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codfanficedits · 6 months

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One fucking mistake - Full version - Ending two.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader - She/her pronouns being used - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!OC

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 12655 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with comfort, conversation, mentioning of memoryloss, therapist, depression (and the nasty kind), funeral.

A/N: Full version of the fic. This is the happier ending.

I didn't proofread and English isn't my native tongue, so please let me know if there are mistakes.

AO3 Link ~ Full version ending one.

One fucking mistake.

That was all it took for life to take you away from him. Simon hated himself, flat out hated himself. He was the one he asked you to go on this mission with him. Simon was the one who double checked your gear, giving your bulletproof vest some little tugs to make sure that it was secure. Simon had been the one to beg you to come on this mission with him. After all, you had been the best thing that had happened to him, and what better way to keep you safe than to keep you close to him at all times?

Another sip of whiskey when he tries to drown out the memories of that mission.

Simon had promised himself to keep you safe, safe from the world, safe from the enemy, safe from himself, and he had failed. He had failed you so badly. If only he had listened to you when you said no the first time, if only he hadn’t pouted and tried to bribe you into coming with him. If he wouldn’t have done that you’d still be next to him.

Another sip of whiskey while he tries to forget his own screams when he lost you.

Simon would give everything in his power to turn back time, to accept your first no, to kiss you on your nose and to take that mission on with someone else. He would sacrifice the whole taskforce if that meant he could have you back. All of them, with his bare hands if he had to. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, he knew he couldn’t change the outcome, so the only thing he could do was punish himself for his mistakes.

When he finishes his glass of whiskey he wants to raise his arm to order another one. A large hand on his arms stops him.

“You’ve had enough, Simon.”

Captain fucking Price.

“I’ll fucking decide when I’ve had enough.” Simon barks. His anger redirecting to John, angry that the captain approved you going on that mission with him. It was his job to care for his soldiers and Price had clearly failed you and him.

Price’s hand grabs a handful of Simon’s hair. “Get a fucking grip on yourself, Simon.” His voice is a low hiss, almost intimidating. “That’s a fucking order.”

A stare off starts, Simon doesn’t want to back down, no, Simon wants someone to be punished for losing you. And Price refuses to be that person.

“I get that you’re grieving.” Price starts.

“Oh do you now?”

“Simon.” A soft sigh follows Price’s lips. “I do, but this is not the way to deal with this.”

Simon stays silent, of course he knows this is not the way to deal with it, but it is the way that feels good, the way that makes him forget about you. The way that makes him forget about the guilt that he feels.

“Come on.” Price orders him. “Let’s get you back to base.” The hand that had been gripping on his hair makes its way back to his neck, and with a firm hand he guides Simon off the barstool, back to the car.

It is a quiet, but tense ride back to base. Neither of the men want to break the silence.

Eventually Price bites the bullet.

“We’re worried about you, Simon.” He begins. “I am worried about you.”

“I don’t need your worries or your care.” Simon spat back, all he wanted was you back.

“You need something. Something we can’t give you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Simon.” It’s a soft sigh. “Maybe it would be for the best if you took some time off, yeah?”

No. Simon had already lost the person he cared most about, he couldn’t stand losing his job too, even if it was temporarily.

“Not a chance.”

“But, Simon I thi-“

“I said not a chance.”

Price let out a sigh, he knows better than to argue with a heartbroken, grieving soldier, but Price also knows he can’t allow this behaviour to continue for much longer. Simon is becoming a liability to the team, to himself, and he needs to prevent that.

The both of them don’t say a word until they reach the base again. But even then the tension was thick between the two of them. Without saying a word Simon got out of the car, taking large steps to avoid any form of communication with Price, not in the mood to talk anymore.

Simon reaches his room quickly and when he closes his door behind him, he gets overwhelmed with this insane amount of guilt. He had already lost you, and it felt as if everything was slipping between his fingers.

Simon falls to his knees, praying to the Gods that you’re safe and that you will return to him soon. His prayers are raw and desperate, begging for the universe to stop the cruel trick it’s playing on him.

He doesn’t get up when the door creaks open and Soap gets in. Price had told him what had happened, and Soap wanted to talk to his friend, but the sight of a grown man on his knees, begging the universe to bring someone back is a difficult thing to watch.

“You’re praying again?” Soap eventually mutters. “How raw are your knees?”

“Fuck off!” Simon snaps at him.

Soap can only shake his head. “I don’t think you’re truly mean.” He answers. “You have sad eyes.”

And with those words Simon is left alone again. His whole life smelled like you, and it would take time. Undoing you from his blood.

He crawls to his bed, on his knees, tears streaming down his face when he is once again reminded that you’re not here with him.

He doesn’t even bother with taking off his clothes as he crawls under the covers the two of you used to share every night. And he starts to think about another universe, one where he has found you again, where the two of you fall in love again, were the two of you stay together and have the happiest life together. And he loves, loves, loves you. Simon realizes that if he could have done it again, he would have loved you better, but he could not have loved you more.

The feelings of guilt and grief have started to feel so familiar that is has become comforting enough to fall asleep.

And when the morning comes, and Simon is once again reminded of what life has taken from him, he starts to understand why people smoke until their lungs are black, why people drink the night away or why they throw themselves off buildings.

His mind didn’t register the warm water of the shower anymore, everything in life started to feel dull, the warmth of the sun no longer hitting his skin, the smell of lavender no longer reaching his nose, even food started to taste as bland as he felt.

Simon dreaded going to debriefings, the stares he would get, full of compassion, it made him sick to his stomach, they all thought that they knew what he was going through, but no one really knew how he felt, and he was not about to share it with anyone.

He was the last to join, and as expected all the heads turned towards him when he walked in, taking his usual seat. He despised the looks his teammates gave them, and he refused to meet their gazes, his eyes focused on the paper before him.

“Simon.” Price starts.

“Ghost.” He corrects.

“I’m sorry.” Price clears his throat. “Ghost. We’re going back to that mission whe-“

“Why.” His voice is sharp.

“We’re going to search for a body.”

Simon can feel his heartbeat in his ear, and he can feel his face getting red. He doesn’t want to search for a body. Because not having a body meant you were still Missing In Action. It meant that there was still a chance you would come back to him, it meant that if he prayed hard enough, you would return to the place where you belonged. His arms.

Finding your body would mean that you would be Killed In Action, it would mean that he would need to find a crowbar and pry the pieces of God of out his body, a punishment for being abandoned. Finding you would mean that he had to accept that his mission had killed you, and he wasn’t ready to face that.

“No.” His answer was short.

“It has been three weeks.”

“I don’t care!” Simon slams his fist on the table to power up his words.

“We’re going and you can either join us or stay here.” Price gives him the choice.

And Simon doesn’t know what to do, because he wants to stay in the bubble he had created for himself, he wanted to believe that you would just show up, as an early Christmas present. And if he went to look for you, he’d know for certain you would never come back.

But he couldn’t let the other find you. It would be a betrayal towards you, he had sworn to protect you, he had already failed at that, the least he could do was bring your body home himself.

“I’m coming.”

His teammates look up, slightly confused, all of them had expected him to stay on base.

“Are you sure?” Soap breaks the silence.

“Do I have to repeat myself, sergeant?”

“Of course not Lieutenant.”

But Simon zones out quickly after that. His mind wandering towards the upcoming mission. Bringing you home. How would you look when he found you? Would you still be as pretty? How would your face look? He was worried, worried he’d find you with a terrified look on your face. Worried he would find you half dressed, your innocence taken away by the enemy. All he could be was worried.

He doesn’t even register his teammates getting up and leaving the debriefing room.

“A word.” The stern voice of his captain snaps him out of it.

“What.”

“You can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“Ghost.”

“No. I’m talking to you as Simon.” Price answers. “I’ll allow you to go on this mission, as I understand how important it is to you, but after we’re back.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m your captain and you listen to me.”

Simon can feel the muscle under his eye twitching, he hated it when Price reminded him that he outranked him, but he knew Price wouldn’t back off if it came to a standoff, although Price did seem like a sweet man, he had a lot of bark in him when needed.

“Yes captain.”

“When we’re back, I want you to take some leave, get some professional help. I can’t watch you drink yourself to death every night. I can’t keep covering for you to our higher ups, Simon. You deserve better than this.”

No, no, no. Simon felt as if he deserved exactly what he was given, after all, he had been the one to drag you along on that mission.

“If you say so.”

“Now, go prepare yourself. I can imagine it is going to be tough to get back there.”

Oh it was. Just the mere idea of going back to the place where he lost you was enough for Simon to get his stomach to churn. But he needed to go, he owed it to you, he owed it to himself.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

The words repeating themselves as a mantra inside his head. His heart dropping to his stomach when he has to wear a bulletproof vest again, the memories of him tugging on yours flooding his mind. Your innocent smile, the pout when you reminded him he had to do the dishes when the two of you would come back, a part of the deal he had made with you so you would come with him on that godforsaken mission. He can still feel the sensation of your skin under his knuckles when he playfully brushed them against your cheeks. Simon was desperate, he felt like he was drowning. In pain, anger and self-hatred, and you had always been his lifeline, helping him stay afloat. And now you were gone, by his doing and it takes everything in his being to not drop to his knees and wail. God, God, God. He missed you, your smile, your skin, your hair, your scent. Your eyes. He missed your eyes, they spoke a thousand stories and he was ready to read every word.

If only he could go back in time. But he can’t, instead he has to walk to the same chopper that flew the both of you to a mission, but only brought him back.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chopper, after he has taken a seat, begging the universe to let him wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Simon knows he needs to find you now, alive and well, it would be his only chance to have you back again. He doesn’t want to find your body, he doesn't want to be met with the aftermath of that mission. No, no, no. He wants you to sit on a piece of rubble, patiently waiting for him to come pick you up.

He can’t accept your fate, because it isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair and it never, ever will be fair.

Right now you’re still Missing In Action, and right now he still has the chance to have you again.

It’s a horrible sight for the rest of his team, they know they want to help, but Simon pushes them all away, every single one of them gets shut out, no matter how hard to try to just be there for him. He wants you, and no one else is allowed to get close to him. Even with the skull mask on, and his eyes closed, they can all tell he is not doing well. But how does one console a grieving soldier that doesn’t want to be consoled?

Soap opens his mouth to say something, anything. He can’t stand his friend being in so much pain and he wants to know if there is something that he can do. But Price stops him, because Price knows how it is to grieve over someone he knows will never come back. Price knows that the feeling, how intense it may be in the moment, will eventually fade into something lighter, a feeling that is there, yet doesn’t weigh down on his chest so much.

And Simon doesn’t know, Simon doesn’t realise how much his coworkers, his friends are struggling with him. He doesn’t know how much they miss you too, how much they want you to sit on that piece of rubble when they arrive. They want you to, for your sake, for their sake, but most of all for Simon’s sake.

It is quiet when the chopper touches the ground, no one dares to get up first. No one wants to be the person to bring the bad news.

Price eventually decides that it is up to him. He is Simon’s captain after all, he was your captain after all. His eyes scan the area in front of him.

God, let you sit on that piece of rubble.

But you’re not, of course you’re not, and Price feel stupid for even allowing himself to have this bit of hope.

“Let’s go look for a body.” An order from his low voice.

Simon gets up from his seat, clinging on to the idea that it is all a big prank, a big joke, and that you are still on that piece of rubble, a payback because he bribes you into going on that mission.

It feels as if his legs are going to give out when he sees the area covered in rubble, dirt and pieces of the building you’d been in.

He needs to hold on to something, something to keep him steady while his body wants to shut down as his mind begins to flood again with the memories.

A flash grenade.

A fucking flash grenade had separated the two of you, and he should have seen it coming. He should’ve seen it happen, he should have protected you, but he didn’t. He can see the husk of the flash grenade stick out from between the debris, as if the universe is taunting him. He remembers being blinded, a loud ringing in his ears, and you were nowhere to be found. He remembers calling your name, yelling your name, screaming it, but he never got a response. He remembers that cold, sickening feeling when he tried to radio you, but he didn’t hear the radio, or you. He remembers a grenade going off near him. He remembers running there, hoping to find you, but you were never there, and he had to go back to the chopper empty handed. He remembers how the air suddenly became painful to breathe when you weren’t waiting at the chopper for him. He remembers how he had to make the choice to go back.

He remembers. He remembers. He remembers. He remembers.

A sudden wave of nausea waves over him, and he is just in time to pull up the mask and the balaclava, retching out sour vomit when it becomes too much. The guilt, the fear, the anger making their way up from his stomach.

He cleans his mouth with a sip of water. Simon can’t forget he is still a soldier, and he needs to be strong, for you, for himself. And when he feels like it is okay again, he joins the others, picking up large pieces of debris, hoping to find a sign of you, a little giveaway that you’re still very much alive and kicking.

He works hard, the desperation showing through his movements as he lifts up piece after piece. But you’re not there, all he finds is disappointment and the confirmation that his worst fear is becoming a reality. It is starting to become dark and Simon knows that they have to return back to base soon.

“Ghost.” Price calls out from the field.

“You might want to see this.”

But Simon doesn’t want to see this, because he knows that this can’t be good news. Simon knows from the tone and voice of his captain that if they have found you, you’re not alive.

His steps feel heavy, as if concrete is tied to his feet while he makes his way over to Price, stopping in his tracks when he sees your dog tags and the ball chain wrapped around his hand. The look in Price’s face tells him enough. They have found your dog tags, but not you.

You’re not coming home with him.

No, no, no. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had to come home with him. At this point it was no longer about you being alive, it was about you coming home. He wanted, no he needed to see your pretty face one more time, he wanted to tell you that he loved you one more time.

Simon made his way over to Price, he needed to see if they were really your dog tags. They had to be someone else’s, they shouldn’t be yours, they couldn’t be yours. Dear God, anyone’s but yours.

They were yours.

Of course they were yours. He recognized them from afar, his vision getting blurry from the tears when he looked at the shiny metal. His mind was racing and he couldn’t think.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think.

You had to be here, you just had to be. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the stinging pain of the glass shards on the floor. Raking his hands through the debris, tossing away concrete, stones, glass, everything to try and find you.

The leather on his gloves is strong, but not as strong as his love for you and it doesn’t take long for his blood to stain the broken pieces of building he was touching. He had to find you.

You had to come home to him, you just had to.

He can feel a hand on his shoulder but Simon ignores it. He just needs a little longer, he just needs a few more minutes.

“Simon.” The low bass in Price’s voice makes it impossible to ignore him. “We need to go back.”

“No.”

“It’s an order.”

It breaks Price, seeing his best soldier suffer like this. And Price himself doesn’t want to think about your fate. He hopes you’re still buried under all that rubble and debris, he prays that your dead body isn’t taken by the enemy, because he too knows how disgusting men can be.

“We have to go back.” Price usually doesn’t repeat himself, but he’ll make an exception, just his once.

Simon gets up from his knees, knowing that if he leaves now, he has to accept your fate, his fate, the fate of the relationship the two of you had.

“But.” Simon tries to protest.

“Don’t.” Price sighs. “It won’t get easier over time. Rip off the bandage, boy.”

Simons knows it is for the best, but by God did it hurt, he didn’t want to leave you, he didn’t want your status to be changed to Killed In Action, no he wanted you to be Missing In Action until the two of you reconnected again in the afterlife.

Simon holds out his hand, wanting to hold your dog tags. The only thing he is bringing home today.

He holds them the whole flight in the chopper, this thumb caressing the metal, memorizing the way your name is marked on the cold metal. He brings them to his lips, kissing them through the balaclava, hoping that you’ll feel his kiss in the afterlife.

Simon, Price, Soap, Gaz, they all know this can’t go on any longer, they all know this is breaking Simon, the infamous Ghost crumbling down at the loss of his beloved.

“A word.” Price doesn’t waste any time when they’re back to base.

“I know.” Simon sounds defeated as he follows him into an empty briefing room.

“This can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“I know, just.” Simon doesn’t want to talk, but he has to. “Just let me stay on base until the funeral is over.”

An empty casket.

Price would’ve denied anyone else, he would’ve told anyone else that the army wasn’t a babysitter, but he couldn’t deny the broken soul in front of him. He couldn’t risk losing his best soldier because he had sent him home too early.

“Of course.” Price finally answers. “But I want you to go to therapy when you’re on leave.”

Therapy. Simon finds it a filthy word. Because therapy would mean that something is wrong with him, and the only thing wrong is your death.

“I promise.” You would’ve wanted it for him.

Price had never expected Simon to agree so quickly, but he is glad Simon doesn’t put up much of a fight, although it worries him slightly.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Price warns him.

A faint smile forms on Simons lips. “The dumbest thing I ever did was bringi-“

“Stop.” Another order from Price. “You’re beating yourself up.”

“But it is my fault!”

Silence, because the both of them know that you still would’ve been alive if Simon hadn’t begged you to come with him. The both of them know that you would still be alive if you wouldn’t have gone on that mission. But Price could never tell Simon that, he could never bring his best soldier down even more.

“Get some rest.” Price orders. “I’ll make sure that.. that..” He struggles to find the words, but it’s clear what he means. He will make sure that you’re put to rest as soon as possible. Your empty casket into the ground, your dog tags the only evidence that you ever existed.

It is the worst day of Simon’s life. The flowers, the suit he is wearing, the people surrounding them. He had dreamed of the day this would happen, but you wouldn’t be gone, you’d be getting ready to marry him, and by God, every time he thinks his heart is ripped out of his chest, the claws of life dig deeper and rip out the remaining pieces of his love. And he catches himself looking for you, even though he knows you won’t arrive.

But his love for you is still inside of him, and he carries you wherever he goes.

Simon knows he has to speak, his final act of love towards you. You deserve it, even though your body is not here, you deserve to get a proper burial. But it’s hard, too hard. The worst part of that love is that he remembers it, walking around everyday thinking that he is going to die in the universe that you loved him in.

He clears his throat, heads snapping into his direction as he tries to brace himself. It’s easier to treat this as a mission. Saying what he needs to say, keep his voice from breaking and getting out.

His eyes shift to the empty casket on the left, and without his permission his vision starts to get blurry and his goddamn heart starts to ache again. God, God, God. How he wished the two of you could’ve met as kids, because he knew you would’ve loved the softer version of him.

Simon looks down at the paper before him, the little speech he wrote to honour you, but he can’t read it through his tears, so he has to speak the words from his heart.

“Since you happened, I’ve never been the same.” Off to a great start.

“I don’t know what’s more tragic, that I keep looking for you wherever I go. Or that you’re never there, and I promise you, someday, somewhere, we’ll be together again.” Fuck, he can’t keep his voice from breaking.

“Whiskey was easier to swallow than the fact that you aren’t coming back.” He is becoming a mess, for all to see. His feelings on display as if it were in a museum. “I’ve learned that I can drink too much and forget the night before. But I’ve learned I can’t drink enough to forget the people I’ve loved and lost.”

A sob interrupts his speech.

“I don’t know what to say to you, except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you.”

He has to get out, he needs to breathe fresh air, he wants the grief in him to be replaced by the scent of fresh flowers and sunshine. Who knew losing his lover could turn a hardened soldier into a sobbing mess?

Someone hugs him, but he is too far gone to even register it. Those same arms, same hands guide him to his seat, and his mind is empty when he listens to the rest of the wake.

And now he is sitting in a comfortable chair, a therapist in front of him. Simon still doesn’t know why he accepted it. After all, he still believes that he should suffer from what he has done to you. If you didn’t deserve to live, why would he?

He filters out her voice as he concentrates to the ticking noise of the clock. These appointments feel like a waste of his time. But so does rotting in bed, so he keeps telling himself you would’ve wanted this for him, for him to seek the help he doesn’t feel he deserves.

71 days. The last time he saw you was 71 days. And for those 71 days he feels like an empty shell of an human. And the worst part? Your shirts no longer smell like you, he had to throw out your leftovers, the mold covering the food you had prepared, but he had tried to cling on to it for as long as he could.

71 days, and your voice is a mere memory, it sounds different on the video’s he has from you, and he is ashamed that he can’t remember the real sound anymore.

What would you think of him? God he hopes you can’t see him from the afterlife like this, a goddamn mess, the last time he took a shower must’ve been a week ago, and if he doesn’t go to his therapy session, all he does is, well, nothing. The time he has on this earth is waisted by staring at the wall, hours on end. Just staring, and when his mind is done beating him up for making the mistake of asking you to go on that mission with him, it’s just turned off.

A waste of space, a waste of oxygen, a waste of everything. A pathetic excuse of a human being.

“Simon.” The voice of his therapist snaps him out of it. “Are you okay? I’ve been talking to you for minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grumbles.

She doesn’t believe him, he can feel it, and he can’t blame her, after all, most sessions are filled with an awkward silence, he doesn’t want to talk, and she learned that asking her questions gets her nowhere.

His mind wanders to your funeral again, how the empty casket is haunting him, how the nightmares about you being cold, dead and alone are haunting him, how even when he sleeps, he finds no peace from his mistake.

He can hear his therapist sigh, her long nails tapping on the clipboard, and it’s fucking annoying. He wants to tell her about the flashbacks, how he keeps relieving the mission, how he keeps replaying the last minute with you, he wants to, but he can’t. It is his secret, his punishment.

His therapist clears her throat. “Well, our time is up. Is there anything you’d like to discuss before we call it quits?”

“No.”

“Alright, see you again next week then, same time.”

With a scoff he gets up from the chair, ready to go home to embrace the darkness of his bed again.

The days are starting to look the same, they melt together in a blur of grief.

He lays in bed, unless he really has to get out. A quick visit to the bathroom and back to bed he goes. When he is unable to ignore his rumbling stomach, he orders some takeaway, just to eat it on the couch, the empty cartons starting to flood the place. But he doesn’t care, not in the slightest, he doesn’t care when he can see the mold on the little pieces of food left in the pizza box.

He doesn’t care when he can smell himself whenever he gets into the bedroom again, he doesn’t care when he rewatches the same show for the fifth time, not a care in the world when his screentime is over sixteen hours a day. He doesn’t care when he stops answering texts, he doesn’t care when calls are met with a loud sigh, annoyed that they’re interrupting the game he was playing.

Simon despises the days he has to go to therapy, it is the only day in the week where he has to get up, shower, wash his hair and brush his teeth. It is the only day of the week where the rotten air from home is replaced by fresh outside air, and he hates it, the comfort of his home being ripped away, just like you got ripped away.

His legs bounces while he sits in the waiting room, he still feels as if he doesn’t belong to therapy, while he knows that there is something wrong, he doesn’t want to admit it, he doesn’t want to accept the help.

He frowns when he gets called in by someone else than his usual therapist, but he goes in anyway.

“Where is she?” He asks bluntly as he goes to sit down in the same comfortable chair he always sit in.

“Who?”

“My usual therapist.”

The woman in front of him frowns. “She didn’t feel as if she was booking process with you, so she asked me to take over. Didn’t she tell you?”

Simon can only shrug, truth be told, he never paid enough attention to even remember anything from those sessions. “Could be.”

Her lips press together until they are a faint line and Simon can tell he doesn’t like her one bit.

“Let me introduce myself.” She continues. “My name is Sarah, and I’m…” He zones out within seconds, pushing her voice to the background.

“Simon!” She has a fucking sharp voice.

“What.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, this is the first time a therapist has been this direct to him. “Right.” He mumbles. “Continue.”

“Did you get anything I just said?” Sarah asks him.

“Well, your name is Sarah, and..” His voice dies out. “That’s all.” He adds with a sheepish tone.

“Why are you here, Simon?” She asks him, as she holds the clipboard to her chest.

Because my captain asked me to.

But he stays silent, just shrugging as she asks him that question.

“Do you even want to be here?”

Simon frowns at the second question, of course he doesn’t want to be here. “No.”

“Then why bother coming anyway?”

Because you would’ve been so disappointed in him if he didn’t at least try. But Simon knows that what he is doing isn’t even close to trying at all. It is just easier to lie to himself that he is trying.

“Because..” His voice his hoarse.

Because he wants to get rid of that feeling of guilt, that is weighing him down on his chest, the feeling that keeps him up at night, being so heavy that he worries that he’ll suffocate in the matrass if he acknowledges it. Because he wants to deal with the grief that came with losing you, because every little thing outside of the routine that he has created for himself reminds him of you. Because he wants to be happy again, but just the mere thought of it feels like a betrayal to you.

Because, because, because.

But the words leave him, just like he left you there to die by yourself, and the thought of that tightens his chest, his ribs suffocating his lungs and it feels like he can’t breathe. Short burst of air leaving his nose when he tries to wipe away the image. That familiar feeling again, a panic attack waiting in the shadows of his mind.

God not here, not now.

But Sarah doesn’t react, she doesn’t try to talk him out of it, instead she just lets it happen, observing how he handles it.

His hands pressing against his temples. He doesn’t want to think about you, about leaving you, he doesn’t want to be confronted by his mistake.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

He remembers the advice you gave him, you’d walked in on him having one as he sat down on the shower floor. He tries to remember your voice, your face when you said it to him. But he can’t. Fuck. He can’t.

He loves you, so why is he forgetting it? Why is your face becoming a blur. Why is your voice different in every memory.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

The panic dies out after a few deep breaths, guilt popping up like the mushrooms do around autumn.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Sarah repeats the question.

“Because I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Like what?”

A scowl forms on his face, he hates feeling this vulnerable, it makes him feel weak and he still feels as if he should overcome this with ease. “Living in my own filth because I can’t be bothered to actually live.”

“Why can’t you be bothered to actually live, Simon?”

For fuck sakes, he hates how many questions she is asking, he hates how it forces him to think about things he doesn’t want to think about, things he has crammed away in the shadows of his mind.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” His voice is louder than he wanted it to be, but part of him hopes it scares her off, that it makes her stop asking questions.

But it doesn’t, Sarah doesn’t bat an eye.

“Why do you feel as if you don’t deserve to live?”

Because you didn’t get to live.

“Because I killed her, I begged her to come with me on a mission that killed her. I am the reason she is no longer walking on this earth. She said no the first time and I’m a selfish asshole for taking her with me!” God it feels good to get that off his chest.

Sarah stays silent, and the silence causes his words to float in the air.

“She said yes herself, right?” Sarah eventually says. “Why are you holding yourself accountable for that?”

“Because she said no the first time. And I bribed her with doing the dishes.” He spat out.

God he hated how Sarah would let his answers linger in the air, it meant he had to think, think about what happened, think about his answers, think about how actions, how it affected everything.

How he would never give himself peace.

“Because I keep wondering how life would’ve been if I had accepted her first no, I wonder how I would be if she wouldn’t have gone with me. Because. I. I. I.” Simon starts to stutter, the words flooding out him, things he had kept hidden to rot inside of him.

“Because I know that she would’ve been alive if it wasn’t for me.” A tiny voice for a big soldier.

“You can’t change what happened, Simon.”

Of course he can’t! Fuck, it annoys him. “I know.” He grits his teeth.

“Do you think she would want you to live like this?”

Fuck, a cold sensation running over him, his stomach feels as if it is doing summersaults.

“No, no, I don’t think so.” He eventually admits. Of course not, you would only want the best for him, you would’ve wanted him to move on, to make something out of his life. Oh God, you were always so sweet, so innocent, and he, he took you away from this world.

That same feeling in his chest again, he presses his eyes shut.

The image of that fucking flash grenade sticking out of the debris again. Haunting him, taunting him.

As the tightness in his chest gets worse, he can’t stop the hot tears falling down.

Fucking weak.

“Simon.”

“Simon?”

“Simon!”

Sarah’s voice brings him back to reality, but not just enough, flashbacks running through his mind while he tries to feel the fabric of the chair under his fingertips.

“Tell me what is happening, Simon.”

Short, quick breaths, the tightening in his chest becoming worse, and worse.

“Simon? Tell me what you’re seeing, right now.”

He wants to open his eyes, he wants it to stop, but this is the clearest he has seen you in weeks. He doesn’t want to lose this, even though it hurt like something he has never felt before. He wants it to stop, but he doesn’t want it to end.

“The mission.” He mutters.

Silence again. He hates how Sarah lets him struggle with his emotions, his feelings, and he wants his old therapist back, whatshername, who would fill up the silence so he wouldn’t have to.

“I keep replaying the mission in my head.” Simon adds.

“Tell me.” Sarah commands. “Walk me through what is happening.”

“It always starts the same.” He begins. “Always.”

“How does it start?”

“We’re waiting for the chopper. We’re both wearing a bulletproof vest, and I make sure hers is safe. I tug on it a little, a few times actually. I would brush the skin of her cheeks with my knuckles.” It is a whisper, but it is a start.

“And then we move to the chopper, she is sitting next to me, and all I see is her beauty. It was supposed to be an easy mission and she is talking, talking about how she will let me do all the dishes she can find, she is teasing me about having to wear an apron while I’m doing the dishes.” His breathing is starting to get more controlled.

“It was supposed to be an abandoned area.” Simon continues, his hands gripping the armrest of the chair. “I let my guard down, we were joking too much, laughing too hard. The enemy must’ve heard us. And then, then, then.”

“Stop.” Sarah says. “Put the film on hold, and tell me what you see.”

“I see her, the sun high on the sky, a smile on her face, not a worry in her eyes. And then I spot the flash grenade. And I want to warn her, but it’s too late.” Simons starts.

“Okay.” No it’s not okay.

“Can you put yourself in the image?”

“What?”

“Put yourself in the situation, standing alongside yourself and her.”

Silence again.

“Can you do it, Simon?”

“Yeah.” He mutters, feeling awkward, but he can, standing next to himself and next to you.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”

His heart starts to race again. Yes, yes, yes! There are so many things he would like to say to you, so many things that he wants you to hear, but that will never reach you.

“I. I. I want to tell that I’m so, so sorry.” He begins. “I want to say that I should’ve listened to her, that if I could do it all over again, I would do it differently.”

He holds back a sob.

“I want to tell her that I will always love her, that she will always be a part of me, no matter what happens, no matter how old I grow, no matter who comes in to my life, she will always matter.” The raw words leave his lips, dragging the heavy feeling from his heart with them, leaving him able to breathe for the first time in months.

“Can you hug her?”

What a stupid question. But he can, and he does, he presses his eyes shut and hugs you, and although it is in his imagination, it feels real, for him it is real. The version of you that got one more hug, tells him that he is forgiven, and it brings a little bit of peace to him.

Simon finally opens his eyes again. “God.” He breathes.

“How does that feel?” Sarah asks.

“Better.” He admits.

“Good.” Is that a smile on her lips?

“Are you going to be able to handle being alone?” Sarah breaks the silence.

“Yeah.” And for the first time it does feel like he is able to handle being alone. For the first time he wants to go outside, to breathe the fresh air. Hell, he even wants to grab the bin and clean the house.

He wants to live again.

243 days.

God it has been 243 days. And while his grief for you is a token of the love he holds for you, life is moving on, Simon is moving on. He no longer spends his days and nights in his bed, instead he goes out, out in the open, out to visit a coffee shop, a bookstore, the park.

He treats life as if he had died and had begged God for a second chance, taking in every detail of the beauty of life.

243 days. He has missed your birthday, you have missed his. But don’t worry, he took a cupcake to your empty grave and sang for you. You still visit him in his dreams, and while he still wakes up missing you, longing for you in his bed, he is grateful to have you visit him even if it is through his nightmares and dreams.

He no longer has therapy sessions with Sarah, although they have helped him a whole lot, he is okay by himself, the flashbacks no longer taunt him and when this mind wanders back to that day, he can put himself back in the narrative, telling you that he loves you, that he wishes life could have been different.

Simon even went back to work, not to his full extend yet, that is a little too much, just yet. But he is getting there, and he hopes that you’re proud of him.

The grieving has become easier over time, and with it came a little bit of guilt, for the longest time it felt like he was forgetting you.

But he is not. You’ll always have a spot in his heart, he can never really forget you. Although he can only remember your face from the pictures and video’s, he remembers you. Although your voice isn’t the same in every dream, flashback or video, he still remembers you. You left your mark on his heart and he won’t get rid of it.

Simon takes in the ambiance of the little coffeeshop that he is in, waiting for his date to arrive. Sophie had been a nice girl, she isn’t you, obviously she isn’t you, and it took him a few weeks to get used to it. He stopped looking for you in her eyes, and while she will never leave such a mark on him as you did, she is pretty amazing. Simon told her upfront about you, how you always be a part of his life, through his work, through the apartment he shared with you, through him. And Sophie was okay with that, Sophie had no intention to replace you, no Sophie knew that she could live alongside Simon’s love for you.

A smile breaks out on his face when he spots here, a little wave following quick.

“There you are!” Happiness in his voice.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late.” You were never late.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you’re here.” She kisses him on his cheek after those words.

And it took him a while, but he can smile after the small gesture, it no longer feels like a betrayal towards you, after all, he would’ve wanted you to move on too, it is only fair that he allows himself the same.

His eyes soften when he smiles at her, it was like a tug at his heart strings that he had long ago thought were cut.

“Going back to the taskforce.” Simon eventually says.

That piques her interest. “For long?”

“Nah, it’s for a birthday party.” Simon shrugs.

A little bit of an awkward air lingers around the both of them, neither of them sure what to say next. Sophie wants to ask if she can come, but she respects his space too much, she respects the walls around him too much to just barge in and demand he takes them down. Besides, the base is the only place where she hasn’t stepped foot in to replace you.

On the other side of the table is Simon, wanting to invite you, but worried that he is just using her to drive out the memories of you, worried that his teammates will think that he is getting over you way too quick. Worried that people will judge the level of love he has for you.

“So,” Simon clears his throat. “It’s Soap’s birthday, and we’re celebrating tomorrow evening.”

“And I know we haven’t been dating for long, but maybe, maybe you’d like to come?”

A deep breath. No reaction.

“Yes.” Sophie smiles while she talks. “Yes, I would like that. I’ve heard a lot about them, can’t wait to finally meet them.”

A smile tugs around his lips. “Good, good.”

“So, I’ll pick you up around 7ish, and I’ll drive us to base. Just wear something casual, they’re soldiers, so don’t expect anything too fancy.”

Even after 243 days he can’t help but feeling like a traitor, inviting another woman to the base the two of you used to serve at.

Sophie smiles at him, her worries melting away at his relaxed demeanour.

“8ish.” She repeats. “I’ll make sure to be casually dressed.” She presses a kiss on his cheek again. “I have to get back to my work, but it was nice to see you in my lunchbreak.”

Simon lets out a sigh when he is all alone in the coffeeshop again. Oh how life went different than he had hoped, but he was content. His eyes take in the scenery once more.

You would have loved it here.

He puts his car into park while he waited for Sophie to get out of her apartment, his leg bouncing against the steering wheel, he could feel himself getting nervous, as if he would bring Sophie in to your territory. As if he would take away the final thing on this mortal earth that was only yours. Simon tried to push those thoughts away when he saw Sophie leave her house, a bright smile on her face. He could see that she had tried to dress casual, but it was a little too perfect to be casual, and it warmed his heart.

She kissed him when she entered his car. It was endearing to him, all feelings of guilt being pushed to the side when his lips touched hers.

“You look amazing.” He complimented her. A soft blush forming on her face. Her hand rested on his knee when he started the drive. It was quiet and he still wasn’t used to it. You, his teammates, his captain, the lot of you would always tease him about his bad driving skills. But not Sophie, she was missing out on the inside joke.

“It can be quite rowdy on base.” Simon warned her.

“That’s okay.” She said with a faint smile.

“Good, good.” He muttered.

A soft squeeze on his knee, and a smile formed on his lips.

Simon tried to focus on the road, pushing away every single thought inside of his mind. He shouldn’t feel guilty for moving on, he shouldn’t feel guilty for bringing his new girlfriend to his base. He shouldn’t be so nervous about his teammates meeting Sophie.

He shouldn’t. But he was.

A deep breath emerged from his lips when he parked the car on the base, taking in the atmosphere.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” She nodded.

When he exited the car, he took in his base, the memories of you flooding in again. Sophies hand in his shook him out of it, and he smiled at her.

He let in the commotion, the rowdy, loud cheering happening all around.

“Simon!” Price calling out over the parking lot. “We have something you should see.”

244 days.

You finally can remember it all. How Simon begged you to come with him on this mission, something he could’ve done by himself easily, but he tried to sweettalk you, bribe you, just anything so he wouldn’t have to go alone.

And you fell for it. How could you not? After all, he promised you he’d do the dishes, and you hated doing the dishes.

You remember Simon double checking your gear, softly tugging on the bulletproof vest to make sure that it was safe and secure. He always made sure you were safe and secure, no matter what happened, Simon had made it clear that you were his number one priority. You, and you alone.

The moment of eye contact that follows after always makes your heart flutter, the little lines next to his eyes when his lips tug to a smile, it is enough to make your stomach do a million summersaults. The moment you smile, and the little apples of your cheeks start to rise, he brushes his knuckles against the sensitive skin on your face. The callouses on his knuckles was something that you always enjoyed feeling, a little routine before a mission. Something you always held dear.

It didn’t matter that he was wearing his mask on the chopper flight to the area you had to scout. You could see in his eyes how much he was smiling every time you added something on the list of dishes, the fine lines around his eyes, the sparkle in his eyes.

A gasp. “I’ll let you even wash the food dish of the cat.”

“Lovie, we don’t have a cat.” His voice sounds amused.

“Nuh uh, I’ve been feeding the strays that live just outside the base.” You protest.

“Fine, fine, fine.” It isn’t even a real protest, Simon would do anything to make you happy.

“AND.” Your voice sounds happy, as if you just got the best idea ever known to man. “You have to wear an apron.”

“An apron?”

“Yeah, I still have a pink one.”

“Fine.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, but I’m wearing nothing underneath it.” Simon snickers.

“Deal!”

“And, you can only look but you can’t touch.” He adds.

“But that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, lovie.”

Life indeed wasn’t fair.

Because the next thing you remember is a white flash, ringing in your ears and a lot of stumbling. A lot of pain when you tumbled down the stairs. You can remember Simon calling for you, screaming your name and you want to react, but your body doesn't allow you to.

Another loud noise, and you realise that a grenade must’ve gone off when you’re getting covered by debris.

It is dark when you wake up again, the sensation of someone tugging on your ankles is waking you up, your body hurts and you’re disorientated, your eyes flutter as you try to stay awake, as you try to grasp what has happened. The men towering over you speak a language you don’t understand, and frankly, there is nothing you understand at the moment.

Who are you? And why are you here?

One of the men pulls you up, his hands under your armpits as he drags you away, your skin is grey from the dust and debris and as your eyes finally focus you can see the fear in the eyes of the people around you.

You desperately try to remember, your brain knows there is something hidden inside, something that would explain all of it, but you can’t. You can’t seem to find the key to the door inside of you that hold all the information you need.

Your dog tags get caught on a pole of metal sticking out of the rubble, and you groan a little when it cuts off your airflow, even if it is for a brief moment. Neither you or the man carrying you realise how important those dog tags are. But of you are just focussed on getting you out of there.

Another groan when the ground gets more uneven, sharp pain being unbearable with every bump. You try so, so, so hard to stay away, but your body tries to protect you against the pain, and before you know it your eyes start to roll back, and it gets dark again.

When you wake up again, you’re in a bed, stripped of your belongings, but a variety of bandages around your limbs, a woman speaks to you in a hushed tone, but you can’t understand the language they’re speaking. A soft groan leaves your lips as you try to speak, but your throat is dry and everything hurts.

Later, you learn that you’re taken in by the local villagers, who have been tormented by the war for the longest time. The same war you and Simon participated in, the same war where you were convinced you were on the right side, only to learn that there are only losers when it comes to war.

As the universe continues your injuries start to heal, and while you still don’t speak a word of their language, the villagers are nice to you, almost as if caring for you is just what they need to take their mind of the running war in their area. You know something is missing, you can’t remember your name, age, your life, Simon. Nothing. Not an ounce of recognition when they show you your torn up uniform. Not an ounce of recognition when you hold up a mirror in front of your face.

Not an ounce of recognition when the local men are shouting against each other, and while you can’t make out what they’re saying, you know it is about you, the way they point and glare, the way they call you a fucking filthy Brit. The other half of the group of men is a lot more quiet, they plead, and you can only imagine it is for your life, yet you do not fear for it.

What is a life worth if you can’t remember it?

But they let you live, and while you’re not sure why, you end up being thankful for it. At night you always end up dreaming about the same things, it is almost like clockwork, either you dream about yourself, walking around a maze, which seems to be without end, a skull mask in the middle of the maze. You always, always wake up whenever you find the mask.

The other dreams is about a faceless man, tugging on the bulletproof vest you wore when you were found, his knuckles brushing against the apples of your cheeks. He tries to shield you before the white flash goes off, but your dreams never reveal his face to you.

One time they dragged you back to the area where they had found you, a black chopper had landed nearby and you could make out that they wanted to know if the men rummaging the area seemed familiar to you.

But they didn’t. Four tall men, and while they wore the same uniform as you, none of them rang a bell inside your mind. You shook your head, implying you didn’t know them, no matter the matching uniforms. Not even the heartbroken screams from the masked man could crack open your memories.

Looking back, when the dreams started to come, you knew you recognized the mask one of them was wearing, it was the exact same as you would always find in the maze, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the face beneath it.

Slowly, but surely small glimpses of your life started to seep into your mind again, droplets of memories coming back. The smell of oatmeal brought a snippet of your childhood back, the memories of it being breakfast, and secretly feeding a spoonful to the dog.

With every little dot you could connect to your former, came an explanation to the people around you, with a lot of gestures, and some drawing, you could get your point across.

The smell of lavender brought you back to the house of your grandma, the strong scent always lingered in her house, and if you pressed your eyes shut and let the sun settle down on your skin, you could go back to that time.

While you peel off the skin of an orange you’re hit with a new memory, your breath hitching in your throat as your mind slowly makes the memory clear. You’re peeling an orange, a large hand holding on to your thigh as you peel the fruit. “Thanks lovie.” The gruff voice sounds so clear when you remember it, as if he is in the room with you and you know that it is someone important to you, as your body warmed up when you remember his voice.

But you just remember his voice, and not his name.

It would frustrate the living shit out of you, knowing that there is so much more memories hidden away in you, and you just can’t seem to remember them. You know that there is so much more to you, yet you’re unable to discover your own secrets.

When you’re stargazing, late at night, a new memory pops up, the masked man laying next to you in the grass, while the both of you look up at the stars, in the corner of your eye you can see him takes his mask off, the balaclava being pulled up to his nose, before he leans over and presses a kiss on your lips.

The realisation dawns on you, and while you can’t remember his name, it is clear that he is important for you, that you are important to him, and a cold feeling comes over you when you realise you let him slip between your fingers just because you didn’t recognize him. A knot in your chest as you try to remember who he is, who you are, why you were wearing the uniform. Panic taking over when your mind can’t answer your questions. The knot in your chest spreads through your body and soon you find yourself unable to breathe. Short, desperate burst in which you try to suck in as many air as you can.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

Fuck.

You remember, you remember walking in on him having a panic attack, you remember kneeling down to him, telling him to take a deep breathe in through his mouth, exhaling out his nose. You remember. You remember walking in on Simon.

Simon.

A loud sob leaves your mouth and your hand claws at your chest as you remember. You remember all the kisses, the three squeezes on your shoulder, or your bicep when he couldn’t tell you he loved you but still wanted you to know, you remember all the late evenings and lazy mornings.

Oh you finally remember.

Your loud sobs wake up the people who had cared for you, they’re worried and you can’t yet explain if the tears are from happiness or agony. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you finally remember. You could be described as hysterical when you point to your old uniform, back to yourself, trying to tell them that you DO remember, that you DO know who you are.

And never had you imagined how easy it would be to go back to your old life. You’d learn that you would be considered missing and killed in action for more than eight months now.

Eight months. You had missed 244 days of Simon’s life, and he had missed those days in yours.

The ambassy was kind enough to listen to your story, your fingerprints confirming your identity. K.I.A flashing the screen when they pull up your information. And you want nothing more than to go home, to feel safe in his embrace again. You’re not allowed to call him, since the two of you aren’t married he isn’t your legal contact person, and you have to wait, but you’ve waited 244 days, how much more will a few more hours hurt?

God, how you have missed him, with the returning memories, the feeling of longing for him also came back, and right now the only thing you wanted in life was to hold him again, to feel him again, to be his again.

The rest of the trip goes by fast, your mind can barely cope with the returned memories, let alone process what is happening when they put you back on a plane to your base, but you can feel the excitement, the love, oh you can feel it all.

Just like you can feel the dread seep into your bones when you see him, holding another woman’s hand.

Your old teammates cheer when they see you, and you’re overwhelmed by the familiar feeling washing over you, all the successful mission you’ve celebrated with them, all the losses you have encountered and overcome with them. They’re your family and you’re so grateful to see them again.

But someone is missing.

Price drags him along, and your heart stops when you see him. Simon.

Your smile fading away when you see him holding hands with someone else, a woman you’ve never seen before. Fuck.

He has moved on and you can’t blame him. You’ve been gone for more than eight months, and you’re so, so, so proud that he has overcome this. You’re proud that he didn’t let himself rot away, give up on life. But by God, does it hurt.

His eyes widen, pupils dilate when he spots you, long strides to meet you as soon as possible and you can see his hand letting go of hers, but she holds on, even if that means that he kind of drags her along.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

She finally let go off his hand.

Two.

One final steps and his lips crash on yours, kissing you with an intensity you’ve never felt from him before. His hands all over your face, fingers entangled in your hair, his lips hungry for a taste of you, a taste he thought was long forgotten, but he now remembers and so desperately craves. It’s a goddamn messy kiss, and it feels as if the both of you are fifteen again, and this is your first kiss ever, but you don’t mind, you would rather have fifteen million of these kisses, than never kiss him again.

Eventually he has to pull back, a reminder for the both of you to breathe. He presses his forehead against yours.

“I even washed the cat dishes.” A soft whisper and enough to break to ice, to make you smile again as you wrap your arms around him, the woman behind him catching your eyes. God, she looks miserable, but you can’t blame her.

Simon follows your gaze, letting go off you, almost as if he has been caught doing something bad. His throat feels dry as he looks from you to Sophie, he loves both these woman, but the way he loves them is different. The atmosphere in the air shifts, and a certain amount of awkwardness fills the air, the joy surrounding you dying down quick.

Price clears his throat. “I’m sure you all have a lot of catching up to do. The briefing rooms are empty.” Not a very subtle hint, but all three of you get it. Simon is the first to move, taking your hands in his, holding on tight, afraid he will lose you again if you slip between his fingers. As the three of you walk towards a briefing room you look towards your right, the woman next you has her head bowed down and you can see a mix of emotions on her face. You want to reach out, say something to her, but what can you possible say to her to make this easier?

The tension is thick in the air when you reach the briefing room. “Can I have a word with you, Simon?” Sophie asks, it is the first time you’ve heard her voice, and she sounds sweet. Simons eyes shift to you. “In private.” She adds, that same sweet voice now holding a sharp tone.

His eyes meet yours again, almost as if he is asking you for permission, and you nod. They both go into the briefing room next to the one you’re in, and you sit down on a chair, being as close as possible to the wall, you know you shouldn’t eaves drop, but you need to know what they are discussing.

“Listen.” It’s Simons voice. “I never thought this would happen, Sophie.”

Sophie.

It’s a lovely name, she seems lovely, the whole situation is just fucked.

“No one thought this would happen, but what matters is what you’re going to do, Simon.”

You perk up, ear pressed against the wall, hoping to God you can make out what he will answer. It stays quiet and all you can hear is your own heartbeat thumping in your ears.

And in the other room Simon doesn’t know what to do, what to say, he stares at the woman in front of him, knowing full well that the love of his life is sitting in the room next to them.

Truth be told, he had loved Sophie, he wouldn’t have been with here if he didn’t. But his love for Sophie always was paired with the loss of you, he knew he wouldn’t never loved her the way he loves her now if you never went on that mission with him. He knows that the love he felt for her was his heart trying to replace you.

“I..” But it is hard for him to say it, it is hard to break a person while only thirty minutes ago the both of them were on their way to meet his teammates.

“You’re choosing her?” Sophie’s voice is far from amused.

“Yes.” Simons begins, nervously fidgeting with his hands. “But you have to understand, it’s not an easy thing for me to do.”

“It’s not easy for you to do?” Sophie’s words are laced with venom, and you can understand why. You’re the ghost of his past, while she should have been the ghost of his future, and there you were, suddenly showing up, taking away the relationship she thought she had.

“Do you have ANY idea how this is for me?” Sophie continued. “I’ve BEEN there for you, Simon! I’ve sat with you while you cried about her, I’ve let you tell countless stories about her.”

“I know, and I’m so-“

“I’m not done yet.” The words are spat out. “I’ve been to her fucking empty grave! Asking for fucking permission to be with you! I’ve sat there, telling her how I’ll never replace her, but live alongside her fucking ghost. And now you just toss me to the side as a fucking used up doll?”

Simon is taken aback by the, for him, sudden outburst. He had been so caught up with his own healing process, his own grieving, that the thought of it weighing down other people never occurred to him. “You went to her grave?”

“Yes! I’ve learned how to fit myself inside her shadow, I’ve seen you look disappointed whenever I was a little late, or when I would kick out my shoes at the door, I’ve seen you compare me to her the whole goddamn time and this whole relationship I’ve been competing with someone we both thought was dead!”

“I didn’t knew you felt this way.”

“Because you never fucking asked, Simon, because it has always been about you and her and me, and never just about you and me.”

“That’s not true.” He protests. “Maybe in the beginning, but I’ve learned to love you for you.”

“Then why are you looking at her like that, huh?”

“Because.” Simon takes a deep breath, he knows he has to rip off the bandage, it isn’t fair for Sophie to continue this, he knows where his heart lies, and while it was with Sophie, the moment you came back into the picture, the floodgates within his heart had been opened and his love for you is pouring out. “Because it will always be her.”

“I don’t blame you Simon.” Sophie’s voice starts to crack. “But sometimes I wish we never met each other.”

“Don’t say that. You’re an amazing person, pretty, smart.”

“Oh cut the bullshit.” Sophie hisses. “I’m all that, yet I’m not enough for you to choose me. I helped you grieve over someone who would always be your number one choice. I had been warned by my friends and I so desperately wanted you to be different. But I guess you are just a simple man after all.”

And those words stung Simon, more than he would ever realise, he hated how much of a cliché he had become. Yes he had thought he was fully over you, and yes he had thought he could’ve moved on, but now that he had to choose between Sophie and you, it was clear as day who he loved more.

“I wish I could’ve been something more.” Sophie’s words are a soft whisper.

“And for someone else you will be.”

After that there is just silence, two ex-lovers looking at each other. One over the moon because his lost lover returned to him. The other heartbroken after she realised he never fully choose her.

“Do you want me to bring you home?” Simon asks, realizing he had been her ride.

“No. I’d rather walk.”

“Don’t be stubborn, let me either bring you home or pay for your cab.”

“I’ll fucking manage, Simon. I don’t need your pity after you took out my heart and stomped on it.”

Sophie is still pissed, but neither you or Simon can blame her for it, and part of you wished things could’ve been different, part of you wished you had died that day, that he could’ve fully moved on from you. But that part is small, tiny and crumbled up hiding in your brain as you feel guilty.

You can hear someone stomp past the door of the room you’re sitting in, and the door slowly creaks before you see Sophie. It’s an awkward silence, you’ve clearly been caught listening to them, and you can see the light reflecting the tears on her cheeks.

“No matter how mad I am at Simon.” Sophie begins, and you brace yourself for an outburst. “It isn’t your fault.”

You had expected her to be angry at you too, but she isn’t.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter. “You never deserved any of this.”

A soft smile breaks out on Sophie’s face. “I didn’t.” She agrees. “But I’ve learned some things about myself, and when the sadness is over that will be worth something.”

You smile back at her, in another life the two of you could’ve been friends, but not here, not in this life. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For keeping him sane.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“He isn’t easy.”

Sophie laughs and a bit of the tension melts away between the two of you.

“Just.. Simon is a good guy, no matter how much I wanted to strangle him.” Sophie starts. “But he cares about you, a lot, more than he can ever care about himself or someone else. And you care that much about him too, I can see it in your eyes, in his eyes. It wasn’t a coincidence that the universe brought the two of you together.”

“Thank you.” Sophie’s words are warm, and you can see why Simon had loved her. “I hope you find your Simon.”

“I will. I might even hang out on the base a little longer and get myself a colonel or something.”

The both of you can’t help but chuckle at her comment.

“I hope life will treat you well.”

“I wish you the same.”

After that she turns around and walks away, and you can’t help but stare. Sophie had handled it better than you would’ve done, and you can’t help but admire her for that.

Simon pops his head through the open door. “I’m not easy?” He snickers.

“Don’t be like that.”

He steps into the briefing room, closing the door behind him. “You’re not mad?”

“For what?”

“For dating Sophie.”

“Well, I would be lying if I said that it didn’t tear my heart out when I saw you holding her hand.” You admit. “But I’ve always told you that I wanted you to move on in case I passed away earlier than you.”

“Fair, but I can’t help but feel as if I betrayed you.”

“You would’ve betrayed me if you would’ve let yourself rot away in bed.”

You can’t help but look up as he stands before you. “I’ve missed you.” He whispers as he leans closer.

“I’ve missed you too.” You murmur back before he presses his lips against yours.

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flightfoot · 2 months

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Marinette Completed Angst Fic Reclist

I know some people really like this genre, so I figured I'd make a list for it! These will obviously all be completed, and none of them will be bashing fics, and PLEASE don't rec any fics on this post that are bashing fics, I don't want to see them.

Some of these will have my own commentary about the fic attached to it, for if I've put them on a previous reclist where I had that commentary written out. But a lot of the older fics won't.

For a fic to count for this, the angst Marinette goes through can't just be her being upset about what someone else is going through, though the angst of the fic doesn't only need to be hers, so long as she has her own angst which is a decently prominent part of the fic.

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one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace.

Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack for the last remaining Miraculous: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most.

Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

This is a simply phenomenal fic. You get to explore a lot of different perspectives, like Felix, Kagami, Marinette, and Adrien’s, just to name a few, and see their different thought processes and plans and priorities, and how it can cause their plans to collide with each other, even when they all ultimately are aiming for a good outcome for everyone. The characters are pretty complex and can mess up at times, even when they’re doing things (or not doing things, looking at you Luka) with the best of intentions. It was a joy to read and a real nail-biter the whole time, I actually wrote a fic for it halfway through just to resolve some of the tension for myself, One Does Not Love Shadows.

It also features the version of Luka I’ve connected best with to date, as he feels like Luka, but also is a lot more fleshed out, and can make some major errors while simply trying to avoid missteps. It’s helped me get a better handle on a character who I’ve generally had a lot of problems with really understanding.

It is an M-rated fic, though I think Wackus is being overly cautious on that front. There’s no sexual content and I wouldn’t put the violence or gore above a T-rating, so I wouldn’t let the rating scare you off.

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you don’t even know me at all (but I was made for loving you) by @ladyofthenoodle

They didn’t remember each other. The hospital told them there’d been an accident—brain damage—but Alya had told them the truth, later. Who’d they’d been to each other. What they’d given up, and why. But even with their memories of each other gone, Adrien and Marinette are still inextricably tied together—by law, by their social circles, and by their hearts. And in the apartment they share, there’s only one bed.

Yep, it’s the “there was only one bed” trope XD! I especially love how it was used here, how Adrien and Marinette are strangers now but they had a whole life together, and they pine for each other even without remembering, and how Marinette just can’t believe how in love with her Adrien is even though he doesn’t remember her. I loved the emotional turmoil the two of them went through together in the fic, and the resolution, it’s great!

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fine line by @bbutterflies

“Catwalker?” Loveybug asks. “Hmm?” “Do you remember… what happened before us?” “What do you mean?” “Before we were heroes. Was there someone else?” Catwalker goes quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he finally says.

This is a surprisingly angsty take on the Loveybug AU. Here, since the Loveybug and Cat Walker transformations are so unnatural, they’re having negative side effects on Marinette and Adrien, causing them to be constantly exhausted and even to get amnesia the longer they continue using them.

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do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song ‘About You’ by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

Beautiful memory loss fic here, with seeing Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s relationship before she gave up the Miracle box, juxtaposed with the present day, when Adrien is only a stranger to her. I could really feel how Marinette was struggling with navigating these new circumstances, with her friends seeming to expect her to remember, to be who she was to them, to Adrien especially, before, and her just… not knowing whether she can do that. It’s got a happy ending though, for those who are concerned about that.

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Our Tales Are Endless (That’s Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It’s a life she thinks she has always fit in. And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can’t help but wonder if there’s something else she’s missing.

This was a truly gorgeous story. It’s the classic “Marinette gives up the Miracle Box and loses her memories” storyline, exploring her life two years later. Even though she’s had time to heal and recover, she still feels like she’s missing something, something big. At least Adrien’s stopping by regularly to tell her stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she doesn’t understand why they resonate with her so well.

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I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier.

If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

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If I Let Myself Love You by @uptoolateart

It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again.

How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….

- COMPLETE FIC – updates on Sundays

*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. About half of it is fluffy and half heavy. Please read tags for trigger warnings. ***

This fic can be rough, definitely pay attention to the tags. There’s no villains in this story, it mostly centers around themes of dealing with illness - both being sick and having a loved one who’s terminally ill - and death, grieving someone who’s lost, and how difficult that can be. It can get pretty gut-wrenching at times, especially as you slowly discover more layers of what’s really going on, what both Adrien and Marinette are hiding, both from others and from themselves in order to help cope with their circumstances. But they still move forwards together, regardless.

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Between the Heavens and the Embers by @readersmoon

Everyone in Paris remembers the fateful night of January 16, when the city was attacked by the most powerful and destructive akuma ever created. The assault, which lasted for hours, resulted in the death of 439 people.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was among the casualties.

Years later, Adrien hasn't been able to move on, haunted by the memories of her broken body. So, when the opportunity to leave Paris for a while presents itself, he doesn't hesitate. But this trip might end up giving him more than he ever dreamt of.

This is a fantastic fic, though a serious and a dark one - make sure to mind the tags, and it’s M-rated for a reason. Vee - or rather, Marinette - is going through a horror story here. Imagine finding out that your life is a lie, that everyone you thought you could trust was manipulating you, that you were just being continually gaslit for years.

As for Adrien, Alya, and Nino... well, none of them took Marinette’s “death” all that well, especially Adrien. Finding out that she’s been alive all this time, in these horrible circumstances, and they had no clue... it’s hard on them as well.

I love how this fic goes into how much trauma everyone has even after the immediate danger’s dealt with, you don’t just walk off this kind of experience, especially with how many years this lasted.

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in case you don’t know me tomorrow by @thelibraryloser:

“We live in a crazy world where pieces of our lives can be erased like they never even happened. I just wanted to memorize this moment so… so I could keep it, if that makes sense.”

Adrien’s heart gave a little flutter. She wanted to keep this moment, meeting him. She wanted to keep… him.

“I understand exactly what you mean.“

In a world that has created a way to selectively delete memories, no moment is truly safe. So how do you hold on to something when the memory of it is gone? And how do you keep fighting for someone when you’re the only one who remembers?

This is a SEVERELY underrated fic. It’s got some shades of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in the world, though the plot is very different - the memory erasure ain’t willing.

Basically, the first few chapters are establishing Adrien’s and Marinette’s romance, and then the rest of the fic is dealing with Gabriel being an absolute DICK and using any means at his disposal to break them apart. It’s fantastic and I highly recommend reading it!

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hella enchanted by @xiueryn:

Years ago, Marinette’s father died and she was left with her awful stepmother. With magic forcing her to obey every command, she lived as a servant and gave up hope. When a man appears, searching for the very fairy that blessed her, Marinette decides to give life one more try. AU.

(a different ella enchanted au.)

Even though it’s a one-shot this one is pretty long, clocking in at over 30k words. Absolutely worth a shot, though. The first third is basically Marinette dealing with being pushed around because of her “blessing”, and the other two-thirds is just some adorable fluff of her and Adrien touring the country together.

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Echoes of You by kittinoir

In the day time, she's Marinette - a normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with... Not Season 4 Compliant; please, no spoilers

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balancing act by fictionalinfinity

“Besides, being Ladybug always came first. It came before school, friends, and sometimes even family. Now it had to come before her health. Marinette had a duty to Paris. She wouldn’t let them down.” Or, being both Ladybug and the Guardian starts to take its toll on Marinette. - the epilepsy au literally no one asked for

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Some Days by @merrygreenie

Some days are worse, and others are a little better, little by little and day by day. Marinette Dupain-Chen is learning how to live her new normal after living in confinement and being tortured by Hawkmoth. She is thankful to have her friends and family to support her. And a very special Chat who loves her very much. *This story contains scenes of violence and torture this is a whump fic*

This fic has some great angst, but be warned, it's not kidding about the violence and torture. Honestly, it should probably be rated M instead of Teen, given that while the fic mostly takes place after Marinette escapes and while she's recovering, we do get a detailed flashback to her torture.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic rec #marinette dupain cheng #angst

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super-paper · 12 days

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How do you think AFO would be taken out?

Hard to say! All the heroes uniting against him as ~the ultimate evil~ might seem satisfying on some level, but it also plays directly into AFO's toxic comic book narrative and it doesn’t really "engage" with his character in a totally satisfying way, if that makes sense. I'm firmly on team "afo shouldn't get what he wants, Ever" so I'm not a fan of any ending that merrily sends him off into his next life as a "demon lord" instead of actively trying to rip that mask from him. Hori hasn't really let me down on this front, yet-- and as I suspected, it does seem as though chapter 419's AFO is more or less picking up where body!AFO's character arc left off. AFO's core desires as a human and the immensely fragile "heart" he's hidden away are both things that are being directly challenged in the most recent chapter, too:

Izuku, the hero, constantly inspires others to come to his aid because he doesn't hide his humanity, his identity, or his struggles from others-- people see him fighting for his life and realize that he is "just like them," and that motivates them to rush to his side and offer help. Meanwhile, AFO finds himself completely alone because he wont let go of the demon lord role and accept his own humanity. Something something We Still Need To Know His Name smthing sm.

With all of that in mind, I still think the most appropriate way of defeating him involves forcing him to confront his own humanity + weakness in all its ugliness (which Hori has already been doing at a pretty steady rate this arc!) and ultimately forcing him to take responsibility for Yoichi's death. This might seem like a massive leap from the person AFO is right now, but depending on how things go, I do think Hori could pull it off.

Anyway, as for what I would like to see:

Personally, I would like an end where he willingly lets Yoichi go (and by proxy, finally lets Tenko go). Not because I think this would redeem him (it wont) or because I want him redeemed (i don't), but because I do feel like something along these lines would be the natural conclusion to his character arc and the best way to symbolize him accepting death/his mistakes. He came into the world desperately gripping onto Yoichi, and was unable to ever truly live or truly die due to his obsession-- so it makes sense to me that AFO will only be able to leave this world when he finally lets Yoichi go. Like.... even now, we see him stubbornly persisting with the idea of conquering the world even though he feels it's totally pointless-- with the implication that he's doing this because the demon lord role and the captain hero comics are literally the only thing he has atp that still connect him to Yoichi in some capacity.

If I end up being right and the OFA embers now exist within Tenko's body, then ideally, I still want some sort of conversation + resolution between the brothers before Yoichi finally passes on with the rest of the OFA embers. I'll admit that I've never been 100% fond of the idea of reading Izuku & Tenko's story as Yoichi/AFO's "good ending", simply because so much of Tenko's story is about reclaiming his own identity (+ detangling himself from his abusers) and so much of Izuku's story is about finding his own identity-- which is why I feel the final resolution to the OFAFO plot needs to be between AFO and Yoichi, not Izuku and Tenko.

I actually don't want Tenko to kill him! I think I've said this before, but I feel this outcome would be only satisfying to folks who want Tenko to have very surface-level revenge on his abuser w/o thinking about the effect this act would have on Tenko himself. I personally feel it wouldn't do Tenko any favors, mentally, since the crux of AFO's abuse involved convincing Tenko that he only exists to destroy. And people really hate to admit it, but-- Tenko sincerely loved AFO and I don't want him to have to repeat the tragedy of being forced to kill someone he loved all over again (even if they don't deserve that love by any stretch of the word). Like, a lot of people want Tenko to take AFO out the same way he took Kotaro out, but I feel this would only emphasize how Tenko and AFO are trapped in an endlessly repeating cycle.

side note: Kotaro coming directly from AFO's stomach/womb during the 270's vestige realm sequence feels extremely intentional now, what with the constant cannibalism and pregnancy imagery surrounding AFO and Tenko. MHA continues to be a masterful example of visual storytelling and Horikoshi continues to be a straight up freak for no real reason /positive!

A big part of Tenko's healing was always going to involve him confronting his feelings for Kotaro, specifically-- all of his love and disappointment and wishes and anger. And with that in mind, it feels like Hori is setting AFO up to act as a sort of Kotaro proxy for this next stretch of Tenko's character arc (even TomurAFO's current hairstyle and facial structure reminds me of a mix of Kotaro x AFO x Toshi.... Hori really said "Tomura's final character design is gonna be a mish-mash of every potential father-figure who has ever let him down byeeeeee :)" and he was sooooo sick for doing that wtf). Anyway, I know people like to joke about AFOtaro, but honestly, the narrative itself really does justify the read of Tenko being AFO and Kotaro's traumababy lmfao...., 😭

Also worth mentioning is that this iteration of AFO/TomurAFO has pupils, despite there being no Tenko component to his personality at this time. AFO's lack of pupils are textually/canonically meant to convey his inability to "see" others as people, so I'm very interested to see where Hori intends to take things from here.

#mha spoilers #all for one #shimura tenko #midoriya izuku

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gosmigenergy · 7 months

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KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Three

RIMMING / FINGERING/HANDJOB / DRY HUMPING

(Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader)

Summary: It's Day 03 of @absurdthirst's Kinktober! Frankie becomes the first of the four boys to have you for the evening.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Mention of food, drinking, language, light spanking, fingering, choking, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2.4k

Frankie thought it must have been a fluke.

With the way everything was going at the moment, juggling fatherhood, jumping through hoops to get his license back, the rehabilitation, he needed a break. All the boys started arguing about who got you first, Santiago thought it should be him because he suggested the whole thing, Benny thought it should be him because he never had the initial meeting. Him and Will just wanted you and that was enough to get them riled up.

It was childish to pull straws but he couldn’t complain with the outcome.

For the first time ever, Frankie had come first.

He wasn’t ever a man who would go big, there wasn’t going to be a fancy restaurant or flowers though he knew how to cook a damn good meal. Of course, he’d blitz his place clean, packed away the majority of the kids toys from view, changed the sheets. He dressed the table as best he could, stuck on the lamps to get some ambience before chewing his lip over the set up.

The knock interrupted his train of thought.

You’re behind the door, smoothing out your dress when it swings open. Startled, you compose yourself with a smile and Francisco’s expression softens.

“Hey,” his voice cracks.

“Hey.”

He steps back and lets you in, you bump his hip as you pass.

“Well, ain’t you a lucky boy.”

His head drops as he laughs, scratching his scalp.

“Guess I am, yeah.”

Your eyes fall to the tea towel thrown over his shoulder, your hand stretches and you gently pick up the corner.

“Are you making me dinner?”

He looks back to you, eyes big, “It’s nothing special.”

The smell of his cooking reached your nostrils.

“Whatever it is, it smells delicious.”

You watch his shoulders relax, his breath finally releasing.

He hated that he was this nervous, it’s been a while since he’s tried to impress a lady and he’d admit he wasn’t the best at it. Sometimes he came off a little cold, it took him a while to warm up to someone and though your first meeting was brief, you melted him quicker than usual.

“I’ll admit being skilful with my hands has it’s perks.”

You hum, “You better put those to good use later.”

Frankie feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, the shiver running down his spine, he’d make sure to hold you to it.

He cleared his throat, “How do you like your steak?”

“Medium well.”

You didn’t know what he thought to that, he just nodded and moved towards the kitchen.

Settling onto his dining table, he handed you a beer from the fridge, apologising at his lack of wine. He didn’t seem like the type to have a bottle stashed away, saying that, he didn’t seem like the type to have a soft patterned shirt in his wardrobe yet he did. He even went to the effort of protecting it with an apron when he started to fry the meat.

Watching Frankie was like seeing a cookery show live, he was perfectly juggling the food in the oven and on the hob, barely breaking a sweat. He chucks a wedge of butter into the frying pan, tilting the pan towards him as he throws spoonfuls over the steak. You try to remember the name of the technique but his smooth wrist action is distracting.

This meal was more than special.

The plate in front of you was beautiful, a sliced steak coated in garlic butter with a perfect cube of dauphinoise potatoes and greens. You questioned where to start, your mouth watering as the fork in your hand floated until you finally made a decision.

“Oh my god, Frankie,” your voice was muffled from the meat falling apart effortlessly in your mouth.

“Good?”

You nodded, already stabbing more onto your cutlery.

After cleaning up, Frankie found you sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed with a hand rubbing over your stomach. He considered pressing the cold beer glass to your bare skin but decided against it, maybe another time.

“You better not be falling asleep on me,” he huffed.

You open one eye, “Just resting my eyes.”

He shakes the bottles in his hand and you scramble to straighten up, leaning over the back of the sofa to take one.

“Thought I’d stick on a movie.”

The corner of your lips curl, he didn’t quite say watch.

“Sure.”

He flopped to the sofa, opening his body up for you to come closer. You shuffle, bringing your knees to your chest before snuggling into his frame. Unlike the others, he was softer, his physique not the same as it once was though all you could think about was getting that shirt off. Your free hand stroked his chest.

The pair of you settled further into the sofa, the film Frankie chose nothing new so you mostly sat and talked.

Frankie listened to you as you rambled, an arm gently hugging you closer, a broad hand laying on your thigh. His eyes roamed your face as you talked, catching the lines that appeared when you laughed, how your eyes glistened even in the soft light.

“I’m sorry, Frankie, I feel like I’m talking you to death.”

He blinked, wondering how much time had passed for you to say that.

“Not at all,” he said, taking a swig of his beer. “I prefer to listen.”

His hand had unconsciously moved further up your leg, fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

“Did you have something else in mind?”

He laughed, “I’m not quite as smooth as the others.”

You smile, brushing your hand over his patchy beard, fingernails catching in his whiskers. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip. It’s like you could read his mind, you spread your legs just enough for him to slip a hand in between.

His breath runs ragged when a fingertip grazes your soaked underwear.

“Fuck me,” he sighs.

Your teeth sink into your lip before he looks at you, eyes darker than usual. Your cunt twitches, your arousal dampening the fabric more.

He smirks.

“Stand up and take your panties off.”

His tone was stern, completely different in manner than usual. You find yourself following his order immediately. Hiking up your dress, he hungrily watches as you hook each side of your underwear with your thumbs and slip them seamlessly to your ankles.

Closing his legs, he wraps each hand behind your knees and draws you to him. You straddle him, his palms warm against your skin as he roams your thighs. He continues up, palming the plumpness of your ass, his mouth slightly agape, eyes still meeting yours.

There’s a quick slap against your butt cheek, a little yelp escaping your mouth. His expression remains unchanged, hand soothing the patch before he did it again. This time, you bite your lip, stifling your giggle as your inner walls clench.

His hands move back round, fingertips grazing the creases between your legs and hip.

You bunch your dress in your fists, displaying your wetness to Frankie, his eyes dropping to take a look. Your head tilts, attempting to view his expression.

With two fingers, he follows the line of your mound and brushes featherlight over your clit. He notes how the goosebumps raise to the surface, how your breath falls heavier. He draws his fingers up and down your inner lips, scooping the juices over your clit before applying more pressure.

You sigh, head falling back, elongating your neck. It was a temporary distraction, he’d sink his teeth into that later. He continues to circle the bundle of nerves, watching in adoration as you gradually unravel.

“Fuck, Frankie.”

It made him smile wider than he had in a while, the sweet sound of your whine as he stopped your hips from pushing deeper into his touch. He moved his two fingers lower, slipping them into your opening with ease. You moan as you feel them push between your folds, the digits stroking within.

Pumping in and out at a leisurely pace, Frankie rolls his wrist to ensure he touches as much of your walls as he can. Your eyelids flutter shut as your mouth relaxes, your breaths and moans overwhelming his senses, the television no longer audible.

The sweat was beginning to cling to your hairline, the knuckles that held onto your dress turning white. He felt your legs lock against his and with a free hand, he pressed a thumb to your clit. You choke, your features scrunching tight as you grab for him, one hand coiling around his wrist, the other to his shoulder.

He stops moving as you try to breathe.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll last.”

You finally manage to speak.

Removing his thumb from your clit, he picks your head up to face him, drawing circles on your flushed cheeks.

“It’s ok, querida,” his smile had you melting. “I know you aren’t.”

Your single laugh was released in a staggered breath.

“Think you can take three?”

Three?

No one had ever really asked you before, you don’t think any of exes had tried. He feels your walls twitch, your arousal dripping down his fingers.

“Hold your dress up for me.”

The desire was heavy in your stomach, a warmth spreading through your entire body and tingling in your fingertips. Your hands shake through pure excitement as you bunch it a little higher than last time, your navel now on display.

Pulling his slick coated fingers out, your pussy squelches and you whined at the emptiness.

Frankie didn’t say another word, cementing another finger to the other two before guiding them to your entrance. Looking to you, he brushed his fingertips back and forth to which you gift him a feeble nod.

He’s careful, pushing his fingers to the first notch and analysing your face. You blink slowly, moving slightly to get yourself into a more comfortable position. He stops as you take a few more breaths then nod assuringly.

He carries on, watching as you stretch with ease, the sound of how wet you are reaching his ears. Your walls pulsate around his three digits, adjusting to the change in size. You release a honeyed moan as his knuckles reach your weeping cunt.

He gives you a chance to get used to the sensation.

There’s something more filling about having three fingers inside you. It’s like they’re managing to reach areas that have gone untouched only moments ago but your mind can’t process how.

You shiver as he pulls back to just the fingertips, humming when he carves his way back in.

It doesn’t take long for his once gentle motion to become rough, adding his thumb to nudge your clit. The noises you and your pussy are making are borderline obscene yet Frankie relished in them.

“Told you I was good with my hands, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” you choked. “Oh my fucking god, yes!”

The skin across your chest was burning, his hand that was holding onto your jawline loosening and moving along your throat. Your legs were shaking, vibrating your hips as he worked against the suction of your inner walls.

Frankie had already calculated his next move. He had grazed that sweet spot just enough times to know that when he sunk his fingers in, you’d cum. He applied light pressure to your neck and your whole body shuddered in response.

“You gonna come for me?”

You grunt, eyes closed but he needed to see them, he squeezed a little harder around your neck. Your eyes flutter open to see him looking at you intensely, eyes blown, lips now in a straight line.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Your tongue whips over your lips.

“Yes, Frankie,” you bring a hand to his wrist, coaxing him to tighten his grip on your throat. “Please let me cum for you, please.”

With the last thrust of his fingers, he brings them towards him and pushes on your g spot. At the same time, his hand takes more of a hold on your neck.

It sparks like a firework, igniting from low within your stomach before shooting up your spine until you’re screaming his name. Eyes snapping shut as the overwhelming pleasure takes over you. Your tense muscles go limp and your body drapes over Frankie’s.

His fingers loosen, holding steady inside you as your walls pulse around them. His other hand lets go of your throat and trails over your shoulder, running up and down your spine as you shudder from the aftershocks.

You breath him in, the scent of fading sandalwood against the crook of his neck, whiskers catching your hair.

“I’m gonna pull out, ok querida?”

He feels your head bob.

Taking his time, he slips his fingers from your cunt, the drag against your walls causing you to whine. What he does next surprises you, sinking two of his fingers into his mouth and sucks your juices off.

“You taste so fucking good.”

There’s a gristly tone in his voice that only brings your excitement bubbling back to the surface.

You push against his chest and look at him drunkenly. Taking his hand in your, you bring his fingers to your lips. Tentatively, your tongue licks the one fingertip he missed then you slowly swallow it whole.

Your tongue sweeps over his digit, your tang on your tastebuds. Sucking hard, you release it with a pop.

Frankie is dumbfounded.

You giggle, “What?”

The tips of his ears go pink.

“Nothing.”

If he wasn’t hard from watching you cum over his hand, he was now, feeling the strain on his jean’s zipper. And he knows you can feel it too, purposefully rocking your hips to hear him groan deep from his chest.

Your arms come over his shoulders, fingers playing with the back of his brown curls.

“How about, I go and get us another drink and you,” you purse your lips, your index finger running down his chest, “can take me to bed?”

With an outstretched arm, he pats around for the remote he threw away earlier, not taking his eyes off you. The living room gets a fraction darker, the television no longer emitting a blue glow and you wriggle to climb off him. You walk around the space with such confidence, it was like you’d lived here for months. Plucking two fresh bottles from the fridge, you slam the door shut with the sway of your hip.

And all he could do was watch you because for Frankie, he was the fucking luckiest guy in the world.

#kinktober 2023 #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #kinktober

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bellacullenvamp · 6 months

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Red moon.

•Masterlist•

The Cullens have a new family member. Y/n is only a 2 years old newborn... Carlisle stopped her life at age 15 and she still don't know why.

Genre: au! | Angst

Rated: G (Clean for all ages)

Chapter three.

The week was actually normal. To me, that was awesome... that's all I truly dreamed of for two long years. Finally, my problems, are regular teen problems.

When Saturday came, Carlisle invited me to hunt with Esme and him, they do try their best to parent me. Hunting is always a mixed experience, I am not quite good at the craft, so they always help me grab my prey. I feel like a baby lion.

"You got this Y/n! I'm sure in a couple months you are going to be so good at hunting." Esme is the cutest vampire ever. However, I still feel less like a vampire. Such mixed feelings, hating to be a vampire and hating to be bad at it. Lots of hate in my heart.

The couple held hands and started walking in front of me. Esme and Carlisle were worried about Alice's new vision, and some new members of the Volturi clan escalated to meet me. All vampires respond to their big three, I don't remember their names and don't really want to.

Since Renesmee birth, the Volturi clan has kept an eye on us. Carlisle thinks the newborns that are coming, are being tested by them as well. Alice saw them as four brothers, one girl, and three boys.

" They don't really think of a fight coming. However, let's not be naive and prepare for all outcomes." I overhear Carlisle. " Let's prepare Renesmee and Y/n. They are too young to fight but must know how to protect themselves."

" Jacob wants to hide Renesmee," Esme confesses. "She's going to be in La Push for the next month, as we don't know exactly when will they come."

"I think it's good, after all, they only want to meet Y/n. See for themselves if she has any powers that could be important for the Volturi clan." He responds while looking at the horizon.

I am not nervous about meeting the four of them. I have nothing that would benefit them... I am a vampire who can barely hunt...

Back at the Cullen mansion, Renesmee was found watching sports with Emmett. My conversations with him had been few for the past years... He is incredibly loud and the way he hunts scares me the most. He never mistreats me, however, his personality is just too much for me to handle.

I waved shyly, Renes blew me a kiss while laughing at some comment Jasper had made about the sport. Rosalie on the other hand followed me back to my room. "How it went?" She asked about my hunting, and I said "As usual, I am not meant to be a vampire, Rose."

"None of us were darling... Just Bella, she annoyingly accepted this fate!" We both laughed, Alice entered my bedroom with Bella by her side also laughing. We were all crowded on my giant bed, it felt like they were trying their best to calm me down.

"I am not nervous girls," I said calmly.

"We know, but I saw their tests on you...They believe Carlisle transforms the best vampires... And they think you might be their new pet." Alice stated while hugging me sweetly.

"Our history with the Volturi has been worse than you can imagine. They aren't easy to deal with," said Bella.

"They will want to bring you to Volterra. So Aro can see you in person.'' Alice told me with the saddest tone I ever saw her speak.

Silence filled my bedroom and suddenly the girls weren't filling the space like before. I will be left alone, I will be with the Volturi, and Aro himself will test me.

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spiderfreedom · 7 months

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Overlap between the radical feminist and rationalist world today.

If you don't know what Rationalists are, it's a Silicon Valley-centric subculture/ideology about trying to be more rational, in theory. In practice, it means you've read either everything posted by Eliezer Yudkowsky on LessWrong, or (more commonly today) everything posted by Scott Alexander on SlateStarCodex/AstralCodexTen.

Scott Alexander is well known for his, uh, interesting ideas on feminism and women. He is a proponent of the idea that women are just naturally not inclined towards STEM fields and that this is a better explanation for their underrepresentation. He is especially famous for having written 'Untitled', where he argues that pop feminists who talk about nerd entitlement are cruel character assassins and that hating fedoras is a dogwhistle for hating Jewish men.

You may think a subculture like this would be primed for sceptical, non-mainstream thinking about transition science, at least, but Rationalism has a very high rate of trans women (MTFs) participating in it, and a very high rate of defending the interpretation that the 'best thing we can do' is to just go along with the idea that trans {gender} are {gender}, in a sort of utilitarian "it causes the least harm" sort of way.

(There are some people in the subculture strongly against this, including sex dysphoric men, but they are a small minority.)

With all this in mind, I think of this part as exemplary:

Scott: This is going to sound insensitive, but as far as “bad US medical policies” go, 2,500 children having their lives low-key ruined is nothing. I can think of a dozen US medical policies that are much worse than that!

It is certainly the case that the actual, objective number of kids going on puberty blockers or youth transition is pretty small. Even as doctors try to make these treatments accessible, there simply aren't enough treatment centers to meet what they see as rising demand.

Now if you want to say "I'd rather focus my energies on an issue that objectively affects more people," I get that. But I don't trust Scott on this issue, for the reason that he is a noted anti-feminist (as in, he thinks feminists and feminist activism is untrustworthy) and a noted apologist for current levels of female representation in fields (it's 'inherent interest' after all).

For me, I see the misuse of youth transition as a way to turn gender non-conforming kids and gay kids into gender conforming straight kids who are more attractive. (The end goal of making youth transitioners into more sexually attractive partners is stated everywhere.) I also see that the ideology behind youth transition is used to pathologize gender non-conforming and gay kids into thinking that there is something horribly wrong with them and that they are "really" the opposite gender. Even if only a small number of kids actually get to take the puberty blockers, the ideology supporting the puberty blockers - that gender non-conforming behavior and dissatisfaction with one's birth body are incontrovertible signs of permanent cross-gender identity - is harmful and pathologizing to gnc/gay kids. This ideology has effects beyond the number of kids with access to clinics and "supportive" parents, and I'm seeing it in how every slightly gender non-conforming teenage girl I meet is calling herself non-binary or transmasc. The erasure of gnc women is a tragedy and a false salvation to the pains of misogyny.

I don't expect any of this to matter to Scott, though, because he has shown multiple times on his blog that he is really not that interested in women or outcomes for women. He thinks if someone is distressed and wants to transition and shows signs that transition would help, then they should be medicalized. I doubt he cares about what this means for gender non-conforming women or gay women. It is possible he thinks gender non-conforming women are on some spectrum of transness anyway, and that we'd have been happier transitioned than not.

I'm mostly just surprised at the lack of curiosity. One of the things I like about Rationalists is the sense of curiosity. It's a group that really attracts strange people who like to think very deeply. Scott is a psychiatrist. He suspects something weird is going on with youth transition, yet he's utterly uncurious about what it is, or why. Is he afraid of seeming 'obsessed' with gender? Does he think that gnc girls being medicalized and pathologized at a young age is no big loss, because they can just rebuild identities as 'trans men', so it's not worth spending time on?

Having read the accounts of detransitioners, I know that they are constantly minimized and silenced on account of being a 'small number.' I also know that detransitioners, whether youth or adult, have valuable things to add to the conversation. Even if it's a small population that we're helping, I want to help them, because I know most people's response will probably be like Scott's - "oh, there's so few of them, that's not a big deal." It is a big deal to the people affected, and it's a big deal to everyone who is told in some way that something is wrong with them because they are gnc/gay/autistic females.

#radfem #radfems please touch #radical feminists please touch #radical feminism #detransition

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yuikomorii · 1 year

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As a fellow Ruki stan I'd love to know how you'd rank his routes 🌸

// Sure thing! ^^

1. More Blood

You probably didn't see this coming, but I really enjoyed his MB route! I'm aware of how hated it is because of the cat scene, and while I disagree with Ruki's actions, they didn't ruin him for me. I just love how SASSY Ruki can be, even if some of his roasts are really mean, but I'm sure they're just there to make the audience laugh. I think the funniest one was when he told Yui "Today we will go home on foot. Why? Because a person such as yourself who doesn’t know how to stop when eating is very prone to put on some pounds after all.” He's so savage, and I love it, but I wouldn't want to deal with such a person in real life, lol. Aside from that, his last Ecstasy chapter was the first to make me cry, and his Vampire Ending was stunning, especially the kissing cg!

2. Chaos Lineage

Another unpopular choice because I've seen a lot of people complain about it being boring and lacking significant romantic interactions due to including his brothers too much, and while I can't say his route was very good, I still really like it! I'm glad Ruki was less obsessed with Karl there, and he seemed more relaxed and genuine overall. He even pouted at one point, which was so cuuute! I love the Mukamis, so I'm always up for family moments, and the romance was adequate, neither exaggerated nor non-existent.

3. Dark Fate

Would have given it a higher rating if Ruki hadn't been such a jerk in the first half, and what bothered me the most was how he treated his brothers. Kou had very good reasons to be mad at him, and it's already becoming frustrating because they're supposed to be best bros, yet Ruki and Kou always find a way to fight. What did I love about it? He got down on his knees and apologized to Yui for saying such horrible things. I was moved to tears by the scene in which he cried for her because I had not expected Ruki to do such a thing. Furthermore, his Vampire Ending is probably my favorite of all games; it's simply the best possible outcome for him and Yui.

4. Lunatic Parade

I don't remember much about LP, but his route was fun, and I think he was more flirty than usual there, which is a plus! Well, everyone had great LP routes in my opinion because that game was truly lighthearted!

5. Lost Eden

He was ideal in the first half of the route, but the second half irritated me greatly. Maybe I have high expectations, but are you really going to tell me that in the previous game, a "dummy" character only heard ONE thing about Karlheinz yet immediately connected all the dots about all his victims, realizing that he's truly the root of all evil because he was using everyone for his selfish desires and then… there's Ruki who 1) was told by Christa that Karl was Trismegiste aka the person who ruined his life, 2) went to Romania to read about the Revolution, where Trismegiste was mentioned, 3) had his ghoul-father tell him that Karl is Trismegiste and that he slaughtered a bunch of people to make ghouls out of them only to have Ruki say this "I'm sure Karlheinz-sama regretted his actions, that's why he gave our lives back". If he had regretted, he would have rewinded time long ago. I'm aware that different writers exist, but they should be more careful when writing these parallels because it can cast their own characters in a negative light, since one reaction will always be better than the other. Still really liked the lore and the fact Rejet learnt something about Romanian history.

6. Vandead Carnival

I enjoy VC as a game, but Ruki was a little too stiff for my liking. It wasn't bad, but I felt like Ruki was babysitting Yui for almost the entire route. :”)

#admin

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danglovely · 5 months

Text

Kim Possible Episode Tiers: The C-Tier

The C-tier is probably best defined as episodes that I'm never really eager to rewatch, but I'm pleasantly surprised when I do. It's a good show, so they're good episodes . . . but at least one thing sticks in my craw about these ones.

Attack of the Killer Bebes: Drakken origin story! It's silly, but I still fall on the side of thinking that it mostly works. It's not a strong conviction, but let's roll with it.

Oh Boyz: Honestly, this would be lower if they didn't boy-band-dance their way through some lasers.

Larry's Birthday: I'm a little surprised Larry gets as much screen time as he does. I'm even more surprised that I kind of really like this episode. The twist, Dementor, it all sort of works for me.

Rufus vs. Commodore Puddles: It's a random 15 minute episode, but I just want to highlight one of my favorite Drakken quotes in it.

Mathter and Fervent: Two things I don't particularly love in Kim Possible: B villains and examining the relationship between Ron and his parents.

Two to Tango: I've mentioned it before, but Shego and Jr. have some winning chemistry and I've probably rated this episode too low.

Partners: This episode had some real potential. It tried to analyze Ron/Monique, Drakken/Amy + commentary by Shego, and Kim/Random Character all at once. It would have benefitted from being a bit more focused.

Monkey Ninjas in Space: It's sort of absurd to theme an episode of Kim Possible around a father's crisis about his kid growing up too quickly. She's an international superspy. That's the sort of plot you cede attempting when you created this universe.

Ron Millionaire: Why didn't Shego just take Ron's money? It's fine, but I never outright enjoy the "Ron loses sight of what's important" episodes.

Rewriting History: This could've been in a higher tier if it was more confident in itself. Why are Ron and Kim imagining this all in a shared dream?

Cap'n Drakken: Look. Drakken gets possessed by a pirate spirit. That plot being a C-quality episode for me is frankly, amazing. It could've easily been the worst episode in the series.

Team Impossible: This is the one time the show ever questions whether Kim is the best possible person to be doing this sort of work. Maybe it's important that it isn't a recurring question . . . but I found it particularly entertaining that it ends with a member of Team Impossible doing James's taxes.

Return to Wannaweep: The frustration of Gil clearly being a villain again and no one believing Ron (who saved everyone the first time they were here). I would say the Bonnie and Kim rivalry, which I'm normally fine with, left me exasperated.

Queen Bebe: RIP Steve Harwell.

Kimnation Nation: It's alright, but I thought the clone angle was underexplored and I don't particularly love Drakken riding solo for an episode.

Mothers Day: I have to say it. I don't like Drakken's mom. I think she removes anything threatening about him as a character and I don't think she adds all that much in her own right. What I did like was Ann being a great sidekick for Kim.

Bonding: I don't know what to make of Bonnie and Kim. I really like Bonnie as a character, I'm interested in her opinions and what it's like being the high school rival of an international super hero. I don't like petty drama. Maybe there was more to explore here.

Car Alarm: What were the Ed and Shego interactions in this episode? I will say the birds in car joke got me multiple times.

Homecoming Upset: There's a story to tell about Bonnie's feelings about Ron that I'm not sure I've totally figured out yet. This is a good subversion episode and it has my favorite bit of CCR voice acting.

Rufus in Show: I think I would outright hate this episode, except it's surprisingly funny.

Animal Attraction: There's natural humor in giving all your characters a romance test and having the results pair them with the most ridiculous outcomes. It would probably be higher if the villain plot was a little better than "revenge for getting kicked out of the billionaire club."

Vir-Tu-Ron: This is actually a pretty good episode and maybe I'm just bitter about Ron and Zita never being appropriately resolved by the show.

#kim possible #kp tiers

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the-pale-goddess · 2 months

Note

Hi hildee!! Missing you here. I was feeling angsty and thought, What would be the reason for Ethan and Tiffany to divorce (cheating can't be the answer). I know it is not possible, but let's imagine a parallel universe where they did. What is the plausible reason behind it? And how will they navigate their lives since they work at the same place? Will they find someone else and move on, or at some point in the future, will they give their marriage a second chance?

Ahhh, loveliest Anon, I miss you too—horribly so! Can’t thank you enough for still thinking of me and E&T ❤️❤️❤️

It’s common knowledge that I live for angsty AUs, but I must admit that your ask inspired a disgustingly fluffy fic idea first ksdjksjdksj Your power, hello?! I couldn’t be more grateful because you helped me settle on a quite important canon HC I couldn’t figure out for the longest time! I wish I had more space to pursue this tooth-rotting fluff…Sadly, with my poor health and everything going on in my life, it seems impossible at the moment.

Still, you’re waiting for angst galore, and I’m here to deliver…

I received a similar ask in the past, and I still stand by my answer—I can’t think of any circumstance that would break them up. Canonverse E&T go through a pretty solid character development; both of them worked on their personal issues and unresolved past traumas, finding inner wisdom and integrity so crucial in overcoming any obstacles that could endanger their relationship.

However…You made me ruminate on the topic again. What if...They would somehow...Skip this long and difficult process? I can picture (1) particularly heart-wrenching scenario in which divorce would certainly happen 👀 As you can imagine, anything that had the power to dissolve their bond and force them to separate must be huge and tragic.

I feel terrible even thinking about this entire AU…So buckle up! I’ll try to paint the scene and address your questions. Please, don’t hate me ksdjfkdsjfksj

TW: neonatal death

Tiffany was 38 when she got pregnant for the third time. Though it was a dangerous gamble, E&T put their trust into medicine and hoped for some luck. Unfortunately, the nightmare possibility became a horrifying reality: she developed preeclampsia. At first, the danger seemed contained; both the mom and the baby were closely monitored and taken care of. But her condition suddenly worsened, the severity of disease calling for a premature delivery.

While Tiffany was fighting for her life, Ethan had no choice but to make an impossible decision—a decision he reached with zero hesitation. He wouldn’t risk losing the love of his life for a 60% survival rate a baby born at 24 weeks would have. Despite receiving the best possible treatment in the NICU, the little one didn’t survive the night.

While canonverse E&T would certainly navigate through such a traumatic event with unwavering mutual support and dedication to recovery, AU E&T would spiral into the darkness. Instead of making an effort to communicate properly and listen to each other, trying to understand those conflicting emotions raging inside them, they would focus on the misery, fuelled by those underlying personal issues they failed to address back when it was expected.

Gravely depressed, Tiffany was furious with Ethan’s decision. She thought he should have tried to save the baby no matter the cost. It was obvious that the loss she suffered clouded her judgment. If given the choice, she would have to agree with Ethan. She studied the case obsessively every day, went through all the possible outcomes, and the baby truly stood no chance. But she could be saved; she had to fight for her two other children—the ones that already had a life, the ones counting on her, trying to grasp what happened. That was perhaps the essence of her anguish: she had no choice, no say in this, no chance to meet her tiny daughter, to say goodbye. She couldn't fix it. Grief poisoned her mind in ways she could never predict.

Ethan was too fixated on his own sorrow and the absurdity of his wife’s resentment to actually see past her pain and empathize with her extremely fragile state. The fact that she was so willing to leave him and orphan their children for a slim chance of saving a fetus? He couldn’t understand her reasoning. He wouldn’t understand her reasoning. Yes, the loss affected him too, it affected all of them. But there was no other choice. She had to see that, right?

The tragedy struck them in separate bolts, and they landed on different paths, too consumed by their own agony to meet half-way and reconcile. Inevitably, the connection between them began to dim and they grew apart. With no emotional support from Ethan, Tiffany became distant as she struggled to get better. Ethan fell back into the old patterns and put his emotional defense back up high. He started spending the majority of days at work, neglecting not only Tiffany, but also NJ and Letty.

Every attempt to patch things up led to cruel arguments and blame-shifting. Eventually, Tiffany recognized it all went too far and saw only one solution to their problems: she filed for divorce and full child custody. After a short yet intense custody battle, they reached an agreement that allowed Ethan to have the kids for the weekend.

As soon as the divorce became final, Tiffany and the children moved to NYC (no surprise here, I guess kdjfksfjksfj). Ethan would visit them most of the times, but on occasion Tiffany would fly the kids to Boston and spend the weekend there, strolling through the city with old friends.

NJ was 9, and Letty was 6 when the divorce happened, so I imagine it was unbearably tough for them to process, especially with all the mess happening prior. But they’re the kind of troublemakers that would 100% come up with a genius plan to Parent Trap E&T and bring them back together lol Would they be successful? Well…Only if both Tiffany and Ethan went to therapy and dealt with their inner problems first. Then, I presume, they would be able to have a heart-to-heart with each other and see if there are still some remnants of trust and compassion left in the ashes of their relationship. Despite all the bitterness and trauma, the love between E&T remains intact, so it all boils down to whether they would allow themselves to open up to the frightening idea of reconnection and the risk the second chance carries.

Ooof…That was extremely painful to conjure up and felt even worse as I was writing it down ksdfjksjgksj Nevertheless! Thank you for the ask, dear, I'm sending you lots of love ❤️

#i didn't proofread this #i wrote this with tears streaming down my cheeks kjfksfjs #angsty angst and AU shenanigans #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc

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astersatdawn · 8 months

Text

Burning (Rising) Piece by Piece

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All for One, Midoriya Izuku & Shigaraki Tomura

Rating: T

Tags: Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Hisashi, Villain Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Suicidal Midoriya Izuku, Suicidal Ideation, (it's not the focus but it's there), Reunions, Midoriya Izuku Finds Out He Has a Quirk, Midoriya Izuku Has All for One Quirk

Oneshot | 4.2k words

“Why would he be nervous?”

“Dumb reasons.” Shigaraki’s thumb mashes one of the buttons. “Thinks you’d hate him or something.”

It takes a moment for Izuku to think of a response. Izuku would not be here if he didn’t care at all, and wouldn't have stayed if he found a reason to hate his father. Maybe his father being a villain was a surprise, and he knows it would’ve hurt more to find out as a child, but the idea of hating his father entirely…

He cannot imagine a world where that is the truth.

[Or, Izuku, tired of waiting for answers about his father's whereabouts, comes to a conclusion, and asks about it, only to be proven wrong.]

Ao3 Link: Here

“How did my father die?”

It comes off more meek than Izuku intended, quiet and half-buried in the buzzing ventilation, the static of the perpetually on-off tv, and switch-controller button presses as Shigaraki maneuvers his way through his game with matching chimes.

The question doesn’t even have Shigaraki looking up from the screen, though Izuku knows Shigaraki heard him. He still continues to play his game, eyes focused on the room’s brightest screen as he presses the joystick forward.

“What makes you think he’s dead?” Shigaraki murmurs in lieu of an answer.

Izuku frowns, but answers anyway. “He disappeared for over half a decade, has ties to a criminal organization, and no one’s given any further hints of his presence despite the fact that his son signed onto the same organization he’s supposed to be a part of. It isn’t enough to conclude he is dead, but it just seems more likely… and I figured it’s best I prepare for the worst outcome anyway.”

“Well he’s not.” Shigaraki shifts his legs and plops them down on Izuku’s lap. He doesn’t complain, just presses his lips together as he waits for whatever Shigaraki has to say next—he’s not usually this physical, and if he’s trapping Izuku, he’s expecting a conversation that might send Izuku running. Could it be he was lied to? “He’s busy.”

“Busy,” Izuku echoes, half disbelievingly.

If it was as simple as he was busy, Izuku doesn’t think he would have been so desperate to chase after one tiny thread of him, even into the dark. The belief that his father still cared for him, in some way, regardless of any physical or metaphysical distance, is one of the only reasons Izuku stuck around for as long as he has (and they both Izuku and Shigaraki know Izuku doesn’t mean the League; there’s nowhere else on this earth for Izuku to belong, not anymore. This is his last bastion, even if they both pretend it’s not).

“Or that’s what he told us to tell you.”

“...but that’s not what you want to tell me.”

Shigaraki digs his toes into Izuku’s ribs, and Izuku flicks his ankle. Shigaraki tsks, and remains silent for a moment, concentrating on whatever is creating the beeping noise coming from the console.

“I think he’s being stupid. He’s nervous.”

That’s an image Izuku can’t imagine. His father had always been the picture of confidence with his wrinkle-free suits and perpetual smiles; no matter how difficult the day had been, Izuku never saw the man wear the weight of stress on his broad shoulders, or seen him walk without his unwavering conviction. Even his father’s every word rolled from his lips, a smooth confidence Izuku has never found in anyone else—not even Kacchan, who wears ego like a second-skin—each syllable accompanied by a smokey trail, as if another guide for Izuku to follow as he was carefully drawn into his father’s logically lain pathway. (It was the only source of smoke that Izuku knew to be a soft, but sometimes stern, beacon; any other and Izuku would simply remember the smell of burning flesh and flee from its signal, only to be reminded that was futile for smoke was steered by the wind, and its sting would always blow in Izuku’s face).

“Why would he be nervous?”

“Dumb reasons.” Shigaraki’s thumb mashes one of the buttons. “Thinks you’d hate him or something.”

He cannot imagine a world where that is the truth.

“Why would I?”

Shigaraki shrugs. “Dunno. He’s surprised you're here, I guess. I think it was always part of the script—those stupid heroes don’t realize they gave me player two. But he doesn’t think that.”

Izuku glances away from Shigaraki, staring at floorboards as he leans forward, rests bony elbow on Shigaraki’s bony ankle. There’s an answer, buried within him, that Izuku’s aware of. Something once true that no longer is.

“It might not have been—inevitable, that I’d join.” Izuku’s hands drop, awkwardly draped over Shigaraki’s legs, to pull at the hem of his shorts. “If I didn’t give up, I would’ve tried to be a hero. And if not that…”

Izuku doesn’t need to explain that. He hears the menu open, but no flickering through options.

“If I… if I hadn’t become disillusioned with all that, I might not have, and him being a villain… it would’ve hurt before… really hurt. The idea of remembering him back then and knowing he’s a villain… but now—” a deep gulp of air, “—now I just want to see my dad again. It—that—doesn’t matter anymore. I—I miss him, and I need to see him again.” Izuku feels tears welling in his eyes. “I never would’ve—I can’t hate him. Before you, he was—he was—”

Izuku hiccups. Rubs at tears with his wrist.

“The only person to believe in you, right?” Shigaraki mumbles, like a reflection, more than a question. Izuku nods. Louder, Shigaraki says: “Sensei.”

The sudden call for Sensei has Izuku drying his eyes faster—has he been listening? Oh he really shouldn’t let Sensei see him like this—

“Sensei, you hear that? You’re being stupid.”

Izuku freezes mid-motion, breath, limbs and all.

Did Shigaraki just call Sensei stupid? That couldn’t have been what Shigaraki just said; if he did, then Izuku finally overdosed and landed in hell with something resembling his only friend.

Even if this is really happening, why would Shigaraki say that? They’d been talking about Izuku’s father. Was Sensei the one putting doubts in his dad’s mind? Was Sensei making it harder for Izuku to see his dad?

What would Sensei want for him to agree to letting Izuku see his dad?

At this point, Izuku knew the answer readily: anything.

“Tomura.”

“Yeah, yeah, lecture me later,” Shigaraki grumbles, pointedly looking at where the camera is. “Something’s more important, or are you still gonna continue being dumb?”

There is a long moment of silence.

Did Shigaraki mess up? What is going on?

“Kurogiri. Open a portal.”

A quick affirmation and purple mist sprouts up on the floor space right in front of Izuku. Shigaraki’s legs lift off of Izuku’s lap only to cram themselves between Izuku’s back and the couch.

Izuku stares at the portal. Then back at Shigaraki. His foot nudges Izuku’s back, though it doesn’t send him barreling forward. “Get going, dumbass.”

Oh.

His eyes widen. Is it really that simple?

Maybe it isn’t, but truthfully, Izuku can’t bring himself to care. Before he even considers giving it another thought, Izuku is hurrying on through the portal which whooshes shut once he’s through.

Izuku has been carefully placed onto an open gap of the floor space, amid wires of varying thickness, all of which crowd around Sensei’s chair. He can hear the beeping of the life support machines, see the flickering status lights among dimly lit monitors.

He has been here only once before, as part of his official introduction to the League. The meeting hadn’t lasted long, but the impression Izuku got of Sensei was one he would never forget. A deep tone, words spoken with an almost playful lilt, an ancient confidence expressed in every gesture, and a smile befitting a demon rather than a saint—ironic, for as unholy as they were, for someone like Izuku, Shigaraki and Sensei may as well have been. There was no denying the man’s intelligence, or how even without eyes the man had monitored Izuku’s every move like a hawk, hyperfocused on Izuku’s every breath, assessing him.

Izuku knew, within the first minute of that meeting, that if this man saw it fit for Izuku to die, he would be dead by morning.

It should have been frightening. A year ago Izuku would have thought of every possible escape and died trying, terror pounding in his chest through his final hours. But the Izuku who stood before Sensei that day was not the same as the idealistic Izuku from a year ago. Izuku was already used to being hunted by bullies; an ancient out to kill him wasn’t as frightening as the shadows of childhood creeping under his bed—a man like this would hunt Izuku out of practical disinterest, not for sport—and it mattered even less when some mornings death felt more welcome than not.

But today, with an opportunity for answers so close Izuku can taste it, Izuku cannot risk that dance with death. He has to hope he was here for the very reason Shigaraki had sent him, and not as some indirect punishment for Shigaraki’s impudence.

His hands wring together, unsure if he should speak first, or wait to be spoken to. It’s impossible to not grow more anxious, the longer Sensei’s scarred face stares in Izuku’s direction.

What is Sensei able to make out of him? Can his Quirks grant him some sort of sight even without eyes? Can he make out shapes and shadows through layers of flesh? Or could he have thermal-based vision—how detailed could the rippling warmth that radiates within his chest be? Maybe he accesses him through the faintest of vibrations—could he feel the minute twitch of his fingers, or the slightest shifts of weight with loose subconscious starts and stiff conscious ends? Looking at him like this, can Sensei sense the quivering nerves or the boiling want?

“Come closer,” Sensei says, breaking the silence that shrouded the room.

Izuku doesn’t hesitate. He steps over a few wires, approaching, and keeps getting closer when Sensei gestures him closer. It’s only when Izuku is standing just before Sensei, well within arms reach, that he stops.

He’s not expecting it when Sensei reaches out and takes Izuku’s face in his hands. Izuku stills—not out of fear, but simple surprise. It’s a gentle touch, and the thing that surprises Izuku more than the act itself is the feeling that stirs in his chest: something like nostalgia, remembering how his mother would dry his tears with her thumbs, or how his father would cradle his face as he looked him over for bruises and scrapes.

“I’m sorry, Izuku.” Familiar, again, somehow; deep voice rumbling low and soft with the exact same intonation his father had said his name, before—it’s a thought that stirs some dormant revelation inside his chest. “I wanted to be able to properly look at you when we reunited, but it seems I was being too cruel to the both of us.”

His heart stutters. That awakening revelation thrums through him to the beat of a lightning strike, and with a clarity only found in the eye of a storm, he looks at this man once more. There is no photograph to reference, but Izuku lets his memories carry him, overlaying past and present, and lets himself finally notice every little detail he had been missing because of the unfamiliarity of Izuku’s new situation and Sensei’s damaged appearance.

“Dad…?” His voice cracks.

“I’m here, Izuku.”

Everything Izuku had been holding in comes out: he throws himself forward, wrapping his arms around his father’s body, careful to not nudge the life support equipment out of place—he can’t lose his dad again, he can’t be why he loses his dad again—and his father’s arms wrap around him, so tight, and he holds his head close as Izuku sobs his heart out. Years and years of grief unraveling with every wail, every missing moment reclaimed as his fingers dig into the fabric of his father’s once tidy suit.

“Dad,” he chokes out. Again, and again, and his father hums something soft every time, with every word, fingers running through his hair in a way Izuku had missed from his long-gone youth.

Izuku does not think of questions, though he knows he will have many. He thinks about how he’s finally found his father, after being alone, after being found by someone Izuku thinks he wouldn’t have wanted to be found by, once. In him now, there is only grief, and mending, the deep wounds branded into Izuku’s flesh finally beginning to stitch just a little shut after years and years of being torn wider with every breath.

He has no clue how long he spends sobbing, clinging, doesn’t know when he crawled to rest more comfortably on his father’s lap like a toddler rather than a teenager—it feels silly, but, even as Izuku’s sobs begin to turn into sniffles, he knows he doesn’t want to let go, and judging by the tight grip that hasn’t relented, his father doesn’t want to let go either.

“I missed you,” is the first thing he whispers that isn’t an echo. It’s obvious, but Izuku needs to say the words. For all the feelings he’s unleashed, the words are what grounds him into the reality that he is really here.

“I know. I missed you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you sooner than this.”

“Shigaraki’s right. You were being stupid,” Izuku mumbles into his father’s shoulder, something between a laugh and revitalized sob dripping out of his throat. To think Shigaraki hadn’t been calling out Sensei as his Sensei, but as Izuku’s missing father. As much as Shigaraki hates the sappy stuff, Izuku will have to thank him; he’d been the one who pulled Izuku away from the cliff’s edge, and to think, he’d guide him back to his father, too. “Why didn’t—why didn’t you tell me?”

His father doesn’t answer him for a long moment. Continues to stroke Izuku’s hair, back and forth, twisting curls with gentle pulls. As much as Izuku wants answers, he doesn’t mind waiting either, if it meant another moment he didn’t have to leave.

“...I have lied to you about many things, Izuku, and while your admiration for heroes may have dwindled, I do not think you’ve completely changed as a person for it. I knew you’d be upset, but I suppose I failed to consider that this approach would make you upset in a different manner.”

It’s Izuku’s turn to be silent. There are a lot of things Izuku could say; the lies are obvious, now that he’s here, talking to his father who is also Sensei, the ancient man whose Quirk lets him take and give Quirks as he pleases. His father didn’t tell Izuku from the start, either, that he was his father when they met again at Shigaraki’s insistence. He never gave any hint of his true occupation when Izuku was a child—though, of all the lies, it’s somehow the easiest to forgive, if only because Izuku suspects it is the simplest piece of this puzzle. It’s everything else that, while Izuku already knows he’ll forgive, does not erase the questions and worries swelling within him.

So the question is where does Izuku start with this. That list lengthens with every passing second, and he wonders if it’s better to start chronologically or alphabetically, worth spilling them out in a gush like he had when he was young and eager to decipher Quirks with his father, or one at a time like his father would when guiding Izuku to a predetermined destination.

Another thought crosses his mind, then, far later than it should. A different wound reopens, oozing as he realizes another implication about Izuku’s past, considering who his father is.

Does he start there, at the place so close to his insecure heart? Or does he start with distance, and hope there’s time to draw closer (or not enough, so he can ignore the doubt, and maybe the inevitable hurt that comes with the worst possible answers?)

He takes a deep breath. The comforting scritching in his hair doesn’t cease. Another breath, something shaky as he decides it’s better to hope this decade old wound can be clumsily stitched shut again rather than fester until the day Izuku breathes his last.

Meekly, Izuku asks, “why… was there a reason you thought I should stay Quirkless?”

There’s a hundred additions Izuku can add: you knew about the bullies, you knew I cried myself to sleep some nights, you knew I had nightmares of bullies more than I ever did of villains, you knew I was alone, you knew I wanted to save so many people but was never going to be given the chance and you could’ve changed that.

You could’ve put a stop to it before it began, and we wouldn’t have known the difference.

“There were a few reasons why you were led to believe you were Quirkless.”

Izuku’s eyebrows furrow. “Led to believe?”

The hand leaves his hair, and while his father’s grip around him loosens, he doesn’t push him away. Rather, he only maneuvers Izuku so that he can look at him while keeping Izuku as close as possible. Then, he holds his hand out to him, palm up. Izuku looks between his father’s face and the hand, before tentatively setting his hand in his father’s.

“Close your eyes,” his father instructs. “I want you to focus on the space where our hands are joined.”

His father’s hand is chilly and his palm is rough. Izuku thinks he feels a small gap in his palm, in the space Izuku once thought was simply a tattoo or a scar, but now wonders if it’s a mutation.

Somehow, that spot feels different than the rest of his hand—it’s still cold, but the more Izuku pays attention to the unique ridges of his father’s palm, he realizes it’s not simply cold; it’s like he’s close to submerging in something, a diver floating just above the waves, looking into murky waters below and wondering what there is to find.

“I want you to search for something there. Something warm—and when you find it—” he plunges, rumbling in his ears as he enters the dark depths of the unknown, but he can already feel traces of it, wisps of light and the smell of smoke, just hovering at the edge of his senses “—pull.”

Izuku grasps. His fingers squeeze his father’s hand, and with a tug, that heat spreads within him, crawling up his bloodstream and settling in his lungs while something warm and wet settles in the space between their palms.

His next breath chokes him, and he coughs, bits of smoke and spark with every hack. There’s blood between the crevice of their palms, but Izuku doesn’t think much of it as he raises his hands to his mouth and feels the lingering heat hovering on his lips.

He exhales, one formed from practiced desperation, and between his bloody palms, fire blooms.

“This is—”

“Fire Breath,” his father tells him. “It was the first Quirk I took, and I knew if I ever got the chance, I wanted it to be one of the Quirks I gave you—more specifically, I hoped this would be the first Quirk you took from me.”

The truth is both a sledgehammer to the chest and wings fluttering with every breath: “I wasn’t Quirkless.”

“No, you were not.” His father flicks his wrist, and from nothing, a wet cloth is held in his clean palm. Gently, he takes Izuku’s wrists and begins to wipe away the blood, revealing the center of each where a mutation, like his father’s, now sits. “It would’ve been dangerous to have a four year old running around with this.”

Dangerous seems like such a small word for all it can encompass. Who was it a danger to? Was anyone meant to be safe if Izuku had knowledge within his grasp?

“Giving you a Quirk was risky, because it could’ve triggered the mutation regardless of what you were given. If that happened, I suspect you would be more susceptible to an urge to use your Quirk, and the consequences of that… well. Beyond whatever fallout would happen at that moment, this would have drawn eyes that would threaten our family. It was safer for us all if you simply believed there was nothing to find.”

Izuku almost wishes he didn’t understand that decision. With his father’s status as a career criminal who was both rumor and real, having a child appear with the same Quirk was both a red flag to anyone with the right information and something that could draw massive attention even without. A Quirk like that could threaten everything—even just quietly existing in the background, like it does now, already leads to worried ripples and terrified whispers.

There is something else that catches Izuku’s attention: “urges?”

“We’ve discussed it before, I believe. Dr. Itou’s—”

“Quirk Impacts on Human Psychology,” Izuku echoes. “He said that humans are inclined to use their Quirks, and that Quirk use or lack of use can have impacts on executive functioning and mental health…”

“That’s right. I imagine you’ve been handling any sort of urge through your analysis, which worked well when you had no reason to suspect, or try, taking someone’s Quirk. But now, it’s likely that examining Quirks will not be enough.”

Izuku stares at their hands. He might be a villain, now, has destroyed a man with his own two hands, but the idea that he could be driven to theft of such a personal degree is unsettling. “I’ll have to steal Quirks.”

“Only if you want to. I don’t mind parting with some of my collection until you’re ready to go somewhere else for something new. Even if you’ve chosen this path, I know your actions will still be driven by kindness, Izuku.”

It’s strange how he realizes that the statement isn’t a compliment, and, even more than that, it’s completely foreign to recognize he doesn’t mind that. Kindness has burned him—it took him almost too long to realize that. He gave and he gave and he burned and he burned for simply existing as someone who wanted to do good rather than be nothing.

He left because he was tired of burning, wanted to die because every inch of him had been lit by someone else’s fire that he could not put out, and even now, he knows the kindness hasn’t molted from his flesh. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to shed it entirely, but little by little, maybe it will thicken and he will learn when to sheathe his kindness and when to wield it.

Izuku leans his head against his father’s shoulder and stares at the freshly carved holes. He imagines sweat pooling on his palm and caramel sparks popping from his fingers—thinks, when that day comes is the day my kindness is my own, for his gentle heart cannot care for itself until he learns selfishness, for it was kindness that became the dangerous beast that can not be tamed.

Shigaraki has captured it, for now. In its cage it rattles and rears its head with every act it witnesses and condones and participates in that it deems wrong, and Izuku clings to its neck, not ready to let go but knowing it's not safe to hold on. That beast will trample him—the bottle of pills hidden under his mattress tells him as much.

So for now, Izuku can’t sit with the idea of such intimate theft without growls swirling in his stomach. But, quietly, “someday, I think.”

Someday, I’ll tame that part of me that wants to die. The day I want to live is the day I’ll be free to do what I want—and I don’t want to leave these people behind, no matter what it means.

Fingers start carding through his hair again. A curious hum.

“Someday,” Izuku repeats, more certain, flexing his fingers. “Someday I won’t mind. I… I already know what I want, when that day comes.”

Those growls roar louder, scratching and hissing, as Izuku wonders what that boy will think when that power is taken from his hands. How the thing that made him wanted by this world would suddenly be gone, and would never be his again—how he’d feel knowing it was taken by that he burned most.

Dreams burn, Izuku knows. It will be a lesson he imparts to Kacchan, too, when he can stomach the idea of it—after all, childhood showed their dreams were meant to match, but now Izuku is slipping onto a path so far from those nostalgically painful days and his oldest friend is forging ahead without a care for the ruins left behind, not yet aware that he will one day be dragged back into those crumbling halls and swallowed whole.

It sounds fitting. Poetic, even. Shigaraki would get a kick out of it, and he thinks his father will too.

“Then that day will come,” his father reassures. “We’ll make sure it does.”

Together. Izuku closes his eyes. He’s home, and the future will burn, but Izuku will not burn with it.

#mha #bnha #dad for one #my fic #tw: suicidal ideation #again not the focus but it's there #astersatdawnfics

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codfanficedits · 6 months

Text

One fucking mistake - Full version - Ending one.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader - She/her pronouns being used - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!OC

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 11784 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with no comfort, conversation, mentioning of memoryloss, therapist, depression (and the nasty kind), funeral.

A/N: Full version of the fic. Read this one if you don't love yourself. I made a different ending too.

I didn't proofread and English isn't my native tongue, so please let me know if there are mistakes.

AO3 Link ~ Full version ending two.

One fucking mistake.

Another sip of whiskey when he tries to drown out the memories of that mission.

Another sip of whiskey while he tries to forget his own screams when he lost you.

When he finishes his glass of whiskey he wants to raise his arm to order another one. A large hand on his arms stops him.

“You’ve had enough, Simon.”

Captain fucking Price.

Price’s hand grabs a handful of Simon’s hair. “Get a fucking grip on yourself, Simon.” His voice is a low hiss, almost intimidating. “That’s a fucking order.”

A stare off starts, Simon doesn’t want to back down, no, Simon wants someone to be punished for losing you. And Price refuses to be that person.

“I get that you’re grieving.” Price starts.

“Oh do you now?”

“Simon.” A soft sigh follows Price’s lips. “I do, but this is not the way to deal with this.”

It is a quiet, but tense ride back to base. Neither of the men want to break the silence.

Eventually Price bites the bullet.

“We’re worried about you, Simon.” He begins. “I am worried about you.”

“I don’t need your worries or your care.” Simon spat back, all he wanted was you back.

“You need something. Something we can’t give you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Simon.” It’s a soft sigh. “Maybe it would be for the best if you took some time off, yeah?”

No. Simon had already lost the person he cared most about, he couldn’t stand losing his job too, even if it was temporarily.

“Not a chance.”

“But, Simon I thi-“

“I said not a chance.”

“You’re praying again?” Soap eventually mutters. “How raw are your knees?”

“Fuck off!” Simon snaps at him.

Soap can only shake his head. “I don’t think you’re truly mean.” He answers. “You have sad eyes.”

And with those words Simon is left alone again. His whole life smelled like you, and it would take time. Undoing you from his blood.

He crawls to his bed, on his knees, tears streaming down his face when he is once again reminded that you’re not here with him.

The feelings of guilt and grief have started to feel so familiar that is has become comforting enough to fall asleep.

“Simon.” Price starts.

“Ghost.” He corrects.

“I’m sorry.” Price clears his throat. “Ghost. We’re going back to that mission whe-“

“Why.” His voice is sharp.

“We’re going to search for a body.”

“No.” His answer was short.

“It has been three weeks.”

“I don’t care!” Simon slams his fist on the table to power up his words.

“We’re going and you can either join us or stay here.” Price gives him the choice.

But he couldn’t let the other find you. It would be a betrayal towards you, he had sworn to protect you, he had already failed at that, the least he could do was bring your body home himself.

“I’m coming.”

His teammates look up, slightly confused, all of them had expected him to stay on base.

“Are you sure?” Soap breaks the silence.

“Do I have to repeat myself, sergeant?”

“Of course not Lieutenant.”

He doesn’t even register his teammates getting up and leaving the debriefing room.

“A word.” The stern voice of his captain snaps him out of it.

“What.”

“You can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“Ghost.”

“No. I’m talking to you as Simon.” Price answers. “I’ll allow you to go on this mission, as I understand how important it is to you, but after we’re back.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m your captain and you listen to me.”

“Yes captain.”

No, no, no. Simon felt as if he deserved exactly what he was given, after all, he had been the one to drag you along on that mission.

“If you say so.”

“Now, go prepare yourself. I can imagine it is going to be tough to get back there.”

Oh it was. Just the mere idea of going back to the place where he lost you was enough for Simon to get his stomach to churn. But he needed to go, he owed it to you, he owed it to himself.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

If only he could go back in time. But he can’t, instead he has to walk to the same chopper that flew the both of you to a mission, but only brought him back.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chopper, after he has taken a seat, begging the universe to let him wake up from this horrible nightmare.

He can’t accept your fate, because it isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair and it never, ever will be fair.

Right now you’re still Missing In Action, and right now he still has the chance to have you again.

It is quiet when the chopper touches the ground, no one dares to get up first. No one wants to be the person to bring the bad news.

Price eventually decides that it is up to him. He is Simon’s captain after all, he was your captain after all. His eyes scan the area in front of him.

God, let you sit on that piece of rubble.

But you’re not, of course you’re not, and Price feel stupid for even allowing himself to have this bit of hope.

“Let’s go look for a body.” An order from his low voice.

It feels as if his legs are going to give out when he sees the area covered in rubble, dirt and pieces of the building you’d been in.

He needs to hold on to something, something to keep him steady while his body wants to shut down as his mind begins to flood again with the memories.

A flash grenade.

He remembers. He remembers. He remembers. He remembers.

“Ghost.” Price calls out from the field.

“You might want to see this.”

But Simon doesn’t want to see this, because he knows that this can’t be good news. Simon knows from the tone and voice of his captain that if they have found you, you’re not alive.

You’re not coming home with him.

They were yours.

Of course they were yours. He recognized them from afar, his vision getting blurry from the tears when he looked at the shiny metal. His mind was racing and he couldn’t think.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think.

The leather on his gloves is strong, but not as strong as his love for you and it doesn’t take long for his blood to stain the broken pieces of building he was touching. He had to find you.

You had to come home to him, you just had to.

He can feel a hand on his shoulder but Simon ignores it. He just needs a little longer, he just needs a few more minutes.

“Simon.” The low bass in Price’s voice makes it impossible to ignore him. “We need to go back.”

“No.”

“It’s an order.”

“We have to go back.” Price usually doesn’t repeat himself, but he’ll make an exception, just his once.

Simon gets up from his knees, knowing that if he leaves now, he has to accept your fate, his fate, the fate of the relationship the two of you had.

“But.” Simon tries to protest.

“Don’t.” Price sighs. “It won’t get easier over time. Rip off the bandage, boy.”

Simon holds out his hand, wanting to hold your dog tags. The only thing he is bringing home today.

Simon, Price, Soap, Gaz, they all know this can’t go on any longer, they all know this is breaking Simon, the infamous Ghost crumbling down at the loss of his beloved.

“A word.” Price doesn’t waste any time when they’re back to base.

“I know.” Simon sounds defeated as he follows him into an empty briefing room.

“This can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“I know, just.” Simon doesn’t want to talk, but he has to. “Just let me stay on base until the funeral is over.”

An empty casket.

“Of course.” Price finally answers. “But I want you to go to therapy when you’re on leave.”

Therapy. Simon finds it a filthy word. Because therapy would mean that something is wrong with him, and the only thing wrong is your death.

“I promise.” You would’ve wanted it for him.

Price had never expected Simon to agree so quickly, but he is glad Simon doesn’t put up much of a fight, although it worries him slightly.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Price warns him.

A faint smile forms on Simons lips. “The dumbest thing I ever did was bringi-“

“Stop.” Another order from Price. “You’re beating yourself up.”

“But it is my fault!”

But his love for you is still inside of him, and he carries you wherever he goes.

Simon looks down at the paper before him, the little speech he wrote to honour you, but he can’t read it through his tears, so he has to speak the words from his heart.

“Since you happened, I’ve never been the same.” Off to a great start.

A sob interrupts his speech.

“I don’t know what to say to you, except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you.”

Someone hugs him, but he is too far gone to even register it. Those same arms, same hands guide him to his seat, and his mind is empty when he listens to the rest of the wake.

71 days, and your voice is a mere memory, it sounds different on the video’s he has from you, and he is ashamed that he can’t remember the real sound anymore.

A waste of space, a waste of oxygen, a waste of everything. A pathetic excuse of a human being.

“Simon.” The voice of his therapist snaps him out of it. “Are you okay? I’ve been talking to you for minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grumbles.

His therapist clears her throat. “Well, our time is up. Is there anything you’d like to discuss before we call it quits?”

“No.”

“Alright, see you again next week then, same time.”

With a scoff he gets up from the chair, ready to go home to embrace the darkness of his bed again.

The days are starting to look the same, they melt together in a blur of grief.

He frowns when he gets called in by someone else than his usual therapist, but he goes in anyway.

“Where is she?” He asks bluntly as he goes to sit down in the same comfortable chair he always sit in.

“Who?”

“My usual therapist.”

The woman in front of him frowns. “She didn’t feel as if she was booking process with you, so she asked me to take over. Didn’t she tell you?”

Simon can only shrug, truth be told, he never paid enough attention to even remember anything from those sessions. “Could be.”

Her lips press together until they are a faint line and Simon can tell he doesn’t like her one bit.

“Let me introduce myself.” She continues. “My name is Sarah, and I’m…” He zones out within seconds, pushing her voice to the background.

“Simon!” She has a fucking sharp voice.

“What.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, this is the first time a therapist has been this direct to him. “Right.” He mumbles. “Continue.”

“Did you get anything I just said?” Sarah asks him.

“Well, your name is Sarah, and..” His voice dies out. “That’s all.” He adds with a sheepish tone.

“Why are you here, Simon?” She asks him, as she holds the clipboard to her chest.

Because my captain asked me to.

But he stays silent, just shrugging as she asks him that question.

“Do you even want to be here?”

Simon frowns at the second question, of course he doesn’t want to be here. “No.”

“Then why bother coming anyway?”

“Because..” His voice his hoarse.

Because, because, because.

God not here, not now.

But Sarah doesn’t react, she doesn’t try to talk him out of it, instead she just lets it happen, observing how he handles it.

His hands pressing against his temples. He doesn’t want to think about you, about leaving you, he doesn’t want to be confronted by his mistake.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

He loves you, so why is he forgetting it? Why is your face becoming a blur. Why is your voice different in every memory.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

The panic dies out after a few deep breaths, guilt popping up like the mushrooms do around autumn.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Sarah repeats the question.

“Because I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Like what?”

“Why can’t you be bothered to actually live, Simon?”

For fuck sakes, he hates how many questions she is asking, he hates how it forces him to think about things he doesn’t want to think about, things he has crammed away in the shadows of his mind.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” His voice is louder than he wanted it to be, but part of him hopes it scares her off, that it makes her stop asking questions.

But it doesn’t, Sarah doesn’t bat an eye.

“Why do you feel as if you don’t deserve to live?”

Because you didn’t get to live.

Sarah stays silent, and the silence causes his words to float in the air.

“She said yes herself, right?” Sarah eventually says. “Why are you holding yourself accountable for that?”

“Because she said no the first time. And I bribed her with doing the dishes.” He spat out.

God he hated how Sarah would let his answers linger in the air, it meant he had to think, think about what happened, think about his answers, think about how actions, how it affected everything.

How he would never give himself peace.

“Because I know that she would’ve been alive if it wasn’t for me.” A tiny voice for a big soldier.

“You can’t change what happened, Simon.”

Of course he can’t! Fuck, it annoys him. “I know.” He grits his teeth.

“Do you think she would want you to live like this?”

Fuck, a cold sensation running over him, his stomach feels as if it is doing summersaults.

That same feeling in his chest again, he presses his eyes shut.

The image of that fucking flash grenade sticking out of the debris again. Haunting him, taunting him.

As the tightness in his chest gets worse, he can’t stop the hot tears falling down.

Fucking weak.

“Simon.”

“Simon?”

“Simon!”

Sarah’s voice brings him back to reality, but not just enough, flashbacks running through his mind while he tries to feel the fabric of the chair under his fingertips.

“Tell me what is happening, Simon.”

Short, quick breaths, the tightening in his chest becoming worse, and worse.

“Simon? Tell me what you’re seeing, right now.”

“The mission.” He mutters.

Silence again. He hates how Sarah lets him struggle with his emotions, his feelings, and he wants his old therapist back, whatshername, who would fill up the silence so he wouldn’t have to.

“I keep replaying the mission in my head.” Simon adds.

“Tell me.” Sarah commands. “Walk me through what is happening.”

“It always starts the same.” He begins. “Always.”

“How does it start?”

“Stop.” Sarah says. “Put the film on hold, and tell me what you see.”

“I see her, the sun high on the sky, a smile on her face, not a worry in her eyes. And then I spot the flash grenade. And I want to warn her, but it’s too late.” Simons starts.

“Okay.” No it’s not okay.

“Can you put yourself in the image?”

“What?”

“Put yourself in the situation, standing alongside yourself and her.”

Silence again.

“Can you do it, Simon?”

“Yeah.” He mutters, feeling awkward, but he can, standing next to himself and next to you.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”

His heart starts to race again. Yes, yes, yes! There are so many things he would like to say to you, so many things that he wants you to hear, but that will never reach you.

“I. I. I want to tell that I’m so, so sorry.” He begins. “I want to say that I should’ve listened to her, that if I could do it all over again, I would do it differently.”

He holds back a sob.

“Can you hug her?”

Simon finally opens his eyes again. “God.” He breathes.

“How does that feel?” Sarah asks.

“Better.” He admits.

“Good.” Is that a smile on her lips?

“Are you going to be able to handle being alone?” Sarah breaks the silence.

He wants to live again.

243 days.

He treats life as if he had died and had begged God for a second chance, taking in every detail of the beauty of life.

Simon even went back to work, not to his full extend yet, that is a little too much, just yet. But he is getting there, and he hopes that you’re proud of him.

The grieving has become easier over time, and with it came a little bit of guilt, for the longest time it felt like he was forgetting you.

A smile breaks out on his face when he spots here, a little wave following quick.

“There you are!” Happiness in his voice.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late.” You were never late.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you’re here.” She kisses him on his cheek after those words.

His eyes soften when he smiles at her, it was like a tug at his heart strings that he had long ago thought were cut.

“Going back to the taskforce.” Simon eventually says.

That piques her interest. “For long?”

“Nah, it’s for a birthday party.” Simon shrugs.

“So,” Simon clears his throat. “It’s Soap’s birthday, and we’re celebrating tomorrow evening.”

“And I know we haven’t been dating for long, but maybe, maybe you’d like to come?”

A deep breath. No reaction.

“Yes.” Sophie smiles while she talks. “Yes, I would like that. I’ve heard a lot about them, can’t wait to finally meet them.”

A smile tugs around his lips. “Good, good.”

“So, I’ll pick you up around 7ish, and I’ll drive us to base. Just wear something casual, they’re soldiers, so don’t expect anything too fancy.”

Even after 243 days he can’t help but feeling like a traitor, inviting another woman to the base the two of you used to serve at.

Sophie smiles at him, her worries melting away at his relaxed demeanour.

“8ish.” She repeats. “I’ll make sure to be casually dressed.” She presses a kiss on his cheek again. “I have to get back to my work, but it was nice to see you in my lunchbreak.”

Simon lets out a sigh when he is all alone in the coffeeshop again. Oh how life went different than he had hoped, but he was content. His eyes take in the scenery once more.

You would have loved it here.

She kissed him when she entered his car. It was endearing to him, all feelings of guilt being pushed to the side when his lips touched hers.

“It can be quite rowdy on base.” Simon warned her.

“That’s okay.” She said with a faint smile.

“Good, good.” He muttered.

A soft squeeze on his knee, and a smile formed on his lips.

He shouldn’t. But he was.

A deep breath emerged from his lips when he parked the car on the base, taking in the atmosphere.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” She nodded.

When he exited the car, he took in his base, the memories of you flooding in again. Sophies hand in his shook him out of it, and he smiled at her.

He let in the commotion, the rowdy, loud cheering happening all around.

“Simon!” Price calling out over the parking lot. “We have something you should see.”

244 days.

And you fell for it. How could you not? After all, he promised you he’d do the dishes, and you hated doing the dishes.

A gasp. “I’ll let you even wash the food dish of the cat.”

“Lovie, we don’t have a cat.” His voice sounds amused.

“Nuh uh, I’ve been feeding the strays that live just outside the base.” You protest.

“Fine, fine, fine.” It isn’t even a real protest, Simon would do anything to make you happy.

“AND.” Your voice sounds happy, as if you just got the best idea ever known to man. “You have to wear an apron.”

“An apron?”

“Yeah, I still have a pink one.”

“Fine.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, but I’m wearing nothing underneath it.” Simon snickers.

“Deal!”

“And, you can only look but you can’t touch.” He adds.

“But that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, lovie.”

Life indeed wasn’t fair.

Another loud noise, and you realise that a grenade must’ve gone off when you’re getting covered by debris.

Who are you? And why are you here?

What is a life worth if you can’t remember it?

With every little dot you could connect to your former, came an explanation to the people around you, with a lot of gestures, and some drawing, you could get your point across.

But you just remember his voice, and not his name.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

Fuck.

Simon.

Oh you finally remember.

And never had you imagined how easy it would be to go back to your old life. You’d learn that you would be considered missing and killed in action for more than eight months now.

Eight months. You had missed 244 days of Simon’s life, and he had missed those days in yours.

Just like you can feel the dread seep into your bones when you see him, holding another woman’s hand.

Simon is perplexed when he sees you, letting go off Sophie’s hand the moment his mind registers it’s you.

Fuck, it’s you. Memories flooding over him while he takes a step towards you, the people around him becoming a blur when he can only focus on you. His hands reach for your face, trying to imprint your face with his fingertips, trying to feel if you’re actually real and not a figment of his imagination. And you can’t help but look up at him in awe, his large warm hands on your face, his fingertips caressing every little detail of your face, the warmth you have been craving ever since remember. Your body filling with this warmth, the love you feel for him washing over you, your eyes locking with his.

But his eyes are different.

They used to be so full of love whenever he looked at you, and now? Now they’re empty, and you don’t understand why. He looks over his shoulder, looking at the girl that was holding his hands just moments ago, and you can see that love, but it fades whenever his gaze lands on you again. And it hurts, it hurts more than any injury could’ve hurt you, it hurts more than anything you’ve ever experienced and right now, it feels as if nothing will hurt like this.

And Simon feels it too. He feels that empty feeling when he looks at you. You are different than he remembers, and truth be told, he liked the version in his memory than the version of you standing in front of him, and Simon doesn’t understand why, he doesn’t understand why he has been mourning you when he feels nothing when he looks at you again.

The silence between the two of you is starting to get awkward, and you can feel it, the girl behind him feels it, everyone around the two of you feels it.

“You’re back.” You’ve heard him be more enthusiastic over a goddamn McDonalds order.

“I am.” Stating the obvious here.

Your eyes shift to the woman behind him, and you can see why he likes her, although she is clearly uncomfortable, she looks nice, sweet, kind. She seems too polished to be a soldier, and you do not recognize her at all, and you’re worried you’re still missing parts of your memory. Simon can see you dig while he stare at Sophie and he clears his throat.

“This.” He sighs. “This is Sophie.”

Sophie.

“Oh.” It stays quiet again. And while you were used to being quiet -after all, there was nothing more that warmed your heart than sitting on the couch with Simon, not needing to say a word- but this was different. This wasn’t the type of silence to pop up whenever you were content, this was the type of silence because your stomach is filled with a knot and his chest is being pressed together by a variety of emotions, while you both dance around the elephant in the room.

“She is my girlfriend.”

Those words alone are enough to make you feel like you are about to vomit. His girlfriend. His fucking girlfriend. Your eyes shift to her again, and while you do feel bad for her, Sophie never asked for any of this, you can’t help but feel the inner whirlwind of emotions, you can’t help but feel betrayed by the man who was supposed to love till the end of times.

“Your girlfriend?” You repeat after him.

“Yes.” His tone turns cold when he sees the different emotions flash over his face. Just as cold when the two of you first met.

“But.. we..” You struggle to get your words out, you struggle to find the words you want to say to him. Worried you might’ve lost a memory where the two of you broke up, but no matter how deep you dig, you can’t seem to find it.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Dead?”

“Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.” Simon can’t help but feel some hostility towards you, feeling ashamed that he mourned so hard over you, while he feels nothing when he looks at you right now. You weren’t like he remembered you, and he doesn’t know who to blame.

“I moved on.” He finally sighs. And those words hurt you, part of you wants to get angry, angry at him for moving on, angry at yourself for not allowing him to move on, angry at the universe for playing this cruel trick on you.

“I see.”

“Don’t go playing the victim here.” His tongue is sharp. “You always said you wanted me to move on.” And he was right, in the beginning of your relationship the both of you were very aware that one of you could leave this earth during a mission, and the both of you agreed that they wanted to other to move on. But now that it had happened, you could help but hate those words, to hate that promise.

“I’m sorry.” He takes a step back when he mutters those words.

And he doesn’t even know if he is sorry or not. You were a closed chapter in his life, he had grieved over you, mourned you, and then he could finally move on. The pain isn’t raw anymore, instead the wound is fully healed, and now that the bandage is ripped off, it became clear that you didn’t even leave a scar on him.

“I’m sorry too.”

Simon gives you a quick nod before he looks at Sophie again, you can see his gaze soften, you can see the little lines around his eyes when he holds back a smile when he looks at her. And she returns that look, the love in her eyes is clear as day whenever their eyes meet, and you realise this is how he used to look at you, but there is something more to it. While his love for you had always been enough, his love for her is more. She had been there when he had mourned, when he had grieved and she had been there when he had grown so much as a person.

You know the best thing to do is to let him go, there is no use in trying to mend what doesn’t belong to you anymore, but by God does it hurt.

Simon knows it too, he knows that whatever was written in the stars, wasn’t meant for the two of you. He gives you a quick nod again. “I hope life will treat you well.” A soft whisper before he turns to Sophie again, holding out his hand for her to take. “Let’s go.”

Simon turns to look at Soap, who has been watching this all unfold. “Happy birthday man.”

And you can do nothing as you watch the man who once loved you so dearly, walk away as if you meant nothing to him anymore, and you can’t help but wish that you didn’t remember.

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flightfoot · 2 months

Text

ML Fanfic Recs for 2023: 125K+ Words

So I’ve been going through and adding particularly good fics I’ve read throughout the year. Only Complete fics, of course. Enjoy!

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Dreams of You by @chocoluckchipz

Dreams had long been his only escape. Dreams of Ladybug, the girl who had always been there for him.

If only in his dreams. And only while she was also sleeping.

Because with the first rays of sunshine gliding over her skin, with the first fluttering of her eyelashes, from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, memories of Adrien would vanish from her mind.

She would go on living her life.

He would always be the only one who remembered.

At least until they meet in the real world and fall in love all over again, something that would’ve been easier to do if Adrien wasn't a prisoner in his own home.

Chocoluckchipz has some of the most beautifully executed lovesquare fics I’ve read, and this is no exception. Most of the fic is dedicated to Adrien wooing Marinette, spending time with her, with her own dream self acting as his wingman, giving her tips on how to get her to fall for him, all the while frustrated that she can’t share memories with her waking self, and that she and Adrien can’t share as much information as they’d like while asleep, due to limitations of the “curse” that allows Adrien to share dreams with his soulmate.

It’s not all cute Adrienette fluff though. There’s a threat in the background waiting to erupt, as the weirdness of Gabriel’s ultimatum to Adrien about finding Ladybug or else being forced to marry Lila keeps on gnawing at him - and with good reason. This is a world with magic and kwamis still, and that fact makes itself very relevant in the last third of the story.

It’s a well-written tale and very much worth a read!

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one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

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Boomer!Luka: FeLuka Ending series by @19thsentry-blog

In the Shadows (the first fic in the series) summary:

On one side is Luka, 140-year-old Snake Miraculous holder and keeper of the Guardian's secrets, on the other is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a relatively newly minted hero of Paris and Guardian of the Miracle Box. Each is looking to fulfill their promises to their now gone mentors to reunite the Kwamis and keep them safe. Sounds simple--until you throw in a rocky start, the Atlantic Ocean, Félix Graham de Vanily, and a whole host of secrets…and suddenly simple becomes complicated (story of Marinette's life, right?).

So this is obviously way outside my normal wheelhouse. I don’t typically read Lukanette fics, even ones that turn into FeLuka later on in the series (though boy it becomes apparent quickly that the author’s fascinated with FeLuka’s dynamic.) But this one is really good, with the best Luka-centric fics I’ve ever read, and some of the best Felix-centric content as well. I love how Luka has his own baggage here, with all the pressure of wandering around for over a century, looking after the few Miraculous he found, trying to keep what’s left of the Order alive, unaware of Fu’s survival or of the Miraculous user’s re-emergence in Paris. There’s a lot of focus on Luka’s own feelings and thoughts and problems, not just on helping other people with them.

The plot works even without the romantic aspect, so even if Lukanette isn’t a pairing that draws you in, I still recommend this fic, so long as you don’t actively dislike the pairing itself. And even though it’s a Lukanette fic, Adrien and Alya are treated fairly and with respect. Adrien may not end up with Marinette and is bummed about it, but the narrative is still kind to him overall, there’s clearly no ill well towards him, or Alya for that matter. (There are later fics in the series that focus more on Adrien just healing and coping and living after finding out that his father’s a villain and his mom’s been in the basement this whole time, and in the multiversal travel fic, Alya gets some standout appearances as Scarabella which are fun).

And FELIX - it’s clear that 19thsentry has this whole conception about Felix’s psychology. He’s wrapped in a ton of self-loathing until it started to consume him, made him lash out. Him being a sentimonster, wanting to get the Peacock Miraculous, actually gave him some direction for that at least. And he’s just in this pit of his own making, until he meets Luka, who can see through him when no one else can, who cares for him even though he doesn’t understand why, who’d been through so much over the years and yet kept himself kind. He’s attracted like a moth to a flame, infuriated that he cares, yet not able to stop himself from caring about this mysterious, infuriating musician.

Yeah if you can’t tell this is the series that really sold me on FeLuka as a couple.

Oh yeah, one of the fics in here is M-rated, and it does earn the M rating for sexual content, though it’s nothing too major.

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Accidents Are Also Miracles by @liiinerle

After a few turbulent days where four new people discover her secret identity, Marinette loses faith in her ability to keep the secret hidden. Wracked with doubts and insecurities, she pleads with Alya to take over as Scarabella, but she still can't let those worries go. Especially not once Monarch starts taking a particular, and personal, interest in her.

Along the way, she also starts to date Kagami, and has to deal with changing feelings about herself, Adrien, Alya, Kagami, and the idea of being Ladybug. At the same time, Alya works to uncover Monarch's secret identity, while Kagami struggles against a controlling parent, and a girlfriend who seems bent on destroying herself - with or without Monarch's involvement.

Fantastic Marigami fic here! You’ve got three major POVs in this fic: Marinette, Kagami, and to my delight, Alya. I loved getting to see Alya cope with taking over as Scarabella especially.

But of course, this fic centers more around Marinette and Kagami, with Marinette struggling with Monarch targeting her, and Kagami struggling against her abusive parent, as well as both of them trying to navigate their relationship together when they know that not everyone will approve.

There’s also some other plots going on in here, like Sabrina breaking away from Chloe and becoming more independent (and closer to Adrien in fact), as well as a Lila takedown plot, though thankfully not one that involves demonizing other characters. While there are conversations about people believing Lila and siding with her, no one’s actually attacked for it except for Lila herself.

Oh yeah, and while this fic may not have much focus on Adrien, he’s still treated fairly and with respect, even when he messes up. He can make mistakes, but people understand where he’s coming from, and are still kind to him and want things to be okay, and to help him escape his abusive circumstances.

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Awaken by InkyIbis

The previously white butterfly, now oozing black and purple as a conduit of the butterfly miraculous powers, flutters softly within the silvered-gloved hand.

It sits there for a long time.

"Go, my akuma," The soft sigh pushes the butterfly, the akuma, out towards the despair of a love not returned. The same ache within his chest. On a level so great that he's willing to sacrifice the city to mend it.

It's okay if he's the villain for now. He'll force the miraculous of creation and destruction to be revealed, and once he gets his hands on them, none of this pain, none of his loss, will ever happen.

This is essentially a canon rewrite for Miraculous (specifically seasons 1 and 2, with a bunch of the events mixed around) that focuses primarily on Adrien, with his relationship with Nino being the main driving relationship of the fic. (Don’t worry, Marinette’s still treated fine, she’s just not the focus). This is the best “rewrite Miraculous with more of a focus on Adrien” type fic I’ve seen, with it reworking the plots of the episodes so that they’re different enough to be their own distinct thing - it’s not trying to just rewrite the canon episodes but from Adrien’s POV, there’s a lot of lore changes going on as well, and things occur in different orders.

Like lorewise, Chat’s given a more important role in cleaning up the mess the akumas leave, with his power helping to cleanse akuma victims and he and Ladybug needing to use their powers in tandem in order to cast Miraculous Ladybug. There’s also no Miracle Box holding the kwamis. Instead, Chat sometimes surpasses his limits and ends up summoning kwamis, which is dangerous to him, but very useful.

What really makes this fic great though, is its focus on Adrien’s emotions. You really get a feel for Adrien’s insecurities, especially when it comes to not feeling like he’s good enough for Nino, with not wanting to bother him when he absolutely should, with feeling like he’s not a good enough friend to him, and then there’s dealing with all of Gabriel’s usual abuse on top of that.

Speaking of Nino, this is an Adrino fic (though several characters get crushes on Adrien, Nino’s the one who matters most for this), though a slowburn one. Nino’s clearly head-over-heels for Adrien, but Adrien has like, no context for what a romantic crush feels like and is basically viewing Nino the way he viewed Marinette in canon prior to season 5. He clearly cares for him a lot, including romantically, he just... doesn’t get it.

Anyway, if you want an interesting canon rewrite fic from Adrien’s perspective with Adrino as the main pairing, this is a good story to pick up!

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Kintsugi - The Beauty Of Broken Things by @xaran-alamas

When freed from Mayura's control, and given a chance at a normal life, the Sentimonster clone of Ladybug must learn what it is to be not only a hero, but also a human being, and part of a family.

Meanwhile Marinette needs to figure out what to do with a hyper-energetic Kwami with a broken Miraculous.

Sentibug-centric fic here! The longest one in existence, in fact. Xaran does a great job of developing Centi, having her figure out what she wants and how to belong, and also deal with her feelings towards her creator - which are pretty negative since, you know, Mayura tried to kill her. The way she’s developed is excellent, and I adore her fitting into the Couffaine family after they take her in, with Juleka, Luka, and Anarka taking a shine to her quickly, and her to them. We spend a lot of time with the Couffaines as a result, so it’s also worth reading if you want to see more of that family, especially Juleka.

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you made me a hero - reverse crush short stories series by @non-fantasy

This series is just plain fun! Like the title says, it’s a reverse crush AU, so Adrien’s head-over-heels for Marinette, while Ladybug’s smitten with Chat Noir. Which means that Adrien’s constantly trying to woo Marinette while Ladybug’s attempting to have normal conversations with Chat Noir (and failing), and both of them are oblivious to each other’s feelings.

I love the way non-fantasy executes it, with Alya literally carrying around a spray bottle because of how eager Adrien is, and Ladybug being VERY SCARY if you ever lay a finger on Chat Noir (seriously akumas will literally beg for their akumatized object to be broken just to escape her wrath).

Oh, also, Ladybug regularly stops by Adrien’s room so they can both lament how difficult of a time they’re having wooing their crushes, and just have fun together.

There’s a lot of entries in this series - 29 of them in fact - but most of them are pretty short, making it great if you want to devour some quick, cute, hilarious romcom action!

Some stuff does actually change over the course of the series, it’s not just slice-of-life. Like identity reveals, dating, and even Hawkmoth’s defeat, so there’s clear progression and changes in circumstances as well.

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Not a Monster at All by @book-sandwich

Adrien Agreste overhears a conversation he shouldn't, and a revelation sends him falling onto the terrace of the only person he can trust: his good friend (?) Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Takes place sometime after the first two episodes of season 5!

As you can probably guess from the title, this is a Sentimonster Adrien, Monarch takedown fic. Adrien’s going through a tough time, and Marinette’s just trying to be there for him as his whole world’s collapsing around him. Unfrotunately, they still don’t know what the object is, or how likely Gabriel would be to control Adrien if he hinted that he knew the truth, which leaves Adrien in a precarious position - still not having done an identity reveal doesn’t help matters.

It’s a really solid fic for the genre, though since it started up before the later parts of season 5, there are a few things that don’t match up with the canon information we obtained later on.

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Under Oath by @eoscenes

In the aftermath of Hawk Moth's defeat, Ladybug finds her heart torn between her schoolgirl crush and her superhero partner ― who returns, after an unexplained hiatus, more irresistible than ever.

⋆☆⋆

Gabriel Agreste is unmasked, and Paris rises up in the aftermath.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng must weather Paris' anxious protesters, ravenous reporters, a scattered team of judiciary investigators, and her conflicting feelings for two different boys. In the eye of this storm is the elusive Adrien Agreste, the primary witness in his own father's trial, who might just hold the secret to finding the Peacock Miraculous.

(If only she wasn't in love with him.)

Meanwhile, locked away in Le Grand Paris hotel, Adrien grapples with his responsibilities to a city that can't decide if it hates or loves him. Keeping his daytime persona and Chat Noir separate entities becomes even harder when Ladybug, whom he has finally decided to get over, starts visiting him at night, determined to figure his secrets out.

(If only he wasn't in love with her.)

When an unknown figure returns with the Peacock Miraculous, Ladybug and Chat Noir will have to save their city once more — or lose each other trying.

I love how this fic shows Adrien just breaking down over the reveal of Hawk Moth’s identity, he’s in a Very Bad Place for a substantial portion of the fic, and being a suspect and witness in the case does NOT help. It’s got the most detailed “Adrien suffering the consequences of the backlash to his father’s prosecution” plot that I’ve seen.

Still, things get better with time, slowly, gradually. It’s not all at once, or a completely linear road, but he’s got his friends, even after everything.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic rec #one does not love breathing

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