’ read dirty books or disrespec’ you.”
That’s all it takes for you to break. “I am, ‘m a good girl, ‘m sorry, daddy. Please, please jus’ let me, make me–” you can barely finish the thought before he’s slamming into you.
“Fuck, mmm, such a sweet girl you got there, Cap.” You can tell Kyle’s close, hear his thrusts faltering, and judging by the whine’s leaving Johnny’s mouth, he’s not far behind him.
Simon’s rough thumb starts to circle your clit in perfect sync with the hand wrapped around his cock. “She isn’t she? My good girl.”
You don’t mean to let go, but you do, a shriek leaving your mouth as that knot in your stomach untangles itself.
At first, you’re humiliated, thinking you’ve just pissed all over yourself and John. It isn’t until after Simon groans out, giving himself one final tug as his cum splatters all over your lower half, that you realize. “Didn’ tell us she’s a fuckin’ squirter, Price.”
You don’t reply, you can’t; every nerve in your body feels lit up. You wiggle your hips, desperately trying to pry yourself away from John’s thrusts. “Too much, stop, ‘S too much.”
“You know what to say if you really want Daddy to stop, sweetheart.” You snap your mouth shut, shaking your head– you need him to keep going.
You can hear the sounds of Kyle whining as he cums deep in Johnny’s ass. You’re grateful when Simon pulls you into a kiss, giving you something to focus on as John spills deep inside your cunt.
The room reeks of sex and sweat, but it’s silent other than the heavy panting. Your heartbeat finally calms as you blink slowly- your mind is still hazy.
Your body aches, and you can feel sticky cum dripping down your thighs. Your eyes flutter, sleep threatening to take over your body.
Your head snaps up, hearing the sharp sound of John’s hand on your ass before you feel the sting. As if you’re nothing more than a doll, John repositions you so you’re bent over his knee– your throbbing cunt on display.
“Oh, my poor little poppet, y’ didn’t think you were done, did you? The rest of the boys still haven’t gotten a proper turn.”
cw: fem!reader, soft dom!ghost, daddy kink, blend of fluff & smut, implied inexperienced!reader i geniunely think that's it? surprisingly? if i missed something lmk, word count: 1.3K
His mouth on yours and his hands roaming your body, touching your bare skin, feels electric. You’ve wanted Simon for so long– too long.
He pulls away, his lips are swollen, and he’s looking down at you with soft eyes. “Need to tell you somethin’ lovie.”
You sit up, shifting slightly when you see the nervousness written all over his face. “What’s wrong, Si?”
“It’s… not exactly average, down there.” His face is flushed as he’s looking anywhere but you.
Your hand reaches up to gently caress his face, thumb brushing over the scar on his cheek. “Si, baby, that’s okay. Size doesn’t matter.” He laughs, and you tilt your head, pout on your face. “I’m trying to comfort you, asshole!”
He softly smiles down at you, hands rubbing up and down your sides. “Sorry, lovie, that’s jus’ not what I meant. I’m… big.”
“Oh yeah?” You give him a wolfish grin as you squeeze his bicep.
He shakes his head at your antics. “No, lovie, I mean big. Too big. Probably can’t fuck you proper tonight. We’ll ‘ave to prep and stretch you for me slowly.”
You look at him wide-eyed, lips parted. “Wait. So, how big is it then?”
“Could show you if you promise t’ behave.”
You’re lying down, propped on your elbows, watching as he lines up right where your entrance is. He doesn’t press against it or push into you– instead, he lifts and rests his heavy cock on top of your cunt. The tip of it, red and leaking, sits just under your belly button.
“Holy shit, Simon, that’s like, nine inches?”
The tips of his ears burn red, and he buries his head in your neck. “Stop it, lovie, ‘s embarrassin’, hate that I can’t fuck you proper,” he whines, his lips tickling your skin.
You rub your hand down his spine and feel his cock twitch against you. “Can’t fuck me yet, just gotta get me used to taking it right?”
Your eyes glance over to your bedside drawer, and his own follow. He reaches over you to open it, and all your brain can focus on is his thick bicep in front of your face.
“Dove, ‘ave you actually used this?” He looks at you holding the largest dildo you own. It’s bigger than your usual ones, about 7.5 inches. While it’s not as long– or nearly as thick– as Simon is, it'll be perfect to help open you up.
You cover your face with your hands and can hear slick noises as he covers the toy in lube. “Not yet, but now’s the perfect time, right?” you shyly ask.
He chuckles at you and pushes your arms back down to your sides. He teasingly rubs the silicone tip up and down your slick folds before just barely pressing it against your interest.
His large hand grabs your hips, forcing you to stay still. “Si,” you whine.
He grabs your hand in his, wrapping your fingers around the base of the silicone cock. “You wanted my cock so bad, lovie, y’gotta prep yourself. Need you to prove t’me you can take it.”
You swallow eyes trailing down to where his own hand is fisting himself right above your body– a needy moan falling from your lips at the sight.
You slowly reach down, rubbing the toy back and forth against your dripping cunt. You bite your lip as you slowly push the dildo inside you, stopping with a heavy breath just as the tip makes it inside you.
“What's wrong? Is my little dove nervous, needs ‘er Daddy's help?” He coos at you, his hand still jerking up and down his cock.
You shiver, nodding at him with a quiet whimper. “Supposed to do it yourself, you’re a big girl, dove,” he scolds you, glancing down at your teary eyes. He frowns, thumb brushing your cheek. “Think the lads are right, spoil you too much.”
His hand grabs you by the back of your neck, lifting your head to meet him in a soft kiss. You’re so caught up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, you don’t even notice he’s shifted himself until his knee is pressed against the flared base.
He presses his lips harder against yours, swallowing your tiny noises. One hand grips your hip as he slowly pushes the silicone cock into you. It’s only a few more inches, but it’s thick enough for you to start feeling a stretch.
He pulls away from you with swollen lips. “You okay, lovie?”
“Mhm, it feels good, just not used to it. Y’can keep going.”
He continues to sink the toy into your cunt inch by inch until the flared base and his knee are flushed against it. Your hands grip his shoulder, a pleased groan leaving his lips when your nails dig deep into the skin.
You wiggle your hips in an attempt to get some kind of friction– only slightly wincing at the stinging feeling of being stretched.
Simon shakes his head at you, letting your head softly fall back against the pillows. “Not gonna fuck you with it– gotta wait for that. This is about makin’ sure you’re comfortable.”
Tears fill your eyes, and a choked sob threatens to crawl out of your throat. “But I wanna cum, please daddy, need to!” you shout despite not meaning to.
“My poor little dove, did y’ think I wasn’t gonna let you feel good?” he coos at you. His hand slowly trails down your body until his thumb hovers over your puffy clit. You whine, hips jerking up instinctively.
Your eyes screw shut, your mouth falling open in a silent plea as he starts to trace shapes against your bud. You can hear the sound of him stroking himself again, and you feel yourself clench around the fake cock inside you.
“Is this what she needed, lovie? She just needed ‘er daddy to touch ‘er?” he glances down, watching you clench around the toy as he talks about your cunt.
You pant, soft cries leaving your mouth every time you feel the rough pad of his thumb press down harder against you. “Mmm, yes, needed– shit– needed daddy to make her feel good.”
You finally open your eyes, mesmerized as the hand around his cock speeds up. “Fuck, dove, not gonna last,” he mumbles before leaning down to suck at your chest.
It’s too much, everywhere. His hand on your clit, tongue circling your nipple, the feeling of being stretched like you’ve never been– and god, the wet sound of him jerking himself off.
“Daddy, ‘m cumming, gonna, gonna-” You can’t finish your sentence, cutting yourself off with a sob as the knot in your stomach finally loosens. Your cum drips down the toy and onto the bedsheets, and the sight is all he needs to do the same.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he groans, giving his cock one final tug before he’s spilling all over your stomach. The white splashes against your skin– sticky and hot.
You both stop for a moment, heavy panting filling the room, before Simon crawls off of you. You lie back, eyes fluttering shut as your body aches.
He comes back with a wet rag and an old shirt of his that's soft and well-worn. You tense as he gently pulls the dildo out of you, tearing up a little at the sudden and overwhelming feeling of emptiness. “I know, ‘m sorry, you did so perfect for me. ‘M so proud of you, took it so well, lovie, ' he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hip before softly wiping you down.
He throws on his boxers and crawls into bed next to you, pulling the t-shirt over your body. “Does that mean next time you’ll move it?”
He snorts, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms tight around you. “If you’re not too sore in the mornin’, maybe.”
thinking about roommate!ghost who's a total freak and creep...
18+ mdni !!! (smut, darkfic)
alt link; ao3
cw: fem!reader, icky!ghost, heavy dubcon (reader says stop and is very hesitant/conflicted but does want him & enjoys it), stalking, dacryphilia, forced breeding, ment. of pregnancy, cum eating / cum play, fear play, (probably) a DDNE tbh, i think that's it ?, word count: 2.4k
When you’d first saw the advertisement he posted, you half-expected it to be bait. That you’d show up, he’d answer the door, and you’d end up being just another dead girl mentioned in a distasteful true crime podcast.
Your mother always said: If it seems too good to be true, then it usually is. You should have listened to her.
On paper, the arrangement is perfect; your rent is half the price of a one-bedroom, the apartment is in an amazing neighborhood, and your roommate is gone the majority of the time.
The reality is that living with Simon Riley is complicated– nothing like what you signed up for. To put it plainly, your roommate is a complete and utter creep.
Looking back, it’s almost impressive how subtle he was at the start– at least compared to the things he does now. It made it that much easier for you to brush it off as a trauma response or bad habits from years in the military.
A week into living together, you realize that he has a horrible habit of hovering. Waiting until you’re busy with something, coming up behind you and standing just close enough that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck.
“Think you should buy it in black,” he mumbles into your ear, staring down at your phone as you browse online for a new dress.
You shriek, hands instinctively dropping your device. The loud thud it makes hitting the floor echoes in your ears. You turn around, hands instinctively pressing against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away– it doesn’t work.
You swallow, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your thighs twitch at the feeling of his hands gripping your wrists tightly. He does– he notices everything about you. “Uh, thanks, I’ll… do that.”
You expect him to let go. Instead, he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms tight around you. You can pretend you can’t feel him pressing his nose into your hair– breathing in deeply– it’s harder to ignore the feeling of his hard cock pressed against you.
“Welcome to the apartment, dove.”
Then came the staring, heavy gaze always roaming your body, staring at you for hours at a time. It's unnerving.
You don’t have to turn around to know he’s watching you– he always is nowadays. “Hi, Simon,” you mumble, hands shaking as you continue to load the washing machine.
He doesn’t reply– he never does– his eyes just continue to trail further down, soaking up every inch of bare skin your tiny pajama shorts show off.
You make it a point to wear loose pants and oversized sweatshirts after that– cover as much skin as possible– somehow that only makes it worse.
You stumble into the kitchen, oversized hoodie rifling through the cabinets to find a mug for your morning coffee.
It’s not long before you feel it again, his stare. You close your eyes, body freezing up at the unfortunately familiar feeling. “Good morning, Simon.” You’re not sure what’s worse, the words he said or the fact that he replied at all.
“Y’ like baggy clothes tha’ much, you could jus’ wear mine, dove.”
You suck in a breath, heart beating so loud you know he has to be able to hear it somehow. “I, I don’t–”
He cuts you off, eyes staring at you so hard you swear you can feel your skin burning under his gaze. “Fuckin’ adorable, thinkin’ those layers are gonna stop me from watchin’ you– droolin’ over you.”
You repeatedly tell yourself that the sinking feeling in your stomach is nausea– disgust–, but you can’t deny the sticky feeling between your thighs.
You don’t get to go anywhere by yourself anymore; he just invites himself to tag along. You once tried to sneak out– a ridiculous notion, you’re a grown woman for fucks sake– but he just somehow ended up there anyway.
There, sitting in a dark booth staring straight at you, is your roommate. Simon hates clubs, so why is he here? Better yet, how is he here?
It doesn’t take long before he’s walking up to you, grabbing you with his tattoo-covered arm, mumbling something about it being time to go home. Your friend grabs your other arm, and you can tell she’s ready to call over security. You quickly wave her concerns off, feeling his grip grow tighter each second she touches you.
“It's fine, he's my roommate– look, I’m just gonna call it a night, okay?”
The two of you lean against the building outside while you wait for the cab to arrive. A lit cigarette hangs from his lips, and the feeling of his arm around your shoulder makes you shiver despite the body heat radiating off of him.
“Simon?” you whisper, staring straight down at the sidewalk. You wait until he gives you a half-hearted hum of acknowledgement before continuing. “How did you know which club I was at?”
The silence he gives you is worse than any answer he possibly could have provided. He pulls you in closer to him, the smell of tobacco smoke is so strong you swear you can taste it on your tongue.
You hate the way your body no longer tenses at his touch– you wonder if it ever really did.
Most nights he’s home, you shoot awake, breathing heavily from the confusing dreams you have about him– not quite a nightmare, but not solely pleasant.
“Simon?” you mumble, eyes slowly blinking as you glance around your dark room before settling into a dark corner.
You scream, your hands reaching to pull your covers off. Legs wobbly as you scurry to reach the lights. “What–”
The second the masked man chuckles– low and mocking– you know it’s Simon. You avoid looking straight at him, never wanting to see that horrid skull mask again.
You don’t realize you're crying until you feel wet tears rolling down your face.
“C’mon, lovie, though’ you liked this? Seen all those blokes you watch on your phone when y’ think ‘m not lookin’.”
You’ve learned now to just close your eyes and go back to sleep, avoiding his heavy gaze from the corner of your room.
Simon’s unashamed in the way he steals from you. It’s not something uncommon to deal with when sharing a living space, but there’s nothing normal about the things he ‘borrows’ from you.
Your dresser drawers are on the floor, and random knick-knacks and papers are scattered across your room. The mood has long been ruined, but you’re now determined to find your misplaced vibrator anyway.
He doesn’t knock when he enters your room– why would he? You don’t turn around or even acknowledge him, continuing to haphazardly rifle through your things.
It isn’t until you hear a faint buzzing sound coming from his hand that he finally feels his eyes on yours. “What the fuck, Simon?” you screech, scrambling to snatch the clearly used toy out of his hands.
He tilts his head, staring at you dead-eyed. “Didn’ think you’d mind. Never say anythin’ when I use your washin’ powder or borrow those lace panties y’ like so much.” The casual confession should make you sick to your stomach– you want it to make you sick to your stomach.
You can’t help but flinch when the door gently shuts behind him, looking around at the mess you’ve made. You glance down at the silicone bullet, fingers gathering up the white, sticky liquid dripping down it.
You spread your fingers, your mouth going dry at the string of cum between them. You’re tasting him before you even realize that your hand has moved towards your mouth. It’s bitter and musky, but that doesn’t stop you from moaning around your digits.
A thought crosses your mind. It’s gross, and wrong, and it makes you no better than him– but he started this.
You close your eyes as you fall onto the bed, quickly kicking your shorts off and to the side. A soft buzzing noise fills the air as you press the already slick toy down harder on your clit.
You act like you can’t hear him breathing heavy on the other side of your door– but it’s obvious in the way your normally quiet whimpers are full-blown moans.
It doesn’t take much– you were already worked up long before he’d stepped into your room. You cum hard, too focused on the low groaning coming from outside your room to fully savor the feeling.
As you clean up your mess, you wonder if you can still claim the cheap rent is why you’ve stayed so long.
You should have known better, but your friends convinced you it’d be a good idea. After complaining to them with half-truths about how horrible and invasive your roommate is, they’d planted the silly thought of getting even in your head.
You shuffle outside his door, hesitantly reaching for the doorknob. You’re not sure what you expected when you decided to barge into his room unannounced– you try not to think too hard about what he does when you’re not there.
He’s sitting along the side of his bed, thick thighs spread wide, as his hand fists his leaking cock. You stumble, your back unintentionally shutting the door, causing him to glance at you.
“Did y’need somethin’ dove?” He doesn’t stop– doesn’t even falter– just licks his lips as he stares straight at you.
Your skin feels like it’s on fire, unable to look away from the obscene sight.
“Wha’, don’ tell me you’re embarrassed? ‘M jus’ havin’ a quick wank– hear you do it all the time.” The admission makes you choke on nothing, his cock twitching at the sound. “It’s jus’ a cock, lovie, ‘m sure you’ve seen plenty.”
You don’t mean to say it out loud, but your mouth moves against your will. “Never any that big,” you whisper, barely audible, but you know he heard it.
“Come touch it.” He doesn’t ask, just commands you to– for the first time since meeting him, you understand why he’s a lieutenant.
You hesitantly move towards him, shrieking when his hand grabs your shoulder and shoves you onto the carpet. He forces you to kneel between his legs, your pussy aching as he wraps his hand around yours, forcing you to grab his hard cock.
You can only stare wide-eyed, lips parted as he moves your hand up and down, your palm growing sticky as his pre-cum gathers on your skin.
“Fuck, tha’s it, dove,” he groans, head thrown back as he uses you to jerk himself off. Your legs snap shut at the wet noises filling up the room.
You feel your stomach twist with disgust at yourself for just letting him use you– the feeling of want dripping down your thighs only makes it worse.
You swallow, arm limp as you stare at the head of his twitching cock. “Simon, stop,” you whisper, making no move to pull away from him.
You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut tight as he shoots ropes of hot cum all over your face. You sniffle, tears falling down your face, when he suddenly leans down, gripping your jaw as he forces you to look at him.
His tongue brushes against your cheek, slowly licking off the mess he spilt on your skin. “Si,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms– he moans against your face when he feels them break the skin.
“I know, I know, lovie, ‘s not fair, is it?” he coos, pulling away now that your face is mostly clean– save for his spit. “Let me make it up to you.”
In one swift motion, he sits you at the foot of the bed, leaning back against the headboard as he pats his bare thigh– cock still hard despite the fact he just came.
It’s embarrassing how fast you discard your clothes before crawling into his lap. His thumb brushes against your cheek before pushing past your lips– looking pleased when you instantly suck the digit.
His fingers on your hip grip you tight, picking you up single-handedly before lowering you onto his length. The stretch burns, sweat coating your body as pain flashes across your face. He twitches inside you, and you know then the lack of prep was purposeful.
Your hands grip his shoulders so tight you can feel his blood pooling underneath your fingernails– his hips thrusting up into you only makes you dig into the skin harder.
He removes his hand from your mouth, reaching down to let his spit-soaked thumb hover over your swollen clit. “Simon, please, jus’ make it feel good,” you beg, grinding your hips against his as you desperately try to meet his pace.
His lips make their way to your neck, harshly sucking before sinking his teeth into your skin. You cry out, cunt clenching down on his cock as the mixture of pain and pleasure.
His lips are smeared with red when he finally stops licking at your wound– all you can taste is copper as he kisses you.
Your orgasm builds pathetically fast, you pant against his mouth as you cum around his length. He pulls away from your mouth, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm.
“You’re mine, my roommate, my dove. Even if y’ don’ say it she knows it– ‘s why she creamed all over me so quickly, yeah?”
Your body aches as you lie limply against him like a rag doll. Your mind’s hazy, unable to focus on anything other than his thick cock still dragging in and out of you.
His thrusts get sporadic, cock twitching deep inside you, and you can tell he’s close. “Si, not, hng, not inside, ‘m not, don’ take the pill–”
He snorts, hands digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll still feel them tomorrow– maybe forever. His hips snap up into you, and you can feel the tip of his cock brush against your cervix.
“Don’ worry, lovie, I won’ go runnin' away when you’re swollen w’ my kid,” he coos. As he spills hot cum in the deepest part of your cunt the promise feels more like a threat.
The thought of it– your stomach round, carrying his baby– is all it takes for you to wail into his chest, body shivering as you reach another orgasm.
The room reeks of sex and sweat, the air thick with the weight of something heavy– something akin to permanence, ownership.
His arms wrap around you, pulling you down onto your side as he buries his nose against the back of your head.
You know the trope of "calling your boyfriend drunk at the bar on girls' night out bc you missed him?" Yeah, that's Simon 'Ghost' Riley.
18+ MDNI !!!
CW: fem!reader, alcohol, no smut but suggestive, implied sub!ghost, briefly insecure!ghost, ooc tbh, word count: 1k
He was hesitant to go out drinking. Not because he didn't want to spend time with the team, but because he didn't want to lose time with you.
You convinced him anyway– said it'd be good for him– but you both knew it'd end up like this.
"He's downright gutted, Bonnie. Won't shut his mouth about you." Soap had said when he called you.
So here you are, walking into a dingy pub at 2:00 AM to track down your boyfriend. "Excuse me," you mutter, side-stepping some random patron. You glance around for a moment before noticing Gaz is waving at you from a corner booth.
"Look who's here, mate!" He cheers, trying to coax Simon to bring his head up from where it rests on the table.
You can already tell this is gonna take a minute, so you slide in next to Soap and stare straight across at your boyfriend. "Si, you ready to go?" Your soft voice seems to work as he slowly lifts his head to look at you.
"Fucking 'ell, you're a bit of me, yeah?" his words are slurred, and his eyes are wide as he stares straight at you.
You try your best not to laugh at him. "I'd hope so, we've been dating for nearly-"
He slams a fist onto the table. "We're dating? Am I dating you? You’re fucking gorgeous, love, and I’m… me. How?" he says, looking at you as if you'd just told him to solve The Riemann Hypothesis.
Price sighs from the opposite end of the table– muttering something about all his soldiers being muppets. Gaz looks at you with a shit-eating grin, and judging by Soap's laughter, you know they're never going to let him live this down.
You reach out and place your hand on his. "Yes, baby,” he whimpers at the pet name.
“We’re dating but not married? Is it ‘cause of m' ugly mug?” The tears in his eyes make your chest hurt. You shouldn't be having this conversation in front of his friends, but you have to comfort him.
"Si, I think you're very handsome– too handsome even. We're not married because we've only been dating for a few months now."
The tears stop, and he glances at you, "So you'd marry me then?"
Soap, the amazing friend he is, only eggs him on. "Yeah, Bonnie, are you gonna become Miss Lieutenant?"
The other two aren't any better. "I'd be happy to walk you down the aisle, love." Price says with a knowing grin.
Gaz pauses for a moment before showing Simon something on his phone. "Reckon you'd have an outdoor wedding like Kate's, right, mate?"
Your boyfriend doesn't nod nor disagree. Instead, he glances at you. "Want whatever kind of wedding she wants, long as 'm the groom, I couldn't bloody care less."
He's drunk, you remind yourself, letting out a sigh before standing up. "Alright, guys, think it's time we head out, yeah?"
At the mention of going home with you, Simon stands up so fast he nearly falls to the ground. "Yes. Home with the pretty bird. My pretty bird," he mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist. You softly smile when he starts kissing your shoulders through the cloth mask he's wearing.
Price shakes his head. "You got him?" You simply nod, bidding the boys a good night.
It was fairly easy to get him into the car. Once you got into his apartment, however, it was a different story.
You’re standing in his bedroom trying to convince him to let you go grab yourself some pajamas. “Don’t go,” he grunts into your shoulder.
“I’ll only be a second, baby, then we can cuddle and fall asleep,” you promise him, wiggling out of the death grip he has you in.
You search through his drawers looking for an old shirt and some of his boxers for yourself and some clean socks for him– he never sleeps right without a pair on his feet.
You pause your rifling when you spot it– a small black box. You glance over at Simon, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, pouting.
You probably shouldn't, and normally you wouldn’t, but you think back to all the marriage talk tonight. They do say drunken words are sober thoughts.
You quietly lift the box open and take a peek. It’s beautiful, you think to yourself. The diamond’s not too small nor big, and it’s cut in a shape you remember offhandedly telling him you like.
“Lovie, please, jus’ wanna hold you,” his slurred begging draws you out of your thoughts. You take a deep breath and step in front of him. He shoves his head into your chest as you run a hand down his shoulder and arm.
“Put these on, Si, I‘m gonna get comfy, then we can cuddle, yeah?” he nods against you, gently grabbing the socks out of your hand.
By the time he’s done, you’ve tossed on his shirt and start to shimmy out of your jeans. He gives a wolf whistle, placing his head in his hands and leering at you from his spot on the bed.
“Please let me eat you out, make you feel so good,” he reaches a hand out to trail along your thigh and hip.
You smack it away with a huff. “Not while you’re drunk, baby.” He gives a solemn nod, but you can see the tears in his eyes.
You frown to yourself– you hadn’t meant for it to come out that harsh. You quickly try to correct it. “Be good for me tonight and maybe in the morning, okay?” you say, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
He nods eagerly at you, pulling you into bed with him once you’re done changing. “Really meant it,” he whispers, staring at you with nothing but devotion in his eyes.
“That it’ll feel good?” you tease, giggling at the annoyed look on his face.
“No.” he pauses for a moment. “Wait. Yes. But, no, meant I wanna marry you,”
That glimmering diamond flashes in your mind. “I know,” you reply, burying yourself in his chest.
Maybe you didn’t before, but you certainly do now– and you don’t intend to forget.
thinking about your husband, price, and his team, who just love to play games with you.
18+ mdni !!! (smut, straight up smut lmao)
cw: sub!fem!reader, cnc (kind-of ?), dom/sub dynamics, poly!141 (they ALL fuck each other !!! not just reader), lowkey mean!141, discussed piss kink (but it's not heavily featured), cumplay (like it's kind of gross), rough sex, i think that covers it ?, word count: 2.1k
The polaroids had become a tradition long before the rest of your husband’s team had become involved in your relationship. It’s more than just something to help him de-stress while you’re gone– it’s an incentive to come back.
That’s why when John suggested you start sending the boys some as well, you didn’t hesitate. He loves his team so much– and so do you– so why wouldn’t you remind them what they have waiting at home?
You’ve quickly learned that they all have very different tastes– that’s what makes this game they proposed so confusing.
They’re all scattered across the living room, John’s sitting in his usual recliner. Meanwhile, Simon and Kyle are on the couch, sitting so close together their thighs are touching. Johnny’s perched in the armchair, staring straight at you with a smirk.
“I, I don’t get it?” You mumble, staring at the four polaroids lined up neatly on your coffee table, all different and all covered in various fluids
John smiles at you, eyes crinkling in a way that you know by now means trouble. “Just a silly game, love. Want you to guess who used which photo.”
You blink, slowly glancing down at the table before your eyes flicker between the men. “What happens if I guess wrong?”
The sweet smile Kyle gives you does nothing to settle your nerves. “Then Cap gets to pick who fucks your cunt tonight.” You swallow hard, knowing he’s mean enough to let Simon fuck you first purely because of how big– too big– he is. Or, even worse: let Johnny overstimulate before the rest of them ever even get a turn.
“And if I guess right?”
Simon’s eyes stare straight into yours– he’s smug as if he’s already won. “Then you get to pick, lovie.”
You pause for a moment. It’s a high-risk, high-reward scenario. You’ve taken dozens upon dozens of photos by now– you know their preferences intimately well– there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to do it.
“Alright, let’s play.”
The carpet’s rough against your skin as you kneel in front of the table. Now that you're closer to the pictures, you can see– and smell– just how gross and overused they really are.
You almost don’t want to touch them, but you know that’d be forfeiting. You can feel their ravenous eyes on you, practically buzzing in their seats from excitement.
The first one you pick up is in the best condition. A few dried stains around the edges, but the image itself is still entirely visible.
You’re in a white babydoll style lingerie– something you’d bought at a bridal shop right before your honeymoon– and you’re bent in a pose that had left you aching for days. “John,” you say without any hesitation.
The next one you pick up is also stained. In it, you’re flat on your back, lying in bed. Your black lace slip dress bunched up at your hips, legs spread wide to show your dripping cunt.
Your fingers brush against it, and you notice then just how different the liquid staining the edges is–a slightly yellow tint and far more watery. You glance up, feeling his dark-brown eyes already staring you down. “Simon.”
“Johnny!” You don’t even have to pick it up to know who it belongs to. There’s an excessive amount of dried cum covering you can hardly even see the actual image. Every time he finishes, there’s just so much– too much– your thighs squeeze together just thinking about it.
You know what he likes well enough to guess what you were wearing when you took it. An overly complicated bodysuit, all lace and straps in a borderline obnoxiously bright color.
The last must be Kyle’s; you can tell not just through the process of elimination but just by looking at it. You whisper his name before picking it up.
The image is focused on your lower half– lace stockings on your thighs with two fingers knuckle deep in your pussy. The edges are wrinkled slightly. You can practically see him gripping it tight with one hand, his fist instinctively curling up around it as he cums– crumpling the edge.
The longer the men are silent, the more confident you get. “I got it right. I know I did.”
Your stomach sinks when you hear John’s chuckle, the others shortly following after him. “What? Why are you laughing?” you frantically ask, eyes flickering around the room– unsure who to look at.
John shakes his head at you, faux sympathy shining in his eyes. “You lost, sweetheart.” He makes it sound so final– no room for argument.
You know your logic was solid, and your mind races trying to figure out where you went wrong. They must feel some sort of pity for you because one by one, they tell you the correct answers.
Simon picks up the crumbled polaroid before grinning at you. “Silly little dove, ‘M not a mutt, not gonna piss just anywhere– it’s a waste if it’s not inside. Garrick, though…”
“I’m sorry, petal, just had to go so bad– couldn’t help myself,” he whines, looking at you with a mocking pout.
You look over at John, who’s proudly holding the nastiest of them– the one you were so sure belonged to Johnny. “Saved up for two weeks for that one, poppet.”
Johnny sweetly smiles at you. “Bonnie, you looked so pretty in white, I couldnae help myself. Our pretty little wifey," he coos at you.
“That’s not fair, you tricked me. You cheated–”
John’s hand pats his lap once, then twice, beckoning you to come over. You wordlessly set yourself in his lap, back pressed against his chest as three sets of eyes stare straight at the two of you. “It’s not nice to accuse us like that, sweetheart.”
Kyle’s the first to get closer, kneeling on the floor as his hand slowly snakes up your leg. “You’re so silly, petal, can’t cheat when we’re the ones makin’ the rules.”
Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, and you can hear Johnny snickering at you.
“Stop bein’ a sore loser, dove.” Simon scolds. You make the mistake of letting your eyes trail down, his legs spread open, showing just how hard he is.
You find yourself glancing back at John helplessly. The corners of his mouth twisted up in a smirk. Your heart’s beating so hard in your chest, you wouldn’t be surprised if they could all hear it.
“Dinnae keep the poor girl waiting, Cap,” Johnny says. You can’t help but stare as his hand palms himself through his jeans.
John’s hand is cupping your face– forcing you to look at the boys. “Y’know, sweetheart, Kyle had such a rough go on this last mission. Poor lad needs somethin’ to take it all out on…”
Yeah, you're so fucked– you think to yourself.
Kyle’s normally the sweetest of the group– or at least he pretends to be– all gentle groping and loving whispers.
There’s nothing soft about the way he shoves you onto all fours. Your face is smushed against the rug, his hands gripping your hips tight, forcing your ass up– soaked cunt proudly on display.
“Who gets ‘er mouth?” Simon asks as if you’re not even there, looking over at John.
You gasp at the feeling of fingers running between your folds. “So fuckin’ wet, you like it when we treat you like a slag?” Kyle groans, staring straight at you as he licks your juices off his digits.
You try to speak, argue, only for John to cut you off. “Johnny, you want a go at it?”
Your eyes widen as you lift your head in alarm, quickly shaking it in disagreement. He may not be as long as the rest of the guys, but Johnny’s cock is heavy, and there’s always so much cum that you can never swallow it all.
“What, y’ dinnae wanna suck me off?” Soap taunts, thumb tracing your jaw as he kneels in front of you. Your cunt clenches around nothing at the sight of his leaking tip.
“C’mon now, sweetheart, be a good girl and help ‘im out, yeah?” You glance back at John and find that he’s already stripped himself and Simon. He’s got the lieutenant bent over the side of the couch, two of his thick fingers working him open.
Kyle chuckles, sliding himself in between your folds using your slick to lube up his cock. “Aw, quit whinging, Johnny, she’s just bein’ a brat– can tell by how soaked she is.”
He shoves himself into you in one go, giving you no time to adjust before he starts to thrust into you. Johnny takes advantage of the way your mouth falls open in a gasp, hand gripping your jaw as he pushes his thick member past your lips.
You can’t help but moan around him while Kyle continues to fuck you hard and fast. Every time he thrusts deeper into your cunt, he’s shoving your nose against Johnny’s pubes.
“Fuck,” he groans as his tip brushes against the deepest part of you. “Tha’s our good girl,” he mumbles, leaning down to nibble at your shoulder.
You look up at Johnny, eyes wide as you try your best to bob your head in sync with his thrusts.
The noises filling the room are obscene and overwhelming; Simon groaning as John thrusts inside him, your dripping cunt, the wet noise of Johnny and Kyle sloppily making out above you.
You can feel one of Johnny’s hands slide down your chest before roughly pawing at your breast– fingers giving sharp pinches to your nipples.
“Think she likes that, look at how she’s clenchin’ around ye.” You faintly hear him mumble against Kyle’s lips.
It’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of being full, hands all over you, the pretty noises Simon makes as John’s thrusts start to stutter.
You don’t want it to be over yet, but you can feel that tight pressure building in your body– begging at you to let go. Kyle’s hand reaches down, his thumb drawing harsh circles on your clit. Your eyes roll back, mind hazy as you cum all over his cock.
“Hng, so pretty when she lets go,” Johnny groans, his hips stuttering right before he spills in your mouth without any warning.
You gag around him at the sheer volume of it. It fills up your mouth and dribbles down your chin before he pulls out of you, shooting one last spurt of cum on your cheek. You don’t swallow yet– you know how much he loves to see it sitting on your tongue.
You keep your jaw open, white spilling out of your mouth each time Kyle lazy thrusts into you. He groans as you clench around him, knowing just how close he is.
Johnny pulls you into a messy kiss, licking his own seed off your face and out of your mouth. A string of white falls down his lips when he pulls away, finally giving you the chance to swallow the mixture of spit and cum.
The sight must be what pushes both Kyle and John over the edge. You can hear the familiar sound of John letting go, combined with the feeling of cum being split deep inside your cunt– it’s enough to bring you to another orgasm.
You breathe heavy, legs wobbly as someone, probably Kyle, tugs some boxers onto your lower half and a shirt over your head before curling up with you on the couch. You don’t question where your underwear went– Johnny’s not subtle.
You look down at the rug– a gross mess of fluids you know you’ll regret when you have to clean them later. Maybe you can convince John to let you throw it out.
“Did so perfect for us, Bonnie,” Johnny mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head.
You glance over at John and smile at the sight of him and Simon exchanging gentle touches. “Our dove always takes such good care of us,” he mumbles, curling up against your husband.
You peek at the coffee table, Polaroids still neatly lined up. “I still think you all cheated,” you grumble out, squealing when Kyle pinches at your side.
“Fine, sweetheart, you can choose the next game then,” John decides, instantly regretting the words when he sees the crazed glint in your eye.
“Awe, c’mon, Cap, that’s pure shan! Y’know she’s gonnae cheat,” Johnny whines, burying his head in your neck.
You look at your husband, a knowing smirk on your face. “Can’t cheat when you’re the one making the rules. Right, Kyle?”
thinking about the 'comes back wrong' trope with soap...
alt link; ao3
18+ mdni !!! (horror, smut, dd:dne)
cw: fem!reader, horror (psychological mostly), HEAVY dubcon, mild gore, brief ref. to drugs, ment. of blood, obsessive behavior, grief denial & mourning, dissociation during sex, minor violence, canonical character death, heavy angst, unhappy ending (guess it depends on the character though), again DD:DNE, repetition for emphasis, turns into ghoap x reader by the end, inspired by obsession (2026), word count: 4.8k
It feels wrong to be here. The kind of wrong that makes you question every step you take.
Johnny always promised he’d take you to visit his hometown one day. He swore that you’d love it, and he was right. Scotland is beautiful, really– you just wish he were here with you.
Your shoes sit next to you, a cheap pair of black flats– black like your ill-fitting dress, black like the edges of the urn you’d scattered his ashes out of. Your feet and hands dig into the sand, the rough texture anchoring you back to reality.
You’ve always hated the beach, but Johnny insisted you’d just never been with the right person– you suppose you’ll be forced to hate the gritty sand for the rest of your life, then.
Your eyes continue to stare dully out into the horizon, the occasional wave brushing against your skin.
A flinch wracks your body, leg yanking away instinctively when something smacks against the side of your foot.
Your heartbeat steadies the second you glance down and find a rock, and you quickly reach down to pick up the smooth stone. It’d be entirely grey if not for the thick white line wrapping around it.
Your fingers wrap around it, mind wandering back to a conversation you’d once had with him– not long before he’d passed.
“Am tellin’ ye, it’s a real thing!” He’d insisted, shaking his head as you’d laughed at him.
You rolled your eyes, throwing back the rest of your shitty beer as you sat in the booth with the rest of your teammates. “You expect me to believe that Scotland has magical stones that grant wishes?” you’d questioned him, eyebrow raised as you stared at him.
He shook his head, hands gesturing as he spoke. “Not just wishes– curses,”
Even Ghost chuckled, “Y’know that’s a load of rubbish, righ’, Johnny?”
Your boyfriend just scoffed, as if you were the ridiculous ones. “One day, we’ll all go visit together, and I’ll prove it tae you.”
“And what are you gonna wish for, Soap?” Gaz asked, a teasing smile on his face.
“Isnae obvious?” He shook his head before picking up your hand, placing a gentle kiss on your palm. “Am gonna wish for my bonnie lass tae be mine forever.”
At the time, the words were romantic, sappy enough to make your friends groan and mock the two of you– now they just feel like a cruel reminder.
It’s desperate, yes, but no more so than the dozens of prayers you’ve said since his death– prayers to anyone who’d listen. And it certainly can’t be any more humiliating than the muffled sobs you’d cried into your lieutenant’s shoulder as he’d forced you to look away from your body.
A dream that won’t come true can’t possibly hurt more than facing the reality of what has already happened.
“I wish John Mactavish were alive,” you whisper, your thumb brushes along the broken white line, ears ringing with Johnny’s words about curses, wishes, and stones. The air grows hot, unbearably so, as you raise your arm and toss the rock into the sea.
Bright white briefly blinds you, the sky tearing open like a familiar wound.
Your scream echoes along the beach, body scrambling backwards as you watch a strike of lightning shoot down into the water. The thump of your heart is all you can hear as your hands hurriedly slip on your shoes, running breathlessly back to your car.
The ache in your chest only worsens as you step into your apartment. The apartment that once belonged to both you and Johnny.
Price keeps telling you to box it up and just move in with him or one of the boys– he’s insistent it’s only causing more harm than good. You’ll never admit it out loud, but as you stare at traces of what’s left of the man you love, you know he’s right.
Dark green color catches your eyes as you scurry off into your bedroom– the blanket your boyfriend always used during movie nights is still draped over the couch.
You slip off your dress, tossing it into the corner with the promise to never wear it again. The same way you promised to tell Simon if you needed anything– if the unread texts on your phone are anything to go by, you’ll be wearing it again tomorrow.
Ironically, Johnny hated the dress, saying it looked like something his Nan would wear– he loathed that woman.
You like to think of it as your way of screaming ‘fuck you for dying, for leaving me here alone’. No one else will ever have to know you wore it to his half-baked funeral out of spite– or that you’ve worn it every day since.
But can you even call it a funeral if only four people gather? If instead of lowering a casket, burying a body, you’re scattering remains into the wind? You briefly ponder the question as you crawl into bed, taking a deep breath as you bury your face into the covered mattress.
It’s disgusting, but you haven’t changed your sheets since he died. Your mind is too convinced that you can still smell hints of him– cedar, amber, and cloves– on the soft fabric.
You wrap your arms around a pillow, his pillow, squeezing your eyes shut– like if you close them tight enough, you won’t notice the empty spot next to you.
It doesn’t work, yet you fall asleep anyway.
The smell of old dirt and rot fills your lungs as you struggle to wake up, your mind barely registering the arm wrapped around your waist.
You blink, slowly turning your body to find familiar blue eyes staring straight at you.
“Good morning,” Johnny whispers, voice hoarse as his thumb brushes along your cheek.
Tremoring fingers reach out to touch his neck, resting right against his pulse point. You hold your breath at the feeling of his skin beating to life underneath you.
He glances down at you, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Whit’s the matter, bonnie?”
What the fuck are you supposed to say? If he doesn’t remember dying, you don’t want to make him.
It dawns on you then that you can’t tell anyone– especially not Simon. What if they called you crazy? What if you are crazy? Worse, what if they take him from you– again?
His mouth crashes against yours, snapping you out of your thoughts. The movements are all Johnny; one hand on the back of your neck as the other slides up your bare leg. The taste of his lips is nothing familiar, though– a lingering aftertaste of decay settling on your tongue.
You pull away, heart hammering as you realize this is real. That the man lying next to you is real– the wishing stone worked.
You don’t notice how worse for wear he is until you lean back, eyes racking over his body. There’s a scar on the side of his head that was never there before– you try not to linger on it too long. His hair’s grown out a bit, his fingernails too, and his body is smeared with soil that reeks of mildew and mold.
You look him in the eyes, only slightly unnerved to find he’d been staring at you the whole time. “Johnny, why don’t I give you a bath? Like we always do after a mission, yeah?” Your voice threatens to crack as you speak.
He tilts his head, eyes squinted as if he’s flipping through memories. “Is that where I was? A mission?”
You swallow, glancing down at your shaking hands as your brain scrambles to weave a story. “Yeah, you were. We all went on a mission. You got shot, but the medics saved you. We’re on leave right now.”
His eyes stare at you unblinkingly as he slowly nods. “Aye, I remember now. We were on a mission, I got shot, am on leave. We always wash up together after,” he repeats back.
He’s sitting in the tub, arms wrapped around his knees that are pressed against his chest. You’ve gone through two washcloths already while scrubbing him down– the once white material now grimy and brown.
Your eyes trail his form for any discrepancies. You’re not sure if the fact that every single scar, mole, and birthmark is exactly where it’s supposed to be makes things better or worse. You grab the cup, gently letting the warm water wash away the last of his body wash.
He’s completely still as he watches you, content to just observe as you gently pat him dry with the fluffy towel before handing him some comfortable clothes.
“I missed you.” His words are so quiet that you barely hear the whisper.
“I missed you, too, Johnny.”
You’re happy. Your boyfriend is back, he’s alive, he’s in your arms. There is a heart beating inside his chest and something other than emptiness in your own.
You scream when you notice him, the glass cup shattering across the floor.
“What the fuck, Johnny?” you shout, voice shrill as you stomp over to the dark corner of the kitchen where he stands.
He tilts his head, his arm stiff by his sides as he smiles widely at you– too wide. “You werena in bed,” he mumbles as if that’ll calm your rapidly beating heart.
“I needed a glass of water. Are you– is everything okay?”
Silence fills the air. The kind of silence that scrapes at your skin until it hits decaying tissue like a maggot.
Your hands shake as you hesitantly reach out, rubbing his shoulder in a poor attempt at comfort– at normalcy. “Are you okay?” you repeat.
“I had a nightmare,” he admits– something not uncommon given his line of work. “I was in a tunnel, there was a gun pointed at me, and I could feel the blood pouring out of my head.”
“It was just a dream,” your voice trembles as you lie.
His hands grip your bare shoulders, fingers digging into the skin so hard you can practically feel the bruises already. “I can still feel it sometimes, dripping down my skin– can taste it every time I close my mouth.”
As if to prove his point, he presses his lips against yours. The taste of salty iron just barely brushes against your tongue. He breaks away from you, and you make the mistake of glancing at his scar– all you can see is bright scarlet.
You thrash against his grip, eyes trying to blink away the sight of him lying on the concrete, covered in gore.
“Wha’ did ye do?” He whispers, eyes piercing down at you in a glare.
Acid-like regret creeps up the back of your throat, threatening to spill from your mouth. You don’t reply– you can’t.
“What did you do?” he repeats, shaking your body as a broken cry leaves his mouth. All you can do is hold him as he mourns– you wonder if this is what Simon felt in that tunnel as he tried to shield you from the sight of Johnny.
His head is buried in your neck as you rub a hand up and down his spine. “I’m sorry, Johnny,” you whisper.
Another lie.
After all, your boyfriend is back, he’s alive, he’s in your arms– you’re happy.
It’s far too easy to settle into a routine after that– to pretend that everything’s normal– as long as you ignore the glaring disparities between the man who died and the one that came back.
You act like you can’t hear when his accent randomly drops– as if it’s something he has to manually remember to do. When he glares at you in borderline resentment, you just give him a soft smile, watching as he only snaps out of it the second he feels your eyes on him.
It’s as if when he came back, all the pieces of him got replaced.
Your Johnny hated horror movies– the imitation of him loves them. So here you sit in his lap, watching a masked man chase some poor, naive woman with a knife.
The sounds of his laugh fill the air, mixing with shrieks coming from the television as the killer finally catches up to the protagonist. His arms are wrapped tight around your waist– unbearably so. “That’s not what it’s like, you know?”
You swallowed hard at the feeling of his cold fingers on your exposed skin. You don’t ask him to elaborate– you’ve learnt better by now– but he continues anyway.
“Dyin’ doesnae feel like that, it’s better, somethin’ greater than any fuckin’ higher power. It’s nothin’ and everythin’ all at once– warmer than any cunt ye could bury your cock in and colder than any drug that could be shot up yer veins,” he rambles.
You can feel how hard he is as he presses into your ass. You tell yourself it’s desire that settles in your stomach, not fear. You’re happy– you want to be happy. You hate what a convincing liar you’ve become.
You stand up, sinking onto your knees as he spreads his thighs, his eyes never once leaving the gory scene playing. Your hands shake as you unzip his jeans, hand reaching out to free his cock.
You don’t waste time before wrapping your lips around the tip, breathing in through your nose when his hand on the back of your head forces you to take all of him down your throat.
You squeeze your eyes shut as he roughly fucks your mouth. If you concentrate hard enough, you can ignore the guttural screams coming from the movie.
You let your hand drift down between your legs, your fingers dipping past your lounge shorts and into your underwear to gather what little slick is there as you rub at your clit.
His hand slaps against your cheek, the sting forcing your eyes wide open as you glance up at him. “You scared o’ me, bonnie?”
You press harder against your clit, shaking your head as best as you can with your mouth around his cock– you could never be scared of Johnny. Your Johnny, your boyfriend who's alive.
He chuckles low, the snapping of his hips pushing his member further down your throat. Fat tears roll down your cheeks as you stare into his dull eyes. “Why are you crying? This is what you wished for?”
He spills in your mouth without any warning, forcing you to drink it all– it’s cold and tastes like ruins on your throat.
You gasp for air when he finally pulls out, giving you no time before he’s dragging you onto the couch and spreading your thighs.
He doesn’t hesitate before shoving his cock inside you, splitting your poor cunt open. “Johnny!” you cry out, hands gripping his shoulders as he repeatedly slams into you.
“Yer mine, y’know that bonnie? Not even death could do us part, aye? Tha’s why you brought me back, ye selfish hure.” You don’t reply, hazy mind too focused on the pressure building in your stomach.
He leans in close, nose touching as he whispers against your lips. “Say it, and I’ll let ye cum.”
“I’m a selfish whore! Couldn’t live without you!” you cry out before crashing your mouth against his. He bites down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, moaning into your mouth at the metallic taste.
“Alrigh’, bonnie, go on– make a mess.” That’s it all it takes for you to let go with a sob, head tossed back as a shudder wracks your body.
His pace doesn’t slow, hips continuing to snap against you as he stares straight through you. He twitches inside you, and you know it won’t be long before his own climax approaches.
“Mmm, Johnny, need, y’gotta pull out,” you whine. The second your hips start to move back, his rough hands grab them, pulling you closer to him.
He shakes his head, snickering at your blissed-out expression. “Dinnae be silly, hen. I said yer mine, and I meant it– I’ll fill ‘er up and yer gonna take every fuckin’ drop with a smile, aye?” He coos at you, hand gripping your jaw as he looks at you expectantly.
You gasp, feeling the tip of his cock brush against the deepest part of you. You nod your head, a pathetic whimper falling from your lips. “I’ll take it, fill me up, ‘m yours!” you cry out, head falling back when he finally spills inside you.
He collapses on top of you, cock still settled inside your cunt. He stares down at you, and you swear his eyes used to be a brighter shade of blue.
“You could’ve y’know?” he whispers, lips hovering over yours.
Your body tenses, weakly smiling up at him. “What?”
“Live wit’out me. You could’ve, you just didnae want tae.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing. Your boyfriend is back, he’s alive, he’s in your arms– you’re supposed to be happy.
Only, it’s never that simple, is it?
You feel like you’re going insane– you probably are. Making that asinine wish you’d made was just the first sign of your declining sanity.
Rapidly declining– you correct as you ignore yet another call from your former lieutenant.
From across the dinner table, Johnny’s staring at you; he always is. His smile is too wide. His teeth are too straight.
His grin was the first thing you fell in love with– always arguing with him that the chip on his front tooth added to his charm.
He hasn’t touched his dinner– steak, medium rare– even though it used to be his favorite.
“Did ye ever hear the tale o’ the ship of Theseus?” Johnny waits for you to reply– you miss when he used to interrupt you, voice loud as he rambled.
You nod, eyes glued to your barely picked at plate.
He continues, eyes tight as he stares at you. “The wood was rotted, the ship’s wheel broken, and the flag was covered in holes. The people of Athens repaired it, year after year, replacing it piece by piece, until there was not a single piece of the original left.”
His fist slams on the table, your eyes wide as you look at the sour expression on his face.
“Is it nae still the ship of Theseus? Am I nae still yer Johnny?”
You shift in your seat, his words ringing in your ears. You’ve given up on lying; he can always tell somehow.
“I don’t know,” you whisper, hand reaching for your glass.
He scoffs, mouth twisting into a snarl. “You dinnae ken? Ye never were good wit’ riddles, aye? How about this, then bonnie: dae ye love me?”
“I don’t know,” you repeat, desperately swallowing what’s left of your wine.
Johnny laughs, the same exact sound he’d make after he told a bad joke mid-mission. “I ken I’m not him, and am not your Johnny anymore, but is it tha’ terrible– loving me?”
You don’t reply, watching the red liquid fill your glass.
“Y’know wha’ I think about the riddle, hen? I think tha’ maybe it doesnae matter if they call it the ship of Theseus, is that nae what it is? If you call me Johnny, is that nae who I am?”
You slam your glass on the table so hard it shatters, shards slicing up your skin as sticky wine runs down your hand.
“I’m stepping out for a minute,” you announce, eyes on your back as you slam the door behind you.
You ignore the odd looks as you run down the stairs, small droplets of blood dripping down your palm and onto the floor. The sight of crimson on grey concrete is just another bitter reminder of what happened to your Johnny.
You don’t think when you press the call button, his phone barely has a chance to ring before Simon’s gruff voice comes out of the speaker. “What ‘appened, love?”
“I fucked up, bad, I don’t know– I need you to fix it, please, fix him.”
The first thing he does when you open the door is pat your body down. “I’m not injured, Simon, I just– look, you need to come up to my room.”
His eyes drift down your blood-soaked hand– but he doesn’t call you out. “You go M.I.A for weeks, don’ answer my calls, leave the fuckin’ force without a word. What the bloody ‘ell happened?”
You shake your head softly, grabbing his arm as you drag into the eerily quiet apartment. “Do you remember what Johnny told us about wishing stones? That they can curse people?”
He looks at you as if you’ve gone mental. You can’t blame him, you know how it must sound– how you probably look.
“Love…”
“No, Simon, I’m telling you, there was a stone, and I was selfish, I know, but I just wanted him back! And he’s here, but he’s, you just, you don’t understand–”
You don’t have time to prepare him before Johnny, your Johnny, stumbles into the living room, his body upright and rigid, fists balled at his sides. “Really, bonnie, ye called, LT?”
For the first time since you’ve known him, you can hear hesitance in Simon's voice. “Johnny?” he whispers, slowly approaching him, his palm outstretched as if he’s terrified the other man will run.
“In the flesh,” he replies, a smug smile on his face as he stares Simon down, making no move to get closer to the man.
The look Simon gives you makes you sick to your stomach. It’s a look of gratitude, like you’ve done something noble. “Dove, what did you do?” Awe taints his words, his thumb brushing along your boyfriend’s jaw.
“I didn’t know it’d work. I don’t know what to do, he's...”
Johnny scoffs, face pinched as he shoves the man away. “Dinnae ken why she’s like this, LT. Disnae love me even though am still her Johnny, your Johnny, look exactly like him.”
You take a step towards him, red smearing the side of his face as you touch him– he smiles at the familiar scent of iron. “I love you,” you say, knowing deep down that it's not quite the truth.
“Do ye love him?”
It’s an unfair question, one you can’t answer– one you’ve never been able to– but just like your Johnny would, he asks you anyway.
“Do you love him?” he asks again.
Simon comes to your rescue, the way he always does. His arms wrap around Johnny, burying his nose in his hair as he breathes in deep before pulling away– you wonder how he can stand the stench of death that clings to your boyfriend.
“Course she loves ya' , we both love you so much,” Unlike you, Simon doesn’t lie to him– you know he means every word. “Tha’s why she called me. Y’know our poor dove gets overwhelmed so easily.”
The words seem to calm him down, any hints of something deeper than anger leaving his face. “You both love me, our poor dove just got overwhelmed.” He repeats the words back, as if he’s committing them to memory.
“Exactly, Johnny, why don’ you go wait in the bedroom? Give us a minute to talk?” Johnny listens to Simon– the same way he always used to– quietly walking into your bedroom and shutting the door behind him.
“Simon, you don’t, he’s been so… he watches me all the time, and sometimes I think he fucking hates me–” You can’t help the sob that wracks your body, crying into his chest as his arms wrap around you.
“It’s okay, lovie, I know, dealin’ with this all by yourself, ‘s too much, yeah? But ‘m so proud of you, y’ brought our Johnny back.” The pride in his words makes you flinch, sweat dripping down your spine.
You distance yourself, head shaking so fast you swear the room starts to spin. “He’s not our Johnny, he’s someone else–” Your protest falls on deaf ears.
His rambling doesn’t stop, your protest falling on deaf ears. “–Gonna fix ‘im, and it’ll be the three of us– like it was always ‘sposed to be,” he coos, thumb brushing along your jaw before his mouth crashes into yours.
Kissing Simon is nothing like kissing Johnny; all you can taste is him– all you can taste is life. You melt into his touch, hands eagerly caressing his arms, unable to hide your surprise at the warmth of his skin.
He pulls away first, hand wrapping around yours as he drags you towards the bedroom. His voice cuts you off before you even have the chance to plead with him. “C’mon, lovie, ‘m fixin’ your mess, you owe me– owe us– made poor Johnny think y’ don’ love him.”
The way your arm jerks back gets ignored as he pushes you onto the bed. Your feet scrape against the floor as you kick and try to break away from him.
Johnny’s eyes are on the two of you before you even enter the room, his stiff body relaxing as soon as you land next to him on the mattress. “Missed ye,” he whispers, pulling you into his lap, frigid arms squeezing your waist. The all too familiar smell of death fills your lungs as he buries his head into your neck.
You hate yourself for moaning when he sticks his hand past your underwear. “All tha’ from a little kiss?” Johnny coos as he crawls on top of you.
Simon chuckles, kneeling by the bed as he drags Johnny into a kiss. Our Johnny– the words he’d said ring in your ears as you watch the two paw at each other. A string of spit connects the two, faces flushed as they pull away. “All tha’ from a little kiss, Johnny?”
You don’t protest as Johnny starts to rub his hard cock against your clothed cunt. Lips parting with a moan as he grinds against your clit. It’s easy to pretend that the pit in your stomach is want and not guilt.
As Simon stares at you, you realize he was right. You’re so selfish, making poor Johnny– your Johnny, Simon’s Johnny– think you don’t love him.
“I’m sorry, been so horrible t’ you, swear I love you, you’re our Johnny.” You cry, fingers digging into his shoulders after a particularly harsh roll of his hips.
“Told y’ so, Johnny,” Simon mumbles, his lips trailing down your neck. You’re unsure when he moved, but his chest is pressed against your back, hands on your hips, forcing you to chase that pleasure building in your lower stomach.
No, not forcing– helping. You want this. You want him. You love him. It’s one thing to believe your own lies; it’s another to make Johnny believe them too.
“I love ye too, bonnie, love both o’ ye–” Simon moans into your skin at the words, rutting his own hard on against you. “Ye both love me, poor bonnie jus’ go’ overwhelmed– didnae mean it, aye?”
You’re not sure whose orgasm comes first or whose comes last. The sounds of panting and moaning all mix into the air– somewhere in the back of your mind, you can faintly hear the sounds.
Simon crawls into bed next to you, his head lying on your chest, an arm stretched over you to rest on Johnny’s side. Your body swelters under his touch, his feverish skin a harsh contrast to the icy feeling of Johnny pressing against your back.
As you fall asleep, you wonder if this is what Johnny meant– if this is what death feels like. Hot. Cold. Nothing and everything all at once.
It's borderline infuriating how easily things fall into place once Simon moves in– more and more glimpses of your Johnny peeking through.
You can't be surprised, though, after all, Simon's always been terrifyingly efficient at fixing your mistakes, cleaning up your messes.
You’re sitting at the dinner table again, your glass was replaced weeks ago with a plastic cup– safer, Simon had insisted.
Johnny’s staring at Simon, a half-eaten steak sitting on his plate, but his gaze occasionally drifts towards you.
“Thank you for makin’ dinner, dove.” Simon coos at you, red dripping from his lips as he swallows the sickeningly raw steak. You suspect the only reason he likes it so much is that the metallic cut of meat tastes like Johnny’s lips.
Your plastic fork picks at the salad on your plate– just the thought of eating anything else brings a sour taste to your mouth. You feel eyes on you, glancing up to find both of the men staring at you.
You smile at them, your eyes as dead as the man you loved.
Johnny is back, he’s alive– even if all of his original parts have been replaced, it doesn’t matter.
five times ghost tried (and failed) to flirt with you + one time you flirt back
(fluff, humor, no smut but one (1) mildly suggestive paragraph)
cw: gn!reader (terms love, bonnie & dove are used though), mentions of taxidermy, bugs & necrophagy, weird & awkward!ghost, implied undiagnosed autistic!ghost and heavily implied autistic!reader, i think that's it ?, word count: 2.4K
The first time you see Ghost is not the first time you speak to him.
Admittedly, bumping into him was your fault. It was a busy day, and Captain Price had emailed you a hefty amount of paperwork to sort and get signed. You didn’t even have time to actually say sorry– just an apologetic smile before you’d scurried off to get the document signed. You’d left a proper note on his desk with a tin of the tea you’d seen him drinking.
He didn’t approach you after that– not that you were expecting him to– but you did notice his stares from across the room.
Soap tried to comfort you, insisting that the Lieutenant doesn’t hate you. It’s hard to believe that as you watch him stalk over to the table where you and the sergeants sit.
“Lt, what can I give ye a haun with?” Johnny asks, grinning up at him.
Ghost’s eyes are set on you unblinking. Gaz glances over at you, brow raised as if you have any clue what’s going on either. You fidget in your spot; the only thing you can hear is your heart beating in your chest.
“Been lookin’ for you, gonna ‘ave to take you out.” His voice comes out flat as he stares down at you. Your eyes widen when you notice the knife proudly displayed on his hip.
Your blood runs cold, and you quickly jump up from your chair. “No need! I was just about to leave anyway,” you nervously laugh before scurrying off– feeling his eyes follow you the whole way.
The next time the two of you speak is a week later, when you step outside for a breath of fresh air. He leans against the side of the building and puts out his cigarette the second he sees you.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was out here,” you meekly apologize, pressing yourself against the wall in a poor attempt to hide away.
He’s silent as he approaches, slowly walking towards you before grabbing at your shoulder, forcing you to crouch down with him. “See that?” He points to the dirt, and you squint.
It’s… a group of bugs– small, black, with weird antennas. You glance over at him only to find he’s already looking at you. You muster up a smile and nod.
“Dermestid beetles, sometimes called hide beetles,” he says, reaching out a hand to let one crawl across his finger. “Used a lo’ in forensics, they feed on ‘uman carcasses. Can estimate the time of death.”
He reaches his hand out to you, eyes locked onto you as he waits for something– you’re not sure what. You swallow your nerves and reach out a finger, gently running it along the back of the bug.
His eyes widen for a moment, and you’re hoping you didn’t offend him. You quickly pull your hand away, watching as he gently sets the beetle back on the ground.
He stands up, staring down at you before nodding and walking away– this time, it’s your eyes trailing after him.
One of the perks of working on a military base is the state-of-the-art gym you have 24/7 access to for free. You don’t really have a set routine; you normally just show up randomly when you need to destress.
You yelp, pausing the cycling machine when you suddenly feel someone standing behind you. Honestly, you shouldn’t be surprised that somebody else had the idea to work out at nearly midnight.
“Didn’ mean to scare you.” Ghost’s voice comes from behind you. You quickly stand up and turn around to face him– not realizing just how close he is to you.
You stumble back, and his hands reach out to stop you from falling over. “Sorry, I’m just jumpy, probably wasn’t the best idea to have such a late-night workout,” you admit, staring up at him.
“Trouble sleepin’?”
You give a non-committal hum. “Something like that… just needed to blow off some steam.”
Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest as his fingers delicately trace up and down your arm, rubbing soft circles onto your wrist. His eyes never leave your face, staring at you as if he’s calculating something in his mind. “Y’ got tough skin, solid bones– bet they wouldn’t snap easy. Could spar if y’want?”
For a brief moment, your mind betrays you; images of him on top of you flash in front of you.
You think about his lips hovering over your neck and how nice the pressure of his body on yours would be. Your breath stops, and you swear you can already feel his heavy weight caging you in between his body and the floor.
You quickly shake your head– both an answer and an attempt to ward off the traitorous thoughts. “No, I should probably head to sleep. Price needs me to help with a meeting pretty early.”
He nods, dropping your wrists, before heading towards the weights.
As you walk back to your barracks, you find yourself missing the brief feeling of his skin against yours.
It’s one of those mornings where anything that can go wrong has. Your alarm didn’t go off, so you had to rush to get dressed. You couldn’t stop for your morning coffee, and you know your lunch is sitting on your kitchen counter, spoiling away.
It shouldn't upset you this much, but anytime your routine gets disrupted, it throws your whole day off.
Venting about it to your favorite co-worker helped a little, but as you walk back to your office, all you can think about is how miserable it’ll be to wait until you get home to finally be able to eat something.
When you finally sit down at your desk, you’re shocked to see a brown paper bag that looks like it’s seen better days. You stare for a second, glancing around your empty office as if someone’s going to jump out at any moment.
You slowly empty the contents: a water bottle, your favorite brand of chips, and a peanut butter sandwich. You pick up the bag and inspect it, flipping it over to find a small note scrawled on it. ‘Made this for you,” followed by Ghost’s signature and the tiniest doodle of a smiley face.
Upon further inspection, the water bottle’s been opened, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s drunk from it. The sandwich is slightly stale– you’re pretty sure the bread is expired. You’re also not sure how he knew you forgot your lunch, but the effort is endearing.
After devouring the chips, you hunt him down, finally finding him sitting with his team. “Everything alright, love?” Price questions.
You nod, pretending not to notice the way Ghost tenses up at the term of endearment. “I just wanted to tell the Lieutenant thank you. I forgot my lunch, and he was kind enough to drop one off for me.”
Gaz looks at you, pity in his eyes. “And you… ate it?”
You glance at Ghost, no longer surprised to find him staring at you. “Yeah? I mean, should I not have?” You laugh despite your words not being a total joke.
You watch as the sergeants exchange glances before shrugging at you. Your smile falters, and you nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “Right, well, I have to get back to some paperwork, but uh, thank you really, Ghost.”
“Simon. Call me Simon.” It goes silent for a moment, Soap’s eyes comically wide as he gawks at you.
“Oh, wow, that’s– okay. Thank you, Simon,” you whisper, an electric feeling crawling down your spine.
His mask slips a little, showing just the tiniest hint of his nose and cheeks– you swear for a second you can see a pink flush on the sliver of skin. “You’re welcome, dove,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but at you.
You blinked, head tilted at the sudden term of endearment– this is good, right? You don’t give people you hate cute nicknames; well, you can do that too.
“See you around, big guy!” you grinned, turning around and walking off. You didn’t get to see the way Soap’s jaw dropped, or how Gaz choked on his own laughter.
When you glance back one final time as you walk away, you lock eyes with him as he grumbles something to his now yelling teammates.
You nearly scream when you open your door to find Simon sitting stiffly on the small sofa you keep in the corner. “Sorry, you surprised me. Is there anything…” You glance at him and notice the way he’s staring straight through you. His body is stiff, and his fists are clenched as if he’ll need to swing them at any minute.
“Rough mission, big guy?” you softly ask, placing your papers down before sitting next to him on the couch.
You don't expect a response, but he gives one anyway. “Made a bad call, ‘s all.”
You’re not sure what to say, but he’s kind of your friend now, so you try anyway. “I have some paperwork to do. If you want to you can just sit here with me for a minute?” He doesn’t say a word, just nods, finally letting himself relax.
The silence and intense stare should make you feel uncomfortable, but instead, you find it oddly soothing. You wonder when Simon’s presence went from something that made you tense up to a comforting heat that makes you melt.
He doesn’t speak; he knows he doesn’t have to, just watches as you quietly fill out form after form for hours.
It isn't until he's shutting your office door that he finally opens his mouth again. “Thanks, dove.”
It’s Soap who finally snaps and brings it to your attention. “Do ye ken what you’re doin’ to him bonnie?” He asks, inviting himself into your office.
You pause, setting your pen down, before glancing over at the sergeant. “I’m sorry, what am I doing and who am I doing it to?”
He groans, running a hand down his face dramatically. “Lt, yer killin’ the lad. He’s mad about you– down bad– you gotta stop toyin’ with him.”
“Simon–” He throws his hands in the air, smug grin practically screaming ‘gotcha’ at the use of the lieutenant's given name. You ignore him and continue. “Simon is just now my friend and barely that; he hated me not too long ago!”
He looks at you, and you can’t help but shrink a little at his stare. “You’re takin’ the piss. Please, please, tell me you’re takin’ the piss.”
You open your mouth only to snap it shut when he cuts you off. “You cannae be this daft. He’s been tryin’ tae pull you for months.”
You don’t get it, not really, but it also makes sense somehow– a lot more sense than you and the lieutenant having an enemies-to-besties arc. “Oh.”
You make your move exactly three days later, knocking on his office with shaky hands, heart in your stomach.
“Come in.”
If he’s surprised to see you, he doesn’t show it. “Hi,” you whisper, hands behind your back. “I uh, I didn’t know you were flirting with me,” You blurt out, suddenly wishing you had prepared better.
He slowly blinks at you, taking a moment to process your words. “You didn’?”
You shake your head, you shift your weight, and resist the urge to run and hide. “No, I actually thought you hated me at first.” He laughs at you; you should be upset– instead, you’re plotting how to get him to make that pretty sound again.
“Silly dove, had me thinkin' you were miffed with me. ‘Course I was flirtin’. Offered to take you out, even wore my best knife, introduced you to my friends–”
You start to point out that you’d already known Soap, Price, and Gaz until it dawns on you that he’s talking about the beetles he’d shown you. “Complimented you, made you lunch, we even went on that date.”
“The day in my office does not count as a date, you know.”
Despite the mask, you can tell he’s frowning– it’s obvious in his brow furrow ever so slightly. “It doesn’?” You shake your head, and he lets out a thoughtful hum.
Before you can psych yourself out of it, you shove the tickets in his hand. He slowly twirls the paper, glancing at it front and back. “What’s this, then?”
You take a deep breath. “It’s for a taxidermy class this weekend. I thought maybe we could go together. As a date– a real one.”
His eyes widen, and he suddenly loosens his grip on the paper– treating it as if it’s something fragile. “I didn’ scare you off?”
“I mean, maybe a little at first, but I like you, Simon– a lot. I like that you call the bugs your friends, and you don’t even realize how intimidating you are. I think it’s cute that you tell little dad jokes, and it’s nice how I can just be quiet around you without it being awkward.”
He swallows and stares at you as if you’d just offered him the world– and maybe, you did. “But… I’m weird. Don't like what people normally do or get wha' they actually mean. I'm bad at touchin' and I don't know how to be normal. Price said–”
You can’t help the laugh that falls from your mouth. “Oh my god, Simon, I just asked you on a date where we’ll stuff dead animals. I don't care what Price or anyone else says.” You give him a soft smile.
“I'm not normal either. I'm horrible with social cues. I need to have a routine, and sometimes my clothes make me feel like my skin's peeling off. I think we’re both the same kind of weird.”
He doesn't put a label on himself, so you don't either– but maybe one day you can approach the topic with him.
“Oh. Well, yeah, I’d like that.” The two of you stay like that for a moment, him sitting at his desk, you standing by it just staring at each other. “Can I hug you?”
The second you nod, he’s standing up, chair flying back at how quickly he tries to get to you.
It isn’t like the movies; your legs don’t wrap around his waist, and he doesn’t grip your hips. Instead, he bends down slightly, his arms lying stiffly on your shoulders.
He buries his nose in your hair and breathes in deeply. Your face is awkwardly smushed against his chest, and you have no choice other than to let your arms hang by your sides.
