#sensitive content

D3rlord3 never being able to look at himself in the mirror without his armour on because the person he sees is someone he doesn't recognise.

D3rlord3 not knowing, finally feeling safe enough to remove his armour and helmet in general and/or around Avery only to find his body is no longer his own, marked and tagged by another being.

Fishnet Friday

rafe f ing his daughters best friend in the middle of the night against a wall when she just wanted to get a glass of water

She doesnt want it but it feels sooo good

S cking on her tits and filling her up

Quiet Sweetheart

-

You pad your feet along the cold tiles. The house is dark and silent. You left your best friend sound asleep in her bed to come downstairs for a drink, unable to sleep from the thirst. The kitchen is dark with only the moonlight shining through the window to give you a path towards the fridge.

You pour yourself the ice cold beverage and gulp down the liquids, feeling refreshed and ready to pad back upstairs when a figure startles you. You’re back hitting the wall and you silently gasp but then feel relief when your best friend’s dad, rafe, enters the kitchen. His tall figure coming into light. Hes shirtless, his sweatpants hanging down on his hips, his abs flexing as he walks towards you. Eyes on you as he reaches with one hand for the fridge handle, pulling it open. The light illuminates your figure more. The skimpy white tank and short sleeping shorts leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. Rafes eyes trail down your chest, where your nipples poke at the fabric, and down to your thighs that are squeezed into the shorts.

“It’s late” he says turning his head back towards the fridge and pulling out the pitcher of water. “Couldn’t sleep?” He pulls a glass from the cupboard and pours himself some of the liquid. Gulping it down and setting the glass onto the kitchen island. You shake your head, looking down at the tiled floor. “Was just thirsty, is all” you mutter, feeling like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Rafe made you feel like that. He’d always be watching you whenever you were over, always stern and authoritative. He would never actually say anything to you, he barely spoke to you. This is the most he’s said to you in all 4 years you’ve been coming over.

Rafe is the most feared man on the island. After his father’s death he took for the family business and turned it into an empire. People cowered in front of him. He intimidated you, you dont know why you allowed him to make you feel this way. He’s never done anything to you. “You don’t have to be scared of me” you were so caught up in your thoughts that you hadnt realized he was so close. “W-what? I’m not, sir” you stuttered on your words. He rolled his eyes, “and you don’t have to call me sir” he stepped closer, caging your body against the wall. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Not only because his natural scent of Cardamom and Sage enveloped you, but because there was nowhere to go even if you tried to move. “A pretty thing like you..” he cut his sentence short. His fingers moving up to push a strand of hair out of your face. He lifted your chin upward with his thumb and pointer finger so you could look him in the eye. “You know I watch you whenever you’re here.” He continues speaking, not even paying attention to how uncomfortable he’s making you.

“So pretty, sweetheart” his eyes go lower to your chest. Hands moving down to palm your tits through the materiel in the way. You whine, but not in pleasure, more in fear. Fear of not knowing what he’s doing or what he’ll do next. But your to scared to move. Back still firmly against the wall as he lifts the hem of your shirt up and you hear him groan when your plump tits are exposed. “God.” He mutters, “these are.. beautiful” he gropes them in his palm. “How many times I’ve imaged seeing you like this. How many times I’ve touched myself to you” he continues talking but he’s not even talking to you. He’s just thinking out loud. “and now I can have what I’ve always wanted” he reaches for his sweatpants lowering the cloth down and pulling his hardened length out. You gasp and your eyes widen in shock, “Mr. Cameron, I-i don’t think-“ he shushes you, “that’s right, sweetheart. Don’t think” he swiftly turns you around, yanking at your short and panties and spreading your legs wider.

You feel the pressure of his tip push into your hole. The stretch and reality of what’s happening bringing tears to your eyes. “Quiet baby” he chuckles breathlessly “don’t wanna wake anyone up” he snuggles himself fully in you and you whimper. This might be wrong and disgusting, but why does it feel good. He places his palm around your mouth, bringing his lips to your ear and whispering “brace yourself, sweetheart. I’ve dreamt about this for far too long and I won’t be gentle” before pulling back and snapping his hips into you roughly. The tears spill from your eyes. You don’t want this, but you can’t help the way he fills you up, his tip already finding that spot inside you that has your thighs shaking and a sadistic smirk painting Rafes face. Taglist

CW: allusions to SA, torture, etc., trafficking, hurt comfort, Slow burn ig? (as slow as it can be in 2000 words) there is comfort at the end I swear and It does become fluff i swear

“Sorry Sir, I'm not sure I’m understanding…” you look up at price like he's grown a second head, hell maybe even a third. “You want me and Ghost to be all loved up in suburbia and play house for a mission?”

“Look we need an in on Marakov and you two are the only people from the team who can speak fluent Russian," Price crosses his arms with the mission file open in front of him on the table. “And in all honesty the two of you are the only ones I really trust with a mission of this caliber." Simon groans and throws his head back. 

“So no mask?” his manchester accent echoes in the near empty meeting room.

There's a flicker of sympathy in Price’s usually cold eyes, his tone softens ever so slightly as he looks at the wall of muscle which was now seeming smaller than usual, “No mask.” He affirms, his eyes drift over to you as you lean against the wall. “That also means no excessive layering.” you stiffen a little, suddenly able to sympathise with the man who’s been a pain in your ass for the last six months since joining the task force. 

You were always in a good few layers even in the hot weather where everyone was stripped down to a short sleeved t-shirt and their tac vest you were bulked up by a vest layered over another 5 vests. Even in your civvies, there was always a big sweater involved. 

“And most importantly it means none of this animosity bullshit anymore, I'm tired of it.” Price pushes himself out of his chair, he looks back at the two of you as he’s just about to leave the room. “Pack what you need but the safe house has already been set up, we fly at 5 tomorrow morning. Get your shit together and in order. This is a long haul.”

You don’t share a word in the silent awkwardness that followed Price’s leave, you do share eye contact however, not the normal tense and angry one you’d become accustomed to over the last half year. 

The next morning it’s almost mechanical, it always is. The letters you wrote to the team despite not being close enough for them to care were stacked next to the far thicker pile on Price’s desk. Your room is clean, almost lifeless now. You thought you’d gotten used to leaving things behind, but it was different here. Though it wasn't necessarily a close knit team this one was far kinder than ones you’d been in in the past. Safer, the trauma of those days is still worn on your body everyday in the form of those layers. This was hard, leaving this was hard and somehow knowing you might not come back was harder than it ever had been before. 

It was hours later when you landed in buttfuck nowhere russia, it was colder than you were used to but from there it was your job to make it to the target’s neighborhood without military presence so as to not be suspected. You felt naked, of course you weren't, you were dressed in typical everyday clothes for Russia. Ghost was wearing a black medical mask but you barely recognised him, even if only half his face was uncovered you could tell he was just so damn handsome. 

When you finally get to the house the sight of the doctored wedding photos on the walls send shivers down your spine, there are two files on the coffee table with your new identities. You ease yourself down onto the couch with a hum. “Anfisa Pavlov, 30 ouch okay, Russian but grew up in an international school in Rosario, Argentina  hence a peculiar accent.” you nod as you put it down and ease yourself back again, ghost rounds the coffee table and picks up his file. 

“Mikhail Pavlov, 34, born in Russia but moved to…Peru in his childhood, met Anfisa in college in Argentina where they fell in love and got married 5 years later.” he says before sitting back down on the couch. “So are we gonna talk about it? The mask, the clothes or?”

You let out a deep sigh, looking over at him in the corner of your eye, “Well…um…I was on a mission with an old task force, I got in a sticky spot and they uh- left me for dead. Except I didn’t die and instead I was kidnapped by our target at the time.” Your hands dragged themselves down your face with a groan. “Not good things happened so now I wear a bunch of clothes to feel ...protected…” you can’t look at him in fear of dying of embarrassment so instead you ask “What happened to you in Peru?”

“How do you-”

“That mission happened in argentina…obviously price chose locations we knew well enough to lie about.” There's another long awkward silence. 

“None of your business-”

“You can't ask me to talk about my trauma and then not say anything about yours!” you retort with some anger lacing your tone.

“No i asked why you wear layers not for your sob story-”

“OH GO FUCK YOURSELF!” you yell back before storming off, in the door way you look back at him “I’m taking the bed!”

The house is quiet over the next few days, trying to find a casual way to make contact with the targets was difficult when you and your faux husband can barely be in the same room with each other for more than five minutes without tearing each other's throats out. 

Until one night, it's quiet, the fire is crackling under the mantle piece while you're sitting on the couch reading a book, Simon is standing in the doorway watching you, his mask isn't on like it usually is when you're at home, and there's a certain fondness in his eyes. "What are you giving me eyes for?" you mumble in Russian before repeating in English.

"Dunno, you look...good?"

"Okay, don't say it with so much skepticism, maybe next time," you chuckle as you close your book on the coffee table. Your knees are up to your chest as you stare at him.

"...you ever thought about it?"

"About what?"

"Us?" Your eyes snap up to his so quickly that you swear you gave yourself whiplash. "Not like that. just...I don't hate you. I want you to know I don't hate you." he crosses his arms pretty awkwardly.

"comforting. Now stop being weird." You pull your cozy blanket over your body. You can feel his eyes still glued to you, and you slowly look back at him. "I don't hate you either."

He nods in affirmation and walks into another room.

....

It’s when you finally manage to make contact that things get weird, your at dinner with them, a house warming type of thing, they’re visiting the house as you break off, simon conversing with the main target while you’re made to occupy the wife, and in the best case scenario get some sort of information out of her without blowing your cover.

The two of you stood together in the hallway, somewhat loose tongued due to the alcohol, as you gaze over your fake wedding photos, “you were just so beautiful then weren’t you?” The wife speaks in Russian as she smiles, her hands tracing over the dress.

“It was only a year ago, not that long ago,” you smile back, swirling the wine.

“Oh well, what do they call it? Happy relationship weight?” your breath hitches as you force yourself to push the hurt aside. You just smile and nod in response before replying,

“And how long have you and Alek been a couple?” you look over at her with a fake grin, speculation implied she was a trafficking victim, you just needed to catch him on at least that. 

“Since university, like you and Mikhail, no?” a chill runs down you as you realise you never shared that information, that somehow she’d already had her hands on that information, maybe even before you moved in. you decide it’s best not to respond to her and make your way through her passive aggressive comments until you make it back to the table. 

“You men done talking business,” you joke as your run your hands over Simon's shoulders, you were still getting used to associating him with his face after knowing only the mask for so long, it was harder to ignore when he smiled at you, he was a damn good undercover soldier to be able to stare at you with that much fake love. 

Mikhail replies “All ready for you my beauty” you sit in his lap but don’t miss the way the target is staring at you, with a familiar and intimidating hunger. 

“She is truly beautiful,” alek speaks rather casually as he dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Maybe she is interested in modelling? It is my business of course I have an eye for a star.” he smirks, a look that unsettles you deeply, but it’s an in.

“Really? I would love to- it’s always been my dream since I was a little girl.” you sit in Simon’s lap as he cradles you holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. 

A few weeks later it was falling apart, you agreed to it, the modelling, you and simon were still strictly coworkers in the house, you would share a kiss in public every now and then and cuddle when you had guests but the moments they left you would retire to the bedroom and simon to the couch like routine. You were now in a cold studio, even less dressed than you usually would like to be. 

“Where are the photographers?” you whisper as Alek approaches you.

“Oh you…my, perfect angel…too pure for this world…” he cups your face and from there it blurs, hands, fighting, a tattoo gun, and then simon, your savior simon. You were pulled out, and you blinked once to find yourself in the heli, ghost’s jacket over your shoulders cling film over the fresh tattoo as you were jostled by the wind.

“It’s not your fault…never should have let you go alone.” Ghost spoke as you struggled to tether yourself. “I should have got in earlier- i-”

“You didn’t know he was going to have back up or that he could cut off the signal to my tracker none of it okay?” you speak, your voice isn’t the same as it normally is, the tinge of a russian accent clinging to it. “I knew at the dinner, I should have pulled us out then- plus it’s not like we’re actually married you don’t have any responsibility over me-”

“I know just-” he looked up at the ceiling, “I liked it- even when you hated me I liked being Mikhail and Anfisa.” he spoke slowly as if frightened anyone would hear his vulnerability. “Whn we were in public i felt, it felt right and i didn’t know how to react to that so i pushed you away and then we fought before the fucking- the fucking shoot and-” he takes a shuttering breath “and he got you anfi-” he corrects himself and says your name instead. “He got you and that’s my fault because I let my emotions get in the way-”

He leans forward, kneeling on the floor in front of you searching for any sign or promise of the return of his feelings. “I know i am irritating and aggravating but- and I know you aren’t thinking of anything and i need you to know I am doing this regardless.” he looks over you, your injuries. “It’s my responsibility…to help you and protect you from here okay? I’m here…I’m here.” you don’t even notice your crying until he reaches up to wipe a tear away.

Simon didn’t lie, from the moment you landed he didn’t leave your side, not in the nights where you woke up screaming in fear or the days where you struggled to keep yourself anchored to reality, he skipped training and meetings to comfort you. Somewhere along the way it turned to him slipping into your bed to cradle you in his arms, and along that journey it shifted to an equal comfort, when he was whimpering and mummering cruel words to himself in his sleep you would lull him awake.

So what if you still occasionally slipped and called each other spouses 6 months after the mission ended, and so what if the both of you still hadn’t taken off the wedding bands, you were happy, and you were you.

(Since then I had made a whole series)

tw for sensitive content ofc : depression, dissociation, grief, mention of SH not the act itself but after it, hiding problems

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