Idk if you do requests or suggestions n stuff like that, so feel free to ignore this, but how do you think Simon would feel about a significant other who got caught in an explosion or something that badly scared/disfigured half her face?
She’s not insecure enough to hide her face because of it, but she gets irritable when people stare, and will will sometimes make self deprecating jokes about being an, “eyesore” and how she, “ain’t exactly a beauty anymore”
a/n: this is actually the first time anyones requested anything from me and it made me so happy omg
masterlist here
buy me a ko-fi
warnings: mentions of injury, blood, scars, a dash of smut
word count: 1.4k
The scarring that covered a little under half of your face rarely bothered you. The occasional tightness or twinges of pain with the weather changes was the worst of it and nothing that couldn’t be remedied with a thin coating of bio oil and a gentle massage.
The appearance of the scarring didn’t bother you either, compared to the angry red skin that had first grown back after the explosion.
One misplaced charge by a newbie to blow open a door had sent you sprawled on your ass, your pride hurting. You’d hardly noticed the pain until you’d seen Johnny white as a sheet when he kneels down over you, “Don’ worry lass, ‘ve gotcha.”
“Johnny?” You ask, a little out of sorts from the shockwave of the charge.
“Lass, ‘ve gotcha!” He affirmed, stripping your helmet and his tac gear, before his thin cotton vest was pressed over your face.
“Ah know, lass, best ah can do now.”
“Can’t see, Johnny…”
“Hush, lass, gotta keep you covered. Yer in a state… Bleedin’ through already.”
Johnny kept heavy pressure on your face, barking out orders at the others on how to complete the mission, all the while holding his vest pressed tightly, so tightly onto your face.
“S-soap, i’ hurts,” you moaned.
“Hush, lass, we’ll get out soon,” His hands disappeared from your face and you were being hauled up into his arms, “Gotta finish the mission then we’ll get you to a medic, promise.”
Ghost is in the medical wing before your wounds have even been cleaned, “Where’s the fucking shithead who placed the charge!”
You blink, swiping at some of the blood covering your face.
“The rookie’s still in debrief, Ghost, she only came here because she needed medical,” Soap says.
“Get that little asshole in here, he’ll need medical by the time I’m done with him.”
The healing had been slow and painful as your nerves knit themselves back together.
“You don’ have to worry about getting revenge on the rookie, lass,” Johnny said one day as he visited you in the medical wing, “Ghost has been at the poor dog’s heels, not giving him a moment’s rest. Think he’s about to keel over and die from the amount of suicides hes been given.”
Ghost sleeps in the armchair next to your bed.
Ghost helps to remove the stitches after you insisted on not returning to the hospital.
Ghost is the one who helps to massage the medicated creams on while you grit your teeth at the bone deep pain that radiates.
Ghost is the one ready to bite off heads when people so much as let their eyes linger on the raised and angry skin.
“Don’t worry about it, Simon, I really don’t mind the looks much. People are just wondering what happened,” The mission had been need-to-know and even the details of your injury weren’t allowed to leave confidential briefings.
Your opinion changes as your scars settle into a raised and mottled mauve, pockmarks and dents covering half of your face, the stares on base continue.
“What, you’ve never seen an eyesore before? I think you’d be used to looking at one in the mirror every morning with a face like that,” You snapped at a new recruit who had completely stopped in his tracks, mouth opened in shock at your appearance, “Meet me in the gym tomorrow at oh-six-hundred. You’re going to learn to respect your superiors' battle wounds the hard way,” You snarled out at him.
Off base, the stares are worse so you begin to limit your time on leave.
You grit your teeth and set your face in a hard line in public, schooling your expression so that people don’t notice the way that their wide-eyed glances hit you like punches.
You don’t notice how fewer stare when Ghost is around, he’ll glare them down over your head and make them scurry away before their eyes even reach you.
You don’t notice the way Ghost’s eyes darken in the rec room when you make a joke to the lads about being “damaged goods” and “Frankenstein” even if your eyes are filled with tears of laughter as you cackle at your own jokes.
“Don’ like hearing you talk like that,” Simon corners you after you leave the rec room to refill your drink.
“Jesus Christ! Simon! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” You clutch your chest where your racing heart resided, “Give a girl some warning before I attach a bell to you.”
He didn’t speak for a beat, “I don’t want to hear you calling yourself ‘damaged goods’ anymore, love.”
“Just speaking the truth, Si,” You gestured at your face, the still painful and shiny skin, “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought it too? I know I wasn’t winning beauty contests before, but now I would probably be better as a scare actor.”
“Tha’s not true.”
“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m your girlfriend!”
“If I was bein’ nice I’d tell you tha’ you were the scariest,” Simon begins, still kissing down the line of scarred flesh, now reaching your chest, free of scars.
“You’re so pretty,” Simon murmurs against the line where healthy flesh met mottled scarring, “Want you to say it back to me, love. Need to hear you say it.”
The healthy skin of your face began to flush, nearly matching your scars in color, “Si-”
“I need you to know how pretty you are to me, before and now,” His kisses continue tracing your healed wounds, “Never seen a prettier bird.”
His hands trace your hip bones, settling at their crest, “Before I could only think how soft you were, that I had to protect you on missions. Nearly got my head blown off more than once. Now all I can see is how strong you are,” His hands begin to trail lower, petting over your stomach and then lower still.
“There she is,” He coos when you jump as his fingers make contact, “Now tell me how pretty you are for me doll, wanna hear you say it before I make you cry it f’ me.”
He makes you cry that night.
He switches from nipple to nipple, “Say it, lovie,” He tells you as he pauses to thumb at your nipple, giving his mouth a break.
“‘M pretty,” You whimper out.
“Again,” he says, kissing down your stomach, “Give yourself another compliment, sweet girl.”
“Si!”
“I’ll help you pretty girl,” He coos at you, in between mouthing at your hip bones, “You’re strong, now say it.
“I-I’m strong,” Now his mouth travels lower still, you wriggle trying to rush him into going faster. He can tell your game and deliberately pulls his mouth off, “You’re impatient too, lovie, but I’ll forgive it and give you what you need if you give me another compliment.”
“‘M not an eyesore!”
“That’s right, you’re beautiful, lovie,” He finally lowers himself to give tiny licks at your clit sending you jerking up into his mouth.
“Everytime you say those things about yourself it drives me mad that you don’t see what I do. Even with your scars you’re still beautiful and sexy and knowing you’re all mine makes me hard as a fucking rock.”
You whimper under him, trying to grind down onto is tongue to get more, more, more.
“So pretty for me, pretty face, pretty body, pretty cunt,” Simon murmurs into you, pulling his mouth away just long enough to watch his fingers tease along your hole before slipping one inside, “Givin’ me the prettiest little moans when I touch…here,” He crooked his fingers inside of you and made you jerk under him, crying out.
“The scars just make you prettier, dove,” Simon says, “Shows me you’re real and can take anything the world can give you. That you can’t be taken from me.”
His words fizzle into your brain as you grind down onto his finger everytime it thrusts into you, “Si, more,” You pant out, “Need more.”
“Gimme another one, pretty girl.”
“‘M brave,” You can barely get the words out, torn between trying to whimper out praise to yourself to try and get Simon to do more or to beg him for it instead.
“Good girl, you’re listening so well,” He slid another finger inside of you, “You’re so brave sweet girl,” He kissed your thigh.
