Oh He Makes Me SICK

subsimon is like…all i’ve ever written. like there’s just something so sonic about being a sub. he’s a crier. he cries during it and humps your thigh when u feel too sore or you’re denying him. he growls but also whimpers and buries his head into your neck.

Ghost cries those thin silent tears, glares the whole time he does it, like you're in the wrong for forcing them out of him. If you keep pushing though, he'll break. You'll get those big heaving sobs out of him, the kind that mean sex is over and you need to hold him for a while. The sort that mean you've pushed past whatever was bothering him into catharsis. The sort that mean he'll fall asleep on top of you, and you'll have to struggle to tug the blankets up over you both while pinned. Don't bother trying to move him, he'll pull you back like an octopus.

He'll hump your leg, sure, but you can also make him lay back and hold his heavy cock up, make him squeeze the base tight so he doesn't come as you rub yourself against him. Your hips moving fluidly as you drool against him, giving your own sweet sounds a chance to shine, each buck of your hips dragging your sensitive parts against his cock. And he just has to stay there, hold himself steady like the good little sniper he is as you chase your own pleasure. He doesn't need to come does he? No... no this is for you, his cock is only for your pleasure, he knows that. That's why he's such a good boy letting you do what you like with it. That why he lets you come on his cock and thanks you for it, why he asks if he can come and begs so nicely when you take him in your hand.

He needs some level of control, needs to feel like he's participating, but he also needs you to tell him what to do, how to do it. Needs you to look him in the eye and say sweet things, tell him you love him and that's why you're using him. You don't have to love him like a person, you can love him like a pet, or a toy, he can be a toy. He just wants to hear it. "I love you Simon, my good boy," makes him come no matter how many times you say it. You might be conditioning him at this point. That's fun.

didn't forgot about these two Links

once again why did we let masquerade balls and handwritten letters and heart lockets and daggers strapped to thighs go out of fashion

Reader: *Finally snapping after years of mental abuse, losing all kinds of self conservation instinct, smashing someone's head with a rock.*

Ghost, just as mentally fucked and with even less conservation instinct: Yeah, I could fix her.

I just think they could work perfectly fine, with like no angst at any given moment and just perfectly healthy and not self sabotaging from any of them. Hehe

✷ Your Last Embrace ✷

two weeks after your second anniversary was when john decided to first break the news to you.

he's a man, he'd told you. always had been, just didn't know how to articulate that until right at that moment. he wanted to transition, to take testosterone, cut his hair, change his name, the works. he'd looked so, so nervous, holding your hand so gently, like he was afraid he might crush your knuckles if he held on as tightly as he wanted to.

just tell me what you need, i'm not going anywhere. you'd said, and he pulled you into his arms and cried into your hair. you meant it, too. you'd cut his hair for him, giving him a smart looking crew cut, and taken him to all of his appointments. new clothes were bought, elderly relatives were spoken to and given boundaries, the works. it was an honor to do it, to be john's support as he ventured into the unknown, traversing new and uncharted waters.

you'd had the absolute privilege of having a front row seat to the transformation of john price. the good, the emotional, all of it. every new step in the process was an adventure, a thrill. the nervous joy about getting the initial consultations set up with the right people. his barely restrained excitement over the patchiest peach fuzz you'd ever seen in your life. the voice memos to himself, recording the changes in his voice and comparing them on occasion. the mood swings, the acne, the bulking up. buying binders, and burning one in celebration a few years later when he no longer needed them, pink crescent-shaped scars adorning his chest. watching the scars get completely covered by thick body hair that covers almost every inch of him. watching him watch himself in the mirror, and seeing the smile at his reflection grow more and more over time.

it's incredible how much his confidence grew, how much more self-assured he felt. the first time someone called him 'sir' at a supermarket he'd rushed home to tell you about it, grinning so wide you thought it might split his face in half. gender euphoria, he'd called it, and you can see why. every time he felt it, whether it was looking good in a shirt post-surgery, getting consistently gendered correctly by strangers, or noticing that the dents in his shoulders from where his bra straps had been were slowly disappearing thanks to the growth of his muscles, the joy he experienced leaked out of the heart of him, dripping onto the floor and flooding the room with it. his happiness, his bone-deep contentment, his elation is infectious, and you're happy to catch it time and time again.

and now here he is, years later, still by your side. a husband this time, not a girlfriend like when you'd started out. the role suits him beautifully, if you're honest. much better than girlfriend ever did. the thought strikes you as you watch him do the dishes, and you can't help but admire the change in him. his beard is a matter of pride, thick and well-groomed, his chest, arms, back, hell, everything, is covered in a thick layer of hair as well. his shoulders are broader, his voice deeper, and his face is more angular. it's nothing short of incredible to watch him become the person he was always meant to be, and a feeling of immense love and pride wells up inside of you, borderline overwhelming.

you stand right next to him, silently wrapping your arm around his waist and kissing his shoulder through his shirt as he rinses a plate from lunch. you can't make the words come out, how much you love him, how much his joy brings you joy, how fucking good he looks, how sexy you think he is, how proud you are of how far he's come. instead you say nothing, opting instead to keep peppering his shoulder with pecks and squeezing his waist, hoping that might get the point across. john just throws you a curious, chuckling smile, right before he gently rests his socked foot on top of yours. no pressure, just resting, his way of holding your hand when his hands are busy. you both stand there for a while in a comfortable quiet, just enjoying being next to each other. john's someone whose company you'll never tire of, never not want desperately. even when you're tired of people and need some time alone, that doesn't include him. john isn't 'people', he's john. the glowing, perfect, singular exception to the rule. and you lucky, lucky thing- he's all yours, according to the rings on your fingers.

"you're so easy to love." you blurt out as john puts the last dish in the drying rack. he grins down at you, the smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"so are you, sweetheart." he says, deep voice rumbling, finally wrapping an arm around your big hips and holding you close as you both look out the kitchen window together, watching the birds at the feeder for a while as you soak up each other's company in companionable silence as his foot continues to rest gently on yours.

Give me Simon who, because of his family’s history of addiction, and his fear of losing control, he hardly ever drinks.

Give me a Ghost that, despite his size, is a bit of a lightweight.

Give me a Ghost who can't have a couple of "casual" beers cause he still gets slightly buzzed

Give me a Ghost that never went drinking with teammates (before 141) cause he was afraid of what they think. A big man like him getting drunk after only a few drinks.

Give me a Simon Riley who feels so safe with the 141, and with Johnny, that he agrees to go to the pub and have some drinks.

Give me a Ghost that's a goofy drunk. Doing little things to mess with the others. Snort laughing at his own dumb jokes, laughing so hard he nearly chokes.

Give me a clingy drunk Ghost. Absolutely demands to know where the other is going if someone gets up from the table. Is leaning onto Soap so much he's practically crushing him. Has to hold someone's hand when Soap goes to the bar to get more drinks. Complains the whole time Johnny is gone.

Give me a Ghost who is stumbling between Gaz and Soap, knocking into them and holding their hands as they walk. Give me Soap and Gaz laughing and Ghost laughing with them, not realizing they're laughing at him.

Give me Ghost who is finally healing his inner young adult, doing fun stuff while he can, drinking and being merry. We all know those years were stolen from him.

you know what keeps me up at night? that Gaz only has 3-4 skins (i think) while Ghost and König have like a million...

i think simon “ghost” riley would love me because i would be so easy to clicker train