#reader x simon ghost riley

[boolger]

So long as I'm your favorite toy ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. The title is from Jazmin Bean's song favorite toy.

☆fem!reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley ☆ explicit. MDNI ☆ 1,655 words

☆summary: There was something wrong with Simon. You knew that, had a bad feeling whenever you were together with him, felt like he could tear you apart with his teeth whenever you saw him. Yet, here you were, once again. Together with him, with that bad feeling in your stomach, your instincts telling you to run away, telling you that he could hurt you. He sometimes did. You tried ignoring the feeling, tried not to think too much about it, about how he screamed danger. About how he used you like a toy.

☆tags: dead dove do not eat, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, stalker!Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Alternative universe, serialkiller!Simon 'Ghost' Riley or well its hinted at, BAD bdsm etiquette, bdsm, humiliation, degredation, verbal humiliation and abuse, non-con elements, squirting, car sex, semipublic, rough.

☆☆MDNI☆ Dead dove do not eat☆MDNI☆☆

extra warnings / note: This is just straight up an abusive relationship. Reach out for help at the proper resources in your country if you’re in one of these and maybe don’t read this fic. Simon doesn’t r*pe but reader does acknowledge that he probably wouldn’t stop if she asked him to. Also this is not proper and safe BDSM. Bdsm shouldn’t be like this, even if it’s cnc or free use. If you use your safeword, that should be respected and acted on. It is hinted that Simon is a serial killer, but he doesn't actually kill anyone, only mentions it.

There was something wrong with Simon. You knew that, had a bad feeling whenever you were together with him, felt like he could tear you apart with his teeth whenever you saw him. Yet, here you were, once again. Together with him, with that bad feeling in your stomach, your instincts telling you to run away, telling you that he could hurt you. He sometimes did.

You tried ignoring the feeling, tried not to think too much about it, about how he screamed danger. About how he used you like a toy.

He said it was bdsm and to a certain point you agreed. But in proper bdsm both parties respected each other, even when there was degradation involved. No matter how rude one was to the other, in a healthy bdsm relationship there would still be respect, there would still be the knowledge, respect and acceptance that if one party said stop the other would do so immediately.

… you weren’t so sure that Simon would.

Sure, you had a CNC kink, but even when that was practiced, a safeword was in place - and technically you had a safeword, but you doubted Simon would actually stop.

It was a dangerous game. Toxic. Unhealthy. You should really stop, really get out of whatever it was that you had going with him.

Yet, here you were, together with him. Again. He had texted you and you had come running like a desperate, shaking puppy, craving attention, even if it was technically the wrong kind.

Like a toy, ready to be played with.

“Fuck,” he snarled in your ear, “you’re such a fucking whore, yet your pussy is so tight all the time.”

A whimper left you, your eyes fluttering shut as you shook, his cock ruthlessly trying to bully its way deeper into your poor shaking body.

Sometimes, sometimes , he was nice afterwards, after fucking you, after using you however he wanted. His fingers running along your abused skin, littering it with kisses, muttering about keeping you for himself. His own little whore, pretty girlfriend in his house, his wife waiting for him when he got home, homemade food ready for him.

You knew he didn’t mean it. Or at least, you hoped he didn’t. The two of you never talked about it afterwards, he never mentioned wanting something else than the whole fuckbuddies thing you got on. You didn’t even know where he lived, if he actually had a house, hell, you didn’t even know what he did for a living. For all you knew, he could be a monster or a CEO, a cashier behind the counter in a supermarket or a handyman. You had no idea. You tried not to care. It wasn’t like he asked about you either… though he sometimes just seemed to know a little too much. Or he at least hinted at know.

The way it squelched as he fucked you made you dizzy, you body already hurting from the position you were in. You were in his car in the backseat, trying to pretend that you weren’t afraid you were going to get caught, your knees over his shoulders, you body bent in half, thighs almost touching your chest. You were crying - you didn’t know when you started doing so, but you couldn’t stop. Besides, Simon didn’t mind it. He just fucked you harder, making the entire car rock to his thrusts, even leaning down to lick off your tears, calling you needy, pathetic, a whore.

You had already come twice. Maybe that was why you always came back, the orgasms were fantastic and plenty. Simon might be a mean bastard but he always made you come at least 3 times every time you saw him.

“Fuuuuuuck, princess,” he moaned, one hand on your neck, squeezing a bit while the other was on the car door, giving him something to hold onto, “you’re so fucking wet - gonna squirt, huh? Squirt all over my fucking car seats? Make it - fuck - make it dirty and all wet, huh?”

You sobbed, trying to shake you head. “No no no pleased down, Simon it’ll - fuck - ah ah ah—“

“Fucking whore,” he continued, “I’ll have to get ir cleaned then, won’t I? Tell the staff how it got so dirty?”

You sobbed, only moans and wails interrupting them. You didn’t want to squirt, he would never let you hear the end of it, you already knew.

“C’mon then, lass,” he moaned, his cock hitting you even harder; it hurt, hurt so badly yet so perfectly as you cried.

“No no no - Simon - Simon - stop, I’m gonna -“ you tried begging him but it was already too late.

Despite Simon’s strength, his cock was forced out by your body as you squirted, but he merely slapped his tick member against your cunt instead, hitting your clit. He forced your body to continue, his hand moved from your throat, instead holding onto your ankle, keeping you open for him, using the other hand to tap his cock against you. It was like it kept coming, making you scream and twist in the cuffs he had forced you into earlier.

It was soaking his entire lower body and the seats, the shame worse than you had expected; you had sprayed your juices all over his thighs and it was dripping from yours too, when your body finally finished. He was moaning, somehow making that degrading and you could barely hear the words that followed, too gone.

He was on you again, forcing you into the same position, your poor, wet and puffy cunt stretched again as he filled you once more, making you squeal. Your sight was blurry and his hand was on your jaw then, grip bruising, as he forced you to look at him. You barely understood the words he said, something about fucking you dumb - but you felt the spit that then hit you cheek, splatting all over your face, making you whimper.

He continued to fuck you, as if he was some fucking machine, growling like a dangerous animal in a rut, unable to stop breeding you.

“I would kill for this pussy,” he moaned, eyes dark as he met yours, fucking grinning, a sight that made your toes curl and stomach twist,  “do you want me to kill for you, huh??”

“Noo,” you whined, shaking your head, making him laugh.

“I fucking would, princess,” he growled, making you cry again. It was getting too much, everything felt overwhelming, your poor pussy almost in pain - but somehow he forced another orgasm from you. It made your entire body shake and finally, fucking finally he came with a loud, primal-like scream, filling you up with his cum.

You panted beneath him, knowing you looked like an absolute mess. Sweaty, drool running from the edge of your mouth, his spit on your face; your own juices running down your lower body and his cum would no doubt drip out the moment he pulled out.

He was softening inside you, yet he still leant down, your poor legs hurting and still bent, kissing you. He kissed like he fucked you. Dominating and controlling, forcefully yet so fucking wonderful. You moaned and gasped into his kiss, making him smile smugly. Simon pulled back, just a tad, your faces so close.

You felt a shiver run along your spine at his words, nausea appearing in your stomach.

“I meant it you know,” he whispered, all lovingly, “I would kill for you, princess.”

You let out a small sound.

“I don’t want you to,” you answered weakly, voice shaking a little. He looked cold just for a second as he replied.

“Then don’t give me a reason to.” 

Simon grinned all happily then, straightening up and pulling out, cum immediately oozing out, giving your ass a hard smack, just to watch you clench and twist for a second as you wailed.

“Get dressed,” he then said, opening the car door behind him, casually stepping out all naked, “I’ll drop you off.” 

He stepped to the front door then, putting on his boxers, his own clothes on the seat all neatly. Then he reached into the small cup holder in the front, picking up the key for your cuffs.

You awkwardly turned around and he moved again, opening the cuffs and your arms hurt from behind beneath you for so long. Your eyes flickered to him as you reached for your clothes. But Simon was quicker than you. Without even looking apologetic, he reached down to pick up your clothes at the car floor, rummaging through it for a second until he found your panties. 

You knew not to argue.

You got dressed quickly, knowing he wasn’t always patient.

You felt his cum seeping into the fabric of your skirt as you sat down at the passenger seat next to him a minute later, hoping it wouldn’t drip onto this seat too.

Simon turned on the car, fully dressed himself, the radio automatically starting to some low rock music. He drove from the forest casually, his hand resting on your thigh whenever he wasn’t changing gears.

“Are you busy this saturday?”

You were. But he never liked it when you were.

“Only in the evening,” you answered carefully.

“Good. I’ll pick you up then.”

That was that. A little while later he dropped you off after a bruising kiss.

You stumbled into your apartment a few minutes later, body sore and dirty, discarded like a used toy that he was done playing with. You knew there was something wrong about him. The words about killing for you made you feel bad as they replayed in your mind again, as you quickly stripped, stumbling towards the shower to clean.

You should stop seeing him. Start dating. Get a partner, a good one, a loving one. Yet… yet you were going to go Saturday when he texted you. Like a good toy should.

[alice-the-crack-head]

DARK SECRETS | MW2+MW3

Simon Ghost riley x reader part 1

Part 1

Other parts here

Pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader

Tags: gun fire, swearing, deaths, dark honor, war, cartels, Terrace, bombs, all that of course and there will be sex but later but not yet

Friends to lovers!!

Summary: you have a lot of secrets and you keep them in a lock cage and never tell a soul but when you join 141 one person with a skull mask start getting in the picture can notice there something missing about you and will figure it out

You are alice!!

Alice join the task force 5 years ago, gets along with the team members and she is one of the best members of the task force with snipping enemies, mostly the best one but one thing has that she has a big secret and she will never tell anyone that only for her to know for good she was take that secret until she 6 feet underground.

-

Alice is in the training room just holding a pistol and firing it in the firing range soap beside her doing a bet with her to see if they can only shoot the target paper in the head without missing, and who misses lose and have to give $30's to the winner "your so losing mohawk" she chuckles and aims and shoots, 15 minutes later she won the bet and holds her hand out to soap "pay up Johnny" she said smiling "God why are you so good at this" soap said pull out cash and placing it in her hands "your just jealous Johnny" she chuckles, smiling walking away to put her pistol away "I'll see you later I'm going to my room" she said looking at him before walking out of the room to her room and counts her money as she walking towards her room and opens the door and walk in and close it, she sighs and toss it on the bed and sit down at her desk, she thinks deeply about her past

_

6 years ago

Was stand there holding a gun after firing it, my face was sweaty dirty from dirt and looking a teammate or mostly a old friend on the ground lifeless

_

sit there quietly, stand up shaking the thought out of her head and walks out to get some food in the cafeteria and see ghost being quiet as always "hey ghostie" she said his nickname with a smile ghost just glance up from his cup of tea he made and he looks back down "what did I say about that nickname Alice I'm your lieutenant" he said quietly "and we're friends ghost" she smile and make a bowl of soup, pours the soup in her bowl and she smiles at ghost "get some Lt it may put a smile on your face" she tease him and smiles, ghost just give her blank eye look and she starts laughing "okie okie I'm sorry Lt I was only messing with you" ghost speak low while looking at her "120 laps tomorrow during training" he blanky said "whatt?!" She shouts "I'll make it 2,000" he said not even looking at her "nope 120 good" she said quickly "good" he said as he take a sip of his tea, she stand there and sighs and she walks away with the bowl of soup in her hands

Alice goes to sit down on the couch that been here for years and she eats her soup looking at the mini TV in the corner of the room and gaz is sitting there reading a book and she looks at him and then sighs looking away to look at the mini TV and watch whatever on TV

-

Weeks later

Was outside ready to go out on a mission and was partnered with ghost and soap and she is okie with that she get along with them mostly soap but ghost it a whole there level but he does have a honor with some good jokes she hears it all the time with ghost and soap when their on missions and she find it funny and she walks with them patting there shoulders "after this were going to the bar" soap looks at her and nods smiling "yes let go to one" ghost just blankly watched soap and her and signs then nods "but let Focus on the mission sergeant's" he said simply calm and walks ahead of them and sit down pulling out a knife and start sharping it easily, soap and Alice stand there for a moment and growns walking in "always buzz kill but he didn't disagree tho" she said smirking at soap he nods "your right" he chuckles and smirks, she nods and smiles happily "we're so getting him drunk when this is over" soap nods agreeing "agreed" he said smiling at her

-

Hours later

Alice and ghost wait on different roof tops watching over soap as he and his team fire and fights against a lot of people and she look through the scoop watching soap and radio to ghost "I see soap but no target Lt" she said, ghost look through a scoop "he will be on sight soon" looks moving the view a few times looking for the target and Alice move the scoop around and see the target "sir I found him on the 5 floor heading towards your side" she speak in the radio "eyes out" ghost speak and get ready to shoot the target and keeps an eye out and holds her breath as alice look through the scoop and see the target come back into her view and talking in the mic to her radio "target back on sight" she said as she keep an eye on the target and then ghost voice comes to the radio and he gives the sign to take the shot she look through the scoop and holds her breath and then aim perfectly and she shoot the target straight into the head, she looks away from the scoop and takes a slow deep breath and she talks in the mic connected to the radio "target down" she said through the radio ghost looks through the scoop and turn it over to see alice "good job" he said through the radio 

-

we got back to base like a week later from the mission and everyone is leaving for the holidays but alice and ghost stay in base and we just do whatever because we don't go home for the holidays.

alice is relaxing in bed just reading a book and thinking of doing something with ghost for fun so were both not bored being here and she get up putting her book down and goes to look for ghost bored "ghostttttttttt where are you in this empty old base" she shouts and smiles, sighs and walks down the halls and she start skipping down the hall looking in every room looking for ghost and turn to the firing ranga room and see ghost by the guns as he taking them apart and putting back together, she looks and nods not questioning anything and she slowly walks over to ghost and smiles "ghost what you doing is this what your going to be doing for the next 3 weeks?" she said softly ghost didnt even look up and nods not saying a word, she stand there and sighs "lets go do something fun like make something lets make cookies i bet you lik-' ghost cut her off and not even looking and he said "not right now alice just do it yourself i'm busy" she blankly stairs and then soigh looking down thinking and look back at him " oh come one lets have fun man we got nothing to do and also stuck here" she spins a little and smiles at him ghost just finally looks up and give her his blank eyes "alice im busy just go" she stops and looks at him and sighs "fine you butthead" she walks away and sighs and she walk to the locker room to go take a shower and she stands in the shower remembering something that happen 17 years ago and she blankly stairs at the floor 

"im sorry *****"

------------------------------------------------------------------

Masterlist

[marshmellowjay]

BALLET READER THIS

CHEERLEADER READER THAT

I GET IT. ITS NICE TO READ. BUT PLEASE. FOR ONCE I NEED THIS

PLEASE. JUST PLEASE MAN. I WILL LITERALLY WORSHIP ANY WRITER WHO WILL WRITE THIS😭

[preciouslandmermaid]

cold secrets, warm light (simon “ghost” riley x reader) - part 3/3

Note: I’m sorry this took 1 million years. ENJOY!  This takes place in the same universe as cold hands, warm heart and is seen as a continuation of that fic.

Fic warnings: blood, injuries, canon-typical violence, guns, protective!Ghost, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending, cigarette smoking, angst.

** All the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person. I also created 2 entire locations because I don’t want to use the real world lmao. (Al-Qunbar & Noreth)

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, and no other descriptors are used. Reader is AFAB, but no gendered terms are used in this part. 

(Read on Ao3) ||| 🔪🔪🔪  

~~~~~~~~~

You gag, spitting blood onto truck bed, your face pressed firmly into the divided ridges. You track the truck turns and estimate your distance from the haven. After the soldiers noticed a guard and Kaja was missing they went into a panic. For a moment, you thought they’d kill you and flee. But the leader of this little rag-tag group of assholes said he wanted to wait. And they listened to him.

Your gamble he was a hot head with something to prove paid off. You hope it’ll buy you enough time to escape before enemy forces discover you. A worst-case scenario is the forces of your home government finding you. They will imprison you for faking your death and abandoning your country. You spit more blood out of your mouth.

If that happens, then Lukas will be alone. Your biggest fear finally realized like some tragic Greek prophecy. They’ve striped you of your equipment, but they didn’t check your shoes.

You press the toe of your left boot against the heel of the right. You wiggle your ankle back and forth until your boot loosens and you can slip your foot out. You squirm, reminiscent of a wild worm, and use your knees to push your boot toward your chest. You curl into a fetal position and bite your teeth onto the hidden stitched pocket on the boot’s tongue near the laces.

The truck drives over a hole and your body lifts, then slams back onto the hard plastic truck bed.  You blink away the stars and your ears clang with a resonating chime. You swallow a wave of acidic nausea and clench your teeth around the razor blade.

It takes several, uncomfortable and straining minutes, before you manage to wrangle the razor blade into your fingers. You start working the blade into the hewn rope. You think of nothing but the loosening tension around your wrists. You cannot afford to lose focus or fall into despair. Your fingers cramp. You blink back tears and keep going.

Beyond the noise of the truck’s engine, you faintly hear a dirt bike gaining speed along the bumpy road. The soldiers arrived in two trucks. There wasn’t a motorbike among them. In rural Noreth, the odds of a civilian driving this late and this fast are slim. Your heart leaps inside your chest. It can’t be…can it?

You tighten yourself into a ball as gunfire ricochets above your head. The truck swerves and it forces your shoulder into the protruding, sloped wheel-well. The pain is dull and throbbing. Your cramped fingers begin to chew through the ropes again with the razor blade. You don’t know if the motorcycle is friendly. You can hope, but you won’t shove all your ducks into a single basket.

You need to escape. The chaffing, burning rope bites at your skin with sharp, gnawing pain. The men are shouting over the gunfire. A bullet sharply pings against the side mirror near the truck cabin.

The sound of crunching metal punches through your eardrums. You gasp, muscles tensing, and expect your body to eject from the truck and into the air.

A second passes. You exhale and realize it was the second truck. It crashed.  

The motorcycle is closer. The truck veers off-road, the terrain bumpy and treacherous, and you wedge yourself into the corner with your feet braced into the side. You twist one of your arms and ignore the protests of your muscles as pain ripples through your skin.

The motorcycle revs, passing the end of the truck, and—if you’re estimating correctly—it pulls up in front of the driver-side door. The two men inside are screaming, firing their guns, and bullets hit the dry earth and ding off metal. Your wrist thankfully wrenches free of the bindings. You gasp in relief. Neural sensation flows back into your limb with prickly, sharp tenderness.

The trucks’ windshield shatters. Someone yells before a wet and punctured sound like a hammer hitting a melon overwhelms the sound. Your eyes roll back to see the truck cabin is covered in dark, dripping viscera.

A dark, hulking shape jumps onto the driver side doorway and yanks the door open. The driver screams—horrified—before he’s tossed from the seat like he weighs no more than a child. You want to believe it’s Ghost. You want to believe you’d know him, even in darkness, yet you cannot gamble Lukas’ safety. You finish untying the rope around your other hand.

The driver who’s hijacked the truck slams the acceleration to an unceremonious and abrupt stop. You catch yourself with both hands before you topple and faceplant onto the truck bed again. The door swings open and the stranger hoists themselves into the flatbed. You lift your razor blade. You’ll carve out their eyes before they take you again. You won’t go down without a fight. His headlamp glows red and casts a devilish, eerie glow as if you are two sinners awaiting retribution.  

“Oh, thank god.” Simon’s rough burr is the sweetest music you’ve ever heard.

“You alright, love?” He lowers himself to kneel in front of you.

“The house? Kaja?” You croak, tasting dried blood on your lips, in your throat, and salt burns your eyes.

He nods. “Safe and secure.”

You bow your head, relieved and sanctified, swallowing the bitter depths of emotion that surge whenever Ghost is in proximity. Oh, you are a fool to believe you stopped loving him. An outrageous, weak fool. In his presence, you want nothing more than to press your lips to his pulse and memorize his heartrate. You want to kiss the palms of his dangerous, calloused hands and offer him every inch of your tattered, tarnished soul. For him, only and always, you are humble and suppliant.

“Let’s have a look at you.” Says Ghost.

“’m alright.”

You need to leave. You need to return home before another patrol arrives. You hope the motorbike isn’t wrecked. Otherwise, you’ll have to drive the truck with a bloodied dashboard. Not that you haven’t driven in worse situations but removing the truck will risk an investigation.

“Fuck off.” His fingertips tenderly touch your jaw, “I saw you at the barn.”

You allow Ghost to lift your face toward the reddish light. You can’t fathom looking into his eyes. So, you glance to the left, then to the right, checking for threats. You are alone in a field. Moonlight spills white ribbons across rows of vegetation and ripples across the fluffy, gray clouds.

“Those were some creative insults you threw at him.” He tilts your face side to side and your bruises pulse beneath his evaluation, “I think some of ‘em have the potential to make Soap blush.”

Your lips twitch and the cut on your lower lip bristles with stiff, crackling pain. He gently touches your lower lip with his thumb. Your eyes flick to his, but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking at your mouth.

“thought I’d never see that smile again.” He murmurs to himself then shakes his head slowly. “We ought to go before more patrols come this way.”

“Is the bike salvageable?”

“Should be,” he says gruffly, “if we’re lucky.”

~~~~~~~~~

You drive the motorcycle without noticing any of the passing, dark scenery. Ghost keeps one strong, muscled arm around your waist, and he subtly shifts and turns, watching your back while you speed along the dark roads with only a single headlight to guide you. Out of paranoia, you take different roads to confuse the trail. You worry someone might notice the thin, grooved dirt bike tracks next to the larger, deeper imprints.

Your return to your safe haven. A sense of relief turns like a key inside a lock within your chest. You touch Ghosts’ arm before he dismounts from the bike.  

Ghost’s mask shines red from the lamp and drying blood. You stare unflinchingly at him.

In this moment, above all other moments, you feel fearless. You can’t say that you fear losing him. Not really. Because you’ve lost him once already. The pain is manageable. It’s tolerable. And although you don’t want to lose him a second time, you think it is inevitable, and he deserves the whole truth. You can’t claim to love him and not offer him the complete truth.

“I deserted the agency.” You say, “and faked my death in Al-Qunbar.”

Ghost is silently contemplative for a few seconds.

“How’d you manage that if you were in an operative-run infirmary?”

“At my request, Price registered my stay under a Jane Doe and claimed I died after succumbing to complications of my injuries.” You explain, “but before I left, as a gesture of goodwill, I gave him the coordinates to this safe house if he was ever in trouble.”

His shoulders stiffen slightly. You wonder if you’ve struck a nerve telling him that Price knew your location while he remained in the dark.

“I refused to raise Lukas while I was an operative in the field. And I knew…if I wanted to keep his parentage a secret…then the only option for us was to disappear, play dead, and wait until we had a chance for a permanent home.”

You lift your gaze to the house behind Ghost. Fondness swells inside your chest.

“It was almost Noreth until the conflict started.” You say thickly through tears, “Lukas loves to watch things grow. He deserves that, you know? He deserves…” You stop yourself.

In your heart, Lukas deserves the childhood you never received. He deserves warmth, and safety, and fulfilled promises and silly games and how to make friends without also learning how to manipulate them.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, “I trust that you won’t reveal our existence to anyone stateside or internationally.”

Ghost responds and his voice is like shrapnel. “Understood.”

Samira embraces you the moment you cross the threshold. You grimace and smother your wince at the back of your throat. You must’ve been hit – somewhere – alongside the bruised or possibly broken ribs that their leader gifted you. She holds you for several seconds and then rests her forehead against yours affectionately.

“You cheat death too much,” she chides. “Eventually, I fear He will get pissed off and come looking for you.”

You tease, “and you worry too much.”

Samira rolls her eyes, then her dark gaze pins Ghost. “You were meant to recover Kaja and return. Kaja says you stole her motorcycle and vanished.”

Ghost shrugs his big, heavy shoulders. Samira shoots him another withering look, but then Soap wheels into the main living area, and she switches into Doctor-Mode. You catch her expression soften when she regards MacTavish.

You ask, “where’s Lukas?”

“Upstairs.”  

Lukas is awake, alert, and bouncing on his feet when you enter his bedroom. The injuries on your face throb with pain and dried blood cakes your clothes and hair. Lukas smiles when he sees you. You drop to your knees and open your arms.

“Hello, my sweet boy.”

“What’s on your face?” Lukas asks, touching your bloodied skin, and your throat tightens. “Boo-boos?”

You nod. Lukas’ expression morphs into grim seriousness. His little brow furrows. “I’ll help you, mommy.” He wiggles out of your grasp and drags a plastic box of band-aids from underneath his bed. He sticks band-aids to your face, your hands, your wrists, and arms. You stifle your tears. He kisses the band-aids.

Lukas exclaims, “All better!”

“All better.” The words are thick and clustered inside your throat. You don’t have the energy to move from the floor. You lie down and pat the spot next to you. Lukas doesn’t question it. He lays next to you, and you card your fingers through his hair. His brown eyes are watchful and sleepy. You hum quietly and stroke his forehead, his nose, and his small shoulders with tender, bloodied hands.

You are a killer. Would Lukas still love you if he knew? You hope so. Your heart and soul is shredded into tiny pieces, and they belong to your son. Although a few tattered pieces belong to Simon, too.

Lukas eventually falls asleep. You pull yourself upright with some difficulty and your body quakes in protest. You glance at your stomach and chest to see your shirt has bled through with wet, fresh blood. A swarm of dots blur in front of your vision. You wince and awkwardly push your hands beneath Lukas to lift him from the floor. A cold, clammy sweat breaks out across your neck and forehead.

Ghost enters your peripheral vision. “I’ve got him.”

He lifts Lukas into his arms and places him carefully onto his bed. Your head swims. You might pass out. You squeeze your eyes closed to stop the room from violently spinning. Your cottony mouth forms a few letters and strings them into a slurred sentence.

“How long were you hiding in the hallway?”

He ignores your question. “Where’s your kit?”

You manage to pull yourself onto your feet. You plant your hand against the wall for balance. You want to call out for Samira, but blood fills your mouth. You sway. Ghost is suddenly there. He grips your arm and your head lolls into his shoulder.

“Your kit.” He repeats sharply.

You swallow the copper-tasting blood and cough, “closet.”

Ghost half-drags, half-pulls you out of Lukas’ room and into yours. You lean against the wall while he opens your closet and pulls the medical bag hiding beneath a pile of clothes. You watch him through heavily lidded, blurry eyes.

He approaches with a pair of scissors and starts to cut away your shirt. The scissors make a crusty ‘schrrrp’ sound as he gnashes them across the blood-soaked fabric. Up close, you can hear his breathing. It’s ragged and low and reminds you of a pissed off horse. You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. The blood loss is making you delirious.

You flutter your eyelashes at him, “if you want me to get undressed, Ghost, you ought to buy me dinner first.” Your shirt falls to tatters on the floor. His fingers prod at your stomach and ribs. You wince, but don’t flinch away.

Ghost hisses. “I’m in no mood.”

“Do you hate me?” You mumble, blood dribbles from the corners of your mouth. You want to meet his gaze, but his focus is on your blood-covered body. You wish he’d look at you. You wish he’d touch you without such clinical coldness. You shut your eyes. You wish for a lot of things…

You mutter, “I wish we never said goodbye.”

“and I wish you would come with us.” You admit while fighting to stay conscious, “I wish you had the chance to know him – to really know him. He’s so good, Simon. He’s good.” Wet, hot tears scald down your cheeks. It’s a miracle that someone so innocent and good could come from someone like you. A goddamn miracle. You hiccup and are unable to stop the tears.

A cold, biting sensation ricochets across your skin. Your knees weaken and you topple forward into him. He smells like gun oil and exhaust fumes. The world is a dark, shifting, and ambiguous shape as Ghost lifts you and deposits you somewhere warm and soft.

You try to pry your eyes open but they’re too heavy.  

“Stay with us,” Ghost murmurs, “stay with me.”

~~~~~~~~~

Ghost inhales slowly and cigarette smoke bites at the back of his throat. It burns. It smolders. His mind is twisted with thoughts of you. You are upstairs, your lips ashen, Samira is by your side and her expression is pinched sour with worry. Dawn bleeds like an open wound across the horizon and all echoes of last night are burned away.

He hates the idea of staying here longer than necessary, but what can he do? He can’t abandon Johnny.

He can’t abandon you.

A fleck of ash drops from the burning ember and whisks away on the breeze.

He can’t abandon his child.

The little boy who felt so fragile, so small and innocent in his arms. The boy who’s got eyes like his only less shadowed, less haunted. Lukas. He overheard Agathi call him ‘little light’. Your moth charm still dangles around your throat. Lux. The call name he gifted you.

Follow the light.

Ghost snubs the cigarette out against the wooden fence post.

~~~~~~~~~

Samira demanded you to take it easy during your recovery. You lost a lot of blood. Your lower two ribs were broken. Your household chores are reduced to washing dishes and prepping food. It drives you a little crazy, if you’re being honest, but at least you don’t suffer alone. Johnny makes for good company. You swap jokes, and play cards, and read together in silence during bed rest.

Agathi and her boys left yesterday morning. Their papers cleared. Their transportation confirmed. The house is quieter without them. And Lukas misses them terribly. You miss them too, but you hope they are safer and happier wherever they are. Their departure means Noreth is stabilizing. It means extraction is nearby. It means you and Lukas will leave soon.

The kitchen buzzes with the sound of the battery-operated camping lamp. You scrub the soapy and cold sponge across a sticky plate. Everyone is asleep. Ghost is in the barn keeping watch as he always does.

He hasn’t spoken to you since you passed out in his arms.

You endeavor to not take it personally. If he hates you for your secrets then he hates you. There is nothing you can change about that. You cannot – and will not –  beg him to go with you. You will not trick, or convince, or manipulate your way into a ‘happy’ outcome. Ghost always saw this haven as temporary. A place for Johnny to recover. Nothing more, nothing less.

He might hold affection for you, he might even care about you or Lukas, but that doesn’t change the reality of your roles.

You are a deserter. You have enemies that would happily tear you apart. You are dangerous. You would burn the world if it meant keeping Lukas safe. And Ghost? He’s a man who doesn’t let anyone see his face. A killer that shares the same soul as you. A solider with enemies. A past and childhood you’ve barely glimpsed into.

You are devoted to your son, to your family, to the hopeful future without bloodshed.

Ghost is devoted to his country, his place within the ranks, his duty as a solider.

The front door swings open. You glance over your shoulder to see Ghost enter. The harsh light of the lamp illuminates his shiny, brown eyes.

Your heart aches. He will do the same thing he’s always done. He will see you, say nothing, and walk toward his shared room with Johnny. You turn away.

“We’ve got to talk, Lux.” He says quietly.

You scrub the sponge harshly and the plate nearly slips from your fingers. “Do we?”

“We do.” His footsteps thump behind you. “Noreth entered peace talks. It’ll be safe to travel soon.”

You nod absentmindedly. Why is he bringing this up now?

You say, “I know.”

Ghost twists the knob to the camping lamp. The buzzing stops. The kitchen falls to complete, silent darkness. Your hands drip with chilly water. Together, in the dark, you are two hearts, four lungs, and timid, unspoken dreams. You hear the barest suggestion of fabric moving and you assume he’s closer to you.

He says, “give me your hands.”

You extend them and his fingers trap your wrists. The pads of your thumbs touch rough, scratchy stubble. Your breath quivers in your throat. You feel his pulse, deep and steady, like waves crashing into the shore.

“Go on then.” He urges.

His hands slide down your forearms and hook loosely at the bend of your elbow. Your index swipes across the scar on his upper lip. It’s familiar. You’ve memorized this scar. You see it in your dreams. You trace the shape of his plush, dry mouth with your fingertip. His hot breath exhaling slowly through his nostrils tickles your skin.

Your heart stammers at the absence of fabric near his cheekbones. You caress his nose along the bridge and tentatively stroke his brow. His fine, thin eyebrows are feathery soft beneath your fingers. You touch a weathered notch between his brows, a wrinkle carved through years of worry and stress and extreme focus. You smile to yourself. His skin is faintly tacky around the eyes from his black-camo paint.

You’ll carry him in the blackened whorls and spirals of your fingerprints.

His hair is short and glides silkily through your fingers. You trace the shell of his ear, his cartilage thin and delicate. You are pulled closer by a magnetic force, by gravity, by fate. You are a planet, and he is a comet blazing through your sky ever-so-often and painting your world in sparkling, white-hot streaks of brilliance.

When you return to his pulse, it thunders beneath your touch, and his jaw flexes under your hands. He has given you an enormous and precious gift. You piece him together like a ceramic mosaic. You aren’t greedy when it comes to Simon. You will take what he can give. And you know he functions much the same.

You say, “my eyes are going to adjust soon.” You lick your lips. “I can shut them if you like.”

“You’re entirely too good-hearted.” He grouses.

His nose skims along yours. The skin-to-skin contact, along with the pleasant rough accent of his voice, makes your toes curl. Stagnant shadows and blotches of darkness move like bruises across your vision. Simon smells like gun oil and smoke and sweat. Lethal. Dangerous. Heavy. It should be abrasive, but it’s an aphrodisiac to you. You tilt your neck back and sigh languidly. You are predators in a dark room. Yet you roll on your bellies for each other, you offer the supple skin of your throats and press knives into each other’s palms. Kill me, kiss me, be done with it.

“Have you forgiven me?”

His large hand envelops your throat, “‘m getting there.” Your heartbeat is in your ears, saliva thickens on your tongue, and your core throbs with acute longing.

“Shall I get on my knees?” You tease knowingly.

His chest vibrates like a strummed guitar string. The tip of his tongue flicks across the seam of your lips. Your lower back bumps into the counter. You open for him. You taste his ragged breath on your tongue. He must’ve shared a smoke with Johnny recently.

Ghost pinches your jaw in his hand, fingers digging into your skin, and he kisses you like its punishment. He kisses you like he’s claiming you (as if you didn’t already belong to him after he dragged you from the ice).

His large hand splays across your back and you feel each individual digit. He wants to meld into you. He wants to fuse your bodies together so nothing - and no one - can rip you apart lest they face the calamitous wrath of a nuclear explosion.

You tug at the root of his hair, pleased, and he grumbles lowly at the back of his throat. Something hot and sharp twists like barbed wire through the spaces of your ribcage.

Ghost says, “you kept secrets in order to protect him.” His breath fans across your wet lips. “I could never hate you for that, Lux.”

He pinches your jaw harder. In the low-light, you see him through your half-lidded eyes. You see the shape of his brow, his nose, his jaw. All of him. Simon Riley. The man you love.

“Never.” He declares before kissing you again. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, wet and suckling, and drool pools at the corners of your lips as you attempt to devour him. You pull his hair, his clothes, your fingers twisting and grasping and yanking. You want to drown. You want to burn. Simon’s affection and attention is all-consuming. It pulls you apart like a natural disaster.

He lifts you effortlessly into his arms and instinctively you wrap your legs around his wide hips. His hands come to rest at the swell of your bottom, and he squeezes you close. Your noses squish together. You feel the tacky, black paint on his skin smearing against your cheeks. You feel your spine hit the wall and he pins you there, all his weight and strength, his breath fills your lungs, his hands burn like a tattoo against your skin.

“Ask me,” he rasps desperately, “to come with you, love.”

“W-what?” The world knocks off its axis.

“Ask me.” He repeats. Your eyes scan his face—his beautiful, weathered, war-torn face—and seek any trace of deception. His brown eyes are framed prettily by his blonde lashes, and they regard you with open, tender affection. His mouth is softly open. His pink tongue glides across his lower lip and it glistens with saliva. He is willing to give it up. His life. His career. For a life with you.

“Simon,” You cradle his face between your hands. Your throat tightens. “If you come with us…you’ll lose everything.”

His big, calloused hand strokes the side of your face, “nothing compares to losing you twice.”

You lean your forehead against his. You can figure out logistics and details later.  Simon could technically find work in a private sector. You could try and arrange to live somewhere cold so he could wear the mask—or at least keep his face hidden. As long as you’re together, you can figure it out.

“Simon Riley…” You begin, your heart beating wildly in your chest, “once MacTavish is secure and returned safely to Price…”

Ghost snorts, “I hadn’t forgotten about Johnny.”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Regardless, once that’s done, will you…will you leave with Lukas and I?”

~~~~~~~~~

The briny air fills your lungs and your hands slip along the wet, metal railing of the small boat. Your face is damp from the spray that lifts in foamy, white splashes alongside the boat’s edge. The boat lurches and jolts across each tiny, cresting wave. The sky is beautifully gray like spun dark wool. The clouds stretch in long, languid brush strokes.

A lone seagull calls out before swooping near the water. You turn away from the scenery and twist your body toward your companions.

Lukas is bundled up with a thick scarf and heavy hat and big, navy coat. His gloved fingers form tiny fists near his cheeks. He barely stirs despite the bouncing motion of the boat. Simon has wrapped both arms protectively around his son and holds him close to his warm chest.

His eyes—bereft of the usual shadow of dark paint—lift from Lukas and meet yours. They crinkle softly at the edges. His mouth is hidden by his black balaclava, but you suspect he’s smiling. You tilt toward him and rest your cheek on his damp shoulder. An overwhelming sense of peace blankets over you.

Sunlight breaks free from the clouds and the world glimmers and sparkles like a freshly cut diamond. The light suffuses the air and encases you within a bubble of brilliance. Simon sighs. You peek upward and discover his eyes are closed and his face is angled toward the sunlight. You glide your fingertips across his knuckles and rest your palm over his hand.

Together, you hold your son and each other, and face the bright future with hope in your hearts.

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

TAGLIST: @iwantmethgivememeth​  @levisbebe  @solidly-indulgent​  @alastorhazbin​   @crocsclub  @isimpforfictionalppl  ?? @sanfransolomitatm​

@hypernovaxx​

(tag list from earlier parts that im just including lol:  @anonymousmay22 //   @urisu //  @sodbos //  @confuseddipshit ) sorry if i missed anyone who wanted to be tagged LOL)

[mcntsee]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

[l0velysmut]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

[simonrileysfavteacup]

You stir awake, sighing as you roll over to face your sleeping husband. You sit up, fixing your stretchy shirt over your very swollen belly. You pat Simon’s side. “Si? Si! Si!”

He groans as he wakes up, rolling over and shoving his head into his pillow. “Go back t’ sleep.”

“I want a big mac.”

He groans louder. 

“Please, Si? I’m super hungry. And bubby keeps kicking.”

He sighs, “Look ‘t the time, lovie.”

You almost tear up. 

When he notices the frown on your face, he sighs again, getting up. “Which one is the closest?”

You smile, almost jumping with joy as you lean up to press a million kisses to his cheek. “The one on 42nd.”

He leans down, kissing your belly and your lips before heading off to get dressed. 

He returns 20 minutes later, a bag and 2 drinks in hand. You practically moan at the smell as he hands you the bag. 

“I love you,” you moan as you take a bite of your burger. He chuckles, eating his own. “Bubby loves you too. He’s kicking every time I take a bite.”

“Bet ‘e does.” Simon kisses your belly as you stuff a few fries in your mouth. “Lovie?”

“Yeah?” you ask with a mouth full. 

“Do ya think he’ll like me?”

“For the millionth time, my love, you are nothing like your father. You’re far too kind and too amazing and too sweet. He’s going to love you. Just like I do.”

He chuckles, “Love you too.”

He leans down, kissing your belly. 

“Both of ya annoying little buggers. Always fuckin’ hungry.”

[jammyjen26]

Simon is cold, he’s rough, rude, and doesn’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinions.

Except for you, to you he’s soft, vulnerable, sweet, loving, and happy.

One day you go to drop off his lunch at base as he has forgotten it.

You walk in, dressed in a light pink sundress with flowers on it.

White sandals on your feet, your toes painted white and your nails done in a light pink.

You walk in and go up to the receptionist. All eyes on you.

“Is Simon here?” You ask softly, a small smile on your pink lips

The receptionist looks at you confused, “Simon? Ma’am I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re speaking of.”

A few minutes pass and you’re waiting on the receptionist, when all of a sudden a group of men walk in.

Everyone stands up and salutes them except you, you look up from your phone and see your husband.

“Simmy!” You run through the group of men until you reach Simon, hugging him tightly. The room goes silent as everyone stares.

Some people whisper knowing that he’s most likely gonna push you off and say a rude remark but he doesn’t. Not to you.

He wraps his arms around you as well and picks you up. “Hey love,” He kisses your cheek and hugs you tighter. “What are you doing here?”

You pull away and hug his arm, smiling brightly. “You forgot your lunch, where were you?”

“Just a mission.” He grumbles, he holds your hand and without even saying bye to his comrades he leads you to his office.

Leaving everyone shocked and confused, they all thought that he was lying when he said he was married. And especially they didn’t expect his wife to be so gorgeous.

[dante-mightdie]

i read somewhere that vikings used to gift new brides kittens and immediately thought of viking!simon and a little kitten

big man with small animal? absolutely yes i’m ovulating

c/w: none

you cannot and will not tell me that he will not pick the scrunkliest kitten known to man. little black scruffy thing tucked into his palms and he just puts it in your lap the day after your wedding. mumbles something about tradition before skulking off

he expects you to dump the thing on someone else, not even give little scruff a name. but to his surprise you’re absolutely in love with this little ball of fur. you don’t go anywhere without it, fashioning a little collar for it and speaking to it as if it were your own child

he doesn’t expect you to be in tears when you tell him that the cat didn’t come home last night :( that you’re worried a wolf got to it and you just miss your baby!

huffs and puffs as he hunts around the dark forest, looking for a kitten who may as well be invisible. breathes a sigh of relief when he finds the thing handing on a tree branch. he’d grab it by the scruff before beginning his trek back home,

“ya gave your mum a right scare. don’t do that again.” he’d grunt to the cat who just meows right back at him, tail swishing in the air

[deunmiu-dessie]

!reader who decides that they want to try being on top for once and anchors their small hands on ghost's chest, bouncing sloppily on his cock and whimpering at his praise. “that’s it. good girl, just like that.” !reader who pants in small, short puffs, cheeks flushing red and legs cramping. !reader whose movements start to get slower just when they're on the brink of cumming. “ i c-can't, m’tired, si.” bf!simon who rumbles deep in his chest at your whiney complaint, "ah, fuckin' hell." bf!simon who grabs the fat of your hips and fucks up into you, hard and fast, gravelly voice mocking. "look at you, can't even fuckin' ride me properly." bf!simon who simpers at your scrunched up face and bleary eyes, mouth open to let out pitiful sobs. "m' sorry, d-daddy--mmn!" he chuckles softly, "'s alright, pet. " ˙ᵕ˙

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ - 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓂𝑒! ⁽ nsfw ⁾

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[whateveriwant]

NSFW Size Difference HCs with Simon

F!Reader, Part 2, SFW version

“It’s too big” girlfriend 🤝 “I’ll make it fit” boyfriend

Seriously, there’s no such thing as a quickie with this man. Before you have sex, he always has to stretch you out either with a toy or a couple of those thick fingers of his

Speaking of which, you’ve become well acquainted with the taste of his fingers from how many times he’s gagged you with them as he’s fucked you when you have guests over

Oftentimes, he doesn’t even verbally tell you when he’s horny. He’ll just walk up behind you and press his hard cock against your lower back (he calls it “show, don’t tell”)

He’s always teasing you about how small your hands are in comparison to his, especially how you can’t even make your fingers touch as they circle his thick dick :(

Sometimes when he’s going down on you, you think your hips are actually going to dislocate from how far you have to spread them to accommodate for his shoulders

Before he pushes into you, he loves to lay his cock against your stomach and measure how deep inside you he’s going to reach (hint: it’s deep)

Not only is Simon big but he’s strong, meaning one of his favorite positions to fuck you is hoisting you in the air and bouncing you on him

Missionary/mating press can be dangerous because there’s a genuine risk of you getting smothered by his massive chest :(

In a similar vein, good luck trying to kiss this man while you’re having sex because your mouths are nowhere near each other regardless of your position

On more than one occasion, you’ve had to lie to your coworkers/family about the reason you lost your voice. It’s not because you’re sick like you’d said, but rather because your boyfriend had battered the back of your throat with his dick the night before

Truly, there’s no prettier sight in the world to Simon than when you’re lying beneath him, your hands clawing at the bedsheets, little tears sliding down your cheeks as his big cock stretches your pussy open 🥰

[bi-writes]

mmmm i have these thoughts about being sorta kinda drunk and hanging out with simon. you're so touchy when you're tipsy, and you're giggly, and you're sitting on the couch next to him, hugging his big arm and pressing little kisses into his shoulder. he doesn't react much, just keeps his eyes trained on the tv as he sips his whiskey; he's so indifferent to your affection, but he never pushes you away, lets you kiss him and touch him and whine and coo, and he never tells you to go away or leave him alone.

you nuzzle your face against his masked cheek, kissing along the cotton fabric there. you're so warm from the alcohol, a little dizzy, and now you're babbling, but he doesn't seem annoyed.

"love you so much, simon," you whine, and he just pats your thigh gently.

"can't ever live without you," you coo, and he squeezes your knee in acknowledgement.

"i'd do anything for you," you whisper into his ear, and he just grunts, pushing his mask up as he takes another long sip of his drink, and you tilt your head to the side, watching him, your pretty, pretty man.

"would you do anything for me?" you ask softly, leaning in close. he licks his scarred lips, but he doesn't look at you yet. "w-would...would you kill for me, simon?"

and then he finally looks at you, dark eyes meeting yours, and you squeak when he wraps that big hand around your waist and tugs you against him.

he smirks, tilting his head to the side. "'v already killed for ya, luv," he says lowly, and this is simon, and simon doesn't lie, and you know by the look in his eyes he doesn't mean this happened at work, either.

suddenly, you feel sober. but his hand tightens, and it lowers, and you swallow when he grabs a handful of your ass and forces your mouth against his.

"now be a good girl. 'n sit down."

[ghostly-whiskey]

simon riley who you "meet" through a program where you can send care packages to soldiers. you don't think much of it at first, just a simple package with a few necessities and treats. and along with that, a short, but genuine and handwritten letter thanking the unknown soldier to you for their service.

and when you go to retrieve your mail a few weeks later after getting home from work, brows furrowing together as you shuffle through the stack of envelopes.

bill. another bill. advertisement. paycheck. handwritten addressed envelope from 'ghost'.

your brain doesn't even connect the dots until you are inside, fingers gently picking at the envelope until your able to drag a finger through the seal to open it. a simple piece of what looks like notebook paper is pulled from inside. unfolding it, eyes quickly scan the letter to get an idea what it's about.

you've done plenty of care packages before. never did you get a personalized thank you letter back, so, this was a first. the letter starting off by thank you for the package and that he enjoyed the items, especially the "sweet treats". the two words put in quotations as he referred to what you referred to them as in your own letter. your own brain cringing slightly as you remember what you wrote.

again, thank you for all that you do and enjoy the sweet treats!

and while you expected the letter to end after thanking you, it didn't. additional lines asking about you. the sets of questions ranging from asking how long have you been doing the care packages to general questions about yourself. then, at the very end, after signing off as 'ghost', you couldn't help but notice the chicken scratch of handwriting that added:

p.s. you don't need to respond back if you don't want to, just figured it be nice to get something back in return. thanks again.

[shotmrmiller]

wait wait because imagine being a normal OF creator or a cam girl, just a small name nobody who does it for the sole purpose of getting through college. you keep your face out of everything, nothing in the background of any video of yours is personal, like once you get your degree this entire account is getting deleted and it'll be a thing of the past. (not that you're ashamed or anything. we respect sex workers of all kinds here)

and you plan on doing a different kind of video: one of you fucking yourself with a new, much bigger toy. usually you keep to the rabbits and bullets but following your friends advice, you fucking yourself on a dildo wouldn't be terrible.

plus you need it, sweetheart. when was the last time you even had a date?

bitch. (affectionately)

and as soon as you walk into your usual sex store, you double take. there is no, NO, way that is pornstar!ghost's dick you've just spotted as a dildo.

he's been your favorite pornstar long before you even started this side hustle. who in their right mind can resist that beast of a man with the mask and the tattoos and the heaving thing that's between his legs--

you take it home immediately.

it's almost sad how stupid you fuck yourself on it, cunt split open and dripping onto the floorboard for the internet to see but in that moment, you don't give a fuck.

you don't remember how many times you come that night nor how many viewers you had watching your puffy lips swallow "ghost's" cock whole, but come morning, you notice your bank account and it is padded.

PADDED.

one particular tipper was incredibly generous and they even left a message.

i'd love to see you do that on the real thing.

yeah, me too.

(whoever that is becomes a loyal follower who tips regularly.)

*screaming at the thought of simon getting himself off at your video. hasn't come that hard in months and that says a lot since he's yknow, a pornstar.*

[simonrileysfavteacup]

Simon picked your engagement ring himself. He went to the jeweller, saw the ring, and immediately thought of you. He loves it. He’s always kissing your left hand. He’s so in love with you, it aches. 

When the two of you finally get married, he never stops looking at his ring. It’s a plain thick silver band, but he loves it so much. He’s just so afraid he’ll lose it. 

Instead, he wears the ring on his dog tag chain and gets your initial tattooed on him. The day he comes home from deployment, at first, you don’t notice anything different but his facial hair. Then, when you ask him to get you a fork at dinner, you gasp, “What’s that?”

“What?” he raises a brow.

You grab his hand, pointing to the tattoo. “What? Where’s your ring? What’s this?”

“Here,” he tugs at the chain around his neck. “And ‘is is jus’ to show people ’m married.”

“It’s permanent!”

“Is our marriage no’ supposed to be?” 

“But-”

“Are ya tryin’ to leave me, lovie?”

“No…it’s just…permanent…”

“Good. You’re my Mrs. ‘hat’s permanent too.”

You giggle. “Fine. I’m getting one too.”

“Like ‘ell you are. ‘M not letting you ruin that perfect skin.”

“But-”

“Lovie,” he warns. “No means no. I know how much you love me and you hate needles.” 

“Okay…”

“You could spread your legs to prove it though.”

“SIMON!”