:3

19 artist pansexual 🌈 Libra ♎️ She/They

[werecreature-addicted]

Cowboy werewolf letting you ride them, their jeans still on just pushed down far enough that you can get their cock out, their hat tipped back so they can look at the pretty thing in their lap. They smoke their cigarette lazily, blowing smoke in your face and occasionally telling you you're doing a good job until they get close and pin you down so they can rut into you properly and knot you.

[annarobszombies]

Simon "Ghost" Riley looks like his father, and he hates it.

He hates the way his eyebrows arch, hates his nose, his lips, his fucking eyelashes. All of it.

He's honestly grateful for his compulsive need to wear the mask following his capture and the deaths of his family. When he wears it, he doesn't have to look at his father every time he looks in the mirror.

But then comes you.

You kiss his eyes, his nose, his lips, and you take picture after picture on the rare occasions he allows.

You run your hands through his hair, brush your fingertips over his hated features, and you look at him like he's the most beautiful thing in the world.

You spoil him with affection, mask or no mask, but the way you light up when he pulls it from his head and lets it fall wherever he drops it, exposing his face to you...it makes him start to think that maybe...

Maybe his face was okay.

[ceilidho]

my most realistic Ghost headcanon is that he’s so absent father coded that he definitely has a wife and kid squirrelled away in a house somewhere that he visits from time to time but he finds it painful and uncomfortable being part of a “family” for too long so his visits are weird and sporadic, like he’ll randomly pick his son up from school and take him on a drive somewhere and you have no idea until your kid comes home that evening and tells you “oh yeah dad spent the day with me” and you’re GOBSMACKED because Simon never told you he was coming.

And other times he comes just to pick you up and bring you to a motel room he’s rented to fuck you six ways from Sunday and then when he’s done he just zips up and says “put another couple grand in the account for you and the boy” and kisses you on the head before driving you back home. Never stays very long. It can be rough on you, but if he stays too long he can feel his nerves fray. His upbringing made him hard and cold but there’s a part of him buried very very deep down that just doesn’t want to risk being his father.

Also I think he’s got a real kink for seeing you take care of his kid because of his own upbringing and how neglected he was as a child. He sees you sneak an extra sandwich in his son’s lunch and nearly breaks the glass in his hand. Obsessed with talking about how good you are to his kid when he’s fucking you - “good fuckin’ girl - gonna give me another?”

This has some adverse effects though because he has to be the hard ass parent like god forbid you try to tell his son he can’t have a snack before bed, he’ll just frown and go “the kid can ‘ave a snack, he’s no’ gonna go ‘ungry” like chill out, mate, he’s gonna have an upset stomach. It’s kind of a blessing when he’s not around because he always tries to contradict you when you’re trying to instil some discipline in your kid.

[sugar-brains]

My new fav headcanon 🫶

[nsharks]

a dark world (an ache to live) | simon "ghost" riley

summary: ghost fears death (because he has you). soap is there to make him a promise. tags: *ghost d words*, pregnant!reader/fem!reader, death, blood, gunshot wound, just angst a/n: this is very dramatic I'm sorry and it has nothing to do with my other fics. dad ghost is alive and well in those.

Ghost is quiet.

The Sergeant is not.

In middle-of-nowhere Russia, two souls trudge through the sleet. One leaning into the other. One talking to keep the other awake. With each step, their boots drag with more resistance. With each step, it becomes more of an impossible task for Soap to keep the weight of his comrade up.

Red footsteps follow.

Shimmering red. It catches the sunlight behind the clouds. It’s a crimson shade they are both all too familiar with.

Ghost, never one to accept help, now digs his gloved fingers into the Sergeant's shoulder for support. The heel of his other hand presses into the dressed wound at his torso, applying as much pressure as he can with his fading strength. Ghost’s deific strength— always a staple they could rely on, even at the worst of times.

But now—

His strength doesn’t seem to be quite enough. Not when the gauze has already been soaked through without mercy.

“Keep your eyes open, Lt.”

A grunt.

“Don’t think that’ll help.”

There’s something etched into the gravel of his voice that frightens Soap; a lilt of panic that he’s never heard from Ghost. Because Ghost doesn’t bloody panic, ever. Soap’s eyes flicker to the wound on his partner and he comes to a quick halt when he sees the growing stain on his uniform. He hisses a swear under his breath that pools smoke into the air.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Lt.”

Skeletal fingers pull back from the gore for inspection. They’re soaked and stained. Ghost is used to that— the red bones on his glove. Though, usually, it’s the blood of others.

“Gotta keep in every drop, ‘member?” Soap urges, and reaches over to press the wound for him. “Let me fix it up again. C’mon, hold yourself up for a sec.”

But Ghost only leans into a deeper slouch. The Sergeant stumbles from the immense weight of it.

“Would if I… could, Johnny.”

Soap doesn’t like that answer.

He keeps one hand on Ghost’s shoulder and abandons the wound with the other hand, only so he can dig through his med pack. Before he can grab the gauze, his Lieutenant is collapsing to the icy ground.

There’s nothing Soap can do to stop it.

“Alright, fuck,” the Sergeant hisses. He bends down. Ghost has slumped into a haphazard pile of muscled limbs and weighted tactical gear. “I’ll just take care of ya down here, Ghost. Stay with me, yeah?”

Frantic, urgent denial.

Soap drags the man’s legs out. Tries to get him more on his back so the wounded region is flat. He pushes up the bloodied shirt of Ghost’s uniform and swallows a lump in his throat when he sees the reality of it. So much blood— too much. He fumbles with the gauze but a lazy hand grabs his wrist.

“Don’t waste…” slurred breaths, “…my time with that, Johnny.”

“What do you—“

A tired scoff.

“M’dead weight. M’not… gettin’ back up.”

“We have to fuckin’ try.”

“Can’t… feel anything.”

“Jesus, think of Y/N. Think of your kid, Ghost,” Soap finally sputters out. He’s been trying his damned hardest not to think of you, nor the swell of your stomach that he noticed the last time he saw you. He worried he might fall apart if he did; he couldn't get them to help if he was broken.

“Tha’ is what… I want,” Ghost’s eyes dig shut. “To think of ‘em. So… don’t waste my time.”

A final order from his superior. One that travels through broken glass and shuddering ribs. The sunlight dips behind a grey cloud and they’re left together in this moment of gloom where time seems to slow down, two souls stuck in tar, and all Soap can do is obey his partner’s wishes.

Because he knows; they both know.

“Alright,” Soap mutters with a swallow of acceptance. He drops the roll of gauze. Moves a hand back to the bullet wound, presses it in vain, and nods his head. “Talk to me ‘bout them, Simon.”

Simon.

Ghost hears it. His real name.

A weak hand tugs off his mask. Underneath lays a face that his comrade has only seen once or twice before. Somehow, this face looks more like a ghost than the skull he'd ridden himself behind. A face with eyes that open in hollow, uncharacteristic fear. A face with pale lips that can move only enough to let out slurs.

"M'gonna have a son," Simon says quietly. Soap sees it now— the dribble of blood at his mouth. "She's... givin' me a son and I won't meet him."

"Jesus, Simon," Soap croaks. He reaches for his hand— holds it as a friend. A forlorn grip that Soap keeps close to his chest. "He's gonna be a good lad, alright?"

“I hope he... stays in school."

"Course, he’s gonna be smart.”

A weak smirk.

"Hope he gets... her looks. Not mine."

"I'm sure he will. She's beautiful, Lt."

"I know. Miss... her." His smirk fades. The notch in his throat trembles and bobs. Fear shakes out a whimper from him. "Wanna see her again, Johhny."

It seems only fitting, with his blood dripping onto the sleet, that the truth of him would drip out, too. A man rumored to be a beast lays here, whittled down to the version of himself only you ever got to see.

A version of himself that was afraid to die.

After years of aching for death's company, it has finally arrived. A reaper coming to collect him only after he'd changed his mind. For Simon ached for something else now: for you, for his family. He ached to come home and bury his face in your hair. He ached to touch his hands to your stomach and feel the fluttering kicks of life.

He ached to live.

And his comrade, with drying lips and salt in his eyes, could see this ache in each of his struggled breaths.

"Talk to me 'bout her, Simon," he begs, gripping his drenched shirt. "Somethin' good. Somethin' you love."

"Everythin'," his Lieutenant shudders. He doesn’t feel the pain or the cold. He just feels lingering adrenaline push out his throat in quiet spurts: “Her hair, her laugh... Fuckin'... hell. Love everythin'. Tell... her fo' me."

"I will."

"Tell her... Johnny. Don't want some," Simon softly wheezes and closes his eyes again. "...some random fuck doin' it."

"Fuck, I will," a wet promise. Soap wipes the salinity on his cheeks. "I'll tell her, Simon."

And soon a dark world begins to breathe into Simon's vision. He used to hang out in the darkness. Your light had gripped him by the shoulders and tugged him out. Now—

It finds him again. Old friends.

-----

A promise arrives at your door.

A solemn, dignified promise arrives with a folded flag, a sealed envelope, and a chain with two metal pendants: a dog tag and a ring. They clank together in his hand. And here, at the doorstep of his Lieutenant's home, a beautiful woman steps out with an unassuming smile and a hand rested atop the curve of her belly, and Soap doesn't even have the chance to say anything before your eyes gather the information you need, and the smile chips away into something horrific.

All you know how to do is scream.

And all Soap knows how to do is grab your hand, like he did for your husband.

[lxvvie]

Simon proposed to you. While drunk.

To be fair, you were a bit merry yourself.

You were in the comfort of your home, enjoying each other's company and the cheap alcohol when you realized Simon was staring at you. Turns out he'd been staring at you for quite a while. He was definitely inebriated, but it was like he was aware just the same. You saw it in his dark eyes. You would have reflected some more if you weren't tipsy.

"...Marry me."

That roused you from your drunken stupor. You think. You guess. Wait a damn minute. You began giggling. Or maybe you always were giggling. Fuck, you didn't know, didn't care to know, but—"Yer drunk, Siiiii." And still, you giggled.

Wasn't gonna deter your soldier, though. He took another swig of his drink, let it settle, eyes never leaving yours, and said, " 'm not drunk. 'm in love, sweetheart," Oh! ...Oh. Oh shit. "Marry me, luv. Make an honest man outta me, yeah?" Simon punctuated his proposal with a loud burp. When did he take his shirt off?

You couldn't be bothered to care. When didn't he have his shirt off around you? And fuck, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he kept staring at you, drunk in love, or maybe—"SURE!"

Smooth. Real fucking smooth. But it was enough.

Simon leaned in to kiss you. At least, he tried to. That's all you remembered until the next morning when you woke up and there he was, comfortably resting on top of you, him in your arms and you in his.

You would've thought last night was a dream if you hadn't seen the drunken text Simon sent the boys later:

im a missus

Yes, you are, Simon. Yes, you are.

And truth be told, you two didn't mind it at all.

[konigsblog]

brain rotting away with thoughts of simon riley and his somnophilia kink...

cw: somnophilia (consensual & previously discussed) MDNI 18+

Simon appreciates the trust you have to allow him to slide into your gummy, spongy walls and use your pretty, slick cunt for his release. His breathing quickens at the pleasure against his meaty cock. The sound of a branch hitting against the window and the sound of the light rain pattering against the glass soothes you to sleep. Your breathing is shallow and quiet, along with the sound of your snoring.

His calloused, rough hands touch your body, and his firm and tight hold on your hips leaves indents along your skin. Your eyes are tightly shut, and Simon's lengthy, veiny dick throbs at the tight confines of his boxers, feeling a couple sizes too small for his achingly hard cock. You look so peaceful and relaxed, while Simon is dying for his release. He admires the sight of you before he begins to lift up your his t-shirt to touch your hardened nipples. Simon coos at the softness of your breasts, and your pants dampen with your arousal as he grinds himself against your cunt slowly.

Simon's hung cock springs from his boxers, smearing his thick and milky arousal along his muscular abdomen. He huffs and puffs as he begins to rut against your folds slowly, the wetness of your creamy stickiness causing Simon's eyes to roll to the back of his head. He heaves at the sensation of your pussy pulsing around nothing. He can feel the wetness and warmth of your beautiful, swollen cunt, with each thrust leaving Simon even more desperate.

His growls and grumbles are hushed as he bites his bottom lip hard, throwing his head back as he feels his veiny dick throb and twitch. Your juices coat his shaft, smearing along his lengthy dick that oozes his white release from the tip. He can smell your sweet juices, and it's only driving him closer to his orgasm. Each thrust leaves Simon even more delirious than the other as he pumps and grinds himself against you, his core tightening as his orgasm inches closer and closer. The sight of you like this leaves Simon feeling almost possessive—how perfect you look when you're asleep, how vulnerable you are. He couldn't imagine a world without you, his head spinning as he felt himself throb and pulse, his tip beginning to weep pre-cum as he rolls his dick against your pussy.

Your hole drools with arousal and the sweet juices that Simon dreams of tasting and fantasies about. You plague his every thought, his calloused and scarred fingertips against your hardened, perky nipple, causing your body to shudder and his muscular hips jerk and twist as his orgasm comes down on him all at once. He throws his head back, letting out a deep, hoarse growl at the feeling of his tip leaking all over you. Although he's light-headed and dizzy, he can hear the sounds of your confusion and the bedsheets rustling, alerting Simon of your awakening. You mumble, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of your pussy covered in white fluids, his semen still dripping from the tip as his chest rises and falls, still trying to catch his breath.

Although instead of rolling over or falling back asleep, Simon feels your hand grasp at his firm cock, spreading your slit and pushing him inside. Simon immediately grunts out praise, telling you what a good girl you are, as he begins thrusting slowly. His thrusts are sloppy and messy as he cups your jaw, his forehead pressed against yours, blood running down his chin from biting his lip so hard. He huffs and puffs, barely able to contain or control himself as his pace quickens. Simon gazes down, rolling his thumb over your sensitive clit and watching as your body shakes with pleasure. The sweet smell of your arousal is leaving Simon almost addicted, as he feels himself inching closer once again.

This time, it doesn't take Simon very long. He's already heaving and panting like a dog in heat, and his thrusts get quicker and deeper at the tightness of your gummy walls around his hard dick. The sounds of your whimpering and moaning cause Simon to reach his orgasm; the feeling of Simon filling your hole causes you to squirt against his abdomen, coating him in the glossy shimmer of your release.

Just two horny fucks laying together, breathing heavily and getting off for hours, until the sun rises and the birds begin chirping.

[ghouljams]

Everyone wants Ghost to fuck the life outta them until he's been hitting you just right for the last 20 minutes and won't let up. Until he's fucking you like he's in the last stretch of pumps before he comes and you can barely breath with how hard he's fucking you. Until you're sobbing into the sheets because he keeps telling you, "Just one more love" but it's never just one more. Until he fucks you through his own orgasm and doesn't stop for breath. Until he's pinned you under his weight and wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you up from where you're drooling against the mattress so he can hear all the pretty noises you make.

It's all fun and games until you actually see God and they look an awful lot like Simon Riley.

[miserycanary]

DEFINITELY NUTS ᡣ𐭩

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife

tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff

Ghost’s strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. He’s not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that he’s going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play. 

“Price, ‘am not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.”

All eyes are on him, everyone stills. “WIFE? Since when?!” Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. “Never told you about her?” Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottish’s exclaim. “Johnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything ‘bout you, mate,” Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused. 

“Ain’t no way he’s telling us the truth. That man ain’t got no bone in his body to bag someone,” Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. “I mean..” Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if he’s agreeing to some extent. That’s when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar. 

Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. “Hey, lieutenant.” Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. “How was the date with your wife?” Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They weren’t as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.

“It was okay. The missus had fun,” Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. “Can we see pictures?” Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. “Ah, we didn’t take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.” 

Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying ‘See? He’s definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.” 

“How about just a picture of your wife?” Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. “I have none with me but..” With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine! 

‘He's definitely lost it’ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. “It’s fine, mate… we understand how difficult it must be.” ‘not having a lady at all’

Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. “It’s quite tough but we make it work,” he chuckled which made everyone wince.

‘Definitely nuts!’

Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, “Ah, wife’s testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. ‘S been practicing and asked me to bring one.” Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap. 

‘He’s too far gone’

“How’s work?” you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simon’s chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. “Been getting a few weird stares,” he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. “Why?” you peer up, resting your face on your chin. “I don’ know, princess.”

Meanwhile…

“Should we just… finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his “wife” making him lunch,” Johnny sighed.

“Probably the best idea,” Kyle nodded.

Now Price… he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghost— which ended horribly— but he’ll lying if he said he’s not getting a kick out of this.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. 😔

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!!

check out my other works: ⚝!

[ghostslittlegf]

fem!reader

price, simon, kyle, johnny being possessive but not in the way that you think

they love it when everyone knows they’re yours sure they love it when people refer to you as their wife or their girl but they love it 10x more when they hear someone refer to them as your husband or your boy.

they love it when they smell like you, when they have a little bit of a lipstick mark from you anywhere on their face. they especially love it when they’re training the new recruits and it’s hot so they take off their shirt and everyone is forced to look at the hickeys and bites and scratches all over their body

if any of them have piercings they’ll steal your earrings or they’ll steal one of you favorite necklaces you wear all the time and wear it as a bracelet cause it’s too tight for their necks. they love it when they get to brag about how amazing their wife is and her accomplishments whether that’s finding the energy tog e tout of bed or a new promotion at work.

they steal your scrunchies and your lotions and perfumes did i mention that they love to smell just like you? ya they absolutely have abandoned their own shampoos and body washes for yours. theirs just sits taking up space in the shower

price and simon have definitely walked around base with your pussy juice on their beard/mask cause they love to let people know that they know exactly how to take care of their darling girl

[werecreature-addicted]

Sacrificial Lamb reader/vampire priest.

Just consider— a cute little lamb reader lying on the altar, begging not to be slaughtered, the tears their crying making the vampires heart flutter. All the cult members are confused why the ritual keeps getting pushed back- meanwhile the vampire is spoiling his little lamb rotten.

ohioohooohiohoo

His hands are gentle, stroking your cheek as you wake slowly, your eyes flutter open slowly to the morning light, and there he is, your keeper.

"Morning," you yawn sleepily,

"Good morning, little one,"

"is it a good morning? I thought my execution was scheduled for today." you huff, you should be more scared but the soft look on his face can only mean one thing. you get out of bed and change idly, not minding the priest as he watches you, he's a man of god after all, there's no way he'd be looking at you in lust.

"ah well, we thought so but some knew doctrine has come to light, now is not the time for sacrifices. we'll have to wait for next winter, at the very least," he says. You hum thoughtfully turning back to face him, his hungry red eyes fixed on your body, flicking up to meet your face as you turn around.

"Well, I'll make myself useful until winter then." When you were born, it had been prophecized that you would be sacrificed to the gods and your death would bring about a new golden age for your homeland. Then, on your eighteenth birthday, you'd been handed over to the church, to live out your final days in the temple, under the watchful gaze of the father and his dedicated cult. Your execution has been postponed four times now.

You wondered if the cultists even bothered setting up the altar this time. it was always something, the stars weren't aligned properly, the materials were all wrong, you fell ill and couldn't be slaughtered while sick, and now, Spring was a time for rebirth, you'd have to wait for winter for the ritual. which winter? who's to say? it might be another few years before he tries to start your sacrifice again.

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. he puts his nose to your throat and kisses your skin. "You could be useful to me now," he breathes, his voice strained, tight with hunger. You had been so scared the first time you'd almost been killed, you remembered sobbing and pleading for your life, his knife poised above your throat, He told you that you could live, for now, if you served the cult and him. Of course, you agreed, that was the first time he bit you, spilling your blood on the altar in a different way.

You lean your neck to the side and sigh as you feel his fangs pierce your skin. you have to lean back against him for support as he drinks your blood and you grow weaker.

"so perfect, so delicious," he murmurs to himself as he drinks your blood, licking at your throat, catching any stray drops of blood. His hands slide down your body feeling up your hips and thighs. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your back as he slowly grinds against you. The priest is chaste, a man of god, but he's also a vampire, as he's explained he can't help but get erect when he feeds it's a natural side effect and completely nonsexual.

He pins you down on the bed and pushes your legs apart, grinding against you, fully clothed, as he bites your neck again. you feel dizzy, a mix of feelings as your blood is drained and as you buck and grind against the vampire on top of you. you try to keep quiet, but you can't help but moan as he takes full advantage of you. You feel dirty, the man who's saved your life so many times now is just trying to eat and here you are getting off, practically masturbating right in front of him with his cock.

You can feel how large his dick is as you grind together, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he pulled your underwear aside and fucked you properly while he drained your blood, the thought alone makes you shudder and press up against him as he continues to dry hump you. although with the sticky feeling between your legs and his wet mouth sucking on your neck, "dry" might be the wrong word.

you bite down on your own hand to muffle the sounds of your pleasure as you cum, still trying to hide your own lust, what would the priest think if he found out you were so lustful? if you were lucky he'd bend you over and spank you for being so sinful, at worst he might chain you down to the sacrificial altar and leave you there.

The priest pulls away, breathless, your blood smeared messily around his mouth "What a mess we've made," he huffs, looking down at your neck, and then his eyes drop further to the place where your bodies meet.

"I can clean it-" you offer weakly,

"no, no little thing, rest, you need to let your body heal, close your eyes, I'll take care of all this," he coos reassuringly, you nod obediently and close your eyes.

You look so venerable like this, he could do almost anything he wanted with you in this weakened state. the prophecy said it had to be a virginal sacrifice, maybe he could halt the ritual permanently if he just took what he'd wanted from the beginning.

[werecreature-addicted]

What about wolfboy for doggirl? Wolves are so much bigger than even the biggest dogs after all, and while they're so similar there's a lot of big differences. Lots of little differences that keep things interesting.

a Doggirl who is a big breed and usually a top dog, but is still small and weak next to a real wolf. sure she's got sharp teeth and lean muscles, but those are all just for show. She can run fast when chasing a squeaky toy but that's the only time she really exerts herself. It's the closest she's ever come to really hunting.

Wolfboy keeps a close watch on his puppy girlfriend. after all, he'd hate if she got a thorn in her paw while tramping through the undergrowth of the forest, she's only used to manicured lawns after all.

He looooves spoiling his little pup. he thinks you're just the cutest, especially when you try to play tough with him. He loves play fighting and when you snap your small pointy teeth at him. He lets you win sometimes, you look so cute when you gloat over him, and you both know he lets you win anyway, it's no challenge for him to pin you down any time he wants, but the battle is half the fun. Just don't get too cocky, if you bet that you can pin him to the ground with something he really wants on the line like "winner get's head" you'll be pinned to the ground with his teeth hovering over your throat. better get sucking.

His cock and knot are so much bigger than any other you've ever had before, you can't help but whine whenever he teases your drippy pussy with the head of his dick. just feeling his tip push in you know he's going to stretch your pussy to its absolute limits.

He's a bully when you go into heat. he'll be rock-hard and leaking precum and make you hump his thigh just have you whine and beg for his cock. sit pretty and beg. you're a house dog, you should know easy tricks like that.

[miwsolovely]

—WALLS AND HAZE

pairing: outlaw!farmer!141 x fem!reader

series masterlist taglist next

contains: implication of abuse + rape, sexism, cheater husband, rumors about reader are being spread, (implications that) reader is called mean things here :( (whore, brothel woman), husband is an asshole.

summary: they have a house. that house needs a housekeeper.

wc: 4.3k

a/n: u guys were hungry huh

a/n 2: this is an outlaw 141 set in the 1920s, which i was not born in so mind the inaccuracies ! ( reader is so oblivious in here im crying but shes so cute )

a/n 3: firm believer that simon n johnny look like this in this series🫶🏾

You wished the walls could talk.

Wished they were one big spiderweb of networks, all connected, so that they would see what was happening to you and tell the world.

Wished people cared like you wished the walls would. Coming to your aid and mending you, body and soul. Holding you up when you can’t hold yourself.

But the walks can’t talk. They can only stay silent and watch. Feel your pain and sorrow and the feeling of your body being pushed against the way, beaten, bruised, broken, taken.

And the walls don’t care. No matter how much you wail and stain the floor with your never ending tears, tears so abundant and filled with grief, the clouds cry for you whenever you can’t. Eyes too red and dried out to do anything but watch and feel as your heart, your bones, your soul breaks.

The walls can listen too. Listen to your cries as you beg to be free, listen to your frustrations, your pains. But no words of comfort come from them. No kiss goodnight, no hugs overflowing with love or kindness. Just silence.

The man who you’re married to, the man who lifted your veil and said your vows, “for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

That man was asleep in your bed with another woman.

Asleep dreaming of her, kissing her, making love to her.

When it was supposed to be you. He’s married to you, she’s supposed to be the other woman. Not you. Not you indeed, the one with the ring, the ring he used kissed each night before bed, on your finger.

But he made it very clear that it was indeed you, who is the other woman. Letting her wear your clothes, clothes that he bought for you wrapped in colorful paper and sealed with fake words of love and promises.

You overheard some talk about him buying her a ring as well.

Heard him going over a trip for them to New York.

Planned for the day of your anniversary.

In all honesty, you just wanted out of this God forsaken house, this town.

So you decide it’s time to look for a new house.

But you can’t. The world is as cruel as your husband and women can’t buy or own anything unless their husband buys it.

Women can’t do anything, unless their husband is there with them.

The only thing you can do is sit on your loveseat and realize why women kill.

***

The man selling meat seemed nice.

He was rough though, you could tell by the way he looked and the way he carried himself. He was a big man as well. Easily towering over the mini crowd of women fawning over him.

You try your best to, gently but firmly, push through the crowd of women to get to the front counter where the man was cutting meat for a customer.

“Excuse me,” You mummer trying to walk around the woman shamelessly showing off her cleavage to the man as she leans on the counter.

She turns around at the sound of your voice and her elbow jams against your ribcage with how fast she did the action.

You flinched and held your middle, the corset you were wearing doing nothing but causing you more pain. The woman looked at you as if you stained the bottom of her shoes. “Be patient and wait in line.” She scoffs. She was about to turn back around to the man still chopping the meat on the counter, his eyes slightly raised to meet yours then anothers’ behind you, but another voice, accented and heavy, interrupted her.

“If Ye’re not gonnae buy anythin’, leave.”

You turn and almost crash face first with a hard chest. You look up and meet crystalline eyes. A color you’d never seen before outside the sky. The sea you’d yet to see but if you had, the waves would roar with jealousy.

The man gives you a wink and starts to walk by you towards the man behind the counter, completely ignoring the woman trying to seduce them both now, but stops midway and looks back at you, as if urging you to follow him.

You pause and were about to follow, but then, you notice the multiple pairs of eyes on you.

The women point and whisper at you. Likely spreading more false accusations against you.

“Look, it’s Mrs. Fitzroy. Shouldn’t she be tending to that husband of hers?”

“I heard she was trying to change her surname.”

“I heard she’s sleeping with the man selling apples at the market.”

“Good heavens! I thought she was sleeping with the fletcher down at Browns?”

“An’ I coulda sworn I saw ye spreadin’ yer legs for that blacksmith off on Hickory?” The man said. Lifting a finger to the woman who accused you of sleeping with a man you’ve never met, the fletcher, pointing her out.

A small smile, you notice, lifts the man behind the counter’s eyes, revealing his crows feet.

One of the women scoff. “A man so beautiful, yet such an ugly mouth…”

A cleaver comes down heavily, and startles the women still around the counter. “You women are so bratty,” He stares them down. His brown eyes turning black with… hate? “you lot make your own children jealous.”

Gasps of offense can be heard from ten miles down. The women act hurt as if their mothers mother were insulted, and one by one they file out the butcher’s shop after giving the two men their best glares.

You follow them with your eyes. And then, silence fills the room like a void expanding, swallowing up sound and leaving only a hushed stillness in its wake.

“Thought they were never gonnae leave.” The man with the blue eyes says. He scratches his stubble and faces you again, a smile lifting his face. “What do ye need lass? Or did ye come ‘ere jus’ for a peek at us?”

You feel your face grow hot as he flirts with you. When was the last time a man flirted with you, you couldn’t remember.

“I, well — I came to ask if you had, or have, Sirloin..?” You ask.

You noticed, that the moment you opened your mouth, the man with the rich brown eyes stopped his cutting of the meat in favor of looking at you, though it looked like he was looking through you at times, into your soul, and the man with the unique but beautiful accent had his eyes trained on you, as if drinking you in.

“Sirloin?” The man behind the counter questioned. He raised a scarred eyebrow. “Trying to make a feast fit for a king, lovie?” His voice is rough and deep, suits him well, you think.

You took a steadying breath. “No, no just dinner for my, husband. Our um — anniversary is in a few days.” You admit. Though you think you sounded sad, you didn’t mind it. You could tell the two men saw through you and noticed your unhappiness as well. Seven years with a monster will do that to you.

The man with the blue eyes hummed, something deep and rich that made you feel unsteady on your feet. “Congrats lass,” He nods his head at you. “Name’s John, this bloke ‘ere is Simon.” He nods his head and points a lone, thick finger towards the man behind the counter.

You offer them a timid smile and bow your head, your fingers finding and fixing invisible wrinkles on your dress.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” You say. You tell them your name and hide your shiver when the man behind the counter, Simon, says your name as if tasting it. It comes of his tongue like a melted honey similar to his eyes.

“Sirloin, yeah?” He looks up at you as he cleans the blood off his knife, dyeing the white handkerchief in his large hand red. When you nod after shifting your attention to his eyes, he continues. “Give me a second then, love.”

With that, he disappears through a door adjacent to the counter he was previously behind, most likely the meat locker, leaving you and John alone.

“Those women give you trouble all the time lass?”

You startle with how close his voice sounds to your ear. You turn to your side and look up to see him nearly standing chest to chest with you.

“Oh—no, no only when I see them or, or the other way around…” You say with a nervous smile. Looking down at his broad chest rather than his eyes after seeing how he looked at you with something akin to longing. When you take a step back nervously, his warm, large hand finds home on your waist, keeping you in place.

“Well if they give ye any trouble,” John says, lifting a finger to your chin and raising it so your eyes met his. “Ye’ll let us know then, hm?”

Will you? Will you let these strange, men help you when you need it? It was tempting, it is tempting, but again, these are strangers. Walking around the town with unknown men at your hips will raise even more rumors about you and your private life. People in the town will speak and words travel fast in your small town.

You want to say no, that you can handle yourself, but this man, he’s leading you into a field of roses that tempt you into his awaiting hands.

What you couldn’t see, was that behind the rose colored glasses, was a field of rot and sorrow that would follow if you obliged.

However the smell of roses and pine led you further and further into him and after a few minutes, you found yourself nodding, your words dying on your tongue.

John smiles at you, and his smile only grows wider when you step away from him as is burned when you hear Simon’s heavy footsteps.

When he opens the door, you notice the big sack he’s carrying over his shoulders, though almost the size of his broad shoulders, he makes it look like he’s carrying a feather.

You also notice that it looks bigger than what you ordered.

Simon places the sack on the counter and double checks the rope knotted at the top, making sure it's sturdy and won’t open. "Made sure to double the sack so it wouldn't leak," He says. When he looks at you, he notices the expression on your face. "Somethin' wrong lovie?"

John, still next to you pipes up. "Looks alrigh’ to me." You step up to the counter and run your fingers up your arm, a calming sensation to you. "Well, that's — It just, looks, more than what I ordered?"

Simon blinks. John smiles wider.

“Consider it an apology for dealing with those, women.” Simon drawls. He picks up the sack and walks the length of the counter to stand before you and John.

“An’ a thank ye for dealin’ with ‘im.” John says throwing a wink your way.

“I—” You sigh. “Fine, then how much do I owe you?” You start the motion of reaching for your wallet in your satchel. About to open it, John’s hand stops you midway.

“Consider it on the house hen, couldnae let a pretty lass like ye pay after what ye jus’ went through.”

“Oh I couldn’t—please, the meat’s expensive and, and you gave me more than what I asked—not that that’s a bad thing but still—” You worry, and in the midst of that worry you don’t see the sweet smile rising on Simon’s face as he looks at you. The way John’s hand hovered over the curve of your waist, the lightest of touches just barely enough to satisfy him, but enough to keep your veil covering your eyes.

“Jus’ let us take you home love.” Simon says while stepping closer to you, caging you in between him and John whose hand now pressed against your waist, firm. “Can’t let a lady like you dirty her hands carryin’ this now, hm?” He says, shrugging his shoulders to prove his point, the sack already moistening with the blood of the meat inside.

Your hand, you realize, is still captured in his warm grip, calloused and rough, but gentle all the same.

You open your mouth, about to object, but John’s hand grew firmer on your waist, urging you to obey, daring you to say no.

So you sigh, nod your head, and tell them your address.

***

The drive there is, pleasant. John sat in the back with you as Simon drove, the sack holding the meat sat next to him in the passenger seat. The scent of the meat was close to nothing, as Simon did say he doubled the sack. You’ll make sure to thank him later.

By the time you arrived at your house, it was close to eight o’clock. Around the time your husband would come home from work. If he even bothered to come home at all.

“Here I am.” You say eyeing the house. Stained with years of pain and sadness.

“Beautiful house you have here darlin’” Simon says as you unlock the front door, allowing them in.

Your heart beats faster and you feel as if this is a mistake.

“Thank you, Simon.” You offer a small smile. “Oh, you can put that in the freezer in the cellar. Here let me—”

“It’s alrigh’ bonnie, let ‘im handle it.” John says. His hand, once again, finding the curve of your waist.

“Ah, okay. . .” You say, and when you look in his eyes, you realize the haze you’re feeling right now, the haze these men are creating, you forget where you are, who’s last name you’re carrying.

“Would you—” You take a deep breath and you’re sure John can feel it. “Would you like something to drink John? Water or?” You say already walking to your fridge in your kitchen, already missing the warmth of his hand.

“Water’s fine bun, An’ call me Johnny, ‘John’ makes me feel as old as Price.” John, Johnny, says, following you to the kitchen and accepting the water bottle you offer him.

“Price?” You tilt your head in confusion. “Who’s that?”

John shakes his head with a smile. “No one, ye’ll meet him soon.”

If that sentence was supposed to quell your curiosity, it only fed the beast. “What is that supposed to—”

“All done.”

Simons voice, his deep voice, causes you to jump. You turn to face him and find him staring at Johnny, an unreadable expression on his face.

You clear your throat, feeling the tension. “Thank you, Simon. I really appreciate your help.” Whatever conversation Simon and Johnny were having, in a language only they know, it seemed to snap Simon back into reality and he looked down to meet your eyes, his own immediately softening.

“It’s not a problem love.” He says. And when he turns his face to the side with his hand rubbing at his neck, probably embarrassed, you notice a pink tint to his cheeks.

“Ach, an’ where’s my “thank you”? I did more than this wee bairn.” Johnny whines. You notice he looks more like a puppy than a man, pouting and all.

You laugh and hide your mouth with your fingers. “Thank you, Johnny.” You say.

Johnny, while feeling appreciated now, noticed you hiding your pretty lips when you laughed or smiled.

He’d change that. They all would.

***

Five minutes turned into fifteen, fifteen turned into hours, hours turned into talking while trying to act like everything was normal, like you weren’t sandwiched between two men you invited in your house, all to deliver meat to be cooked for your anniversary.

You were still in the kitchen, sitting on a stool that accompanied the island and Simon and Johnny occupied the seats to the left and right of yours.

You were all talking about nothing and everything. Your favorite foods, what you liked and disliked, you, you, you.

You tried to shift the conversation to them, tried to ask them a question, but all they gave you were either blunt, vague answers or an excuse saying “our lives aren’t as exciting.”

As if you could call yours that. Years spent behind these four walls, cooking, cleaning, having to endure your husband’s verbal and unfortunately physical abuse, the townspeople, it was anything but exciting. Anything but everything bad.

But these men, they clung onto every word that escaped your lips as if you were a God. Their eyes never left your form, and their hands touched you as if you were made of glass.

You felt Simon’s hand brush against yours and you knew and felt Johnnys' eyes and hands on you constantly, as if past your face, your eyes, your skull they were picking away at your brain, peering into your memories and cradling your heart in theirs.

Your body felt hot. Overwhelmingly so, but also in a way that you'd only felt once upon a dream with your husband; before everything went to shit, before your hands seemed to taint everything it touched in his eyes, before the flowers and declarations of false love. You don’t know what to do anymore, don’t want to become the woman the entire town believed you to be, an impure lady, the type of woman who belongs in a brothel, a whore. It's not what you were, not what you are.

The sound of a car, your husbands' car, pulling into the driveway almost halted their movements.

Almost because even when you walked away from the kitchen, from them, to wait and greet your husband when he enters through the door, their touches and eyes still lingered, still left a warm phantom touch on your skin.

Your trance broke when you heard the key in the lock of the front door, the sound of your husband’s voice cursing when he realized it was the wrong key before he tried again.

You heard Simon and Johnny standing and you were glad because they were acting as if they were just about to leave. You looked back at them and saw Johnny raising his pointer finger to his lips and sending another wink to you, Simon’s eyes smiling at you, piercing your heart.

You fight the heat rising to your cheeks and turned to smile at your husband, who just entered the house.

He paid you no mind however, taking his coat off and throwing it into your arms, his briefcase hitting your foot and toppling on the floor. He marched up to the men, the intruders, in his mind, and stood chest to chest with Simon, locking eyes with Johnny and looking at him with disgust, he turned and met the hard, charcoal eyes of Simon and matched his glare.

“And who the fuck are you?”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

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if your name is in white, that means I can’t tag you and you need to check your settings (on this app) !!

[ghostslittlegf]

single dad!simon riley x reader but he’s too scared to tell you about his son cause he thinks you’ll leave like everyone else did when they found out he has a kid

he’s just savoring this time he has with you before you inevitably leave.

but he doesn’t know that you already know. when you both got wine drunk one night (he’s an emotional drunk btw) he was so out of it that he started talking about his little boy

how much he loves him and how guilty he feels when he leaves for his newly taken short deployments (even though he’s chosen desk work and training recruits) and how much he wants you to meet him and love him just as much as he does.

he tells you that everyone else that he’s ever been interested in got told on the first date and they all left and said they couldn’t deal with it. which is why he’s so scared to tell you. he tells you how sorry he is and he’s crying at this point and you have to calm him down from a panic attack.

you had to act surprised a few months later when he finally told you

[cntloup]

Simon loves skin to skin contact and it’s a part of your nightly routine :’)

He comes back home after a gruelling day with nothing but you on his weary mind to find you already tucked into bed, sleeping peacefully.

A soft adoring smile forms on his lips.

He strips himself away from the exhausting weight of his gear and uniform and shuffles into bed, desperately needing to feel you against him.

You slowly blink awake as the bed dips and you feel the tender touch of his calloused fingers on your hips.

You open your eyes to greet him.

“Hey, Si.” you mutter sleepily, half-lidded eyes glancing at him as you smile lovingly.

“Hey, love.” he whispers and his lips capture yours in a sweet kiss, his tongue swiping over your upper lip.

Your lips fall open instinctively, inviting him in.

He reaches over and caresses your thigh, grasping the soft flesh with his rough hand and propping your leg on his.

His hand trails up and finds shelter on the small of your back and he pulls your body closer to his until your bodies are fully flushed together.

Your lips move smoothly against each other, tongues dancing together.

You both are completely bare as your soft skin kisses his rough and scarred one, bodies tangled and the strings of your souls woven together.

You pull away breathless,

"Good night, love." he whispers and kisses your forehead.

"Good night, Si." you mumble as your eyes get droopy.

And you fall asleep in each other's arms.

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

[peter-aaa-deactivated20260316]

[totally-not-a-fae-creature]

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

[sugar-brains]

🤺🤺🤺🤺

[seasideoranges]

Mama's boy. twitter // ko-fi

[antomatkoen]

idk brainrot, skull earrings made a comeback though!! ;)