Gentle touch is something they have to get used to again.
Simon Riley x Reader. descriptions of ptsd. fluff. unedited.
You touch his arm gently, trying to get his attention. It was just to ask a question…probably about groceries, but it completely left your mind as your gentle giant flinched violently at your touch, lurching away from you like he got burned.
“What.” He snaps, the aggression of a wounded dog. Fists clenched, shoulders tense around his ears as he quickly stood, scanning the room.
You froze, suddenly hesitant. “Just had a question.” Trailing off you noticed his chest heaving as his eyes shifted into something that you didn’t recognize. A person that he turned off before he got home so you wouldn’t have to see.
“Babe?” He had only been home for less than a day from a six month long mission. He never told you what they were about or what he had to do. This was the longest he had been gone since your relationship started, before it was only weeks at a time.
He huffs shakily, “You can’t…do that. Not after-” he brings a hand to his face roughly. “Fuck.”
“Okay.” You say slowly, not moving from your spot on the couch. “No touches that you can’t see or are unaware about. Gotcha.”
He nods from behind his hand, shoulders shaking in a way that happens when you come down from an adrenaline rush. You’ve had days like that. When you flinched anytime someone walked behind you or spoke to closely. What he went through during this deployment must have been up close and personal. From having to watch your back constantly to suddenly not is jarring.
“Can I come to you.” You ask gently, trying to present yourself to the soldier side of him as a civilian; his lover, his friend.
“Yes.” His voice comes out rough but calmer as you approach. He takes his hand away from his eyes, watching as you stand in front of him.
You make sure he’s watching as you lift your hands, hovering over his chest.
“May I touch you Simon?”
Simon shivered, some of the darkness finally bleeding out of his eyes. The name a reminder of who he was underneath it all.
“Yes.”
His chin dipped to his chest watching as you slid your hands over his chest, pressing into the warmth.
Not a threat not a threat not a threat, his heart beat over your hand as you slid them over his shoulders.
“M’ sorry”. A rough whispered guilt ridden apology that you tsked away.
“Don’t apologize. I’ve been there.”
He shook his head. “My body was ready to fight back, I could’ve-”.
“No.” The word final as your hands paused their exploration. “You knew, you moved away. You’re not all Him.”
“Sometimes it feels like it.”
“I know.” You rub his chest. “But that’s not something I’m going to hold against you. If you need space when you get back you can tell me. Or you can be the one to initiate touch first, I don’t care.”
Simon brought his hands to his face, “I don’t want it to be like that.”
“Hmm.” A noncommittal sound as you trail your hands to his, resting on his cheeks.
Taking his hands down he intertwines them with yours, letting out a weighted sigh. “Thank you”
"When the men came
My pack mates ran
All but my mother
At the mouth of the den
Trembling-shot down.
The men reached in
I cringed with the others
My brothers and sisters
Their puppy fur pressed
To my furless skin
The men clubbed them dead
And pulled me outside
Though I bit and clawed
To the horrible harsh daylight
And tried to make me stand
On my long hind legs
I had not yet learned to weep
So I bared my teeth instead
And damned them they smiled.
We have saved the child they said
The poor wild thing
A good day's work
We have rescued her they said."
