Hi! I'm prawnstar, aka Prawn/Cor/Corvid. They/them pronouns only, masc + gender neutral terms and adjectives are fine. I do not care if the age of consent is lower in your country, do not engage with my content labeled MDNI if you are under the age of 18. I'm an artist and full time college student, so posts may come in short waves.
Currently Writing For: Call of Duty. May branch out into Criminal Minds, Marvel, etc. in the future.
More or less all of my readers will be referred to as they/them, and/or AFAB transmasc, nonbinary (AFAB & AMAB), or completely gender neutral. If enough people request it, then I am open to making edited versions of my fics with different gender identities or presentations (EX: an AFAB nonbinary reader being switched for an AMAB one), including for transfems since I feel like there isn't a lot of that content.
In every post, I will tag: reader's ASAB, pronouns, genitalia/chest situation, and whether or not masc or gender neutral terms are used to refer to them.
My readers do not have their skin color or hair texture described. Beyond gender, I try to keep my work as accessible as possible.
Most of my MDNI works will have harder or less conventional kinks. If you're into that but prefer a fem!reader, then I highly recommend the lovely @cod-indulgences! She's who inspired me to post my writing in the first place :)
Long fics always get posted on AO3 first.
Tags to filter:
#i fried this rice - my own original content. #appetizer🦐 - drabbles. #entree🍚 - full fics. #side dish🥟 - art. #masterlist🌟 - masterlist and blog info. #special order - asks. #not my recipe - reblogs. #congregating by the host stand - not fandom content, just yapping.
Hello hello! Some of you have probably seen the info about the Claude-detecting AO3 skin. I find it useful, but the way it was shared didn't suit my needs, so I tied it in with the standard Reversi site skin to make a version that works better for me. I'm sharing it if you want to use it too!
As always, this is an optional tool. You don't have to use it if you don't like it. This is a site skin, so all it does is affect what AO3 looks like on your own account - it doesn't change what your readers see.
This skin looks like Reversi by default. On any fic where it detects a 100% clear snippet of Claude AI generated text, it will light the fic up bright red. Still readable if you wanna keep going, but now you know that fic contains bits of Claude AI.
It does NOT:
Detect other AI, only Claude!
Change anything for other people - just you.
Flag EVERY Claude-generated fic. If the poster took the time to clean up the writing even a little, it will not flag with this tool even if it was written entirely by Claude.
Have false positives. There is no reason for this to light up a fic unless some or all of it was copied and pasted directly from Claude.
Give you a reason to harass people, even if they made a shitty choice to use AI in their fic.
I did not write this CSS myself! The person who discovered/shared this provided a small snippet of code to use to do this, and I just stuck it onto Reversi so I could have a skin that still looks nice. I am choosing not to link directly to the creator's document because that document seems to double as a callout post for various writers, and I'm not big on that. If you really wanna see it, you'll find it with an easy Google search.
If you want to use this skin, instructions are here.
" ohhh these new girls don't even like bullseye they're just watching because he's hot" I DON'T CARE !!! AS LONG AS I GET MORE X READER, EDITS OF HIM THAT AREN'T ALL "EDGY" , AND MORE PEOPLE WATCHING DD SO WE GET MORE CONTENT !!
omg you’re Lao!! I never have met a person who is online! I’m only a quarter, but my mom is so into bringing it up and trynna make me somehow, and I quote from her directly, “more Asian than any other” (she likes to especially play that “you’re not a Bsian, you’re an Asian” to me and my siblings)
which is startling cause I look like a white boy but yknow we ball—
How was Lao new year? I haven’t gone this year unfortunately, but I’m so curious cause I haven’t seen that much Laos mentions anywhere online!! Like genuinely I told someone my grandpa still is alive and lives there (cause they asked if he was just a deadbeat, and yes he was). And they asked “what’s Laos?” And when I explained what and where Laos was, they said “oh that’s a lie, you’re lying! You mean Vietnam!” Nope but alright! 😭
anon i am so so happy that i could be your first lao rep online ! i understand your struggle. im half lao half mexican, so my childhood was full of getting dragged to events where i 1) looked out of place and 2) had no clue what people were saying.
lao new year was wonderful :) i brought along my girlfriend and she really enjoyed it. the fic more or less detailed what happened but i also had the pleasure of seeing the students play traditional instruments.
silly string has been banned from my temple due to the sheer havoc it has brought. i may make a fic with that detail...
i'll probably end up writing some content that involves information on the secret war/laos' tumultuous history. i like educating people and, luckily enough for me, i'm in a military video game fandom !!
Imagining various members of the 141/call of duty characters at your cultural events...
Soap has been dragged into bad karaoke at one of the outdoor tents. He hasn't got a single clue what's being said but the aunties and uncles love his enthusiasm (they are tipsy at one in the afternoon and he can certainly get behind that).
Ghost is anxious from watching the kids viciously attack each other with water guns because they are, in fact, treating it like a hardcore, vicious battle even though it's supposed to be a blessing. I think the elders would take one look at him--the truly aged ones, with sagging, sun damaged faces, who have not moved from their seats the entire time they have been here--see the scars on what little exposed skin he dares to reveal and proceed to feed the absolute hell out of a man who's clearly witnessed horrors they are all too familiar with. A monk blesses him without hesitation or fanfare, chanting low prayers, tying small white threads around his right wrist.
Nobody spares Gaz a second glance. Three different strangers have handed him their babies to hold while they grab their food orders, their chubby little bodies dressed in the silk and jewelry of traditional attire that makes them look absolutely adorable. Like mini versions of the dancers and patrons milling about around him. Once freed from his impromptu babysitting duties, he coaches the water war children on their techniques. He, as well as many aghast siblings, cousins, and friends, promptly become soaked as thanks. The many leis around his neck drip with liquid and it is blessedly cool in the hot sun.
Soap proceeds to get doused in shaving cream by the handful of little assassins his fellow sergeant-turned-traitor has sent his way. There are now two soldiers on temple grounds actively hunting each other with water guns.
Price is sat somewhere in the shade on a folding chair. The older woman next to him doesn't even manage to clear five feet tall and has not said a single word to him, her hands folded demurely on her lap as she chews tobacco. He pulls out a cigar and the other smokers just give him a small nod. The air is cloudy here, both from their little group and the barbecue grills fuming away at the various food stalls, but nobody coughs or sputters once.
Simon Riley x fem!reader, Ghoap x fem!reader, Simon Riley x Johnny Mactavish; dark fic, noncon, implied kidnapping, sexual slavery, dehumanization, mind break, piss (brief), breathplay/suffocating, deepthroating, emeto/vomiting (brief), breeding (brief), codependence
"Let me show you my collection," Ghost says, the first time he invites Soap over to his place, and takes Soap back through his bedroom to a locked door.
Behind it are three girls.
"Gotta do 'em in stages," he says, as Soap kneels down in front of the first girl. She must be new still, she's gagged and bound with her eyes wet with tears, pussy swollen where it's exposed between her thighs. The latex suit she's wearing only bares her face, tits, and cunt- perfect to break her down, reduce her to parts.
She squeals around the gag as Soap pinches her clit. "Oh, she's a sensitive one," he comments, and fresh tears trickle down her cheeks. "What are you using on her?"
"Right now, nothing. Letting the boredom get her, and the fear. She still flinches when something touches her holes, so every little while I stick something up there to stretch her out." Ghost pinches the new girl's nose, closing it, as her hips jerk. Soap rubs harder over her clit. Her eyes roll. "She's fresh enough we're still introducing the liquid diet too. Between pissing herself all day and crying all night it's a bitch to keep her hydrated. But she'll get there, she's tough," and Soap smirks in triumph as her pussy clenches, folds all quivering, a shy thing trying to hide away from him.
"The other good part about doing it this way, is they see what's coming next," Ghost explains, releasing the new girl's nose. She pants, sobbing, and Soap gives her clit a last twist before letting go. "The collar keeps her looking right at her future," and the middle girl is moaning up at Soap.
She's less bound, head held up with a stiff collar but more of her skin exposed, tits hanging loose, and she wriggles her hips at Soap, feet flexing where they're bound behind her head. There are old tear stains on her cheeks, but her pussy is wet and slick, swollen like it's been recently fucked, asshole winking around the shiny plug filling it.
Ghost pulls out his cock, and smacks it against her cheek. She flinches, the cute face falling away before she drags it back on. "See? Middle ground, she wants it but hates it. I don't let her suck my cock without the ring gag yet, but she comes easy now, and begs for it." The head of his cock bumps over her lips, and she grunts, tongue sticking out, lapping.
Soap likes this middle girl, this work in progress. He's always been a fan of the underdog and this little thing is right up his alley, struggling and breaking all at the same time. He shoves a finger into her pussy, smiles at her, all charm and sweetness, and gets a cute little moan, hips rocking. Her tits are gorgeous, big heavy things with huge nipples, and Soap indulges himself in sucking on one as he fingers her.
"LT, you've been holding out on me," he scolds, popping off, and thumbs her clit. She whines, wordless. "Do you always have more than one going?"
"Eh, depends. Sometimes I want to focus on a project more. That's how I got my doll," and there's the third girl. Soap sees it immediately, the vacant look in her eyes, the drooling, dozy headspace of a pretty girl turned into a toy, and he slaps at the work in progress' pussy to make her moan as he shifts his attention away. "Sorry, love, this is more interesting," he says, and sees the way her eyes fill with tears, self loathing for it.
Ghost sees it too, and laughs. "Don't worry lovie, I haven't forgotten you," he croons, and Soap hears her choked moans and gags as Ghost shoves his cock into her mouth, squeezing past the gag, though he doesn't fuck her mouth- instead she squeals, garbled, around the heavy stream of piss, Ghost playing with her clit. "Drink or drown, you know the rules," he says, and Soap kneels down in front of the doll.
She's fucking beautiful, drooling, head lolling in the soft collar Ghost has her in. Nothing else, just miles of soft flesh all primed for the taking. Tits soft as silk, nipples so swollen and sensitive she moans when he thumbs over one, and her pussy is leaking steadily against her thighs. A right proper doll, perfect hot holes to fuck, and Soap takes his own cock out and touches it to her lips.
She sucks him down right away, sleek and smooth, trained up to swallow him without gagging, and Soap groans when her nose hits the base of his dick and stops, blinking up at him with dark cheeks and wet eyes, holding him in her throat.
"She won't move unless you say she can," Ghost comments. The doll shifts on her knees, ass raised up and head down. "I like making her pass out. She's a good fuck when she's blue," and fuck if that doesn't hit Soap right in the belly, a bolt of heat filling his cock, so the doll has to swallow around the thick throb of it, her face getting redder.
The new girl is squealing behind her gag, crying, though she might be having trouble breathing as well, all that snot. Middle one still gagging and coughing from Ghost's piss, and now the doll's lashes fluttering as she moans around his cock.
"You've really been holding out on me, mate," Soap says, and pulls the doll off, standing to wipe his cock off across her cheeks as she gasps. She moans in disappointment, fucking Christ, and Ghost cups her cheek gently. He's almost fond, looking down on her, the slick shine of her bare cunt and the drool on her lips and chin, and she wriggles up to him in delight when he tucks his cock into her throat, easy as anything, and holds her there.
"She's my first," he says warmly, "spent weeks breaking her, remaking her, training her up for myself. She's earned it all, done so good," the doll moans, "yes, love, so good. Showing off so pretty for my friend," and she looks over at Soap with big wet dumb eyes, like a cow walking to the slaughterhouse. Soap has to grip the base of his cock, Jesus fuck.
Soap gets an idea. "You know, LT, that new girl, you ever think about using the doll here to break her? Give her a proper taste of what's coming," and Ghost looks at him with a gleam in his eye.
It takes a bit to get the ropes and harnesses worked out, but the doll keeps them entertained, suffocating herself on Ghost until she can't stay upright anymore and slides off, eyelids closing, lips blue; then she sucks Soap off with her hands tied at her back, moaning, each flick of her tongue so eager it's obscene, until he gets too close and kicks her off to crawl back to Ghost and start again.
"She allowed to come?" Soap asks, as she moans around his balls; Ghost nods, working on a tricky knot around the new girl's neck, and Soap grips the doll at the base of her throat and spanks her pussy as she shudders and wails around him, coming almost instantly- she's so wet there's a puddle, and Soap pulls out of her throat with his own come leaving milky trails across her tongue and lips.
Sated, he can properly focus now, and helps Ghost get the new girl tied down- flat on her back, head lower than her hips, a wide band of rope across her throat to keep her from thrashing around. More ropes and cuffs keep her in place, knees bent and elbows locked to them, the soft vulnerable flesh of her pussy in range for any number of delights.
Ghost keeps the heavy gag on, and helps the doll stand up. She's wobbly like she's not normally upright. "Alright love, up you go," he urges, and the new girl's shrieks are muffled as the dolls sopping cunt lowers right over her face.
Soap grins. Perfect, two pretty things all tied up together- Ghost locks the cuffs around the dolls wrists to the new girls, puts her legs up as well so she's got most of her weight in the harness and the rest perched right onto the squealing little face between her thighs, no leverage to lift up or away, just grind- and glows inside at the warm approval in Ghost's gaze.
"Not a bad idea, Soap," he says, and strokes his cock as the doll's pussy does the work for him- the new girl can't move away, only cry and endure, as the doll moans and grinds over the leather gag, the bumps of the girl's lips and nose, her clit swollen and fat. "Good for her to see what I expect of 'er," and the new girl wails, sobbing.
"Enough of that," he scolds. "This is a good lesson. Learn from your betters," and behind him the middle girl moans, twisting around in her bonds. Her pussy is slick as well, and she begs with big eyes up at Ghost.
"Oh, you want some?" He asks, and she fucking nods, tongue drooling out past the gag. "Thought you'd had enough, the way you bitched about getting a drink before." Soap laughs.
"Maybe she's just jealous of the new girl," he jokes, and Ghost's low chuckle is mean and dark.
"No need to be jealous, sweetheart," he says, and drags the wet tip of his cock over her cheek. "Wanna have a taste of what the doll gets?"
Soap grins, and leans up against Ghost as he fits his cock into the girls throat, working it in- not as easy as his doll, but she takes it, eyes bulging as she tries to wriggle away. Too late for that, love, Soap thinks, and kneels down to play with those tits.
Each pluck and pinch makes her pussy clench, his mouth on them makes her moan, but Soap can see the way she's getting desperate as Ghost shows no sign of pulling back, letting her breathe. It's like the stages of grief- the brief flash of anger, the denial, the way she blinks up and tries to suck like that'll help her, as her air grows thin and eyes grow dark. Her pussy still craves it, still clenches and pulses around his finger, but the brain is still in charge, still a girl trying to fight when she needs to give up.
The girl's belly heaves, and Soap moans as she makes a gagging noise, slimy bile bubbling at her nostrils, eyes rolling back as the attempt to heave Simon's cock from her throat fails. Her clit throbs, and Soap pinches it as she spasms, Ghost moaning, stroking his balls as her spit and bile foam out around his cock.
When she goes limp in the cuffs, Ghost pulls out, bending her forward as much as possible and slamming his fist into her back, her sides, and she chokes and heaves and gasps, breathing, as Soap shoves his cock in and fucks her hard, making her take it, pussy going from soft to tight in a heartbeat.
"Fuck, oh fuck LT," he gasps, close to coming, and Ghost puts his hand on Soap's neck and squeezes.
"Gonna come, Johnny?" He rumbles. "Gonna fill her up for me? Never had a pregnant pet before," and oh fuck, yes he's gonna, gonna breed up this little thing until she's fat with his baby, break her on his cock and hand Ghost the shining results, the cock-slave drooling after him with milk-heavy tits, and Johnny comes with a groan, cock pumping, Ghost's own rubbing against his lips, sharing the taste of his precome and the girls spit like a kiss between them.
Soap takes a minute before he pulls out, admiring the wet gleam of his come in her hole. Poor little work in progress, still limp and gasping, and Soap almost wants to cuddle her a bit, suck on her tits more, but Ghost is going to check on the new girl and the doll, so Soap only pats her cheek with a smile and leaves her.
The idea he had is working well, new girl straining to breathe around the slick that's puddling on her face, her cheeks and nose, as the doll moans and comes again, using the girl's face like a toy herself. There's even evidence of a little slick in the new girl's pussy, and Ghost scoops it up and offers it to Soap.
He takes it from both fingers, sucking, holding Ghost's wrist so he can flick his tongue at the space between them, clear as day, and Ghost laughs.
"You want what I'm offering? I'm not going to take it easy on you," he warns, and Soap always has loved a challenge.
It is a challenge, getting his throat open enough for Ghost's cock, but he manages, blinking away tears as Ghost cups his cheeks, strokes his hair, more tender even than with the doll; Soap's chest burns from more than lack of air. There's plenty of that too though, the oxygen in his blood falling off, and he can't even swallow around Ghost, the weight and girth too much. Soap's cock drools a little, soft and hanging over his balls, as he heaves and clenches on his knees.
The middle girl had fought it, had begged, but Soap feels more in line with the doll, so pleased to be pleasing, so at peace with the existence Ghost had remade her into. Pain and pleasure, deprivation and overstimulation, and Soap keeps his lips tight around Ghost's cock as he moans.
"Fuck, Johnny, you've been gagging for it for a while, yeah?" He pants. "Didn't know you were this eager or I'd have brought you home sooner. There we go, fucking- yes, come on," and Johnny's body wants to heave off and breathe, but he doesn't, he locks his arms around Ghost's thighs and chokes and suffocates as black spots dance across his eyes. "Look at you. Choking yourself dumb on my cock. Do this enough and we'll kill off enough brain cells this is all you'll be good for," oh fuck, "turn you into another toy, fuck your hole until it's so loose and sloppy you can't even keep a plug inside," oh fuck, oh, he can't, he needs to breathe and come and let go, he can't let go, not with Ghost's hand on his head, the other thumbing at the tears on his cheeks.
"Gonna come, Johnny," Ghost croons, "gonna make me come with that tight little throat." His hips jerk, grinding more than thrusting, but enough that Soap gags around it. His pulse pounds in his ears. Fuck his chest hurts. "Don't think I don't see that little cock leaking. You gonna come from suffocating on my dick? Do it," and the brain really must be the biggest sex organ, because that sharp command blows right past the burn in his throat, his lungs, down to his cock and balls and punches the orgasm out of him, Soap's eyes rolling and body heaving as Ghost pins him between his thighs, moaning, spurting come so thick and hot it comes back up from his throat and out his nose as Ghost pulls his cock out to jerk the last few spurts over Soap's face.
He collapses, wishing he had a collar or harness to hold him up, but the concrete floor is nice and cool away. The little room reeks of sex, the doll still moaning and coming on her toy, middle girl half-passed out with Soap's come leaking from her pussy, and Soap feels amazing, feels like he could fly, because Ghost is kneeling down with him and smiling, eyes crinkled up under the mask, proud and pleased.
They peel the doll away from the new girl eventually, leaving her in the bonds with slick on her face, crying steadily, and put her back into her soft collar. She smiles up at them both, sucking at Ghost's fingers in thanks, pussy so hot and wet Soap can barely touch his fingers to her clit and she moans, shuddering; the middle girl whines as they step past her, Ghost ignoring her entirely- let her feel the ache, the need for more attention, so that when he comes back she'll rage at herself before crawling over and begging to be abused again.
It's a sharp system, honed and practiced, and Soap's not unaware of the irony as they leave the girls behind, door locked, Ghost's come in his throat and hand on his neck, fingers curling like they're measuring out for a collar to fit Soap.
Tags: figure drawing model!simon "ghost" riley x gn!artist!reader, developing relationship, you analyze him in a freaky artist way, (mature??? there's like one mention of his cock).
Thinking about reader who owns an art studio.
You host figure drawing classes twice a week for a small fee, the subject only one of the many kinds of lessons you offer, teaching new and returning students alike the basics of what it takes to truly see.
Your old model, an astounding body builder, left to take care of her pregnancy, and--while you are more than happy for the woman--her absence left you bereft of a much needed muse to teach anatomy. Weeks of tirelessly sifting through applications have led you here, to him.
Riley.
You do not know his full name and, frankly, do not care to. Your focus is on his body language as the small group of students finally settle down at their respective easels and drawing horses while you work on some final adjustments to the lights. He is calm.
Amazingly so, for a man clad in nothing but his boxers and loosely surrounded by a group of strangers, and you find yourself incredibly grateful for the hauntingly still nature of him because it makes your job so, so much easier. Riley scantly seems to even breathe, a fact that becomes abundantly apparent to you as you do one last circle around his posed form, eventually settling down at an easel of your own.
The first thought that comes to mind when you finally take him in is "I really need to get a bigger chair." He may not be the tallest model you have ever had, but he is the bulkiest, looking all too cramped in the little seat you have set out for him. The entirety of his body is composed of well-defined, rippling muscle, the lines of which tell you that he is either chronically dehydrated or has an extremely active lifestyle.
Based on the sheer number of scars littering said body, you reckon it's some combination of both.
"Remember to start off with your gestures," you call out, voice echoing in the open room. "Five minutes, at most."
Your order is followed by the rhythmic sound of charcoal sticks swiping along on paper. Eyes smoothing down the length of his form, your own hand moves with little supervision, creating long, dark strokes that capture the feel of his pose rather than anything concrete. You graze over the gash in his cheek, the plush curve of his pectorals, the wide spread of his muscular thighs, utterly uncaring and devoid of the fluster so many assume you must have during a session that has someone like him front and center. Do your eyes linger on the sizable curve of his cock beneath the thin black fabric of his boxers? Do they drink in the--frankly, insane--bulk of his biceps with something other than mere appreciation for the human form?
Maybe. But you are doing your gesture sketch, right now, so these details may as well be useless to you. Nothing more than distractions in your effort to encapsulate the life within him. Still, your mind races ahead of your hand, dissecting him piece by piece.
What a truly enamoring specimen, Riley is.
Textures galore mottle his skin. The raised keloids of healed over wounds, the deep divots of mysterious punctures, ragged, criss-crossing lines from haphazardly done stitches. He's got a borderline horrific mess of scar tissue that lines the lower portion of his ribcage. Top surgery? A double thoracotomy? It's none of your business, really, but you can't help but imagine how you would mark him down on paper. Hatching for the little stripes of collagen, most definitely, perhaps softer pastels to get the faded blacks of his tattoo.
You take him apart. Put him back together again. Over and over, trying to find the very best way you can rebuild him with your own hands, your own mediums, utterly ignorant to the way that he, too, is watching you.
Imagine ghost getting shot in the knee during a mission, a career ending injury, right?
He also happens to take a crowbar to the head, and it'd only by you dragging him some two miles does he even survive. You feel horrible about it, ghost was assigned to work with you after all. You spend hours in his hospital bed, even in the medically induced coma he's in.
You know your lieutenant better that most people do, had he been anyone else you would've even called yourself his friend. You also know that the military is all he has, that his apartment is empty and the only time he gets a warm meal on leave is when you drag him to your own apartment.
The whole team is there when the doctors wake him up. For the longest moment, ghost says nothing. He just stares at his legs covered by the thin blanket, the raised portion where bandage is wrapped around.
"...I'm done for then, eh?" He finally asks, voice completely blank. You have no idea how he feels about it, but you nod and take his hand.
"Cap has already handled it, sir. We got you a decent house and a monthly paycheck." A fact you had to fight like hell for, but it worked out nonetheless.
Ghost nods, looks at price "I'm not a lieutenant now? Officially done?"
At prices nod, you brace for some sort of anger or despair. An apology is already on the tip of your tongue when ghost looks back to you. His hand grips onto your bicep.
And proceeds to pull you in for a kiss.
You startle for only a second, mind stuttering over the reality of your lieutenant kissing you. Your hands burn where you touch his skin, melting into the kiss that really could be better. His lips are dry and the angle is awkward, but you'll be thinking of this moment for years later.
A cough from across the room.
Oh shit, your teams still here. You pull away, face blazing in embarrassment. Ghost looks nothing but please, with a smug look on his face as he lies back in the bed with content. At gazs pointed look and soaps gaping mouth, he says "wot? Ahm' not a lieutenant anymore. Can't get me on fraternization now, can you?"
You should probably stop to think about what just happened, but you've been fantasizing about your lieutenant kissing you since you met him.
So you ignore the sigh price lets out when you dive back in for another kiss. Ghost hums into your mouth, taking his time with this one and letting his hand rest on your waist. It's hot, heavy, and everything you've wanted.
The room quickly empties when you swing your leg up onto the bed and over his waist.
Ghost is the kind of person to cradle your corpse when you are shot dead on the battlefield.
"Fuckin' hell, love, what have you done?" He mutters to you, gently peeling off your helmet to reveal a frozen face.
If ghost were a different man, he'd cry or scream or try to do anything to make sense of it. But ghost is a man born of an angry house and a neighborhood that hated his talking mouth and a mother who tried to kill him twice. Ghost is hate and gluttony and fear. Ghost is not a human and he hasn't been for a long time.
Ghost died back in that coffin roba buried him in.
So when you die, he doesn't scream. He peels off your armor, leaves you in the too-rougj fabric of your fatigues. He lies down next to you, lets his own body heat sink into you. "It's okay, lovie. I'm right here. Don't leave me."
Already flies have begun to gather. Buzzing. Waiting crawl over the ripe fruit of your eyes and into the part of your mouth like you are just another dead thing.
Ghost...ghost won't let that happen. Why does the earth get to take you when all he gets is a memory of what you were?
He grabs his knife, gets to work.
When the team come to collect him, they'll find a red smear all across the floor, ghosts mask discarded there too. When he looks at them, it will be through your eye sockets, skull split and cleaned, covering ghosts face.
inexperienced!simon also has chunky glasses he has to wear when he's not wearing his contacts. ones he's replaced at least twice after accidentally breaking them with his thick fingers. ones that you steal from his face while making out. ones that he has to keep pushing up from his nose each time he looks down at you while you're sucking him off.
"c-can you do that' thing again? to, uh... t'my balls, with your tongue? feels nice 'n i don't feel like 'm gonna blow one right awa–oh. oh, yeah. yeah, yeah. that," simon blinks hard with a parted mouth before dipping his chin and reaching to hold his cock for you.
he gulps, shoving his glasses up again with a clumsy finger, accidentally gasping when you guzzle his sack all the way into your mouth and glide the flat of your tongue between a sweet pattern of tender suckles.
"fuck, i love you," simon stutters, not hearing what he's said, voice shaking the same as his thighs. if you keep up like this, drooling and sucking on him, similar to how you did the ice lolly he surprised you with earlier, he'll need to sit down soon. very soon.
Retired!Ghost would rather die than ever admit to his mates how obsessed he is with this little part of your routine.
Your goodnight kiss.
He scoffed at it the first time. Ghost is a former SAS soldier, who's had dealings in multiple assassinations, slept in anything but a bed for nearly two years. He could settle down for a nap still wearing clothes caked in dirt and blood, has done so plenty of times.
By all means, he shouldn't be kept awake over a simple kiss from you.
Yet, he seems to yearn for it. Ghosts mind won't shut up until you come to him all soft and warm from your shower to plant a sweet kiss over his scarred lips. You cradle his face, permanently marred from all he's done, and whisper "i love you, si. Goodnight, baby."
Only after the brush of your moisturized lips over his that ghost can settle down. A clear, clean end to his day, tucked close to you in bed.
Even when you two are fighting, without fail ghost will be found lingering outside your door. He hates asking for it, feels weird and pushy when you obviously are upset with him, but he just...can't settle properly without it.
You must love him more than anything, because without fail you pull the door open just enough to tug him in by the collar and press a kiss to him as sweet as ever and promise "I'm not happy right now, but I love you, si."
Maybe that's why he can't sleep now, refuses to sleep.
The bullet was meant for him, the soldiers broke in to kill him. You were just there first.
Now you're dead, and ghost has no one to love him, no one to hold at night, no one to cherish. He tries to hold his own jaw with his hands, but they're too rough, too battle-worn to be yours.
Ghost can't sleep without your goodnight kiss. He's nothing more than a sleep-deprived body nowadays. The military won't take him, people are scared of him.
The concept of human!reader accidentally driving wolf!ghost insane....
You recently bought some new perfume, a thick rich scent that only serves to amplify your own natural musk, and ghost is obsessed.
Worse than that is how you love to reapply it all the time, subtle to humans but he's practically choking on that delicious scent from you. Anything of his that you touch picks up the scent, as if you were some coy wolf trying to get a sense of ghosts mating prospects.
He raises his brow when you stay back after a meeting to reapply, hovering just a touch too close so he can smell the minute change it takes on upon touching your skin "new perfume, sergeant? It's nice."
"Hm? Oh, yeah! I like the earthy stuff," you tell him, dropping the tiniest bit of oil onto your wrist and rubbing them together. The sight has ghosts stomach turning, knowing if you were a wolf hybrid the room would reek from that action. "Do you want to try some? It's pretty strong."
"Hm—?" Before ghost can even speak, you're already slipping a hand under the hem of his balaclava to rub a bare wrist into the skin of his next. "Fuck–! Ohh...hm....!"
A deep, pleased rumble spills out of ghost, and not seconds later you're being pinned to the meeting table, ghosts whole body on top of yours with lidded eyes. "christ love, do thst again."
"What...ghost?" You mumble, dazed, hand still under the mask. "I– I mean– you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Ghost whines, ears pinning. A large, clawed hand wraps around your forearm, manually moving your wrist against his skin. His whole body shudders "fuck! Mhhh keep going. Like that."
"Holy– is this like...a thing for you?" You grin, ignoring the stretch of your thighs being pushed so far apart for him to grind his bulge against you. Ghost rumbles and grunts, all animal.
He couldn't explain the fact you're practically claiming him as your mate, or at least your breeding bitch, not like you'd care much when his eyes go all glossy under the mask "please– please, love, please. I need–"
"Go on, ghost, I want to see this." You urge. that one chat about soaps partners coming to mind, you shove a hand into ghosts pants and wrap a firm grip over his knot.
"Fuck! Holy– hmmm! Thank you!" He pants, tail thrashing behind him. You watch, enraptured, as a large wet patch forms in the front of his jeans. Christ, that's a lot of cum.
"Wow. That was so worth eighty quid." You snort, only to get a huffy nip from ghost, who seems intent on smothering you under hum.
im a little confused ab the update, i haven't had it downloaded yet
if you dont mind, can you explain how it affects you as a creator?
please and thank you rommy
The new update only affect browser users, but it will affect the app too soon enough.
[Here's a post that visually shows the change]
[Another example]
[Here's an in depth explenation of the harm]
[Remember to keep complaining even weeks later]
But in my own words, the new update allocated notes to the latest reblog in the chain with a comment. So if I post a blurb, and someone with tons of followers reblogs with the comment "love this!!" Then any notes on that specific reblog will only apply to that reblog and I will not see them.
This makes it difficult to properly gauge interest in stuff. But it also means if someone reblogs my post with hate, I won't ever see it. Entire groups could be talking shit about me on my own post and I'd never know, but I'd still receive anon hate for it.
It's overall horrible and i encourage everyone to submit complaints and comment on the provided staff post about it. Not just now but for as long as it's around.
Tags: könig x reader, gn!reader, tentacles, make outs, enthusiastic consent.
Cross posted on AO3!
Thinking about getting with monster!könig and finally getting to see what's under the hood. He's desperate and fervent all at once--it's just been so long, Liebling, surely you can understand how badly he needs it?
You're a mess by the time he finally pulls away from your sex, face covered in the slick, musky wetness of your release, body aching and greedy for it. You claw at his hood, peeling the fabric off and all but yanking König up the trembling line of your body.
"C-c'mere, just- ah, closer... need y' closer," you manage to warble out, chest heaving.
Forgiving, your lover is, and his huge form hovers atop you as you practically become engulfed in his tentacles. They coil and writhe around you, slick and strong and soft, rows of suckers leaving blooming marks in their wake. He holds you while you struggle to find purchase on his broad shoulders, grip firm around your stomach, already wrenching your legs wide apart to make room for him. The appendages are as eager for your touch as he is, winding your bodies closer together until they're pressed skin to skin, and you melt under the steady, even pressure.
Finally, finally, his lips meet yours, mouth slotting against your own, months of tension colliding in a single moment, and--
Oh. Oh, fuck. "M-mmph! Angh-!" A muddled, shocked moan somehow manages to leave you when you feel König's long, sinuous tongue unfurl in your throat, dipping down into your esophagus in a way that you were not entirely unprepared for.
You gag. You sputter. Hot tears trickle down your face, but your willingness is apparent in the way you go slack in his arms, limp and pliant; his adoration evident in the way the tips of those tentacles swipe at the trails of your weeping to replace them with their own wetness.
The smaller tendrils covering his jaw coil over your face, latching on to prevent you from pulling away, keeping your mouth flush to his. "Ghhk..." A wet gargling noise erupts out of you, breaths coming in harsh, shallow pants through your nose, head going fuzzy and warm from the way his thick tongue restricts your oxygen.
The heady taste of your own cum floods your senses, and König swallows down your answering whine. One of those big, calloused hands of his cups your own where you madly clutch at him, loosening their hold to interlace your fingers, and he squeezes you in something like prayer. The other shifts to cradle the back of your head, reverent and gentle, acting in direct opposition to the obscene way he's molding your throat. He fills every last inch of your mouth, licking over the gummy walls of your esophagus, running over the enamel of your teeth, a sloppy mess of drool and his slick bubbling up to ruin you both. You are so entirely encompassed by him, and there is nowhere else you would rather be.
One-shot | Word Count: 2.7k | Tags/CW: soft!Ghost, reader has separation anxiety, light angst, emotional comfort, physical touch as love language, bittersweet ending.
The duffel bag sat open on the bedroom floor like an accusation.
Simon had mentioned the deployment three days ago - casual, matter-of-fact, the way he always did. Got orders. Leaving Friday. And you nodded, said something that sounded like understanding, and felt your stomach drop through the floor.
You'd known this was coming. It always came. That was the deal when you loved a man like Simon Riley - he left, and you waited, and you pretended the fear didn't eat you alive every single time.
But knowing didn't make it easier.
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"Need my thermal shirts," Simon said from the closet, voice even. "The black ones."
You were sitting on the bed, knees pulled to your chest, watching him move around the room with that practiced efficiency that made your throat tight. He'd done this a hundred times before you, would do it a hundred times after if–
No. You didn't let yourself finish that thought.
"They're in the dryer," you said flatly.
"You run it?"
"No."
Simon paused, half-turned toward you, but you kept your eyes on your phone, scrolling through nothing. After a moment, he headed downstairs without comment.
You listened to his footsteps fade, heard the dryer door open in the laundry room, and hated yourself a little bit for being like this. But you couldn't seem to stop.
When he came back up, thermal shirts in hand, you'd moved to the dresser, standing directly in front of the drawer he needed.
"Love," Simon said quietly.
You didn't move.
He waited a beat, then stepped around you, opening the drawer from an awkward angle to grab his socks. You shifted, blocking the next drawer.
"You gonna let me pack, or are we doing this all night?"
"Doing what?" Your tone was ice.
"This." He gestured vaguely between you. "Whatever this is."
"I'm not doing anything. I'm just standing here."
"Right. In front of every drawer I need."
"Maybe you should've packed earlier."
"Maybe I just wanted to spend more time with you instead."
That landed like a punch because it was true. You felt your jaw tighten. You moved away from the dresser, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall. Simon didn't say anything else, just continued packing with that methodical calm that made you want to scream.
Usually, you helped. Usually, you'd already have his gear laid out, would be tucking protein bars and some snacks into the side pockets, would be fussing over whether he had enough socks, enough shirts, enough everything to keep him safe and comfortable and alive out there.
But you couldn't do it tonight. Couldn't make this easier for him, for either of you. If you helped him pack, you were helping him leave, and you–
You just couldn't.
"You need to take snacks," you said abruptly.
Simon glanced up. "I will."
"No, you won't. You always forget."
"Then I'll grab something on base."
"Base food is tasteless."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine, it's–" You cut yourself off, turning away. This was stupid. You were being stupid. "Forget it."
Simon straightened, a shirt in his hands, watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze. "Say it."
"Say what?"
"Whatever you're actually pissed about."
"I'm not pissed."
"You've been in a mood for three days."
"I don't have moods."
"Love." His voice was soft, careful. "I know you're–"
"Don't." You held up a hand. "Just.. pack your bag. I'm going to get ready to sleep."
You left the room before he could respond, padding down the hall to the bathroom and shutting the door harder than necessary. In the mirror, your reflection looked tired, eyes too bright, mouth pressed into a thin line.
Get it together, you told yourself. He always comes back. He promised.
But the fear sat in your chest anyway, heavy and cold, because promises didn't stop bullets. Didn't prevent accidents or explosions or any of the thousand ways you could lose him.
You brushed your teeth, washed your face, and went through the motions. When you came back to the bedroom, Simon was zipping up his duffel, movements precise and final.
You wanted to argue, to pick a fight, to do anything that would make him stay just a little bit longer. Instead, you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up and turning to face the wall.
The room was quiet for a long moment. Then the light clicked off, and you felt the mattress dip as Simon got in behind you. He didn't touch you, didn't pull you close like he usually did, and the space between your bodies felt like miles.
You squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself to sleep.
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The Next Morning - 4:00 AM
When you woke, it was still dark.
The alarm hadn't gone off yet - you could tell by the quality of the silence, that particular stillness that existed in the hours before dawn. But you were awake anyway, hyper-aware of Simon's presence beside you, of the warmth radiating from his body, of the steady rhythm of his breathing.
He wasn't asleep either. You could tell by the tension in him, the way he was lying too still.
Neither of you said anything.
Minutes passed. Five, maybe ten. The alarm would go off soon - 4:30, like always - and he'd get up, get ready, and leave. The thought made your chest constrict.
You shifted slightly, and immediately Simon's arm came around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You went willingly, desperately, pressing yourself into him as his other arm slid beneath your neck. His face buried in your hair, and you felt him breathe you in.
"Hi," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
"Hi."
Your legs tangled with his, and you grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together and pulling his arm tighter around you. Like if you held on hard enough, he couldn't leave. Like you could keep him here through sheer force of will.
Simon's thumb traced patterns on your stomach, slow and soothing. You could feel his heartbeat against your back, strong and steady, and you wanted to stay in this moment forever. Before alarms and goodbyes and the empty space in the bed that would stretch out for weeks.
"Gotta get up soon," he said quietly after a while.
"No."
"I need to shower and get ready."
"No." Your grip on his hand tightened.
"Love."
"Stay here with me."
He was quiet for a moment, then pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "You know I can't."
"Five more minutes."
"Already past that."
"Then ten more."
You felt him smile against your skin. "Alright. Ten more."
You lay there in silence, wrapped around each other, and you counted each second like it mattered. Because it did. They all did.
When the ten minutes passed - you knew it was more than ten, knew he was giving you extra time - Simon stirred.
"I really need to get up now."
"No, you don't."
"Love, I really need–"
"I need you here." Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.
Simon sighed, not frustrated but understanding, and settled back down. His arms tightened around you, and you felt his lips against your temple.
"I know," he said softly.
You turned in his arms so you were facing him, immediately pressing yourself closer, your face finding the space between his neck and shoulder that felt like it was made for you. He smelled like sleep and home, and you breathed him in, trying to memorize it.
"I don't want you to go," you whispered against his skin.
"I know."
"I hate this."
"I know, sweetheart. I know."
His hand stroked down your back, slow and gentle, and you felt the tears building behind your eyes. You blinked them back furiously. You'd cried enough about deployments. You were supposed to be better at this by now.
But you weren't. You never were.
Another five minutes passed. Maybe ten. Time felt both too fast and too slow, each second slipping away while simultaneously stretching into eternity.
Finally, Simon shifted. "I have to get up now. For real this time."
"No."
"You know I have to."
"I know." Your arms tightened around him anyway. "I know, I just..I hate it. I hate that you have to go, hate that I have to stay here and wait and worry, I hate–" Your voice cracked. "I hate all of it."
"I know." He cupped the back of your head, holding you close. "But I always come back. Every time."
"You can't promise that."
"Yes, I can. I have something to come back to now." His thumb stroked through your hair. "I have you."
The tears came then, hot and unwelcome, and you pressed your face harder into his chest to hide them. But your shoulders shook, gave you away, and Simon's arms banded around you tighter.
"Hey," he murmured. "I've got you."
But you didn't want him to have you. You wanted to have him, wanted to keep him here where he was safe, where you could touch him and hear his voice and know he was alive.
Eventually, your grip loosened. Not because you wanted to let go, but because you had to. Because he had a job, had people counting on him, had a duty that existed long before you came into his life.
You pulled back with a shaky exhale, and Simon pressed a kiss to your forehead before sliding out of bed. You watched him head to the bathroom.
The shower turned on, and you lay there in the dark, staring at nothing.
When the water shut off, you sat up, pulling your knees to your chest. The bathroom door opened, and Simon emerged in a cloud of steam, a towel around his waist. He saw you watching and paused.
"You okay, love?"
“I’m fine.” You answered in a sad tone while looking at him, memorizing the way water dripped from his hair, the scars that mapped his chest, the steadiness in his eyes that you'd come to rely on.
He got dressed efficiently - tactical pants, belt, shirt. Each piece of clothing felt like armor going on, like he was becoming someone else. Someone who belonged to the mission, not to you.
When he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, you turned away, facing the wall.
You heard him pause. He exhaled softly, then the boots hit the floor with a dull thud. He rose, his footsteps moving slowly around the bed.
A moment later, he was kneeling on the floor in front of you, eye level, too close to ignore.
"Look at me."
You kept your eyes closed forcefully.
"Look at me, sweetheart"
Slowly, your gaze slid to his face. He was watching you with that expression - the soft one, the one that was just for you, the one that made your chest ache.
"I can't leave without saying goodbye," he said quietly.
"Sure you can. You have legs. You can walk right out that door."
"I won't."
"Why not?"
"Because you matter more than being on time."
That cracked something in you. Your face stayed neutral, blank, but something in your eyes must have shifted because Simon reached out, cupping your face with both hands.
"Come here," he murmured, and you couldn't resist anymore.
You leaned into his touch, and he stroked your cheekbones with his thumbs, gentle and careful. Like you were something precious. When you nuzzled into his palm, seeking more contact, more warmth, more him, you felt wetness on his fingers.
You were crying again. Silently this time, tears sliding down your cheeks and over his hands.
"I don't want you to go," you whispered, voice breaking. "I don't want you to go. I'm going to miss you so much, and I'm going to be here alone, and I–"
Simon stood abruptly, and before you could process it, he'd lifted the covers and climbed into bed with youl. He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped tight around you, and you clung to him, fists grabbing his tactical vest.
"I've got you," he murmured into your hair. "I've got you, love. I'm right here."
"You're leaving."
"Not yet" He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then your temple, then your cheek. "Right now, I'm here."
You burrowed closer, and he shifted so you were practically on top of him, your full weight pressed against his chest. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other stroked up and down your spine in long, soothing motions.
Your crying slowed gradually, reduced to occasional hitches in your breathing. Simon just held you through it, patient and steady, pressing kisses to your hair, murmuring quiet reassurances that you only half-heard but fully felt.
When you finally went still, just breathing against him, he shifted slightly.
"Better?"
You nodded against his chest.
"Can I see your face?"
Reluctantly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His expression was impossibly soft, eyes searching yours, and when you met his gaze, he leaned down and kissed you.
It was slow, achingly gentle, like he was trying to pour everything he couldn't say into it. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
"I will come back to you," he said, quiet and certain. "I always do. I always will."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He kissed you again, briefer this time. "You're stuck with me, remember? 'Til I'm dead and buried."
"Don't joke about that."
"Not joking. It's a threat. You'll never get rid of me."
Despite everything, you felt your mouth twitch. "Good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You took a shaky breath. "But you still have to text me. And call when you can. And FaceTime."
"Every chance I get."
"And you have to send me pictures. Even if they're just of your terrible base coffee."
"It's terrible coffee."
"I know. That's why I need photographic evidence that you're suffering appropriately."
His mouth curved. "There is my girl."
You managed a weak smile, then sighed, your hand coming up to rest over his heart. You could feel it beating, steady and strong, and you pressed your palm flat, trying to memorize the feeling.
"You should go," you said softly, even though it killed you. "You're going to be late."
"I don't care."
"Simon."
"Five more minutes."
"You said that twenty minutes ago."
"And I'll say it again in five minutes." But he was already shifting, carefully extracting himself. "But you're right. Price will have my head."
You let him go, watching as he stood. He looked down at you, something complicated passing across his face, then leaned down and kissed your forehead.
"I love you," he said quietly.
"I love you too." You caught his hand before he could pull away completely. "Be safe. Please."
"Always am."
"Simon."
He squeezed your hand. "I'll be safe. I promise."
You held his gaze for another moment, then nodded. He kissed your lips one more time, then straightened.
At the door, he paused, looking back at you. You were still in bed, covers pooled around your waist, his shirt drowning your frame, eyes red but dry now.
"I'll call tonight," he said.
"Okay."
"And I'll be home before you know it."
"Three weeks is not before I know it."
"It'll fly by."
"For you, maybe. You'll be busy getting shot at."
"I don't plan on getting shot at."
"You never plan on it. It just happens."
His mouth quirked. "Fair point." He tapped the doorframe twice. "Lock the door behind me?"
"I always do."
"I know. Just–"
"I will. I promise."
He nodded, held your gaze for one more long moment, then turned and walked away.
You listened to his footsteps down the stairs, heard him grab his duffel from by the door, heard the front door open and close. Heard the lock click.
Then silence.
You sat there for a while, just breathing, staring at the empty doorway. Eventually, you got up, padded downstairs, and double-checked the lock like you'd promised.
The house felt too big without him. Too quiet. Too empty.
These goodbye mornings never got easier. The fear never lessened, the ache never dulled. But somewhere over the past years, you'd learned to carry it differently - not as a burden, but as proof. Proof that you had something worth missing. Someone worth waiting for.
And when he came home - when, not if, because he always did - you'd be right here.
you don’t even know where the rumour (can it be a rumour if it’s true?) started. maybe it was that new recruit whose advances you declined. wherever it came from, it was now spreading around base like a fucking disease.
now all your fellow soldiers, all you teammates, know that you’re a virgin. whether they believe it or not doesn’t really matter. you can hear the whispers when you walk into the mess hall, feel the eyes land on you. it’s like being back in highschool…
it’s not even something you’re embarrassed about or ashamed of. until your 141 teammates corner you in the lounge you share.
“is it true, love?” there’s a sparkle in Soap’s eyes as he asks. something you can’t identify. excitement?
you grit your teeth, praying they’re asking about something else. “is what true, Johnny?” please, please, please—
“that yer a virgin.”
fuck.
you stare at the four men in front of you. the stern, almost concerned look in Price’s eyes. the smirk on Johnny’s lips. the way you can see Gaz’s adams apple when he gulps. and Ghost is just… staring intensely.
“yes. it’s true. and it’s none of your fucking business, okay?” you spit the words out before pushing past them and storming out of the room, stomping back to your barracks.
they watch you go - Ghost smacks the back of Soap’s head as the Scots smirk falters, Gaz watches you leave with worry and John sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. that wasn’t how they expected this to go.
Price runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “christ. didn’t think it was true.” Ghost grunts in agreement while Soap and Gaz just stare at the door you walked out of.
they’re not sure what to do next, but there is one thought that’s running through all their minds - they need to fix this.
a/n: virgin!reader has plagued my thoughts for WEEKS. who should get the honour of being their first time?? 👀
