angelofacidx - Tumblr blog

[angelofacidx]

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

-

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

[angelofacidx]

warnings: blood, cannibalism, at least i think it's cannibalism, pretty sure it counts, please let me know if i missed anything!

soap who loves you so much he needs you to be a part of him forever in every way possible.

soap who convinces you to let him take some of your blood, you don't know what it's for but he's been begging for weeks and it's the only way to get him to stop asking.

soap who draws a whole litre of your blood as you sit patiently and watch him with curious eyes, while he smiles at you and peppers your face with kisses, thanking you for doing this.

soap you immediately stores your blood in the fridge and takes care of you, making sure to give you something to eat and drink, moving you to the bed so that you're comfortable as he coos over how good you are for him and hooks you up to a transfusion to get blood back into you.

soap who once the transfusion is done leaves you to sleep as he goes back into the kitchen and pulls out your blood, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed over as he carefully handles the blood like it's the most delicate item in the world.

soap who spends the next two hours making black pudding as you sleep, meticulously preparing and cooking your blood as his mouth waters at the thought of finally consuming you and having you be with him in a way that was so sacrilegious it felt holy.

soap whose eyes flutter closed and moans as he takes the first bite of the black pudding, feeling himself starting to harden in his pants as he eats, consuming every bit of you on his plate before heading into the bedroom and waking you with his mouth between your legs.

soap whose eyes look at you hungrily as he consumes every last drop you give him as your thighs shake and your fingers tug his hair before he's kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, the faint metallic tang of blood in his mouth surprising you.

soap who never told you that the blood in the transfusion was his, that he's flowing through your veins now and keeping you alive just as your blood nourishes his body and keeps him alive.

[angelofacidx]

ex-boyfriend simon riley making you admit you still love him if you wanna cum <3

he can be such a jerk sometimes! calling you up one evening, claiming he was just wanting to check in on you and how you know how overbearing protective he can be sometimes, acting surprised when you snapped at him barely after his greeting.

“what has you so frustrated, hm, dove?… christ, can practically feel you seethin’ through the screen.”

you bit your tongue and gave him the truth over the phone; how he shouldn’t be calling you without warning like this considering you’ve broken up, and it’s inappropriate to be labeling you those sweet pet names you unfortunately and unknowingly still adore deep down.

how you don’t appreciate his abrasive bluntness, then again, he should know very well that you never have liked that part about him.

you told him the truth, though you couldn’t be entirely honest with him, in the sense of how fucking needy you’ve become with his absence. for touch and care, proximity and security, and all that.

but you are over him, undoubtedly, and you let him know that.

“yeah, baby, whatever you say…

…bet you rub that little cunt raw every night thinkin’ve me.”

and that shut you up quick.

he hummed in understanding, like your silence was readable.

“poor girl prob’ly hasn’t had any proper attention since i’ve been gone… shame such a pretty thing has to be so neglected, eh?”

butterflies invaded your tummy at the compliment, and you cursed yourself for your hasty, blind acceptance of it. but you can't blame yourself; what girl wouldn’t at least begin to crumble at that voice?

“i’m right, yeah?” he taunted, and it almost made you sick when you caught yourself rubbing your thighs together at his meanness.

“c’mon, sweetheart… you know you can be honest wi’ me.”

and god, was his cocky tone so infuriating; you wanted to reach through the phone and slap his smug face straight for overstepping your relationship’s boundaries so blatantly, and with such a deeply rooted nonchalance in his voice that always had you heated and wet.

“say the word, ‘nd i’ll come over and fuck you right now.”

…which is why you had eventually asked him oh, so nicely:

“please..?”

you could practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face, followed by the faint noises of boots hitting hardwood floor and then the clicking of a door’s lock, the obnoxious ringing of keys clanging together.

“just give me ten minutes, doll.”

and now, as he bullies and buries his cock deep in your warm cunt, reaching all those sweet spots you or another man could never even come close to, you can’t really think much of his misbehavior.

truthfully, you can’t think much of anything at all, at the moment.

he had teased you prior to finally managing his way inside you, for god knows how long. his mouth, his fingers, his cockhead; all had brought you to the edge rather quickly, over and over after each other, but he was yet to give you that final push.

he puts his full body’s weight on you, strong pecs pressed up against your heaving, sensitive tits, and his stubble tickling your neck unceasingly. you can’t stop squirming and writhing beneath him, and his hot groans right up against your skin aren’t helping, either.

it’s always been a feat taking his cock, being crammed in your precious cunt almost every night when you two were together, but now it’s been weeks, and you nearly forgot just how big he was.

you missed it, admittedly. all of it; the veins and ridges, the unforgiving stretch. the slight twinge of pain he always hushed with his fingertips pressing your swollen, little clit, or a calloused thumb shoved between your puffy lips to suck on and drool over to distract yourself.

you missed his stamina, his libido. most striking of all, his selflessness in the entire act. he’s a soldier, he serves you right. most times.

“fuckin’ christ, sweetheart… missed this tight, messy thing wrapped ‘round my cock… practically stranglin’ me ‘n with no remorse, eh?”

shit, and you missed his dirty talk most of all.

“gonna fill this pretty, little pussy… keep ‘er happy all night, make up for lost time with my girl.” he wraps his hand gently around your jaw, making your eyes meet his. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you nod frantically, swallow as best you can, before sucking in a breath. “yeah— yes, please, si… i-i want it really bad… please.”

he kisses your lips with a smile, and then all over the side of your face, up to your forehead. he just can’t seem to stop kissing you.

“tell me, sweetheart. y’wanna cum, too?”

“i do, si—! i really, really do- fuck, please?” you beg and beg, and as much as it turns him on, digs at his heart to just give in, he sticks to his guns and merely adds:

“then say the words, pretty girl,” he coos, making you whimper in frustration. “that’s it, y’know what i wanna hear.”

you huff a whine in response, albeit your breath is strangled when he doesn’t halt his movements for even a second.

you really, really don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

he’s nearly panting himself, big chest and even bigger shoulders rolling upwards with every thrust. “y’ain’t cummin’ til i hear you say it, baby. c’mon, now. jus' admit it, that you still love me.”

he buries his cock to the very hilt, taking your slackened jaw tighter in his hand as he watches your eyes grow even hazier from his pelvis rubbing up against your vulnerable, needy clit. the stern look he gives you tells you he's serious about his last statement, but you'll later swear you sensed a bit of sadness, even despair in his expression.

“i love—” you choke on your own breath, desperate to sputter out the words. “i love you, si…”

and he practically has hearts in his eyes. “you mean it?”

“yes—! yes i do, i promise i still love you, please,” you spill, sounding closer to a temper tantrum than anything. “just lemme cum, please, si… really need it, please, i-i’ve been good...”

he hums lowly, contented, satisfied for once. as if those three words themselves — i love you — are the ones actually stroking his fucking cock. his ego maybe, you’d think, but jesus.

if you knew just how badly off he was beforehand, you never would’ve let him get this cocky and in control.

“love you too, sweetheart.” he kisses your puffed out lips, wipes a tear you hadn’t even noticed was trickling down your cheekbone. “always been my good, patient girl, haven’t ya?”

you nod once more, pinched brows and bleary eyes doubling in severity at his soft tone. simon praising you and being so, so uncharacteristically sweet has always made you fawn after more, even now. especially now.

“tha’s right, baby, you’re my good girl… now do me a favor and cum on my cock for me, yeah? lemme feel every last bit of ya.”

he ultimately resumes moving inside you, and it makes you wonder when he ever even stopped. your brain shuts off when he snakes a hand between your bodies, smoothing over your tummy before his middle and ring fingers quickly find your tortured, little bud. pressing hard, making you writhe with oversensitivity.

he works you over the edge diligently, and embarrassingly fast on your part, taking into account just how long he had edged you for. the sight and sweet noises you make are a dream; a reality he awfully missed, and something no other girl could compete with.

"that's it... easy, sweetheart," he coos softly.

he gives you a moment to come down from your high, softly palming your throbbing cunt to assist in grounding you, but you're barely able to finish catching your breath before he's doing it all over again! resuming flicking at your clit, rubbing you harshly and overstimming you enough to make you fruitlessly jolt and cry out beneath him.

he frowns down at you, damn-near condescending. "again, for me?"

you twitch and moan relentlessly as he gradually coaxes another orgasm from your tuckered body, his cockhead hitting that part deep enough inside you to make you see stars, his hard abdomen pressed against your tummy making the pressure of it all skyrocket tenfold.

the sensation of you finishing around his length once more has him barreling into his own orgasm, and soon fucking his pent up cum deep into your cunt with a few hard thrusts and a grumbled, broken groan right at your temple.

endless praises spill from his lips as everything becomes a blur for you; from the moment he's pulling out of your used cunt—crawling down and giving it and your pretty tits a couple sloppy kisses before briskly redressing himself—to being coddled in bed and squished between his muscular arms and torso.

he holds you so close to him that it makes you wonder why, or even how you could ever turn your back to it. he truly makes you feel like a spoiled doll in this sort of space. a doll with shaky legs, ruined makeup, and half a conscious.

"remind me why we broke up again?" he chimes.

you groan aloud, burying your face somehow further in his chest. "shut up, simon."

he laughs softly, pestering you with even more quick kisses, one after another to the crown of your skull. large hands rubbing up and down your back, moving to knead at your ass and thighs for a short moment. he just loves touching you so much.

“c’mon, pretty girl. let’s go get you cleaned up,” he mutters with an exhale. "how's a hot bath sound?"

you have no time to interject, other than a displeased pout and shake of your head, before you’re being hoisted up on your wobbly legs, then swept up and carried to your restroom when you couldn’t even make it three steps before your knees began to buckle on you.

you’re dizzy, utterly dazed and half asleep as he bathes you. making sure you don’t lift a finger as he works, treating you as nothing less than a princess. your loosened muscles somehow melt even more with his precise touch and strength, and you remember just how much you love being turned utterly numb and dependent on him.

you’re pretty sure you fell asleep the moment you were wrapped in a warm towel, pulled into the strong embrace of his meaty arms, but something he said moments beforehand had stuck with you.

“hey,” he whispered, soapy hand turning you to face him. he leaned in and kissed the area between your brows. “i’ll be better this time.”

“you promise?” you mumbled. your head fell atop your knees, arms wrapped around your legs and keeping them close to your body.

your extended pinky finger made him chuckle a bit, and he quickly looped his own around yours. solidifying his words. “promise.”

[angelofacidx]

here’s a bisexual leather daddy price x fat girl craigslist bootblacking thing that somehow wound up being over 10k words long. this is @pfhwrittes’s fault, so go yell at them if you don’t like this (just kidding, i’ll actually reach through your screen ring style and kill you dead if you’re mean to p and i’m not fucking joking)

cw: bootblacking, leather kink, unnegotiated kink, brief daddy kink mentions, mouth inspection, power imbalance, dirty talk, alcohol, use of names: [daddy, pet, sweetheart, love, cocksucker ], boot camp, pubic hair, refrences to verbal abuse, sniffing, throatfucking, d/s dynamics, cock worship, ass worship, ass biting, fingerfucking, oral sex, nipple piercings, nipple sucking, ball licking, pussy slapping, kidnapping.

Keep reading

[angelofacidx]

God Simon is so funny, taking a full person and once the novelty wears off realizing that he has a whole ass person to break and then getting passed. Architecture of his own suffering

And he wouldn’t have done it if Johnny wasn’t so annoying with his need for constant attention and touch 🙄

[angelofacidx]

Yeah you weren't wrong!!!! Love how you really lean into the brutality of the situation. Like it's not like ghost is going thru the motions of training or anything like that like the pain is just a biprotect of what he needs to get another pup or something. The hurting's the point! He likes that he can do whatever he wants to reader and what he wants to do is beat the shit out of them!

I like the violence of drowing reader and ripping hair out, cuz it's stuff that doesn't invertily cause any obvious bruises or marks, cuz that would really upset Johnny and the only reason reader hasn't had anything permanent done to them is cuz Johnny would be upset. So he has to do something that Johnny can pretend to overlook.

It's really interesting the escalation of what going on. First being taken, the muzzle and leash, the ankle breaking, and now almost drowing reader. ☠️☠️☠️ he's really starting to like reader in pain so I can't imagine anything nice is coming readers way

That does make me curious how ghost is feeling towards reader, he says he was growing fond of reader but that could be a lie. There's real venom in calling them a parasite, so I wonder if for a second there ghost was just going to go thru with it and get rid of whatevers trying to take his pup away.

Aaaaa I'm just really curious where this is going lol

Okay I’m answering both of your asks in one and literally never apologize for hitting up my inbox, I love you and I would die for you.

Simon is angry at the heart of it all. Angry that he has to go through training someone again and angry that you’re trying to turn his pet against him. That’s something he’s never dealt with before and he’s genuinely tweaking a bit over it, disguised by violence. He was starting to become fond of you but it’s out of the window for now….

And yes the snuff film will be a separate one shot! Already have it in the drafts!

[angelofacidx]

Aaaaaaa I'm excited for whenever you post, it really scratches a part of my brain

Boy are you in for a treat

[angelofacidx]

Pet pt 3

Read at your own risk, and read the tags

Compliance.

Compliance, fawning and disassociation so heavy that your head feels like it’s filled with thick cotton gets you by, helps you survive in this hell. You are surviving, no longer living. You trade pieces of your soul and dignity for small comforts.

Eating three meals a day without complaint leads to Simon asking your food preferences and even taking suggestions on what he might prepare for dinner that week. Gritting your teeth and baring Johnny pinning your beaten body to the couch with his dead weight so that he can cuddle you earns you the privilege of sleeping at the edge of their bed, right by their feet. Enduring the pair using you as a sex toy though you feel nauseous down to your bones guarantees you a daily bath.

“I ken, I ken. Just a little more fer me bonnie.” Johnny’s voice is laced with concern and pain, as if the situation at hand is ripping him open while only shallowly scraping you.

His left hand is rested on the arch of your foot while the right has a vice grip on your calf, moving your stiff muscles and nearly causing your vision to fade to black; your body trying to escape from the pain. The road to hell was paved with good intentions when Johnny took on being your doctor and physical therapist. He was right, without moving properly your muscles would atrophy and you’d have a worse situation to deal with. However this isn’t the Middle Ages, so pain killers would be nice, bastard.

Though you get better everyday, your broken ankles still leave you unable to use your legs properly. You can crawl with mild discomfort, hobble with excruciating pain if you’re picked up and given a shoulder to cling on for support. Regular walking and running is so from the horizon it discourages you from even toying with the idea again.

Johnny pats the outside of your calf with a pleased hum, lowering your leg slowly to the mess of pillows, propping up your legs and taking the pressure of gravity off them.

“Did so good today. Getting better everyday pretty girl.” He hums, placing a kiss to your clammy forehead, before lowering himself to rest his head on your lower belly.

Arms snake around your waist as he nuzzles the softness below your belly button, making himself a home there, and letting his eyes close in contentment. Before you can stop it, your hand cards its way through the tuft of hair atop his head, fingers dancing down towards the freshly shaved sides. This is disgusting. You’re disgusting. You should be strangling him until the blood vessels burst in his eyes, not petting him like a lap dog.

You can’t keep yourself from feeling bad for the man. Though the treatment he receives is much better than yours, he doesn’t seem to have much more freedom in or out of the house. Your leash was pulled taught while his had a little slack. Your mind wanders to what he was before this, before Simon. Was he like you? Terrified, missing friends and family, or was he a willing participant?

“Something wrong?” He asks in a soft tone, reserved for when the two of you are alone. You’re not sure what tipped him off, almost as if he was reading your thoughts.

“How uhm… How long have you been here. With Simon I mean.”

“Ach, been a long while.”

“…And how long exactly would that be.”

“Well, ah moved in when we were still serving together out of convenience. Then we retired a few years back.” He says, eyebrows knit together as he tries to do the mental math and recollect dates in his brain.

“Do you like it here? With him?” A bold ask, but something you’d been dying to know.

“Course. Ah love the big bastard.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips fondly.

“Do you love him or were you trained to? Do you love the pain? Never being alone?” You ask softly, hand moving to cup his chest, right over his heart.

His smile falters down, his eyes zoning out slightly and he seems to retreat to somewhere in his head you hadn’t seen yet.

“Well….” He starts, before being interrupted by Simon’s voice.

“Dinner, get washed up.”

…

After your meal, you’re carried up the stairs and to the master bathroom. Johnny tenderly strips your clothes while you’re sat on the counter, careful to not put any strain on your injuries. Just as you’re about to be hoisted into the tub, a hand stops him.

“Go get ready for bed, pup. I’m supervising bath time tonight.” Simon’s tone is so sickeningly neutral.

The shift in routine causes your heart to immediately hammer in your chest, especially when Johnny slinks away and closes the door, trapping you in here with the monster. Everything in you screams danger.

Unceremoniously you’re lifted off the counter and plopped into the tub, sloshing water out of the side and onto the floor as you hiss in pain, ankles making contact with the porcelain walls. Simon kneels beside the tub, lacing his fingers tightly into your hair, flush against the base of your skull.

“You dirty conspirin’ fuckin’ mutt,” He hisses before snapping your head backwards and under the water for a moment, saturating the locks.

You come up as quick as you were pulled down, coughing and doe eyed.

“What are you talking about?” You all but shout before remembering your place and lowering your tone.

“M’ not fuckin stupid. I know you’re tryna get in his head. Wriggle your way in there like a parasite.” His hands are extremely rough as he shampoos your scalp, no doubt ripping small chunks from the root that makes you hiss in pain.

“I don’t—.”

“I have a baby monitor in every room. Y’ really think I’d leave two stupid pups unsupervised?”

Before you can brace, you’re dunked under the water again, pulling fluid into your lungs. This time however, you’re not brought up as quickly. Your body’s natural reaction to cough only makes your situation worse, inhaling more water. You begin to panic, thrashing around with everything you have, beating on his arms and chest with your hands. Black spots form in your vision and your muscles start to betray you, becoming more and more useless before you’re wrenched out of the water by your hair.

Your lungs scream in pain as you violently cough water up, which turns into vomiting the clear liquid back into its basin. Your chest heaves as you regain vision and your balance, tears brimming your eyes as you look up to Simon. He looks all too pleased, simply grabbing the soap bar and moving on.

“I was just startin’ to become fond of you too.” He muses before pulling the black plug nestled at the bottom of the tub to let the water drain.

You’re wrapped in a towel and carried out of the bathroom, before he deposits you on the bed in front of Johnny, giving him the tedious task of brushing and styling your post bath hair, a task he is usually happy to do.

He gets to work, applying the usual products into your hair before running the brush through it. A large clump of your hair falls into his hand, causing his expression to fall. He’d hoped he was wrong in his assumption of what was happening to you in there.

By the end of it, Johnny brushes four clumps of your hair out before he’s done. You take your regular position at the foot of the bed, huddled up in a ball as the pair settle above you, your eyes grow heavy with exhaustion from your near drowning.

The real Johnny is in there somewhere and you know it. You just have to get him out.

[angelofacidx]

Are you planning to write a part 3 for Pet? 🫶

Yes!! I’m working on it :)

[angelofacidx]

Putting "taken" in her bio after I kidnap her 🥰

[angelofacidx]

Heads up, I’m writing an actual snuff film fic. I’ll tag it as best as I can and if anyone has ideas for the best way to tag it (or scenarios hehe) drop it in my inbox.

[angelofacidx]

he’s soo horrible to you that every time you fuck him is monsterfucking

[angelofacidx]

God working with Simon at a haunted house would be just the worst. Hard to do your job if some big dude your boss hired can cause louder screams then you geniually trying to act lmao

It’s so frustrating! You get some pretty good scares in your room but after they leave and head to the crammed hall where he’s placed, you hear the most unadulterated terror. And it’s not fair! He puts in 0 effort and doesn’t give a shit!

He’s gotten you before too, in the dressing room. You’re hunched over a small mirror, stippling fake blood onto your face, turning around to grab a brush when you see him standing there and nearly jump out of your skin.

He chuckles silently, only given away by the subtle vibration of his shoulder.

[angelofacidx]

Dark brain worms read at your own discretion.

Retired Simon who takes up volunteering at a haunted house during October. He’d gotten sucked into it after agreeing to accompany Johnny once and the owner damn near scouted him. Acting is NOT his thing, but fortunately he’s scary as fuck just…standing there in a mask.

He didn’t expect himself to like it as much as he does. Terrorizing grown men and making them scream as if their balls hadn’t dropped yet fuels the ego boost he’d been missing. He’s still got it.

However the real treat is when a pretty thing like you walks through with your friends, wide doe eyes and trembling hands as you sandwich yourself firmly in the middle of the group. He can’t help but reach out, hands squeezing the fat of your ass in the darkness, low groan muffled by the cheesy mask. He leaves his position, stalking behind your group until the end, into the parking lot, and watching you pile into a car that he mentally notes the plate number of.

He’d drop by later to give you a real scare.

[angelofacidx]

He's doing it again.

Leering.

There's a pretty medic with shiny, luscious hair that's twisted into a messy updo, errant strands of hair framing her delicate, heart-shaped face. She's got ink-black scrubs that contour her curvy body elegantly.

And Ghost's been staring at her for a while now.

At first, you thought that maybe he's just studying the people he's surrounded by. It's only natural, you figure, that a man with his kind of paranoia wouldn't let anyone go unnoticed.

But no. This is different.

When she sticks the end of a pen into her mouth, straight white teeth biting down on it, his eyes follow intensely. Ravenous.

Then they travel downward, from her full lips to her generous breasts, where they linger— he shifts in his seat a little.

She turns around when someone behind her calls her name, and you swear you heard a low sound of appreciation coming from him as her arse comes into view.

He's practically eye-fucking that oblivious medic from across the room. It'd be funny if you didn't feel as if you were intruding on him jacking off in the shower or something.

Christ.

-

It's not just the medic. You've caught him looking at Soap's arse from behind, Gaz's back while working out and even Price's waist, which granted, is actually pretty small considering the size of the rest of him.

And you've felt him boring holes into you, too. It makes the hair on your neck stand on end. So you decide to boldly meet his gaze...and he just holds it back.

Ghost doesn't break eye contact.

He stares back until your cheeks burn with heat, and the one looking away instead is you.

Animalistic.

Starved.

Perverted.

Simon Riley is many things. A shadow among shadows, an elite member of the 141 and.... a creep.

[angelofacidx]

I'm forcing Ghost to talk about his feelings at gunpoint and he's telling me he'd rather I just pull the trigger

[angelofacidx]

ahh i’m so sorry @angelofacidx!! i accidentally posted this ask before it was ready and had to delete it so your ask is gone :(( i hope i did a good job and y'know i had to make simon a tad pathetic, just for you <3

warnings/tags: simon x fem goth reader, awkward simon, flirting, teasing, kissing

when simon caught a glimpse of you one night at the pub he frequented with his mates, he was instantly captured by your beauty. usually, his type wasn't goth girls but there was something just so intriguing about you and your style that he found himself unable to look away.

when his friend johnny saw he was staring off, uninterested in the conversation, he followed his friends eyes and saw what had his full attention. "got a wee crush have you, si?" he chuckles, playfully nudging at his arm.

"oh fuck off," simon grumbled back, thankful for his black face mask covering his flushed cheeks. then, another friend was peeping up. "not your usual type mate. gonna go talk to her? or just oogle all night like a dickhead?" gaz had laughed with a raised eyebrow, taking a sip of his pint.

simon shrugged off his friends and left his booth, walking over to the bar where you were sat on a stool, talking away to a friend. he slipped in behind you, akwardly coughing to catch your attention which worked.

you spun around in your stool, tilting your head back to take in the absolute mammoth of a man stood in front of you. "can i help you?" you had asked, tilting your head slightly with an almost annoyed expression and simon felt his face flush warm.

"i uh- i was wonderin' if i could buy you a drink?" he asked, trying to avoid staring at you too much incase it come off as rude. in reality he was soaking up your outfit and makeup, enjoying all the details his eyes could find.

you laugh softly and with a smile, you accept the offer. "course you can, i'll have whatever you're having." you say, leaning in a bit closer to him so he can hear you over the general chit chat filling the busy bar.

simon nods, watching the way you lean towards him. his hands grow sweaty and his eyes frantically try to avoid yours. he quickly orders two rum and cokes, paying for them with a tenner. he takes his change, watching the bartender pour the drinks and place the glasses down in front of him.

he says a quick thanks before handing you a glass, "thanks." you say simply, bringing the glass up to your lips to take a long sip. as you place the drink down onto the bar, you look up at him with a questioning look.

"gonna ask me any questions or?" you tease with a smile and simon feels his heart hammering against his ribcage. "oh yeah, sorry uhm. so what's your name? that's a good place to start yeah?" he chuckles, hooking his mask under his chin and taking a big sip of his drink to try settle his nerves.

simon was someone who was confident in his looks, knew how intimidating he was with his height and old scars. you'd think he was a womanizer, but in all honestly he got shy around pretty girls and always managed to make an arse out of himself.

you laugh and nod, "yeah that's a good place to start. maybe next you can ask what my job is?" you tease with a cheeky smile before taking pity on him and telling him your name before asking for his.

simon answers back with his name, complimenting how pretty yours is before trying to move on and ask more questions that aren't very surface level.

more drinks are bought throughout the night and you seem to stay by his side, enjoying how flustered he gets around you. the more tipsy simon gets, the more he's unable to hide his fascination about your style.

"so, goth huh? i may have uh been a bit of an emo when i was younger in all honestly," he admits and you bark out a laugh, body tipping back and simon hopes to engrave that sound into his mind to remember for the rest of his life.

you raise a brow, "that so? just trying to imagine you with piercings and eyeliner. paints a pretty image honestly." you say before leaning forward, taking one hand and slowly dragging it up his arm while staring into his eyes.

once simon realises what you are doing, his face flushes pink and he feels his heart race. "had to take those out for military." he murmurs, unable to hold eye contact for long.

"military? makes sense now with all that muscles." you hum, giving a gentle squeeze to his bicep. "i've been like 'this' since i was a teenager, first got into the music through my parents and then discovered how much i enjoyed the style and makeup. haven't looked back since, brings in a lot of unwanted attention though. guys asking me to be their goth mommy on nights out or even dates, like what the fuck?" you shake your head, laughing with him with your hand still resting on his bicep.

"guys actually ask you that? fuckin' hell and i thought i was bad at flirting." simon bites, throwing back the rest of his drink before placing the empty glass onto the bar.

you laugh loudly at his words, shaking your head before finishing your own drink. "trust me, you're one of the best so far. little shy though eh?" you tease, giving another squeeze to his arm before standing up.

once you are standing up straight, you turn to your friend and explain your plan to her. she laughs and smiles, gently smacking you in a playful way before agreeing.

you turn back around and go up onto your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his ear, "i'm going out for a smoke, if you'd like to join me." you whisper, pulling back to stare up at him.

silently simon nods and follows you outside, glaring at any men who even glance in your direction while you make it out the bar. he is under the impression it will just be a friendly smoke together but oh boy was he wrong.

as soon as the both of you are outside, you are dragging him down a dark alleyway around the corner. your arms wrap around his neck and pull him down until your lips are just brushing. "can i kiss you?" you ask while looking into his eyes, hoping he’ll say yes.

simon is caught off guard, his eyes widening as you easily pull him down closer to you. “su-sure.” he mutters before he feels your lips pressing to his in a slow kiss. his arms gently wrap around your waist, bringing his body flush to yours as he deepens the kiss.

after a minute or so, the two of you pull away panting quietly. you giggle softly as you look at him and simon pulls a confused expression. “what you laughing at?” he grumbles, pink flushing his cheeks.

“a bit of my black lipstick is smudged on your lips big guy.” you smile cheekily, bringing your thumb to your mouth to lick before gently swiping at simon’s face to get rid of the evidence. he smiles down at you as he feel you wiping at the lipstick left behind.

he then works up the courage to ask the big question. “so, will i be able to get your number?” he utters, holding your waist a little tighter as he stares down at you. the question makes you chuckle, your head nodding. “yes you definitely can have my number.” you answer, smiling happily up at him.