I hope I don’t sound rude when I say this but i write for myself and no one else. i just choose to share those thoughts with tumblr.
I only take requests for 141. If you send me requests containing other characters, they will be ignored/deleted.
I try to avoid writing appearance specific readers to make my writing more inclusive. at most it will be very minor character traits
WHAT I WONT WRITE:
I will add to the list of what i won’t write if i remember something that i forgot to put on here.
beastiality
ageplay/raceplay
pedophilia
scat
vomit
minors please do not interact with this page. none of my content is for you.
your media consumption is your own responsibility. i will add trigger warnings if i see fit so if you don’t want to see anything that isn’t listed above, avoid my page.
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adding onto what the last anon said, I'll be so fr I always imagined you were white with straight brown hair and maybe tattoos? Idk, but that's the vibe I'm getting 🤔 are you tall?
I’m white and pale, 5ft 2 but long legs, slim build, tattoos, long straight black hair. My eyes are a hazel/green colour.
girl, I'm so curious about what you look like, because you're speaking like you're some gross creature, which I'm certain isn't true!
See here’s the thing
I do not look at myself and think I’m hideous and disgusting (when I have bad depressive episodes sometimes my thinking might get a bit skewed). I just feel like I’ll never be able to compete (for lack of a better word) in a generation where beauty standards are borderline unreachable unless you have way too much excess income to spend on surgeries and over priced skincare and cosmetics OR you just luck out in the genetic pool
Queen I mean this with no disrespect, but I think due to your current mindset, you should just stay away from men for a while and get a powerful as fuck vibrator
You’re right because we went on a date on Monday and was supposed to have plans tomorrow. But I’m pretty sure I’m blocked now lol
tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, smut, vaginal fingering, riding, creampie, not edited, brain worm I had
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The first time you ever bought from Ghost you were wearing a skirt way too short to be socially acceptable, stumbling to his beat-up car with a drunk smile plastered on your face. He remembers it all a little too clearly, the way you leaned into the passenger window, smelling like tequila and the minty mouthwash you used to try and cover the smell up.
“Hi.” You giggled.
“Hi.” He responded, raising his eyebrow at you.
“Um, my friends over there,” You pointed to a group of girls across the street, “Dared me to come buy some off you.”
He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.
“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”
“Relax, bird. I do.”
“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”
“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.
“What?”
“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”
You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”
Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.
The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.
“Hi.”
He chuckled, “You’re back.”
You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.
“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’
“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”
“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”
“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”
That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”
You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”
When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”
“Do you want free weed or not?”
You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”
You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’
He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.
He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.
“Hi.”
He laughs, “Hi, bird.”
“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”
“Yeah? What you need today?”
“You have any more?”
He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”
You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”
His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”
You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.
“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”
You nod eagerly.
“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”
He holds it out to you, “There you go.”
You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”
You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.
‘How’d I do?’
‘Looks like shit.’
‘That’s mean :(‘
‘Come over, let me help.’
‘On my way!’
You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.
“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”
“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”
Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.
“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”
He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”
It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.
You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.
All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.
He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’
He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.
You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.
“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.
He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.
“Never make pretty girls pay.”
“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”
He shakes his head, “Just you.”
You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”
He smirks, “Is it working?”
You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”
He catches your wrist.
“You giving it to my friends for free too?”
“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”
You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.
“Just you.”
You peer down at him then, “Huh?”
His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”
“Yeah?” You whisper.
“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.
You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.
You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.
Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.
“Wanted you to do that for ages.”
He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”
Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”
He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”
You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”
Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.
Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?
His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”
You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”
There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.
You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.
He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.
“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”
He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”
You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.
Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.
And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.
You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.
“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.
He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.
You don’t listen well.
You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.
His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.
He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.
He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.
“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”
You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in shock.
He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.
When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.
He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.
He doesn’t stop.
You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.
He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.
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If thats the case (I know its not but im gonna pass this one for now) my love, just think, think of your own value. Do these men worth it? Do men that only care about looks worth it? We are humans yes we crave some touch some love but is this how its supposed to be? Does it make you feel better? If so, for the long run or just for a short time? Or does it leave you with that never ending bitterness? Never ending self loathing?
We have a big cultural difference so I dont want to cross a line that im not aware of but take it from someone who is trying so hard to love herself and tries to overcome the idea of unworthiness her teenage years put on her. I grew up thinking how ugly I was and how i dont even love myself so why would a man love me? And I was right. No man gonna love you if you dont love yourself, no man gonna respect you if you dont respect yourself. (Because come on, if that dude cant even send you a message after all these days does he really respect you?) Would you want a man that would take advantage of this side of you? What good can a man like this bring to your life if not only for an hour of hot time?
Life is not easy, things you've overcome were not easy, you are here because you are worth it you are here because you've worked (hard) for it. And even before all that you are a human being a living thing and that alone is a reason to be respected.
If you dont see yourself worthy of something they ain't gonna give it to you. They gonna take, take and take till there's nothing left of you. Is that what you want in a man?
And Who says you are ugly? Do you really think if you were as ugly as you think you are (im assuming the word ugly since you said pretty) those 'fine' men would come to you? Men dont work like that. The idea of a man we hope and yearn for is unfortunately so different than what MOST men are. If you want to get laid okay, its easy to find a man for that. But if you want something more? Than you need to heal yourself first. You need to have a better idea of yourself first. You need to love yourself respect yourself first then that man gonna come to your life and you gonna be able to see it. I might have came out harsh, if so im sorry for that, and obviously its not my first language but I just could not help but reach out to you because you are going through the same things as my friend did. Im not trying to be a btch, just trying to give you a different perspective of seeing things. You are worth the message, you are worthy of love, happiness and many many things. You are hardworking with a mind that could come up with all these scenarios that makes all kinds of people enjoy reading them. You are lovely, and beautiful. And i wish you have a good one🌷🩷
The thing is, you’re not wrong. Not even in the slightest. It feels like no matter what I do, I end up unhappy and self-loathing. If I choose to not give men attention unless they show they actually deserve it from me, then I end up chronically single, feeling ugly and unlovable.
But when I do this shit, I feel happy for a little while. I enjoy being touched, being wanted and desired. And then it ends up the way it always does. Being tossed aside, and once again feeling ugly and unloveable.
It’s hard to love yourself when you don’t know what love looks like
bruh my best friend just went through something similar where some ass hat thought he was being cool or whatever by ignoring her all day ON PURPOSE while being online everywhere fucking else, that shit’s so fucking stupid and irritates the FUCK outta me. we’re not fucking 5, we don’t have to treat people like shit to make them like us more. also lowkey those kinds of weird mind games are such an ick, like no one is pining after you more because you were stroking your shit raw to insta models instead of talking to them- MEN AIN’T SHIT!!! i wish you luck with the literal hell spawn us non-men live amongst 🙄🙄🙄
A lot of people are saying he’s doing it and men do it because they want us to pine after them more but that’s not why they do it. They do it to keep you on the hook for easy sex.
If he straight up ghosts me, then it’s 100% over. Whereas, if he sends me a few lame texts every day, then when he’s horny at 3AM he can message me for sex.
He doesn’t care if I like him or not. He just wants pussy.
Im so sorry that all these dumbass men have made you feel less than, they don't deserve the space in your brain 😒 I don't know very much about you, but you seem cool as fuck, and I'm sure other people can recognise that easily! Men take a sick, twisted sort of pleasure in making false promises and leaving you pining for more, I hope you won't give any more of them the satisfaction 💋
I messaged him after not hearing from him all day, didn’t get a response for hours but I could see he was online on his phone multiple times. Then he messaged me back but I just felt dejected. Like I would’ve preferred it if he just fully ghosted me instead of stringing me along
I gave him the benefit of the doubt and responded. And now he’s doing the same thing again.
I’m just tired of people treating me like I don’t deserve basic human respect or honesty.
Just tell me you don’t want to take things further.
Girl ily but you need to stop letting these men take whatever they want from you and leave. Dont give them the pleasure of having you, your time, a place in your thoughts, your mind or your body. Let them earn it, let them yearn for it, let them put some work into winning you first. Men are disgusting dont let them have it easy. Make them chase. You're wonderful and worth more than whatever they all are. Take care🌷
I know you mean so well babe
But this only works for pretty girls. If I act like this, I’m never getting laid or touched by a man for the rest of my life
It’s my fault for even getting my hopes up about him in the first place
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just spent the past 3 days at his place. Called in sick to work twice. Skipped my venue and company staff party to spend time with him. Just left him to go to work. And I’m literally just snivelling on the bus home.
I hate this. I’ll probably get ghosted again. And I’ll be stuck feeling like an idiot for getting excited about a man again.
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I swear the people I work with are fucking stupid.
Someone I went to school with comes into my place of work. And I made a whole big deal to my coworkers about how I don’t like seeing people I used to go to school with and I’m gonna pretend to be someone else if she asks about me.
She asks my coworker who I am, coworker immediately tells her the truth.
But if I call her a stupid bitch then I’m the bad guy.
Oh but there’s just something about simon who has been MIA for a good few months, maybe even a couple of years until he finally appears on your doorstep again one random day
but he’s not the simon you remembered. he’s not the same man who used to put socks on your feet whilst you slept so your toes wouldn’t get cold. or the man who would cook a completely seperate meal to his own if you didn’t like what he was having.
his eyes are empty. his touch is rough. callous even. sometimes you wake up in the night and he’s just sat in the corner of the room, staring at you through the darkness as you slept
your friends have stopped inviting you places out of fear that you’ll bring him along. his cagey erratic behaviour is not fun for them. the way his eyes flick around the room, landing on any potential threat. fingers flexing at his side, ready to grab his boot knife if needed
he scares you, but he still fucks you so good and makes sure you’re fed and warm
You're the one who taught Simon how to be soft in the first place, and once in a while you see that version of him creep through the wall that was built by whatever trauma he survived while he was missing. You never say anything when it happens, you know he's on a hair trigger these days. The times he doesn't realize he's being soft are great. Words can't explain how much you missed the little things, like the way his thumb would mindlessly trace shapes on the side of your knee while you were sat on the couch with your legs across his lap. Never in a million years did you think something so small could mean so much. When he does realize, though, he reacts almost violently. Stands up so abruptly you almost go toppling off the couch. He'd feel bad about that if he wasn't in full fight or flight mode. If he was the man he used to be. If the version of Simon you helped create hadn't been left in some dark hole in some foreign country.
If you're lucky he's just going to lock himself in one of the bathrooms for the rest of the night. Pacing until the the sun cracks the horizon the next morning. Sitting in the bath tub, staring at the wall as he comes down from the panic. You'll manage to get into the bathroom the next morning and find him there. Eyes bloodshot as he dissociates, seeing god knows what against that tiled wall. You'll be able to coax him out and into bed eventually. He apologizes just once, a single tear rolling down his cheek. That's all he's capable of anymore.
The nights that aren't lucky, he grabs his keys and disappears. You don't sleep these nights. You're the one left pacing until dawn. Some of these nights, you'll get a call from one of his teammates. He's on base. He's running the track, he's on the shooting range, he's running drills, something, ANYTHING, that helps him realize that he's still got the skills to keep himself safe.
Some of these nights you reach out to anyone and everyone you can think of. Nobodys seen him. Nobody knows where he ends up on these nights and you struggle with the thought that maybe he'll end up doing something he really can't come back from this time. The first few times this happened you spend the entire night panicking. Screaming, crying, throwing up, damn near ending up in the hospital because you can't bear the thought of losing him AGAIN. After a while you become somewhat numb to it. Settling for pacing the living room all night, checking out the window for his truck or his bike. Sometimes he stays gone for days at a time. You don't sleep. You don't eat. You just wait. And wait. And wait. He always comes home eventually, both of you now worse for wear. He pulls you into a crushing hug and both of you end up sleeping like the dead for several days afterward. The way he fucks you after that, it's like he's fighting his demons back into whatever cage he keeps them in inside his head. It's rough, it's messy, it's so good you forget how much you suffered while he was gone. You end up bruised and sore, but you're both put back together as well as you can be these days, and you know it'll be a while before he has an episode like that again. He never apologizes after these episodes. You know he's sorry anyway. It never gets brought up again. You go back to living life as normally as possible, which is to say, barely normal at all. He jumps at shadows, you pretend not to notice. Eventually the cycle will repeat.
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