#thank cod

[bestiegirlboss]

ok wait… feeling inspired actually

[softaestluv]

Johnny who makes it everyone else’s problem that he hasn’t got laid in weeks, that he’s so fucking pent up he can feel it in his teeth. Won’t stop his Scottish whining that his hand isn’t enough, needs a warm cunt to fuck or he’ll go insane.

So, you take one for the team, let him fuck all his pent up cum inside of you because you don’t think you can hear another description of how sad his hand feels. Hope to get him to shut the hell up.

But now he just won’t stop whining about needing to fuck your cunt.

[jezebelenabler]

Being drunk off your ass and checking your Uber app again, the phone screen giving you double vision. The black sedan that’s parked against the curb must be your ride. You bid your friends a goodbye hug and open the door, sliding into the back with a polite smile.

Your Uber driver makes no move to speak to you, just stares holes into your very being before pulling off and merging into the traffic on the street. Not being talkative is fine, but openly smoking a cigarette during the ride might be a reason to knock off a few stars.

“Hey,” you interject, leaning forward to tap his shoulder and being met with unyielding mass.

“You missed the exit,” you slur, inhibitions too far gone too panic. Too trusting. Too complacent.

He doesn’t even turn his blinker on, hanging a sharp right turn that presses your body against the passenger door and has you scrambling to sir up right. He laughs, the only thing breaking the silence in the car since he’s apparently a sociopath who drives with no music.

“I know my way home just fine,” he rumbles out, the bass in his voice settling deep in your gut.

Your phone buzzes against your thigh,

Uber: Hey where are you

Uber: I’m not waiting all night

Uber: Your driver has canceled the ride, we will connect you to another driver.

Your head snaps up to the man in the driver’s seat, panic rushing into your veins as he pulls into a driveway which is certainly not yours.

Simon doesn’t believe in fate, but who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

[whateveriwant]

I know I’ve already gone on and on about what it’s like to have a size difference with Simon Riley, but I’m sorry, I just will never get over how big and strong this man is.

Like I feel like sometimes his size gets lost on us since he’s surrounded by other tall, buff military guys all the time. But y’all, I’m telling you, this man is big. Like 6’4, 250+ pounds, big enough to eclipse the sun big.

With a man that big, it honestly doesn’t even matter what size you are because he’s always going to be bigger and stronger than you anyway. You can be tall, short, stocky, thin, whatever, and this man is still fully capable (and willing? 👀) of snapping you in half like a twig.

Are you worried about potential home invaders? Well, you shouldn’t be. One quick flick of his wrist and he’s breaking the neck of anyone who tries to threaten you. Did you accidentally lock yourself out of the house? Well, don’t bother calling a locksmith. There’s no lock left to pick after he’s just caved the door in with his foot. Do you have a really stubborn jar you’re struggling to open? Well, hand it over, love. He can crack that sucker open in half a second flat.

But Lord, don’t even get me started when it comes to all the ways Simon uses that strength of his in the bedroom.

Like when he tells you to sit on his face so he can eat you out. Don’t even try it with that nervous, hovering, “I’m too heavy, Si,” bullshit. You better sit your ass down right when and where he tells you to or he’ll hold you down by the hips until he’s had his fill.

Or when, after a night of heavy flirting and teasing, he’s got that look in his eye as he corners you against your entryway wall. Don’t be surprised when one moment your feet are firmly planted on the ground, and the next you’re lifted into the air, your legs slung over his arms as he drills into you like you’re his own little fuck puppet.

Or when he’s got you spread out on his bed, got your knees up by your ears, got the backs of your thighs burning in a way that’s matched only by how your walls have to stretch to take his thick cock. Don’t think he’s being mean or malicious when he sees your eyes well with tears but does nothing to change the way he’s fucking down into you. It’s not that Simon doesn’t care whenever you cry and quiver and plead with him to go easier on you, it’s that he knows the truth. He knows that, deep down, you love when he handles you like he isn’t afraid to break you.

[lapetitepatisserie]

cod × fem!reader ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The familiar sound of keys in the door alerted you to your husband’s return.

“My love?” he called, looking for you, boots making heavy footsteps as he made his way towards you and your child. His eyes soften once they land on you and your baby girl.

“How’s my princess?” he drawls, voice deep with exhaustion from work.

You look down at the child sitting in your lap, occupied with trying to fit a chubby foot into her mouth. A steady finger reaches underneath your chin, lifting it to meet his warm, intense gaze.

“I’m talking about this one.”

[mintfullyyours]

Thinking about patching up ex-husband Simon Riley. He comes in with the cloak of darkness not close to sunrise, a witching hour of sorts. Three slow deliberate knocks on the other side of your door. No more and no less. Staring at the mahogany frame, you could ignore him. It would be for the best.

But ghosts tend to haunt all night.

So you'll let him in.

You always do.

Bloodied knuckles with a nasty gash on his upper eyebrow. He'll hoist you onto the bathroom countertop with your legs spread as he steps between them. Firm hands grip your waist, grounding you in your stupid decision to let your ex back into your life. Again. He doesn't flinch as you swipe the alcohol soaked towel over his eyebrow wound. Determined eyes search your face in hopes you'll crack under his gaze.

"Ask me what happened." He whispers.

"No." you dab the towel more firmly on his eyebrow as it soaks the raging red liquid.

Simon grabs your wrist and leans down, his lips pressing into the shell of your ear. "Really?" Your heart pounds in your chest, as your body betrays you for your ex -- feeling a heat set every fiber of you ablaze. His teeth grazing your skin as he noses his way down the column of your neck and breathes in your unyielding scent. He knew the effect he still had on you and you hated yourself for it.

"Birdie really doesn't wanna know what I did to that bloke you went out with last week?"

part 2 here!!!

[astrxsee]

mdni 18+

simon is the type of guy who doesn’t like you to go to bed mad at him. how could he when all he wants to do is make his bird happy? so instead of talking it out, like most people do, he fucks it out of you instead…

his big, veiny cock laid heavy over your stomach, the tip glistening with beads of his spend. your front covered in his cum, after many rounds of him showing you just how much he hated it when y’all fought. leaving you absolutely fucked out, your eyes lost in the back of your head.

‘i’m sorry, lovie, i just can’t help it.’ he’d say pressing kisses into your neck, his voice almost a begging whimper. ‘I never want you to leave me. please say you’ll forgive me?’

you do, only after he eats his cum out of your pretty pussy.

[valorieravenchild]

SELF INDULGENT DRAWING TODAY! Progress pic on Patreon!

edit:

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[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.

[al4thea]

Perhaps someday, in another life, they'll finally get the ending they deserve.

"You look beautiful today Johnny, as always."

[hurrraaid]

I got a few requests on bs for soap in ghosts hoodie so here we go.

[softaestluv]

Simon Riley who is just a little confused when he receives a drunk phone call from you one night, his sweet sergeant, hiccuping and giggling over your words— ‘Hi—Sir, could you come pick me up—up from the club? ‘m a little drunk.’

But he threw on his sweats anyways, was in his car without a second thought. Shoving random strangers out of the way as you clung to his bicep within minutes, trying his best not to push his arm deeper against your soft breasts and stomach.

When the two of you finally made it outside, he’s entirely too relieve to pry himself from your grasps, cool his burning skin in the fresh air. But when his focus finally drifts to your figure, scantily clad, irritation pulses his temples.

“Why the hell did’ya call me? You ain’t got any friends?”

You giggled, slurring over your words as you pushed to your tippy toes, leaning closer to his face, and crossing your hands behind your back.

“You’re my lieutenant, aren’t you? You’re supposed to take care of me.”

[rusticfurnace]

GHOSTSOAP // "you sweet fucker" MINICOMIC!!!

[pythonmoth]

cw: post-traumatic stress disorder. paranoia. anxiety. panic. overthinking. reader is traumatized and unreliable. explicit suicidal thoughts. mentioned depersonalization. the voices. jealous simon. kissing the homies pt2. author was angry while writing.

simon x f!reader. poly tf141. father figure price.

text is heavily styled to show reader's panic. if it's difficult to read, I can share the normal version tomorrow. ♡

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Slow.

That's the only way you can describe how the progress has been for you.

Ever since you fell asleep with Simon on a call, you've been feeling so calm. It's like all the problems disappeared. Your therapist is confused, but glad to see you all happy and content, like never before. Your appetite has come back, your nails have been growing nicely. You give yourself a chance to try on comfortable shoes, a little hesitant to make your toenails hurt, but you can actually walk with them now. They're still a little sensitive, but you're running your errands on your own now. No need to be dependant anymore.

To feel like yourself again has given you so much comfort that you find yourself texting the team properly. Even Gaz has been taking your calls when he's available, which has been great for your mental health, and your heart. Price has been mostly quiet, but you're not surprised, as he's always busy; he mostly just shares updates on missions, like Simon. Johnny has been incredibly funny on the phone, sharing silly things and your mutual hatred towards a new movie has been helping you bond again.

Simon, however...

"Hey, I'm serious! Don't you dare using that fucking tea bag!" Simon grunts from the phone.

You turn to him, laughing as you see him frowning. Simon's unmasked face covers your phone screen, his distaste for the cheap tea bags completely clear. His eyebrows are furrowed together, his mouth curled in a little disgusted snarl. You can only grin, mocking him, lazily patting your hands dry on your pants.

"I've no energy to prepare anything else!" you sigh, dropping the tea bag on the mug, getting closer to the phone to turn the volume up.

Your phone is fighting for it's life resting against a little cookie jar on the isle, your hands still a little damp from doing the dishes.

"Well, if you didn't try to do everything at once, you would" Simon voice retorts. His forehead is covering nearly half of your screen, making it hard to take him seriously.

"I can perfectly do multiple things at the same time".

"The stove".

You turn around to see the stove still on. With a grimace, you turn it off, ignoring his little chuckle as you reach out for your tea and your phone, walking over to the living room. The couch is cozy and fluffy, making you sink into it as if it were a cloud. You drag a blanket over your legs as you smile at the screen, staring at Simon.

"Whatever. Now, what did you have for dinner?"

Ever since that night, this has been your new normal. He has time off, you have a videocall. Really, it's a win-win situation, and it makes you happy, so that's fine. He tells you all about everyone, he tells you about how much he misses you and how much he wants to see you. It makes you smile, genuinely so.

The therapist isn't convinced you're okay yet. She says you're still jumpy, still flinch around people, and she even said you're hyper vigilant. But there's nothing wrong with being precautious, so you don't understand how that's a bad thing. However, you can admit it's a little hard to do things with your hands. It's not that you can't use your hands, because you can, but it makes you feel as if you were in a simulation, as if you were part of a game and you're the point of view for someone else.

Perhaps you should've kept that to yourself.

That's probably why the therapist refuses to allow you to go back. She probably thinks you're crazy, when it happens to everyone. She just doesn't understand.

It's no matter, because they're coming.

Price told you a few days ago that they're finally free, and will be having a few months off unless they're strictly needed. It's been nine months since you last saw them in person, so it makes you feel excited, content!

Tomorrow. They're coming tomorrow.

The best part is that you don't even need to ask what they feel like eating. You know them well enough to know just how much they love meat, so you just have to go out and buy everything.

The air is a more than chilly now, your birthday month coming right up, so you decide to put on your favorite jacket and take your car keys. The drive to the store is calm, the music absolutely blasting your ears, though, your enthusiasm sky high with how much you've missed them these past few months. It makes you giddy, to welcome them, to see them again.

Your therapist has been helping you to identify your emotions, helping you to understand how you are genuinely feeling. And having them over... it makes you a little anxious. Only because you haven't gotten any visitors outside your family and friends, really. Of course you want them there, it's just gonna be new.

In just a few minutes, your car if parked and locked at least five times just to make sure, canva tote bags in hand and then you're walking in the store. You're always making sure to come at a time when there's less people, and you're glad it's keeping up the same. Headphones over your ears, music gently playing on then, you move with practiced ease.

Meat. Vegetables. Pasta.

Meat. Fruit. Meat.

And meat.

They would die if you gave them anything but meat, truly.

You smile to yourself as you carry your things back to your car, your headphones now curled around your neck so you can pay attention to your surroundings, your eyes slyly looking around, turning smoothly whenever you feel someone is looking at you from your back. Your eyes wide open, you fill your car with the groceries, quickly closing it once you're done.

Just for precaution, you look around again before looking inside your car, and as soon as you open the door, you're inside and lo ck in g the car.

Just precaution.

It's dangerous out the re.

You're home the rest of the day, preparing the meals you'll be giving them tomorrow morning. Price did say they'll be arriving at 2pm, so you make sure everything is perfect before going to bed.

That night, you sleep with Simon's breathing next to your ear again, your heart pounding in your chest. The an xie ty keeps on growing, but you're sure it's just giddiness. Really, you're just too excited you can't wait.

The next morning, you almost don't want to get up. The woodpeckers are going crazy with the tree just outside your window, the sunlight hitting your face perfectly from between the curtains and it feels peaceful. Your bed is empty, except for your pillows —and a big plushie of a dragon Johnny got for you a few years ago—, and it's so, so warm you just don't want to get up.

With a sigh, you stand up and quickly get ready to welcome the day, and your friends. You're thankful you made sure everything was ready the day before, because just as you're done blow drying your hair, there's a firm knock on your door.

Surprised, you turn to look at the clock. You didn't even realize you spent so long just staring at yourself in silence. You lost so many hours, when you could've been doing something else!

"Coming!" you yell from your room, jumping down the stairs to the kitchen and turning the stove on.

When everything is already getting heated up, you stand in front of the door, your body suddenly frozen. You're sweating, your heart slowing and then racing in your chest as if it couldn't choose what to do. Your throat is closing up.

You can't move.

Don't open the door.

Run.

Why?

What is happening?

Run.

Another knock makes you snap out of it, but your hands are still shaky as you finally open the door. Your shoulders relax as your eyes fall on Gaz, strong arms instantly wrapping around your middle as Price, right behind him, presses the door against the wall so they can all get in.

Gaz lifts you just enough to make room for the rest.

"Hey, sweetheart. Looking good" Gaz says, beaming, pressing a soft kiss to your cheekbones before letting go of you.

However, you're instantly shutting off again. You don't understand why your legs feel like jelly, why your healed fingernails are throbbing. You don't understand at all why the sudden urge to run, far, far away.

Leave.

Price grins down at you, patting your head and gently gripping your shoulder before side stepping you. "Thank you for having us, kid".

When you look up at Johnny, he's grinning down at you, but you can see the way he quickly catches on your reaction, the way your forehead is covered in sweat, and the way your lips are pursed.

Danger.

"It's good to see you" Johnny says gently, nodding down at you and moving past you very carefully, trying not to touch you.

It feels odd. It feels incredibly off. And there's something weird in the air.

Your stomach is twisting and churning. It's confusing. It's weird. Sulfur? Acid?

Fully focused on trying to understand what happening to you, you're suddenly aware that the burning smell you can perceive is coming from your deep in your stomach.

Fear? Pain? Panic?

Your throat is so closed up you can barely breathe. The fear is making your sight turn a little blurry, your breathing shaky.

Bile. You want to throw up.

When you look up at Simon, your hands clench on your sides, swallowing thickly. It feels so, so wrong to look at him like this, especially when you two are supposed to be okay again, but for some reason, you can't handle looking at him. It's making you feel... off. Odd.

You give him a tight smile and a nod, the giddiness turning ice cold in your stomach.

You bring your hand to your mouth, nibbling on your fingernails.

As soon as they're all inside, door closed behind them, Simon takes his mask off, his eyes fixed on you, frowning.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. Yeah, come on" you reply, maybe a little too quickly, but you don't give him, or any of them, a moment to think about it as you move to the kitchen.

You check on everything by the stove as Johnny fills glasses with wine. It's too early for wine, but with your teeth destroying the growing fingernail on your thumb... you don't really care right now.

"It smells amazing" Price comments, inhaling deeply. He's sitting at the head of the table, looking ready to sink his teeth in anything. If he's oblivious to the tension in your shoulders, or if he's choosing to ignore it, you can't tell. "This is what having a wife at home feels like. All we're missing is a little one".

That manages to make you smile slightly, your shaky hands relaxing at the friendly tone. You reach out to mix the pots, turning to look at him.

"The only little one any of you will be seeing from me is my knee on your balls. Now, be useful and set the table" you grunt. Price raises his hands in surrender and pats Simon's shoulder so they can do as you asked.

It's not the first time they've come, anyway, so they don't have to ask you where you keep things. Johnny stays by the table, claiming he already poured the wine, but he ends up helping Simon and Price with the plates anyway.

Gaz leaves the table to stand right next to you, suddenly smacking the hand on your mouth firmly.

"Stop that shit" he whispers angrily. He's quiet, even gentle with it, so rest don't hear.

"Sorry. I'm... feeling weird" you mumble, forcing yourself to stop.

"Go sit. I've got this" he hums, nudging you with his shoulder until you let go.

You make sure to sit by the isle, just because that ridiculous anxious feeling isn't getting any smaller. If anything, you can jump and cover yourself with the isle, so this place is fine.

As Gaz serves for everyone and they start sitting down again, you nearly jump off the chair when you realize Simon's sitting next to you, instead of where he was sitting on the opposite side of the table.

"Hey, that's my chair. Go sit over there".

You look up to see Simon glare at Gaz, the two of them staring each other down, a silent conversation between the two of them. In the end, Simon simply let's go of the chair and sits away from you again. It helps you relax, but you keep quiet, reaching out to grab your glass of wine.

"Really, though. If you had a kid running around..." Price starts again, his mouth filled with food.

"Back off" Johnny complains, nudging Price still. Price rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "What a prick".

Simon, however, can't look away from you, paying attention to all of your movements, the way you lean on Gaz, the way you barely seem to be listening.

"If she's marrying anyone here, that's me" Gaz says, suddenly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Y'all stand no chance".

It makes you relax, but only a moment, feeling suffocated by their eyes on you, especially with the way Simon's gripping his fork. You hit Gaz on the ribs with your elbow, only to make him let go. He grins, his eyes gentle. You know he doesn't mean it like that, but it's making you uncomfortable again.

"Oi, watch your—" Simon starts, his eye twitching.

"Not playing house by choice, I've been forced to. I'm pretty sure we don't wanna talk about it, so eat up and shut the fuck up" you snap, your tone just shy from screaming at them.

That makes Price's teasing smile die, nodding solemnly, and finally shutting up. You refuse to look at the way Simon and Johnny's faces drop, both of them staring at their plates, suddenly feeling no appetite.

It's an awkward meal, everybody afraid to make a single noise. You can hear the way Simon's munching on the vegetables, you can hear Price's breathing slowing down just the way he does when he's on a mission, and Johnny... he's only mixing his food together, stabbing an innocent carrot.

After a while, when nobody's chewing and nobody even dares breathing, Gaz breaks the silence.

"So..."

The rest turn to him.

Gaz grins.

A movie.

The sun is still high up, but Garrick suggested to watch a movie, and you said yes. In a heartbeat. Really, Simon shouldn't complain if he gets to see you for a little longer. Whatever that means, anyway, because you don't want him near you at all. Fuck, you didn't even let him sit next to you.

All these months, he thought he'd been helping you, he thought therapy was going well, because during the constant videocalls you've been cheerful, your old self. You smiled at him, you laughed. He had made you laugh at his fucked up jokes again.

But this?

Johnny went with Price to buy crisps, soda, more drinks, and sour candies for you. Those two bastards really couldn't handle a single comment and bolted immediately. Pair of cowards. Simon wasn't stupid, he had seen the way Johnny nearly burst into tears, the way Price's jaw clenched, felt his own heart break inside his chest, but he has to sit here and take it. Because he wasn't a coward.

And this?

You're leaning on Garrick. Heavily.

Simon eyes the way Garrick interlocks your hands together, checking on your fingernails. His eye twitches as he hears you talk, both of you fully focused on each other, as if he wasn't there. It's not that that's a new concept for him, he often only talked so much.

But this?

His heart pounds in his chest when Garrick grips your jaw with a hand, kissing your cheek loudly after you pout at him.

It makes you smile.

That's it, he thinks. I'm getting up and I'm beating him up. Who the fuck does he think he is? Stealing my girlfriend right in front of me.

In the end, he only shifts, his face betraying nothing, looking down at his beer, hoping the other cowards arrive soon so he doesn't have to see the way he keeps losing you.

Losing you, all over again. Over a fucked up mistake, for following an order. And the worst part is that he genuinely gets it. Garrick is the only one who didn't hurt you, of course you're okay with his touch and not the rest.

Fucking hell. He wants to stab himself in the gut to end his misery.

But no.

He did that.

There's no changing it.

Simon looks up at the two of you.

His anger dissipates when he hears your soft laugh, Garrick's hand on the back of your neck, keeping you steady as he pokes your side, clearly sharing a silly moment. Simon grimaces and turns away again, sipping his beer.

It takes Price and Johnny half an hour to come back, and Simon couldn't be happier to see them.

With the snacks covering the coffee table and their laps, Simon genuinely tries to ignore the fact that you're still pressed against Garrick's side, happily munching on your sour candy. Johnny's sitting on the floor right between his legs, occasionally feeding him orange gummy bears or crisps. Price, between Garrick and himself, is staring at the movie, seemingly content with sipping on his beer, and stealing some of Simon's gummy bears.

Every time he hears your low laugh, Garrick's hands on you, Simon wants to die. He grips Johnny's shoulder, his nails digging slightly into his skin, trying his best to pay attention to the movie, but he isn't able to understand what it is about. He doesn't know what's happened in front of him for the past hour. He knows how many times Garrick's lips were pressed to your cheek. He knows how many times you laughed with Garrick. He knows how many times you've shifted, closer and closer to Garrick.

He can't do anything but dwell on his own regret, on his anger. His pain.

He doesn't blame you, he doesn't blame Garrick. Hell, he doesn't even blame Price, or Johnny, or anybody else. Just himself.

He could've done this so much better, but there's not much he can do. He needs to be alone with you so he can talk properly, apologize again, but every time he looks at you, even without the mask, you flinch. It doesn't matter how hard you try to hide it, he can see it.

Johnny gets up, snapping him out of his thoughts. He sees him take the empty plate, walking towards the kitchen.

Not even a minute later, Johnny's cursing and there's a shattering sound echoing on the house. Simon stands up, moving to go check on Johnny, but he freezes when you stand up abruptly, your face in complete shock as you walk away, your arm bumping onto the walls as you rush away.

He's torn for a whole second too long, thinking if he should follow you or check on Johnny first, and that's enough for Garrick to beat him to it. Simon can only stare at Garrick follows after you, sprinting.

After a moment of hesitation, he walks over to Johnny. Simon finds him picking up the shattered plate, grimacing when he sees someone walking in.

"Ah, it's you. I tripped" Johnny grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You hurt yourself".

"Just a tiny cut, 's nothing. Where did she go?" Johnny questions, bringing his thumb to his mouth, sucking a little on the blood.

"I don't know. Practically bolted when you dropped the plate".

Johnny stares at him, blinking. "And what are you doing here? I must've scared her" he sighs, standing up. "Where to?"

"Garrick already went after her".

"So?"

"They're getting along. A lot".

Johnny blinks again.

Smack.

"What the fuck? What was that for now?" Simon growls out, rubbing his head. Johnny shakes his head, still expecting an answer. Simon sighs. "Over there. Come on".

Simon guides Johnny, their feet barely making any noise, used to being quiet and, also, because they don't want to spook you any longer. He finally spots you, the door of the guest bedroom ajar.

He freezes.

Johnny's hand grips his arm, his whispered curse falling on deaf ears.

Simon stands there in complete silence, his blood, and stomach, and his heart and his brain falling to his feet as he can only stare.

Your cheeks are wet with tears but it's barely visible because Garrick's hands are covering them, his lips on yours.

It looks peaceful.

And Simon wants to die all over again.

Johnny quietly shuffles away, but Simon can't look away. Not now.

Garrick pulls away and kisses your cheek, then your forehead, then grips your nose, making you huff, a small smile on your lips. He's grinning, rolling his eyes, as if that kiss didn't just happen.

Simon isn't breathing. He's not even sure he's here anymore. Perhaps he did die, and this is his personal hell.

Must be.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

chingue a su madre emilia pérez y todos los involucrados. I was pissed writing this and I wanted chaos.

anyway, so there's that ♡ thank you so much for reading!!!

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird-deactivated202 @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen

[brav0-6]

GHOST IN “KILL OR CAPTURE” | MODERN WARFARE II

[mintfullyyours]

I don't know where this falls in the time line of ex-husband!simon but he's been brewing in my mind and I love him so much. You can read the first part here: patching up exhusband!simon and as always thank you for reading!!

& lmk what you guys think about ex-husband!simon.

thinking about the night of your first date out while "single." You sigh, putting the car in park and resting your forehead against the steering wheel. Jeff. That was his name, right? He wasn’t a bad guy—asked the right questions, paid for dinner, had a steady job that kept him local. A fine first date. Predictable. Safe.

Then why did it feel so… empty?

Rubbing your temples, you tell yourself this is for the best. Stability. Normalcy. That’s what you need. What you deserve, too. Maybe, in time, you’d even believe it. Sliding your key into the door, you frown. It doesn’t click. A chill slithers down your spine as you push it open, your stomach knotting at the sight of the dim light bleeding into the hallway from your bedroom.

You already know who’s inside.

Your breath hitches as you swing the door open, and there he is—Simon, sitting on the edge of your bed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward. The faint gleam of metal catches your eye. Your engagement ring. It rolls fluidly between his fingers, like a an awful habit he never broke.

His gaze lifts, pinning you in place.

"Took it off, did ya?" His voice is eerily calm, but there’s something coiled beneath it, something ready to snap. "Wonder if he knows you still wear my name."

Your stomach tightens. You take a good look at him—really look at him—and the past five months apart have not been kind. His beard is thicker, his jaw sharper, his frame even larger than you remember. Like he’s been drowning in something darker than loneliness.

"Simon, I’m not in the mood. You can't be in here, shouldn't be in here." Your voice is firm, though your chest heaves with the effort to keep it that way. "Just because you refuse to sign the papers doesn’t mean we’re still together."

A slow, humorless chuckle rumbles from his chest. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and lets the ring settle in his palm before closing his fingers around it.

"That’s where you’re wrong, love."

He stands, and in an instant, he’s in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. His scent—familiar, overwhelming—wraps around you like a pretty string tied in a bow.

His hand trails up your arm, slow, deliberate, until his fingers ghost over your pulse. His eyes drop to your lips, then flick back up, dark and unreadable. The silence was deafening. It was as if he knew the power he still had over you, or at least your body. Simon wedges his muscular thigh between your legs, and your hips buck ever so slightly.

You whimper and he smirks, knowing your body would never betray his.

"You think a piece of paper makes you any less mine?" His grip tightens, not enough to hurt—but enough to remind you just how easy it would be.

"Any less of a Riley?"

You swallow hard. He leans in, lips a breath away from your ear.

"Tell me, dove— and he honest, because you know I hate liars, did he make you feel anything at all?"

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