have you been waiting long, for me?
empty | mid twenties | multifandom writer. | mdni
RECENT WORKS:
you’re drunk - simon ghost riley. part one. part two.
something something for possessive simon
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open


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have you been waiting long, for me?
empty | mid twenties | multifandom writer. | mdni
RECENT WORKS:
you’re drunk - simon ghost riley. part one. part two.
something something for possessive simon

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
giggling at the thought of you moving into ghosts house - barely furnished, almost looks like no one has lived in the damn place for years. he just shrugs, saying something about how he’s a minimalist when you call him on it. you beg him to atleast let you buy him some fucking decor, maybe a painting or two, maybe some damn curtains?
again, he just shrugs. telling you it’s a waste of money.
but his mind changes, if only a little, when a few months later the neighbour across the street approaches you as you’re getting in his truck.
“uh, hey, simon? do you think i could talk to you a minute?”
the guy is half scared to death to approach, and simon quirks a brow only for the fact that this is easily the first time he ever has. and so he nods, assuming it’s probably something rather important, gesturing for you to get in the car.
“i uh, dunno how to say this but. maybe you could, uh, get some curtains? i uh, ive looked out my window to see you two fucking far too many times. i’m not complaining but, i mean—“
simon blinks, then blinks again. before he bursts out laughing. “glad y’ve enjoyed the show.”
and when he gets back in the car, he just gives you a lopsided, boyish smile.
“mayb’ s’time for those curtains, love.”
HELLO!! I will literally give you my firstborn for you to repost your haunted house ghost fic and the dom daddy price ones x bratty reader!!! I swear you had some price ones but I can’t remember what they were called! There was one where he fucks her in a bathroom I think against the sink??? God all your old posts were life changing to me!! Will you be reposting them again? Thank you and love love love your work bestie
hi darling thank you sm!!!! 🥰 no firstborn required lol i will be reposting them! I’ve actually been asked quite a few times for the Price one so maybe I’ll start there.
either way they’re coming soon, love! thank you xx
When is your next fic dropping and can we please have a sneak peak!
i quite honestly do not know which depths of hell i pulled inspiration for this one from but it’s definitely hot and no i will not spoil it any further 🤭
(should be done in a few days)
Something something for possessive simon…
f!reader, smut mdni, PIV, blood, mentions of violence, size kink.
You only notice it because your hand slips.
It had been curled at the back of his neck, fingers buried in his hair beneath the edge of his mask, holding on until your knuckles went bloodless because there is nothing else to do when Simon Riley is above you like this; one forearm braced beside your head, your knees spread and pulled back to your chest, his weight pressing you into the mattress with his hips grinding slow and mean like he has all the time in the world to ruin you.
You’re boneless under him - open-mouthed, shaking, letting him take you apart more and more with each of those deep, deliberate strokes that make your thoughts scatter into useless little pieces.
All is perfect until your hand slips, and you feel your thumb drag over something tacky.
You blink up at him through the haze, thinking maybe you’re imaging things - but then you see it. There, smeared dark along the thick column of his neck, just under his jaw.
Blood.
JESUS CHRIST THIS???? THIS??? LIFE CHANGING EARTH SHATTERING. ID BE A PUDDLE SO FAST FOR THIS MAN. WOWWWWW.
Everyone give OP a standing ovation for this fic. I think it rewired my brain.
UGH ILY AND IM BLUSHING 🤭🤭🤭 TY for reading pookie xoxo

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Something something for possessive simon…
f!reader, smut mdni, PIV, blood, mentions of violence, size kink.
You only notice it because your hand slips.
It had been curled at the back of his neck, fingers buried in his hair beneath the edge of his mask, holding on until your knuckles went bloodless because there is nothing else to do when Simon Riley is above you like this; one forearm braced beside your head, your knees spread and pulled back to your chest, his weight pressing you into the mattress with his hips grinding slow and mean like he has all the time in the world to ruin you.
You’re boneless under him - open-mouthed, shaking, letting him take you apart more and more with each of those deep, deliberate strokes that make your thoughts scatter into useless little pieces.
All is perfect until your hand slips, and you feel your thumb drag over something tacky.
You blink up at him through the haze, thinking maybe you’re imaging things - but then you see it. There, smeared dark along the thick column of his neck, just under his jaw.
Blood.
GIGGLING SO HARDDD LOL TY U FOR READING XOXO🤭🤭🤭🤭🤍🤍
Something something for possessive simon…
f!reader, smut mdni, PIV, blood, mentions of violence, size kink.
You only notice it because your hand slips.
It had been curled at the back of his neck, fingers buried in his hair beneath the edge of his mask, holding on until your knuckles went bloodless because there is nothing else to do when Simon Riley is above you like this; one forearm braced beside your head, your knees spread and pulled back to your chest, his weight pressing you into the mattress with his hips grinding slow and mean like he has all the time in the world to ruin you.
You’re boneless under him - open-mouthed, shaking, letting him take you apart more and more with each of those deep, deliberate strokes that make your thoughts scatter into useless little pieces.
All is perfect until your hand slips, and you feel your thumb drag over something tacky.
You blink up at him through the haze, thinking maybe you’re imaging things - but then you see it. There, smeared dark along the thick column of his neck, just under his jaw.
Blood.
….no one fucking look at me rn
em ur back omg?!??! i hope you've been well, sending u much love <33
LINAAAA hi baby🤍🤍 i’ve been so good i hope you’ve been well too!! missed youuu
"No more rules" Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 4 - Reveal Trailer

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Simon Riley has no pictures of you.
He doesn't carry around an edge-worn, beloved photo of you slipped into the space behind his vest as if it were the idea of you waiting at home for him that would stop a bullet, not the kevlar. He has nothing of you he can hold when the nights get too dark and the gun steel gets too cold.
Simon Riley has no background on either his work phone or his personal phone, just a black screen. Not of your smile, your precious face. Your number isn't even saved. He has it memorized and any call or text logs with you will only show a string of numbers, not your initials, your name, an ambiguous emoji, or a one word moniker that carries more truth than you would ever believe: angel.
Simon Riley reads the notes you leave for him over and over again until the divots in the paper where your pen pressure carved lightly into the fibers are also present in his mind. He runs his thoughts over them like his thumb over the ink. Every note you write him is burned, held over his lighter until your words are nothing but smoke.
Because when he's in the field, he's responsible for the safety of his team, the mission, and you. The only way he can do that is by keeping you as far away from Ghost as he can. Because Ghost and the rest of the 141 carry a target on their back always. And if the ones with their sights on that target ever aim true then they will only get him.
Simon Riley has no pictures of you, no tokens of you, no evidence that you even exist.
Simon Riley who instead keeps every memory and reminder of you in a place in his heart he's convinced is what keeps it beating. Somewhere where no blade or bullet can reach. They can string him up, carve him to the bone, cut out that cold organ from his chest and they still wouldn't be able to get you.
Simon Riley carries nothing of you that someone else can take.
CONQUEST 08.08.25 send me a ko-fi
i had a sexual dream about someone i work with and couldn’t look him in the fucking eyes today without thinking about it ….. new fic idea unlocked i guess 🥲
You disappeared half way through the work christmas party—a few days later and the team is trying to figure out who you left with..
Reader afab.
—————————
The mystery fractures three days after the Christmas party.
Which, honestly, is surprising. You’d been certain you’d made it out clean- woken the next morning without so much as a sideways glance thrown your way; no raised brows, no knowing smirks aimed at your thoroughly fucked-out hair or the pathetically obvious limp you were nursing. Soap didn’t so much as blink twice in your direction more than he needed to, and no one else said a word.
You’d thought you were in the clear.
Sunday morning finds you in the rec room, still warm from a run, tugging at the collar of your shirt as you wait for the coffee to finish brewing. The place is scattered with the remnants of the weekend: half-drawn curtains, low lights, bodies strewn wherever they’d landed. Soap is slouched sideways in one of the armchairs, Gaz has his boots kicked up on the table, eyes half-lidded. Price is standing over the kettle and Simon is on the couch, coffee in hand, hood up, mask on—unmoving.
You keep your head down, humming quietly to yourself. It’s harmless. Entirely innocent. Absolutely not guilty.
It takes all of thirty seconds before Soap squints at you.
“You,” he says, sitting up.
Not casually. Not jokingly. Predatory.
i just KNOW ghost was smirking under that mask
1000000%
You disappeared half way through the work christmas party—a few days later and the team is trying to figure out who you left with..
Reader afab.
—————————
The mystery fractures three days after the Christmas party.
Which, honestly, is surprising. You’d been certain you’d made it out clean- woken the next morning without so much as a sideways glance thrown your way; no raised brows, no knowing smirks aimed at your thoroughly fucked-out hair or the pathetically obvious limp you were nursing. Soap didn’t so much as blink twice in your direction more than he needed to, and no one else said a word.
You’d thought you were in the clear.
Sunday morning finds you in the rec room, still warm from a run, tugging at the collar of your shirt as you wait for the coffee to finish brewing. The place is scattered with the remnants of the weekend: half-drawn curtains, low lights, bodies strewn wherever they’d landed. Soap is slouched sideways in one of the armchairs, Gaz has his boots kicked up on the table, eyes half-lidded. Price is standing over the kettle and Simon is on the couch, coffee in hand, hood up, mask on—unmoving.
You keep your head down, humming quietly to yourself. It’s harmless. Entirely innocent. Absolutely not guilty.
It takes all of thirty seconds before Soap squints at you.
“You,” he says, sitting up.
Not casually. Not jokingly. Predatory.
HOT
HEHEHE thank u for reading!!!🤍🤍

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You disappeared half way through the work christmas party—a few days later and the team is trying to figure out who you left with..
Reader afab.
—————————
The mystery fractures three days after the Christmas party.
Which, honestly, is surprising. You’d been certain you’d made it out clean- woken the next morning without so much as a sideways glance thrown your way; no raised brows, no knowing smirks aimed at your thoroughly fucked-out hair or the pathetically obvious limp you were nursing. Soap didn’t so much as blink twice in your direction more than he needed to, and no one else said a word.
You’d thought you were in the clear.
Sunday morning finds you in the rec room, still warm from a run, tugging at the collar of your shirt as you wait for the coffee to finish brewing. The place is scattered with the remnants of the weekend: half-drawn curtains, low lights, bodies strewn wherever they’d landed. Soap is slouched sideways in one of the armchairs, Gaz has his boots kicked up on the table, eyes half-lidded. Price is standing over the kettle and Simon is on the couch, coffee in hand, hood up, mask on—unmoving.
You keep your head down, humming quietly to yourself. It’s harmless. Entirely innocent. Absolutely not guilty.
It takes all of thirty seconds before Soap squints at you.
“You,” he says, sitting up.
Not casually. Not jokingly. Predatory.
GUYSSSS 1k FR?!????? lets bring it in on a group hug i missed my pookies sm ‼️‼️‼️