Ar. They/Them. Requests are currently open. Technically a side blog but this is where I spend most of my time. A writer who doesn't have enough time on their hands. Loves gangsters, horror movies, and long walks on the beach.
So I'm branching out some more on writing, but I got inspo for a fic, and I thought I'd give in a try- Ar
Summary: Inspired by @alnilaem post about TikToker reader and grumpy-looking Simon Riley. Reader is described using fem pronouns.
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Length: 1130
You gained a following on TikTok due to making easy meals and baking cakes. You also always wore dresses and handmade embroidered aprons while making your videos, giving all your videos a warm, homey vibe. That was why some of your viewers called your aesthetic “housewife.” You didn’t mind it too much, given you were a stay-at-home wife. Your husband Simon worked construction, and that brought in enough to pay for everything, and the little you got from your videos helped cushion whatever else you wanted. Simon never showed up in your videos, either letting you have a reign of the kitchen or him being at work while you filmed.
You decided for today’s video to hop on the “pack my husband’s lunch with me” trend. So you began the video as you always do, “Hey everyone, I am doing something new today. So, we are going to be packing my husband’s lunch today.” You smile at the camera as you start making Simon two roast beef and cheese sandwiches. “He’s not very picky when it comes to food, but he certainly doesn’t like anything super fancy like soup, just something easy to eat while he is working,” you say as you continue to pack his lunch.
“Got to get him to eat fruit and he always needs his coffee,” You say as you add a small container filled with grapes and grab a small thermos to fill with coffee. You finish it off by grabbing a bag of chips and a sweet treat of leftover cupcakes. You then grab a small notebook and pen and write a note. “And there it is, my husband’s lunch.” The camera pans over the lunchbox showing all the contents before the video ends.
You posted the video without watching it fully. If you had, you would have noticed Simon in the background. You knew your husband looked mean. Being over 6 feet and over 200 pounds of muscle would do that. He was also wearing one of his work shirts that was covered in paint splatters. You had tried your hardest to get most of the stains out when you washed them, but you never truly succeeded. Simon was handsome, but always had a resting mad face. So, when you looked at the comments and noticed a bunch of people asking you if you were okay, you knew that your rough-looking husband had made an appearance.
The comments kept coming long after you posted the video.
Your phone buzzed against the couch cushion as you leaned into Simon’s side, his arm heavy and warm around your shoulders. The TV played something neither of you were watching.
You scroll, your lips twitching. “Someone says, ‘Close your fist with your thumb inside if you’re not safe.’”
Simon lets out a short laugh. “They really think I’ve got you locked up somewhere?”
“They think you’re forcing me to stay home,” you say, glancing up at him.
He freezes for half a second, then looks genuinely offended. “Excuse me? I begged you to quit that job.”
You smile, because it’s true. Because you remember the late nights, the exhaustion, the way he’d listen to you vent while rubbing circles into your back. How you cried about some bullshit that happened with one of your coworkers.
“They just see your face,” you say gently. “And the size difference.”
Simon snorts and pulls you closer. “Tragic. Born six foot two with resting murder face.”
You laugh, burying your face against his chest. “Maybe I should make a video with you in it. Clear things up.”
He tilts your chin up, expression softening despite the permanent scowl. “If it stops people thinking I’m some kind of villain, sure.”
Then, quieter, meant only for you: “You know I’d never cage you.”
“I know,” you say easily, because you do. You always have.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, solid and sure. “Good.”
The video starts with you standing in your kitchen, dressed up in one of your many dresses with a hand embroidered apron on. You smile at the camera, looking pretty in your quaint kitchen as you begin to speak. “Hey everybody! It’s me again,” you greeted your phone camera, “today I’m making a special cake for my husband. It’s one of his favorites, so I thought I’d share it with you.”
Simon can be seen sitting across the kitchen counter, reading a novel and occasionally glancing up in the background of the video.
“He likes them very rich, so we are making a dark chocolate cake with caramel filling and white chocolate flakes on top,” you state as you begin to prepare that batter. “So, I also wanted to address the very nice and worried comments about me. My husband may look mean, but I can assure you all that he is just a big ol’ teddy bear.”
You started to stir the batter together. “He doesn’t keep me at home, I like making videos and baking for all of you. So, I have made it my full-time job. I used to work in an office, but now that there are so many of you who enjoy watching me bake and cook, well it allows me to do this full time instead.”
Simon watched with amusement as you made the cake and defended him from strangers on the internet who were convinced he was keeping his wife chained to a stove. He chuckled and then added a remark.
“You always said you hated that job anyway,” Simon said, finally pulling his gaze away from his book to glance in your direction.
“I did,” you said, addressing the audience in the video, “I can finally do something that I love.” You pause the video so you could cut to when the cake was baked and cool before decorating.
“Do you think that will go over well? That they’ll believe me?” You place the cake batter in the oven.
Simon closes his book and gets up from his seat, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around you. “They better believe us,” he mutters into your ear, “don’t want people thinking that I abuse my poor wife.” He gently kisses your neck.
“I’m sure some will still think so, but I’m just glad to have you around, Mr. Riley,” you tell him.
“As am I, my little housewife,” he says, pulling you close.
You finish the cake and the video before posting it to your viewers to see. There’s a couple of worried comments, but most of the comments range from “Aw, that’s adorable,” to “See? Told you guys he wasn’t such a brute.”
Simon leans over your shoulder, looking at the comments. “Told you they would believe us,” he says with a teasing smirk.
So I'm branching out some more on writing, but I got inspo for a fic, and I thought I'd give in a try- Ar
Summary: Inspired by @alnilaem post about TikToker reader and grumpy-looking Simon Riley. Reader is described using fem pronouns.
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Length: 1130
You gained a following on TikTok due to making easy meals and baking cakes. You also always wore dresses and handmade embroidered aprons while making your videos, giving all your videos a warm, homey vibe. That was why some of your viewers called your aesthetic “housewife.” You didn’t mind it too much, given you were a stay-at-home wife. Your husband Simon worked construction, and that brought in enough to pay for everything, and the little you got from your videos helped cushion whatever else you wanted. Simon never showed up in your videos, either letting you have a reign of the kitchen or him being at work while you filmed.
You decided for today’s video to hop on the “pack my husband’s lunch with me” trend. So you began the video as you always do, “Hey everyone, I am doing something new today. So, we are going to be packing my husband’s lunch today.” You smile at the camera as you start making Simon two roast beef and cheese sandwiches. “He’s not very picky when it comes to food, but he certainly doesn’t like anything super fancy like soup, just something easy to eat while he is working,” you say as you continue to pack his lunch.
“Got to get him to eat fruit and he always needs his coffee,” You say as you add a small container filled with grapes and grab a small thermos to fill with coffee. You finish it off by grabbing a bag of chips and a sweet treat of leftover cupcakes. You then grab a small notebook and pen and write a note. “And there it is, my husband’s lunch.” The camera pans over the lunchbox showing all the contents before the video ends.
You posted the video without watching it fully. If you had, you would have noticed Simon in the background. You knew your husband looked mean. Being over 6 feet and over 200 pounds of muscle would do that. He was also wearing one of his work shirts that was covered in paint splatters. You had tried your hardest to get most of the stains out when you washed them, but you never truly succeeded. Simon was handsome, but always had a resting mad face. So, when you looked at the comments and noticed a bunch of people asking you if you were okay, you knew that your rough-looking husband had made an appearance.
The comments kept coming long after you posted the video.
Your phone buzzed against the couch cushion as you leaned into Simon’s side, his arm heavy and warm around your shoulders. The TV played something neither of you were watching.
You scroll, your lips twitching. “Someone says, ‘Close your fist with your thumb inside if you’re not safe.’”
Simon lets out a short laugh. “They really think I’ve got you locked up somewhere?”
“They think you’re forcing me to stay home,” you say, glancing up at him.
He freezes for half a second, then looks genuinely offended. “Excuse me? I begged you to quit that job.”
You smile, because it’s true. Because you remember the late nights, the exhaustion, the way he’d listen to you vent while rubbing circles into your back. How you cried about some bullshit that happened with one of your coworkers.
“They just see your face,” you say gently. “And the size difference.”
Simon snorts and pulls you closer. “Tragic. Born six foot two with resting murder face.”
You laugh, burying your face against his chest. “Maybe I should make a video with you in it. Clear things up.”
He tilts your chin up, expression softening despite the permanent scowl. “If it stops people thinking I’m some kind of villain, sure.”
Then, quieter, meant only for you: “You know I’d never cage you.”
“I know,” you say easily, because you do. You always have.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, solid and sure. “Good.”
The video starts with you standing in your kitchen, dressed up in one of your many dresses with a hand embroidered apron on. You smile at the camera, looking pretty in your quaint kitchen as you begin to speak. “Hey everybody! It’s me again,” you greeted your phone camera, “today I’m making a special cake for my husband. It’s one of his favorites, so I thought I’d share it with you.”
Simon can be seen sitting across the kitchen counter, reading a novel and occasionally glancing up in the background of the video.
“He likes them very rich, so we are making a dark chocolate cake with caramel filling and white chocolate flakes on top,” you state as you begin to prepare that batter. “So, I also wanted to address the very nice and worried comments about me. My husband may look mean, but I can assure you all that he is just a big ol’ teddy bear.”
You started to stir the batter together. “He doesn’t keep me at home, I like making videos and baking for all of you. So, I have made it my full-time job. I used to work in an office, but now that there are so many of you who enjoy watching me bake and cook, well it allows me to do this full time instead.”
Simon watched with amusement as you made the cake and defended him from strangers on the internet who were convinced he was keeping his wife chained to a stove. He chuckled and then added a remark.
“You always said you hated that job anyway,” Simon said, finally pulling his gaze away from his book to glance in your direction.
“I did,” you said, addressing the audience in the video, “I can finally do something that I love.” You pause the video so you could cut to when the cake was baked and cool before decorating.
“Do you think that will go over well? That they’ll believe me?” You place the cake batter in the oven.
Simon closes his book and gets up from his seat, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around you. “They better believe us,” he mutters into your ear, “don’t want people thinking that I abuse my poor wife.” He gently kisses your neck.
“I’m sure some will still think so, but I’m just glad to have you around, Mr. Riley,” you tell him.
“As am I, my little housewife,” he says, pulling you close.
You finish the cake and the video before posting it to your viewers to see. There’s a couple of worried comments, but most of the comments range from “Aw, that’s adorable,” to “See? Told you guys he wasn’t such a brute.”
Simon leans over your shoulder, looking at the comments. “Told you they would believe us,” he says with a teasing smirk.
So, I'm back. Wanted to do a short fic... and yeah that didn't really happen. I hope you all enjoy my creation - Ar
Summary: A stupid college dare led you to Silent Hill
Length: 2860
Warnings: Smut and slight gore
Suddenly the world was foggy. It was just a stupid college dare. You just had to join the cryptic club at your local college. The moment the club learned about the town of Silent Hill it became their obsession. How could almost every resident of the town disappear without a trace? The articles you read said it was because of a coal fire that was still burning under the town but the club wasn’t truly convinced that was the real reason. Not when there were even more articles in the present years of people vanishing as well. As you could see buildings as you walked through the fog, the town was starting to look dark and foreboding, as oppressive fog obscured everything around you beyond a few feet. All the street lamps were out making the streets darker. The street was empty, save for the sounds of shuffling that echoed across the silence.
You look around as you hear the shuffling becoming louder, “Hello?” you call into the fog but get no reply back, “Is anyone there?” You were hoping that it was one of your club mates that had followed you in and was trying to scare you but no response came.
As you continue further into the town you begin to notice that all the windows of the buildings are either broken or boarded up. A cold breeze blows across your back, sending a shiver down your spine as the shuffling sound grows closer. Your heart races as you can't see anything in the thick fog around you. It was time to try to find a building to hide in. Whatever was following you wasn't friendly. It took a minute but finally, a door opened to what looked like a school. Taking a deep breath you headed in.
The school was run down and breaking in parts. It was just like everything else in this town. The paint was peeling in many places and tiles were either broken or missing from the floor. You could no longer hear the shuffling from outside but the shiver that went down your spine tells you that you’re not truly alone. The floors creaked under each step taken as you moved further into the school. Each room passed had broken desks and chairs, chalkboards lined the walls with cryptic messages on a few. The fire burns us all. Repent for your soul. Each message seemed to get darker the further into the school you went to.
The loud sound of metal scraping against the floor followed by large footsteps made you pause. It sounded far off echoing through the halls of the school. Moving to an empty classroom you hid behind a desk. Taking out your phone you tried to call one of your clubmates.
“Hey, I need you all to get me. I’m in the school and I need help,” You say into the receiver.
“W…wha.. Ca… repeat… can’t… hear…” The voice of your clubmate sounded like static as it came through the speaker.
The sound of the heavy footsteps grows louder as they get closer to your hiding spot. Whatever was making the noise sounded huge. The connection with your clubmate seemed to get worse, the voice through the speaker now almost unintelligible. Swearing softly you hang up and move to cower under a desk. The sound kept getting closer and closer.
You cover your mouth as the door to the room you were in was pushed open. The scraping and heavy footsteps echoed in the room as whoever it was moved through the room. As you try not to make noise the sound of the desks hitting the floor as if someone or something was tipping them over. Your heart pounded in your chest like a hammer against an anvil as you tried to slow your breathing to make no sounds at all. You gripped your phone tightly hoping it didn’t go off suddenly. A large shadow got closer to the desk you were under and seemed to stop just behind it. A large hand grips the edge of it before it is thrown across the room.
A startled scream leaves you as you come face to face with a large man with a pyramid helmet covering his face and only an apron-like skirt covering his lower half, leaving his muscular torso exposed. The scraping noise appeared to be the large sword the man was dragging behind him. You scrambled back away from him, hands falling against broken tiles, causing your hands to be scraped up, making new streaks of blood on the floor.
“Please…” You beg the man as he looks down at him or you thought he was looking down at you as you couldn’t see his eyes behind his helmet.
He said no words as he grabbed your ankle pulling you towards him so he could throw you over his shoulder.
“Let go of me,” you say in protest as you punch his back, though it feels like you were hitting a stone wall. He didn’t even seem like he felt you as he continued walking, each step moving further into the thick fog. The man didn’t listen as he carried her with ease out of the school and onto the streets. "Let me go, you bastard!”
The large man said nothing as he kept moving to a new abandoned building. Though he tightened his grip on you so hard, it became painful. You wince letting out a pained noise as he keeps walking.
After a minute of walking, the large man with the pyramid helmet carried you into a new building. The air inside was cold and dark and smelled of damp decay. The man's firm grip became painful as he clutched you tighter, each step he took felt like a death grip around your body. You winced in pain at the pressure, unable to do anything but hang limply as he carried you further into the building. He carries you into a room and throws you onto a filthy bed.
He kneels down in front of you after setting down his sword so it is leaning against the wall. This close, you could see that the helmet he was wearing was fused to his head, like it was a permanent feature of this creature. Pyramid Head, as you have now named him in your head, holds out his massive hands towards you. Not knowing what he wanted, you moved away from him. Only for him to grab your wrists to pull you closer. He looked down at your injured hands and made a displeased noise. You watched him grab what looked like a relatively clean cloth and start to carefully clean your wounds. It was such a weird feeling seeing such a large man being gentle. Though his hands were rough and covered in calluses, it was a nice feeling to be cared for in such a tender way.
When he was done he wrapped your hands in the cloth and moved somewhere else in the room. You waited curled up on the bed for him to come back. A part of you knew that if you tried to run he’d catch you and you didn’t want to see what he would do to you if he did catch you. His hand had been gentle while he took care of you but you could also feel the strength behind them. An unnatural strength.
His heavy footsteps announced his arrival as he set down a plate of what looked like meat in front of you. It was cooked at least but in this place, it could be anything, human even.
“What is this?” you asked. He answered by picking up a piece. A long slimy tongue appeared from under the helmet it curled around the meat and disappeared as his tongue retracted back under his helmet. Your eyes widen at the sight of his tongue before you look back down at the meat you were being fed.
“Are you… are you expecting me to eat this?” you asked, your voice a mixture of incredulity and revulsion.
The Pyramid Head simply stared down at you, awaiting your next move. You lift a piece of meat off the plate. The sight of feathers stuck to it calms your nerves slightly. Though them being black feathers meant this was possibly from a crow or raven. Not a bird you had expected to take apart in, but the sudden grumble of your stomach ensured that you were indeed hungry. You didn’t know when you’d have another meal or even when you would find a way out of this place, so you took a tentative bite of the meat. It wasn’t the best, definitely overcooked with how chewy the meat was and not seasoned with how bland it was as well, but it went down at least.
He took the broken plate when you finished some of the meat and appeared to be done. He used his tongue to finish off the rest before leaving again. You curl up onto the lumpy bed at the very edge next to the wall. You look out the window and see a church in the distance and a shadow of a person walking into it. You lean further against the window, trying to get a better look at it. Pyramid Head walked back into the room, stopping to watch her. He walked over and lowered the blinds, quickly shaking his head.
You tried to make yourself comfortable despite his presence, but the memory of his gentle touch and the fact that he had fed you in his own strange manner made the situation less threatening.
“There’s a church out there,” You state as you turn to him, “with people inside.”
He nods and turns away from you.
“Can they help me leave?” you asked softly.
He suddenly grabs your arm tightly and looks down at you suddenly.
"Please," you plead softly, trying to pull away from his grasp. "I just want to leave."
He doesn't answer, only continuing to hold you tight as he seems to be contemplating something before shaking his head. He let go of your arm before cupping your face with his large hand. It almost covered your entire face. The touch again was gentle and sweet. You couldn’t help but lean into it slightly. His hand was warm and felt pleasant against your skin.
“I have to get home,” You tell him.
He shakes his head again as he brings you closer.
Frustration and desperation started to build up inside you, but so did a strange sense of warmth and security from his touch. You grab his wrist feeling the muscles under his skin like collided steel. How long had it been since you touched a man? A real man, not some frat boy hookup. You closed your eyes to savor the feel of it. You pause as you feel something slimy caress your neck. Not even having to open your eyes you knew what it was. His tongue had wrapped around your neck. It brought shock waves through you at the oddly pleasant feeling coursed through you. You shouldn’t like this but part of you did. A part of you wanted this. Wanted his touch. Wanted something other than a meaningless hook-up. Maybe this was it. Perhaps this was what you needed.
His touch was animalistic, a raw and primitive instinct driving his actions as his hands moved to grip your hips. He laid you down on the bed and hovered over you. You opened your eyes to look up at his metal helmet. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as he ripped at your clothes easily tearing them apart as his tongue moved to taste every part of you. A strangled moan leaves you as his tongue moves downward and against your most intimate spot. Your grip on his shoulders tightens as you arch into him with a mixture of ecstasy and need.
Your hips bucked, seeking more, needing more. The world narrowed to this moment, to his touch, his mouth, his presence consuming you utterly. You were lost, drowning in a sea of lust and longing, and you never wanted to be found. This was madness, this primal, animalistic joining. And you reveled in it. His hand moved to undo the strap of his skirt letting it fall to the floor. Your mouth dropped open when you saw the sizable length and girth of his cock. It was hard and leaking as it stood up proud against his abs, the thick shaft throbbing with need, glistening with beads of moisture at the swollen tip.
Your tongue darted out, wetting your suddenly dry lips as you imagined the taste of him, the feel of that thick length driving into you, claiming you, owning you utterly. Heat flared in your cheeks, your chest, your core - a fever of lust and craving that could not be denied. You wanted him, more than you had ever wanted anything in your life. You needed to feel him, all of him, inside you, around you, consuming you completely.
You try to wrap your legs around him to pull him closer to where you need him. “Please,” you begged as he carefully grabbed your hips. He rubbed his thumb against your skin before slowly pushing into you. A weak gasp leaves you as it feels like the air is being pushed out of you in the most delicious way.
As he bottomed out, hitting himself deep within your core, you swore you could feel him in your throat. You were so full, so impossibly stuffed with his thick cock. It was a delicious invasion, a claim that left you breathless and aching for more.
"More," you gasped out, your hips rolling instinctively to meet his slow thrusts, "Please, give me more." You were lost to the sensation, drowning in the feel of him, the taste of him, the very essence of him. In that moment, you existed only for his pleasure, only for the feel of his cock driving into you, over and over again. Your senses were overcome by pleasure as he kept hitting all the right spots. His tongue was still licking across your skin as if trying to taste the sweat that was gathering on your skin.
It didn’t take long for you to feel like you were losing yourself in the pleasure. This was not like the frat boys that you were used to. The pleasure was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, a tidal wave of ecstasy that threatened to sweep you away completely. His thrusts were powerful, and purposeful, each one driving into you with a force that stole your breath and shattered your thoughts. Gone were the clumsy, fumbling movements of the frat boys you'd known before. Gone were the drunken un satisfied tumbles in the sheets. This was a man, a creature of raw, primal instinct.
You could feel every ridge, every vein of his thick shaft as it dragged against your fluttering walls. It was a constant stimulation, a relentless assault on your senses that pushed you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red welts in their wake as you clung to him, anchoring yourself against the tempest of sensation.
"Don't stop," you panted, your voice ragged and desperate, "Please, don't stop!" Your hips rose to meet his, the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. You were lost in the moment, lost in the feel of him, the taste of him, the scent of him. The world narrowed to this one, singular point of connection, this dance of give and take, of pleasure and pain.
He loomed over you, a metal giant possessed of a single-minded purpose. His grip on your hips tightened, surely leaving bruises behind, as he angled your body to take him even deeper. You could feel him in your belly, stretching you impossibly, claiming you utterly. This was not just sex, this was a conquest, a domination, completely taking you from anyone else who wanted you.
As your climax approached, you felt a moment of panic, of fear at the sheer intensity of it. You had never come undone like this before, never felt so consumed, so overwritten. But then his thumb found your clit, rubbing mercilessly, and you tumbled over the edge into sweet oblivion. A pained moan leaves you as your vision blacks out from the pure ecstasy that this man, this creature had given you.
You felt him thrust into you a few more times before his orgasm washed over you and painted the inside of your womb. You both stayed connected as you road your high together. His hands gently roamed your body before he pulled out causing you to let out a soft whine. He licked your cheek before falling into the bed next to you. He wrapped his arm around you pulling you on top of his chest the warmth of him seeps into your skin. With a soft sigh, you let your fingers dance across his skin.
To think this all happened because of a stupid college dare.
