#“go on tiny one...say Simon” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

khioneee · 8 months ago

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tap out. pt ii.

warnings. mentions of death, emotional distress, grief and loss, pregnancy.

a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.

simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.

his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.

both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.

‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.

with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.

the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’

you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.

‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.

‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.

you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’

with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.

as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.

he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.

while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.

‘is that our baby i see?!’

simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.

‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’

simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.

reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’

soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.

soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.

price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.

but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team, his family, sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.

reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #simon riley #simon riley blurbs #simon riley headcanons #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #simon ghost riley blurbs #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #john price #kyle gaz garrick #gary roach sanderson #cod ghost

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darlingsblackbook · 28 days ago

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Ex-Boyfriend!Simon Riley X Reader

Secret Baby AU | He broke your heart. You left. Then you found out you were pregnant. A year later, fate throws you back in his path - with a baby that looks just like him.

I | You and Simon had a whirlwind romance during one of his rare long-term assignments. He was intense, quiet, and hard to read—but with you, he tried to open up. You gave everything. He gave just enough to make you believe it could last.

II | But it didn’t. One night, after weeks of emotional distance, Ghost shut you out completely - told you it was over, with no explanation. You tried to fight for him, asked what changed, begged him to tell you what he needed. He just said, “You deserve better."

III | Heartbroken, you packed your things and disappeared from Ghost's life. A few weeks later, you got sick. Tired. Nauseous. And then the test turned positive.

IV | You stared at the ultrasound photo alone in a small clinic. You thought about calling Simon. You typed out the message a dozen times. But you knew the damage. He made it clear - he didn’t want you, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him rejecting the baby too.

V | So you kept the secret. Moved somewhere new. Found a tiny apartment. Took on remote work. You did everything alone. And when your baby boy was born - dark eyes, a stubborn pout, and Simon's nose - you cried because it hurt and healed at the same time.

VI | Three months later, you’re walking through a rainy plaza in Manchester. Your son is tucked in a sling against your chest. You’re just trying to pick up baby formula when you hear a voice behind you - deep, clipped, unmistakable: “...Y/N?”

VII | You freeze. Turn slowly. And there he is. Simon Riley. No mask, just a hoodie. Taller than you remember. Paler. Scarred. Your eyes widen - but his eyes are already locked on the bundle against your chest.

VIII | Simon stares for what feels like forever. Your son makes a soft, babbling sound, and Simon’s breath catches. He takes a slow step forward and says, voice rough: “Is that…?” But you interrupt, panicked, breathless - “I have to go.”

IX | You rush off, heart pounding, trying not to cry. Simon doesn’t follow. Or maybe he does. You don’t look back. But that night, you can’t sleep. You can still feel his eyes on your son.

X | A few days later, you hear a knock at your door. You don’t answer. Then there’s a note slipped under it.

“I don’t deserve answers. But he does. Let me see him.” —S.R.

XI | You finally agree to meet. In a park. Neutral ground. Not for him - for your son. When he sees your son again - really sees him - he sinks to a bench like the wind’s been knocked out of him. “He looks like…”

He looks like you, Simon

You nod. “Yeah. I know.”

XII | Simon holds the baby like he’s made of glass. His voice is barely a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your hands shake. “Because you didn’t want me. I thought… if you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t want him either.”

He goes silent. Then says something that breaks your heart all over again:

“I pushed you away because I thought it would keep you safe. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And now, he’s here. And I missed it.”

XIII | There’s a long pause. Neither of you knows what happens next. You’re still angry. Still afraid. But when your son curls a tiny fist around Simon’s thumb, something in both of you shifts.

XIV | t’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But when he looks at you - really looks - you see the man you once loved, and the man your son might need.

I LOVE THE SECRET BABY TROUPE AND I AM NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT IT 🗣🗣🗣🗣

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jaesblogstuff · 2 months ago

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Some soft fluff. He’s basically like a lovesick lost child when you have to leave home without him.

—

You’re halfway through swiping on your lip liner when you hear the soft pad of boots on the hardwood behind you. He’s back earlier than expected, and you feel his presence before he even says anything.

“Didn’t think you’d be home yet,” you say, glancing at him in the mirror. He’s leaned in the doorway, black shirt rolled up to his elbows, forearms crossed as he watches you.

“Wrapped up quicker than planned,” Simon replies. His voice is low, that familiar Northern rasp brushing against your nerves in that way it always does.

You turn slightly, revealing the open back of your dress. “Could you—?” you ask, nodding toward the zipper.

He pushes off the doorframe with a quiet grunt, stepping behind you. You hold your breath. There’s something intimate about asking someone to zip you up—especially him. You feel the air shift when his fingers graze your spine.

He fumbles for a second—warm hands brushing lightly against your skin, the zipper resisting him just enough to be annoying.

“Complicated thing,” he mutters, almost to himself, a tiny scoff under his breath. “Imagine—a bloody military lieutenant, can clear a building in under five minutes, but can’t zip up a dress.”

You laugh under your breath, but it catches when his hand lingers after he finally gets the zipper to slide into place.

He doesn’t move right away. He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. Then one to your jaw. Then another to your lips.

“Simon—” you say, through a laugh, as he pecks your mouth again, and again, “Stop, you’re gonna take off all my lipstick.”

“That a threat or a promise?” he murmurs, smirking.

You roll your eyes and gently press your thumb to the corner of his mouth, wiping away the smudge of red that’s transferred to him. “Now you’ve got it on you, too.”

“Y’look good,” he says finally, voice a little rougher now. He drops his hand, but not before letting his fingers brush down your spine like a promise. “Too damn good to be going anywhere, if I’m honest.”

You turn to face him fully, and there’s that half-smile you only ever get in private—tired and a little lovesick. His hand twitches at his side like it wants to reach for you again.

“I’ll be back before midnight,” you offer, teasing.

He huffs. “Not worried about the time. Just… hope your girls appreciate the effort. If they don’t, I’ve got eyes for hire.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “You saying you’ll follow me?”

Simon tilts his head, just slightly. “I’m saying… you look like trouble. And I’ve got a bad habit of keeping trouble close.”

You lean up, brush a kiss to his cheek—lingering just long enough for him to sigh quietly, and then grab your purse.

At the door, you look back once. He hasn’t moved, still standing there with that look. Like he’s memorizing you. Like letting you go tonight costs him something.

“I won’t be gone long,” you say softly.

His eyes don’t leave yours. “You’d better not be.”

And when you finally walk out, you swear you feel his gaze on your back all the way down the hall.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost smut #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod smut #simon x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #simon riley x female reader #simon riley fluff #fluff #ghost fluff

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maskedbyghost · 3 months ago

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You and Simon aren’t together. Never have been. Never talked about it, never even thought about it.

You just click. You always have. It started as a mission thing—paired up for some op because Price figured you worked well together, and then it just… stuck. You got each other in ways that didn’t need explaining. You liked the same things, moved the same way, anticipated each other’s actions before they happened. You didn’t have to tell him what you needed in the field, and he never had to ask you to cover him. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of thing that felt natural before you even noticed it happening.

And then it bled into everything else. Eating together. Training together. Sitting next to each other on long flights, in debriefs, in the rare downtime you got between missions. It was never planned, never discussed. Just a thing that happened, like muscle memory. If you were in a room, Simon was there too, and if he wasn’t, he was on his way.

The others noticed, of course. Soap especially. He was the loudest about it, but even Gaz had taken to shooting you both pointed looks when you showed up somewhere at the same time, or when you answered Simon’s half-formed thoughts like you knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Which, honestly, you usually did.

It all comes to a head one evening, the lot of you gathered in one of the common rooms, half-done with the day but not quite ready to call it a night. You and Simon are on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, idly watching something on the TV while Soap, sitting across from you both, groans into his hands.

“You two make me sick.”

You blink at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem!” Soap gestures wildly. “You do everything together. You finish each other’s bloody sentences. You know what the other is thinking. And you’re just—what? Friends?” He scoffs. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Simon leans back, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t think you’ve got the legs for a crown, mate.”

Gaz snorts. Price, watching from his spot near the door, only shakes his head like he’s seen this conversation play out a hundred times before. (He has.)

Soap ignores them, pointing a finger between you and Simon like he’s solving some grand mystery. “There’s only one thing you haven’t done,” he declares. “You just need to kiss. That’s it. Only thing missing.”

Silence.

You turn your head. Simon is already looking at you.

There’s nothing in his expression that gives anything away—no smirk, no challenge, no humor in his eyes. He’s just watching you, waiting. And then, with a tiny shrug, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s short, unhurried. Just a press of his lips against yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls back, his eyes are still on you, searching.

You don’t react. Not outwardly, anyway. You can feel Soap’s disbelief burning into the side of your face, hear the noise he makes—the strangled mix between a gasp and an outraged protest—but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you look back at Simon, forcing yourself to stay still even as your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Because, sure, maybe this was just to mess with Soap. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Simon smirks and leans back, turning his attention back to the TV like nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Soap looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led him to this moment. “What the fuck?”

—

Later, when Simon walks you back to your room, he’s quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted down slightly like he’s working through something in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t mean—well, didn’t want you to think it was—”

He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “Just don’t want you to be mad.”

You glance at him. “I’m not mad.”

He nods, but his mouth pulls into something uncertain, like he doesn’t believe you. “Good. That’s—good.”

You reach your door and turn to face him fully. He’s still looking at you, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. And it’s funny, really, how the thought of kissing you in front of everyone hadn’t made him hesitate, but now? Now, he’s hesitating. Now, he’s thinking too hard about it. About you.

So before he can say anything else, you push up onto your toes and kiss him.

It’s quick, barely a breath between you before you pull back, but the impact is immediate. Simon’s lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like he can’t quite process what just happened.

You step back, hand on your door handle, and give him a small nod. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Then you slip inside, shutting the door behind you, leaving him standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you just were.

And for once, Simon doesn’t have a single thing to say.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @ghostslollipop @kylies-love-letter

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod

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readwritealldayallnight · 1 month ago

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Part 4 of Bird Watching aka hot construction worker Simon Riley x single mom reader

It’s almost comical, when you allow yourself the rare moment of quiet to sit and reflect, just how different life is now compared to less than a year ago

Last year, the mental check list you went through every time you ventured out of your flat was much shorter, simpler, the bare essentials one might say

Wallet? Check

Phone? Check

Keys? Check

Out the door you went

Nowadays, the check list was only the teensiest bit longer, thanks to the teensiest addition to your flat

Wallet? Check

Phone? Check

Keys? Check

Diaper bag? Check

Enough diapers and wipes? Got it

Extra sets of clothes in case she has a blow out? Already packed in the bag

Her little beanie in case it gets chilly? You swore you had shoved it to the bottom of the diaper bag last time you took a walk…

Enough blankies for her to be comfortable in the pram? Most are in the hamper where you left them…

Her pacifier if she gets fussy? Can’t find a single one, though you swore you owned a dozen…

The baby sling if she becomes tired of the pram and wants to be held? Has to be somewhere around here…

Getting out the door recently proved to be a more complicated affair than you were used to, as did every other aspect of new motherhood that no one could suitably prepare you for, though as the weeks went on, you were slowly but surely getting the hang of things

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter, did you?

Your family and friends overseas were supportive, they checked in with you regularly, always gushed over each and every baby photo you sent their way, had even gone and sent you care packages not long after your delivery, helping to contribute to all the baby gear and supplies you would need to embark on this new chapter of your life… but at the end of the day, you were still going through all this by yourself

It was you who was navigating the late night cluster feedings, it was you who had to learn how to soothe a colicky infant who never wanted to be put down, you who still had to cook the meals you needed to eat, you who still washed the dishes that piled up, you who still had to do the laundry that needed washing, you who had to pay the bills which weighed heavy on your mind each time you watched your bank account diminish, all of this while running on such little sleep you oftentimes felt more like the undead than someone who’d just created new life

And yet… you managed

This hadn’t been how you’d originally envisioned your life going, but now that she was here, now that the tiny speck of life you’d spent months growing inside you was more than just a blurry mass on an ultrasound screen, now that she was a real tangible person whose birth certificate bore your name and yours alone, you couldn’t picture a world without her

The only issue was, you couldn’t picture how much longer you’d be able to keep this up - money was the one thing you couldn’t offer her in abundance

You were a smart girl, you’d been saving up ever since you started working as a teenager, you rented a flat that wasn’t out of your budget, you sold the car when it became evident that it was a luxury you couldn’t afford to keep any longer - but no one could have prepared you for how utterly and devastatingly expensive babies were

Your only choice was to go back to work, as heartbreaking as the thought of leaving your new baby in the care of strangers was, and as much as your body protested the idea, you really were running out of options unfortunately

The stark lack of childcare available was only just the cherry on top of it all, wasn’t it?

You’d reached out to in-home nurseries, local daycares, nanny agencies, larger company centres, and every time the answer was the same: there’s a wait list

As much as you valued your independence, your ability to stay positive in the face of problems no matter how big or small, and as much as you despised asking for help, you had been inching closer to a breaking point when you overheard a conversation between two mums in the paediatricians waiting room, something about the bothersome construction site around the corner being worth it in the end if it turned out to be a new nursery after all

Swallowing down your pride and putting on what you hoped came across as a brave face, you’d ventured over to that very construction site, determined to find out if this might be your needle in the haystack, if this truly could be somewhere you had a fighting chance of enrolling Rosie before the money ran out, even if that meant asking for help for once

What you hadn’t realized at the time, was just how much help you’d end up getting

Part of you still wakes up some mornings, wondering if Simon was a perfect dream you had, the answer to your prayers you’d never spoken aloud, the solution to your problems handed to you on a silver platter

Because what kind of man does all of this for a stranger? Who goes through all this trouble just to be kind? Did he feel bad for you? Did he pity you? There had to be some sort of ulterior motive to this, right?

“Or, I don’t know? Did it ever occur to you that maybe he likes you?” You roll your eyes as you picture the exact expression on your best friend’s face as she tells you this over the phone. You’d told her everything, keen on getting someone else’s opinion on the situation

“He doesn’t even know me yet.” You reply, phone cradled against your ear and shoulder as you double check you’ve packed everything in Rosie’s diaper bag

“Exactly, not yet. He obviously wants to.” She answers easily, never one to be phased by your talent to shut things down prematurely. “Don’t go ruining a good thing before it even happens.”

“I don’t know. It’s not just me I have to make these decisions for anymore, you know? I’ve got Rosie to think about too.” You say, glancing over at her in her crib, entirely entranced by the mobile spinning above her

“Yeah, and look at how he’s already trying to provide for the two of you! The guy literally found you a nursery spot within days! You’ve been telling me it’s impossible for weeks and dude did it in the blink of an eye. For you.” She tries to rationalize to you. “I know it was different while you were pregnant, you didn’t want to date, and I get that. But she’s here now, and you can’t keep yourself closed off ‘til she’s eighteen.”

“When did I say I was keeping myself closed off?”

“Sweetie, I know you, okay? You tried finding him, we all did. But he’s not just going to appear.” You can’t help but cringe slightly as her words, knowing exactly who she’s referring to. “You are not the first woman in the world to get pregnant from a one night stand, and you won’t be the last.”

“I don’t-”

“No I’m serious, listen to me.” She interrupts you before you can protest properly. “You never even got his name, babe. I love you, and I know you always want to do the right thing, but you can’t keep holding out hope you’ll find him again. If this Simon guy wants to step up and take you out for a date, then let him. Who knows, you might even have fun. You remember that word right? Fun? Something people are supposed to try and do.”

“Maybe I should take back the godmother idea, after all.” You joke, knowing deep down that your friend is right

“Too late. I’ve already got it embroidered on my jacket. I’m gonna get her a matching one when she’s bigger.”

You go to tease her instantly, knowing that her embroidery skills will have the jacket looking like Rosie decorated it herself, when a knock at the door interrupts your thoughts

“I’ve got to go, I think he’s here already.”

“Just try to give this a chance, will you? Please?” Your friend asks, the sincerity in her tone giving you pause as you refrain from automatically rolling your eyes again

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better.”

Hanging up the phone, you scoop Rosie up to cradle her against your chest as you make your way towards the door, steadying yourself with a deep breath, a quick glance in the hallway mirror letting you know you don’t look half as bad as you could, before you’re opening the door for Simon

The first thing you’re caught off guard by is the same as every other time your eyes have landed on him, which is just how ruggedly handsome he is, his impressive stature and evident muscle tone aside, the thin scars and pock marks littered across his pale skin cannot hide the strong face beneath, dirty blonde hair with a days worth of stubble to match, a nose that looks as though it’s been broken and reset one too many times, it’s his eyes that really captivate you, his eyes that tell you there’s a story to be uncovered here

Your gaze doesn’t linger long however, when you spot the bright yellow bouquet clutched in his hands

He wonders if it really is this easy, to keep a pretty bird happy

If he knew how elated you’d be at the sight of some bright flowers from the shop nearby, then he should have figured the new infant car seat securely installed in his truck would have you practically bursting as the seams

You tried insisting to him that you’d pay him back for the car seat, that he really hadn’t needed to make such a purchase for you, but he wasn’t having any of that

In truth, Simon never even bothered to look at the price tag or the receipt at any point, the cost was the furthest thing from his mind, not when he considered your happiness to be pricelesss

And while he could readily admit to himself that he didn’t know how to do this, didn’t quite understand how to go about this ‘the right way’, didn’t know how to come off as anything other than intense and insistent, he could equally confess that he was just following what felt right

He figured that pretty birds liked it when men bought them things, showered them in grand gestures, but they probably liked it even more when it was things they paid attention to, things that made them feel seen, like flowers in your favourite colour, or a car seat to keep your baby bird safe, or opening the door for you when your hands were full, or offering to carry the absurdly large diaper bag while you juggled the baby

Of course, it wasn’t like he’d had much of an example growing up to follow off of, someone’s footsteps to trace and replicate. Simon can’t help but to think for a fleeting moment as he watches you buckle Rosie in, ‘would it have been that hard?’ for his own father to have paid attention? To have made his mum feel seen? To have tried? Was it really so difficult to be a good man?

He can recall a time when his old man was far too pissed on the drink to notice that Simon had been skipping school, sat in front of the telly and yelling about how the news stories that day were rubbish, his speech too slurred to be fully comprehensible, but he’ll never forget when the old man turned to him, looked at him for the first time in a long time and saw him rather than saw through him, empty beer bottle pointed in his direction and eyes glazed over, telling him ‘When I see wha’ I wan’- no- when I see wha’s mine, I take it! Y’hear me boy? You see wha’s yours, an’ you take it.’

Never in his life had Simon ever wanted to take the man’s advice, determined to never turn out as he had, but this was one such occasion where he could agree with the low life’s sentiment

Because when he looks at you, sat contently next to him in his passenger seat with a smile on your face, a glance in the rear view mirror showing a strapped in baby lulled to sleep on the drive, he knows he can’t let this slip through his fingers, not when his heart kept repeating one thing to him

Mine mine mine mine mine

What was one more lie to make sure this was his? He’d never claimed to be a perfect man, not even a good a man, but if one more innocent fib helped him get one step closer to calling something his own for the first time in a very long time, helped him prove he could be the right man for you, then where was the harm in that?

“You might-” he clears his throat awkwardly when you glance over at him, averting his gaze quickly and readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “You might hear ‘em call me a weird nickname, dependin’ who’s workin’, by the way.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” You ask him with immediate curiosity, angling yourself more towards him now, with an elbow against the centre console while you balance your chin on your fist, attention solely on his words

The two of you had been making idle chit chat throughout the drive, mostly your endless thanks and his insistence that you were no bother, but this is the first thing he’s mentioned that’s really caught your attention

“We’ve been workin’ on this site for a while, the nursery. I’ve put in quite a few hours on it myself. I like to see things through properly, end up workin’ later than some o’ the other blokes most days.” He starts off, peeking at you quickly as he weaves through traffic, seeing that you’re still listening intently. “Anyway, someone made the joke one day tha’ I treat the job almost like it’s my kid or somethin’, that I’m sort of the ‘dad’ on site.”

“Really?” You scoff, not in an unkind way, but more like you believe what he’s saying, believe that some younger lads on the crew would totally take a jab at him and start referring to him as the dad

“Really. After that, the name just sort o’ stuck. So if you hear anyone call me dad, tha’s all they’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He shrugs, trying to come across as casual as he can, nonchalant in the way someone telling a real anecdote would be

“Even folk outside your work crew call you that?”

“Done enough jobs for this company that somehow they got wind o’ the name. Haven’t been able to shake it yet.” He playfully rolls his eyes and looks at you in a ‘what can you do about it’ kind of way, hoping that this is one of the last tales he has to weave into the web of lies he’s unintentionally begun to spin around you

He knew it was a bit of a stretch, that the odds of avoiding the truth and pretending to be your husband, to be Rosie’s father, were stacked against him, and piling higher and higher the more he opened his mouth, but Simon knows that this isn’t a sprint to the finish line, this is more akin to a marathon, and while he’s stretched and rearing to go, if he can play his cards right, you’ll be waiting for him with open arms on the other end of the ribbon, ready to crown him with those same titles he’s pretending are already his to claim

He wasn’t sure if the ‘dad’ lie was going to be entirely necessary today, though he’d wanted to cover his bases as much as possible before the meeting, hoping to avoid interfering too much and raising suspicions

He’s ultimately glad for the fib however, when he holds the door open for you and Rosie, and the three of you are greeted with the sight of a flustered assistant director sat behind the desk

“Oh, hi! Apologies if I seem rushed, our director had something come up last minute, and she won’t be able to make it in time. Flat tire, it seems.” The young woman explains as she attempts to straighten some scattered documents, Simon nodding along in understanding when you voice your own sympathy at the situation, feigning ignorance as though he hadn’t been the one to prick the woman’s wheel earlier that morning

“She’s asked me to speak with you in the meantime.” She goes on to say, coming around to desk and approaching Simon first with an extended hand. “You must be the dad she was mentioning to me then.”

“Aye, nice to meet you.” He agrees politely, offering the woman a quick shake of the hand before dropping his gaze over to you, the two of you sharing a look that says ‘wow, they really do call you that, huh?’

“And then you must be Mom, of course.” She turns towards you, offering you the same professional handshake and smile she likely gives everyone who walks through these doors

“That’d be me. Though, just Rosie’s mom. I could never handle all those sites and jobs like he does, the baby’s enough for me.” You joke, believing that you’re all referencing how Simon is ‘dad’ to his construction jobs, while you’re mom to the little girl that’s brought you all here today

Lucky for Simon, this woman apparently doesn’t get paid enough to dissect people’s statements

“Agreed, we’ll leave that to him.” She laughs along with you before turning her attention towards the squirming bundle in the pram. “And who have we here then?”

Just like that, the attention’s off of him, off of your relationship to one another, diverted instead towards enrolment details, paperwork that needs to be filled out, information you need to know as a parent and information they need as a childcare provider

Before he knows it, more than an hour’s gone by, the t’s have been crossed and the i’s have been dotted, and you’re told that as soon as the open sign switches on at the new location, Rosie’s got a spot in their infant program

“I should probably feed her quickly, just before we get going again.” You tell Simon, bouncing an increasingly upset Rosie against your shoulder as you stand up from your chair

“Oh. Yeah, ‘course. You have a, uh, a bottle for ‘er, or-” he trails off, not yet prepared to name the alternative

“I wish. No, she hasn’t taken to a bottle quite yet. Still prefers it straight from the tap.” You explain easily, not catching the way the mental image you’ve just painted for him has his heart jump starting in his chest, breath catching in his throat, and heat rushing up his neck

“We do have a breastfeeding space, just past our staff room around the corner here. You’re welcome to use it.” The assistant director informs you, pointing you in the right direction as she opens her office door back up

“Perfect. And thank you again so much. I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to us.” You tell her, sincere gratitude painted across your features

“You go on ‘head, love. I’ll wait out ‘ere for ya.” Simon says, watching you turn around the corner out of earshot

“You’ve got a lovely family, Mr. Riley.” The woman tells him offhandedly, beginning to gather all the paperwork you’ve just filled out by hand for them

“I do. I’m very lucky.” He agrees easily, taking a step closer to her desk. “Though the poor missus has been exhausted lately, late nights with the baby an’ all tha’. Hope everything was filled out alrigh’.” He adds, throwing a baited line out into the water, waiting to see if he’ll get a bite

“Ugh, don’t we know it. She looks like she’s handling things well though, and everything here looks to be in order as far as I can- oh. Actually,” the woman says, fingers stopping halfway through the sheet she was quickly glancing over, making sure no spots were left empty now that Simon had mentioned it. “It looks like she only filled out the emergency contacts halfway. She’s only put herself.”

“S’alrigh’, I can add my information quickly. I know she’s real tired, poor girl.” Simon doesn’t give the woman the chance to blink before he’s snatched a loose pen up and is scribbling his name and phone number under the second emergency contact, marking himself under as ‘dad’

After all, it’s only a matter of time until the words he’s put on paper are as real as the ink drying on paper declare them to be

It’s midafternoon by the time he’s driven you and Rosie back to your flat, insisting that he help you carry the diaper bag and pram back inside as you cradled a sleeping babe against chest, hopeful that you could lay her back down in her crib without waking her

“You can make yourself a cup of tea if you’d like, while you wait. I’ll hopefully just be a minute or two. Mugs are in the cabinet by the sink, tea bags by the kettle.” You tell him before slipping down the hall towards her room

Simon takes his time glancing around your space this time, now that his attention isn’t solely enraptured by your presence, and thinks he can hear his heart beating through his ears, when he catches sight of his own chicken scratch penmanship in your kitchen, on the fridge amongst the postcards and takeaway menus and old seasons greetings cards, is the phone number he’d written for you when you first met, a mirrored version of his own fridge at home bearing only your writing

He takes your advice and prepares not just one but two cups of tea, puts your new flowers into a vase and fills it with water before setting it on your table, the sound of your approaching footsteps masked by the hissing of the kettle, though when he turns and makes eye contact with you, the energy in the room is different from before, a tension that wasn’t present the last time you both stood here

“How’d you take your tea?” He asks, jutting his chin towards the chairs at the table, his way of telling you to sit and let him take care of you, his own way of unofficially saying his job isn’t over yet, he’s not done here yet. Rosie’s daycare spot might be filled, he might have driven you home, helped you inside, but won’t you let him prepare your tea? Won’t you indulge him just a little longer?

To his elation, you do. You tell him how you like your tea, you watch him gather his ingredients and prepare both your drinks, watch him as he slides your cup across the table and lowers himself into the seat next to you, rather than across from you like last time, feeling more daring than before

“Simon, I know you keep telling me this is all okay, that it’s no big deal, not a problem,” you start, fingers fidgeting with the handle of your mug as he takes his own sip, pretending as though he isn’t desperately hanging onto your every word, hoping that the gears turning in your head have landed on a conclusion in his favour. “But I just- I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Truly.” His reply is instantaneous, honest, one he’s given you each time you try to act as though you owe him anything for his kindness, as though he isn’t the one getting more out of this than you are

“How’s this possible?” You ask with a flustered laugh, the smallest crack in your usually cool and collected facade beginning to show, a glimmer of a flummoxed, confused, disbelieving girl peaking through for a split second

“What’d you mean, love?” Simon inquires, pushing his mug to the side and offering you his undivided attention now

“I just- you’ve been nothing but kind, and helpful, and outrageously generous since the literal minute I’ve met you Simon. And I’m so beyond appreciative and thankful- but I- I mean- how- what are you getting out of this?” You finally ask, a visible weight being lifted off your shoulders as you ask the question that’s clearly been plaguing you

Part of him aches as you essentially admit to him that you have a hard time believing someone could be so kind without expecting anything in return, that you feel you owe him anything because of his help, but he also lives in this same world as you, has seen just how dark and cruel and greedy people can be, agrees with the sentiment that you can’t willingly trust just anyone

But he doesn’t want to be just anyone to you, and so he decides to try some honesty for a change

“I like you.”

“You think you like me. You hardly know me.” You reply, as though his answer was one you were expecting, though the determination on your face cannot hide the faint blush that appeared on the apples of your cheeks soon as his words were in the open

“I’d like to get to know you. Feel a bit like I already do.” At this, Simon eases your mug out of your grasp, slipping his own calloused palms into your much softer, smaller hands, knowing already that he’ll be feigning for your next touch before he’s even let go of you yet. “I look at you, love, you and Rosie, the two o’ you, and I see…”

What he doesn’t dare say aloud is that you remind him of something achingly familiar, that he looks at you and sees someone alone, someone in need of help, too fiercely proud to admit so, you remind him of him, you remind him of home, in the most fucked up yet equally incredible way

But for now, he settles instead on telling you a little less

“Hope.” Your eyes widen at his words, mouth falling open in the slightest ‘o’ as you take in his words. “You- y’give me hope.”

Something about that seems to resonate within you, has you blinking at him as though you’ve been only seeing a silhouette through thick fog thus far, able to make out the silhouette of a man but unable to define his edges, unsure whether you’re seeing a friend or foe, but now, it’s as though the high beams have finally turned on, as though you’re seeing him in perfect, unfiltered light

Simon can only hope you don’t hate what you see

He thinks it’s safe to presume not, when your hand lets go of his, reaching up instead to pull him in by his shirt collar until your lips meet, eyelids closing with visions of yellows flowers in the corner of your eyes

Next chapter

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#readwritealldayallnight #call of duty #simon ghost riley #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #ghost x you #cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty ghost #cod simon riley #simon fluff

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syoddeye · 1 month ago

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knight!ghost x reader. hand-waving details. all vibes, as usual. cw: noncon touching, manipulation

After years beneath your mother’s watchful eye—less a daughter than a jewel kept safe under lock and key—you are at last released.

Invited to accompany your elder sister to court following her marriage to the esteemed Lord Garrick. Your first steps beyond the confines of home toward something far grander. The world opens before you like a storybook.

It’s a rare opportunity for a young lady of gentle birth. The kind of chance your mother spent years safeguarding you against, fearing the pitfalls of courtly life. An opportunity your sister now extends like a gift.

You intend to follow in her footsteps. To make the most of it.

As his carriage ferries you across the countryside, Lord Garrick indulges in his role as guide and guardian. He names estates and their residents you pass, calling out their banners and bloodlines, reciting them from memory like a living codex, its margins filled with his own notations and stories from years of soldiering in the King’s service and court.

Most names you know from lessons or gossip: daughters and sons married off, the odd spoiled reputation and scandal, matriarchs and patriarchs pulling strings. But being the sheltered girl that you are, one name catches your thoughts like a burr.

Lord Garrick slips a miniature into your hand. It is no larger than your palm, with rich watercolors painted on smoothed ivory: a large man, almost comically set in the tiny frame.

His skin is pale, his eyes a warm, untroubled brown. He wears a slight smile, and his armor gleams with the seal of the King.

“An old comrade—Sir Simon Riley.”

You run a thumb over the edge. “Is he as handsome as his portrait?” you ask, shy as a girl should be when entertaining fancies.

Lord Garrick only grins. “He is, dear one.”

“And noble? Chivalrous?”

“The very image,” he assures. His wry expression is lost on you.

You are too steeped in fantasy to notice. Already imagining the weight of his hand around yours, already composing the vows he might whisper when he asks you to dance. Him, tall and solemn. You, breathless and giggling.

You do not yet understand how generous portrait artists can be, the choices they make to soften a mouth or warm a gaze.

When you arrive, you trail in your sister’s shadow, a daisy behind a rose, trying not to stare too openly at every knight that turns his helm. Try not to appear too eager.

You curtsy. You dine. You take your place among the constellation of other young and unmarried ladies, each one a little star burning with her own hopes.

Time passes. You thrive. You charm. You are granted permission and invitation to winter beside your sister, a small victory. Come spring, you’ll be presented formally.

On the morning of the first frost, Lord Garrick finds you in the solar, where you sit with your companions and needlework, your thoughts pleasantly idle.

“There’s someone I’m due to introduce you to,” he says. “Sir Riley.”

He offers you his arm, and you take it. He guides you through the winding halls, past tapestries older than your bloodline. The keep quiets as you tread through an unfamiliar wing. The room he stops at is narrow and dark, the hearth cold, the shutters drawn.

It rouses an unsettling feeling in your stomach. A wrong note, a song sung off-key. Doubt prickles, fine as thorns. The chamber is too plain, too tucked-away for an introduction.

But the man you’ve come to love as a brother—steady, kind Lord Garrick—pats your hand, and the doubt recedes, momentarily quieted.

He bids you wait. He’ll fetch Sir Riley himself.

You let him go with a wobbling smile.

When the door creaks open again, it is not Lord Garrick who enters.

It is Sir Riley. You know him at once, though the helm conceals his face. Your heart skips.

“‘eard you been wantin’ to meet me, girl,” his low voice rolls thick like smoke. Heavy, like the blade at his hip.

You do not move. The knight fills the doorway as he did his portrait frame. Your hands knit loosely before you, trembling.

“It’s…an honor, sir,” you manage. Your eyes dart toward the door, hoping Garrick will follow, show his face. “I wasn’t expecting…That is, I thought Lord Garrick would–”

“Thought he’d stay? Look after you?” Sir Riley asks, stepping inside. “Nah. Garrick’s a busy man. ‘Sides, if it’s lookin’ after y’need, no one’ll do better.”

The door shuts with a click, and the bolt sliding shut might as well stick between your ribs.

You offer a smile, trying to summon the composure that’s served you well in the halls. Yet even your propriety has teeth, and it gnaws at the edges of your nerves. This isn’t how introductions are made. You know that. A lady does not meet a man alone, knight or not, not without a chaperone.

And yet here you are.

He moves further in, slow and certain, untroubled by the circumstances and its consequences. He unfastens one gauntlet, then the other, metal clinking as he sets each piece aside.

You step back, heart kicking against your ribs.

“I only meant…we’ve only just met, and I’m sure your time is better spent elsewhere—”

He says nothing. His fingers move next to the clasps at his shoulders. One pauldron. Then the other. Each piece comes away with unhurried care, as though he has all the time in the world.

The bulk sloughs off like a shell, revealing more and more of his frame until only the breastplate and helmet remain. You realize then that you’ve backed into the wall.

“I should go,” you eke out. “I’ve no doubt you’re very tired from your duties, and this isn’t right—”

Sir Riley laughs, rough like the scrape of flint.

“You’re a nervous one.”

He reaches up and unhooks his helmet, slow as sunrise. When it lifts off, you are not prepared.

He is not unhandsome, no, but he is not the man in the portrait, either.

His nose has clearly been broken more than once and healed crooked. A jagged scar bisects an eyebrow with a fleshy knot on the end, mirrored by another that pulls taut across his lips. His skin is a map of violence—keloids, silvered cuts, and pitted lines all speaking to a life earned inch by brutal inch.

He tilts his head, eyes catching yours. Rich brown, as the painting promised—but the warmth there is tempered with something else. Hunger. The kind you’ve spied in the King’s hunting hounds. Not the gentle yearning or tender longing you had quietly imagined for yourself.

“What’s wrong? Kyle said you found me pretty, pet.”

The word—pet—snaps like a ribbon.

In its reverberation, you feel the whole truth of it: you are very much alone, and Sir Riley is very much not what you were told.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes. You are caught between alarm and something stranger. It burns low in your belly, confusing and unwelcome.

You look at him again, truly look this time.

And realize: perhaps the artist hadn’t lied or embellished. Not entirely. Perhaps the man in the portrait once matched reality, before war carved itself into his skin. Before duty hardened whatever youth he’d once had.

You try not to flinch when he steps closer, but your body betrays you—a stiffening of the spine, a renewed tremor in your limbs.

Sir Riley notices.

He watches you the way a wolf watches a fox kit or rabbit. Clearly delighted by the prey he’s cornered. He lets the silence sit, lets your discomfort curdle before breaking it.

“You’re more beautiful than your picture,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Your mouth dries. There aren’t many portraits of you beyond your family’s walls. Yet months ago, Garrick had insisted on one—a secret commission, a memento for your sister, a gift. All before your invitation to court.

You never questioned what became of it.

“I—I should go.”

You move to slip past him, but he doesn’t allow it. One step, and he cuts off your path with his bulk, the door now out of reach. Trapped between the edge of the room and him, the air tastes different—ash and smoke, hay and wet dog. It wrinkles your nose.

You try again. “Lord Garrick—he didn’t say—he never said you—”

“Yeah?”

He smiles. Not kindly.

“That I-I,” you whisper, heart beating hard enough that you’re sure he must hear it. “That I’d be alone. This isn’t right—”

“Not alone, pet,” he shakes his head. “I’m here, aren't I? I’ll see you well looked after.”

Without pause or permission, he takes your hand.

You could faint.

Your bare hand disappears, swallowed by his callused palm. His thick knuckles are as battered as his face, broken and reset countless times. His thumb brushes the inside of your wrist and applies a brief and slight pressure, just enough to remind you of his strength.

You jerk instinctively, a soft tug.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he brings your hand to his mouth.

“No need to shy from me,” he rasps.

Your breath catches.

(You really could faint, but a deep, sharp fear urges you to stay upright. Awake. That to fall now—the alternative—)

He kisses each of your fingers, one by one, unhurried. His lips are cracked. Chapped. Your skin burns under each press. You can’t move. You should, but your feet fail.

He smiles into your knuckles. Almost fond. “You’re shaking.”

You don’t answer. Can’t.

“You don’t know what to do with yourself now, do you?” he drawls. “Bet you had a whole story in that pretty little head. Knight in shining armor, riding in to sweep you off your feet.”

His grip tightens, and he leans in, breath fanning over your cheek.

“Want me to do that, pet? Sweep you off your feet and take you away?”

Your heart screams no.

But nothing comes.

He watches you in that awful silence—measured and methodical. Like he’s trying to decide what to do with you first. His hand, still curled around yours, begins to move again, with new purpose.

He lifts your fingers and guides them toward his face.

You resist, weak and instinctive, and he overcomes it with barely a flick of his wrist.

“Go on. You’ve been staring.”

Your fingertips brush the ridge of the scar across his lip. It’s rough, raised, healed poorly. You flinch, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he shifts your hand higher, until your touch ghosts over the thick welt at his eyebrow.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” he asks, almost amused.

Your throat tightens. “No—no, I—”

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t lie. Don’t like liars. You scared?”

You are. You’re mortified, shaking with it now—caught between a girlhood fantasy and the brutal reality of the man standing before you. There’s something violent in your own confusion. In the heat crawling down your neck and into your chest, in the tears prickling hot behind your eyes.

He sees it. Of course he does.

And he pounces.

One blink, and then his mouth is on yours without ceremony. It’s a brutal kiss, a claiming thing, harsh and sudden and full of heat. Devoid of the romance you once imagined.

You gasp, startled, but his free hand comes to the back of your head, fingers spanning your skull to hold you in place. He doesn’t let you pull away. He licks into your mouth and steals the air.

It’s too much. He is too much.

When he finally pulls back, your breath is ragged and your tears have finally broken free, hot trails slipping down your cheeks. The horror of what’s just happened crashes over you all at once, like a bucket of cold water sloshed down your spine. Your legs nearly buckle.

He stares, thumb wiping spit from your chin.

“There she is,” he says quietly, near reverent.

You stand there, unmoving. Caught. The pounding of your heart drowns out every thought, each beat frantic, panicked. A bird slamming itself against a windowpane in desperation. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you’re allowed to say. The room grows smaller by the second, the walls pressing in.

He studies you, a delicate thing worth examining up close.

“Didn’t think you’d be this sweet,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Garrick said he had a girl for me. Said you were pretty. Polite. Court-bred. Figured I’d ‘ave to steal into your rooms, take some insurance to make you mine, you know. But Garrick said there’d be no need. That you’d behave. A proper good girl. That what you are?”

His eyes flick over your features—warm cheeks, wet-eyed, lips parted in confusion and fright. His thumb grazes beneath your chin.

“Look at you. Shakin’. Precious thing. ‘Course you are.”

He kisses you again. Harder.

No longer exploratory, no longer testing the waters. His moves as if owed. He takes and takes, lips dragging against yours, breath hot and heavy through his nose. Teeth sink into your lips, imprinting themselves on the pith of your mouth, sucking your tongue. You whimper, but his hand is already sliding down the line of your throat, splaying wide to feel your pulse.

Another panicked noise makes him smile.

He sighs. “Didn’t guess you’d be this soft. Bet you’re soft everywhere.”

Then—

The door bursts open.

A gasp of startled voices—servants. They freeze in the doorway, wide-eyed at the sight of the two of you locked together.

Panic explodes inside you. You jerk back from him, gasping, desperate to speak, to explain—this isn’t what it looks like—but you never get the chance.

Sir Riley doesn’t release you. His arm tightens, his grip anchoring you in place. He turns toward the intruders, unbothered and unashamed. Cold.

In a few short, lethal words, he promises consequences. He names each one of them—their roles, their kin. Swears they’ll feel his hand and blade personally should they utter a word of what they’ve seen.

They flee. Mute. Terrified.

When the door shuts again, it’s like the last breath is sucked from the room.

You’re a mess. Shaking, weeping, mouth swollen and burning. You are ruined. You know it. They will talk. People always do.

With the cuff of his sleeve, Sir Riley dabs your cheek, and then your chin. A mocking taste of the tenderness you’d dreamt of. He hums, too soft for the wicked glint in his eye, and tips your face back up with two fingers beneath your jaw.

“What a predicament we find ourselves in, hm?” he murmurs against your damp skin. “How fortunate that Garrick and I already ‘ave an audience with the King.”

He plants a chaste peck on your cheek.

“Dry your tears, pet.”

He smiles. A pleased shape that rekindles the hunger in his eyes.

“By spring, you’ll be Lady Riley. That’s a promise.”

#ghost x reader #all vibes as usual #anyway i spent a lot of time in museums on vacation and enjoyed the kind of historical catfishing in portraits.#i imagine queen laswell orders kyle to help find simon a wife. price's influence isn't enough to keep him in line anymore.#he needs someone soft and sweet to wed and bed. pop out a litter of brutes. etc etc.#and kyle struggles for a year. simon has the audacity to be picky after running so many girls off.#then when kyle meets your sister and finds out you exist? and you're just simon's type and so impressionable? bingo #bribes simon to sit for a portrait. he makes it a half hour. kyle forces the artist to literally paint simon in a flattering light.#i could go on.

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deansbeer · 28 days ago

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a quickie with simon in the laundry room <3

♡ ⋮ minors do not interact.

you’re sorting through what feels like the millionth tiny sock when simon comes up behind you, large hands settling on your hips. “kids are occupied,” he murmurs against your neck, and you can hear the suggestion in his voice.

“si, i have to get this done,” you protest weakly, but you’re already leaning back into him. wash day waits for no one with three kids, and you're drowning in tiny clothes. “and they won’t stay distracted for long.

“exactly why we should be quick about it.” his hands slide around to your stomach, pulling you flush against him. you can feel he’s already hard, and your resolve wavers. “been thinking about you all morning, love. watching you bend over sorting laundry...”

“you’re terrible,” you breathe, but you’re already turning in his arms. five years of marriage and three kids later, and he still looks at you like he wants to devour you. “we have maybe ten minutes before someone needs something.”

“can work with that.” he’s already lifting you onto the washing machine, hands pushing up your—his—sweatshirt. “fuck, no panties? you trying to kill me?”

“it’s wash day, baby,” you remind him, wrapping your legs around his waist. “everything’s in the dirty hamper.” but your explanation dissolves into a moan as his fingers find you already wet.

“fuckin’ convenient,” he growls, working you open with practiced efficiency. there’s no time for slow and sweet — not with three kids in the house. “always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

you bite your lip to keep quiet as he replaces his fingers with his cock, pushing in with one smooth thrust. “simon,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. “fuck, we have to be quiet.”

“then you’d better keep that pretty mouth shut,” he says, setting a punishing pace immediately. the washing machine rocks with the force of it, and you have to brace yourself against the wall. “can’t have the little ones hearing what daddy does to mummy.”

the filthy words in his rough accent make you clench around him. he notices, of course he does, and grins against your neck. “like that, do you? knowing i’m fucking you while our babies play down the hall?”

before you can respond, there's a loud bang on the door. “mommy! mommy, open!” your five-year-old’s voice cuts through your haze of pleasure. “need you!”

simon doesn’t stop, if anything going harder. “mummy’s busy, swee’eart," he calls out, voice impressively steady for someone currently railing you against major appliances. “go play with yer sister.”

“but mommy!” another bang. “emma took my doll!”

you try to answer but simon chooses that moment to hit that perfect spot inside you, and all that comes out is a strangled sound. he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes dark with amusement and lust.

“mummy’s folding clothes,” he lies smoothly. “she’ll be out in a minute. go tell emma t’share.”

“don’t want to!” your daughter whines, and you can hear her stomping her little feet. “want mommy now!”

“hazel.” simon’s voice drops into what you call his lieutenant voice — gentle but brooking no argument. “go play. we’ll be out soon.”

there’s a moment of silence, then you hear her stomp away muttering about simon being unfair. the second she’s gone, simon removes his hand from your mouth.

“such a good girl,” he praises, but you’re not sure if he means you or hazel. “keeping quiet while i fuck you senseless. though i bet you wanted to scream, didn’t you?”

“simon, please,” you gasp, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly fast. the combination of his cock and the thrill of almost getting caught has you on edge. “i’m gonna—“

“i know, love. she’s squeezing me.” his thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles. “c’mon then. come on my cock before another one starts banging on the door.”

as if on cue, you hear your two-year-old calling from somewhere in the house. “where mama?”

“bloody hell,” simon curses, speeding up. “better hurry up, mrs. riley.”

the use of your married name plus the perfect pressure on your clit sends you over. you bite his shoulder to muffle your cry as you come all over his cock, whole body shaking with the force of it. he follows right after, groaning low in your ear as he fills you.

“mama!” your toddler’s voice is getting closer.

“shit,” simon pants, pulling out and quickly fixing his clothes. he helps you down, steadying you when your legs wobble. “you good?”

“just peachy,” you breathe, smoothing down his sweatshirt. you can feel his cum starting to leak and clench your thighs together. “though i’m going to need to shower before i finish this laundry.”

he grins, that satisfied male look that makes you want to smack him and kiss him in equal measure. “could always join you later. after bedtime.”

“unbelievable,” you mutter, but you’re smiling as you unlock the door. your two-year-old is standing there, clutching his stuffed bear and looking pathetic.

“mama!” he reaches up for you immediately. “missed you.”

“missed you too, baby boy,” you coo, scooping him up despite your shaky legs. simon’s hand on your lower back steadies you, and you shoot him a grateful look.

“dada!” your son notices simon and reaches for him instead. “play?”

“‘course, mate.” simon takes him easily, throwing him up in the air just to hear him giggle. “let’s go see what your sisters are up to, yeah? mummy needs to finish the washing.”

he gives you a heated look over your son’s head. “all the washing. very thoroughly.”

“go,” you laugh, shooing them away. “before i put you on laundry duty.”

“love you too,” he calls back, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

you turn back to the washing machine, legs still trembling slightly. the laundry still needs to be done, you’re going to need that shower sooner rather than later, and you can already hear what sounds like an argument brewing in the playroom. but simon’s looking at you like that again from the doorway, your son babbling happily in his arms, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

well. maybe a lock on the laundry room door.

#‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ Ი︵𐑼 ݁ ܸ kari writes.#i wrote this during my lunch break and isn’t proofread 😭#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon riley fanfiction #simon riley x female reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley ghost #simon riley call of duty #simon riley smut #simon riley cod #simon cod smut #simon cod

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dead-flight · 1 month ago

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neighbour!simon x reader

⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . dead-flight .ᐟ masterlist -> REQUESTS OPEN!

cw: simon riley x reader, smut, sir? kink?, mild overstim?, size difference, creampie + multiple orgamsmsmsmsm (r)

simon was not the type to enjoy moving about. in fact, simon hated it. hated how moving required picking up what life he'd established, even if it were small. he didn't understand how people could pack their lives up and ship across the country just like that.

'til he did. wasn't really a must, but he wanted to downsize. needed something a little smaller than what he had. it's not like he spent all his time there anyways--he was usually on base, and taking care of a bigger apartment was asking too much.

so he packed up, moved a few blocks away, holed up in a little apartment building. the day he moved in, carrying just a few boxes (he didn't have much to begin with), he couldn't help but notice the person right beside his door.

cute. you were wide-eyed and cute. stared at him across the hallway before sheepishly asking him if he minded moving out of your way so you could get to your apartment. lo and behold, you opened the door beside his and slipped in.

simon didn't give it much thought, to be honest. didn't really care how cute you were. he wasn't the type to want anyone, let alone a little girl. he doubted you could defend yourself if you joined a fistfight with a gun.

but you thought differently. walked past his apartment extra times a day, hoping you'd catch him on the way out so you could get a better look at his biceps, or the scar on his cheek, dragging down to his lip.

you lengthened your grocery lists, made sure the bags were a tiny bit too heavy, just in case you might see him in the parking lot and ask him for help.

you knocked on his door in the afternoon, shyly looking up at him with those big doe eyes, biting your lip and asking him, "um, sir, do you mind helping? my sink is leaking... and i just don't want to... bother anyone else."

simon was pissed, the first time he had met you. he always heard some kind of excited prattling from through the thin walls, as you excitedly rambled to a friend. you just talked, and talked, and talked--simon's head was going to fall off.

so maybe, if it shut you up, he'd entertain your silly little requests.

when you asked him how to fix your sink, so cutely, how could he say no?

so here he was, under your sink, on his back, his shirt under his head as he'd taken it off. (maybe you'd increased the AC in your room, hoping he'd take his shirt off. sneaky little thing.)

you sat on the counter, uncaring about what he was saying about your sink, hooked on the slight rasp of his voice and the way his abs flexed as he tightened your pipes.

then simon was done, and you grabbed his arm as he sat up, picking up his shirt. "sir? can i pay you? um... don't have much money on me to give you, but i could give you something else."

and fuck him, you were so needy. felt your hand on his arm tighten every time he moved as if to leave. simon knew he was falling straight into a trap, and if he was being honest, he's not sure he minded. he sighs, the crease between his brows deepening. "'yer alright, luv. ain't gonna ask y'for anythin'."

you pouted. like a sad, kicked pup. pouted at him. "please? stay a bit, let me... um. i can make you something to eat. cookies? i make really good cookies."

simon was really good at dodging negotiation tactics. really good at surviving the harshest forms of torture. but he hadn't been trained to dodge the torture suddenly straining in his pants as he took you in, pretty pink frills on your skirt, your thighs which dissapeared under the fabric. so he stayed, sat there whilst you busied about the kitchen, whipping together some cookies.

when they were done, you presented them to him, real giddy, jumping on your heels. "here, try one."

before he could reach for one, you sat yourself in his lap, right on top of him, offering the cookie to his lips. simon grunts, his hand instinctively moving to grip your hip. "watch y'rself, luv. don' wanna start somethin' you ain't gonna finish."

shame, that you were so confident, really. maybe then you wouldn't have ended up grinding on his lap like a bitch in heat. maybe then he wouldn't have bent you right over the counter, pushing your pretty skirt up to leer at the sopping wet patch of underwear over your cunt. "mh, she's real pretty, eh, luv?"

you were so confident up until you came on his fingers. simon didn't even give you a second to think, his fingers pressing deeper, squishing against your gummy walls. "c'mere, darlin', jus' wanna have some more."

and in one smooth stroke of his cock, after a second orgasm, the rest of your confidence dissapeared. the stretch burned, like he was splitting you in half, god, he was too fucking big. "s-sir, sir, it's too big..."

"hush, take it," he grunts, practically folding you over, his hips forcing against yours, his hand on your jaw. his thumb rubs over the corner of your mouth, swiping up the drool that slips from your mouth.

poor thing. you shouldn't have poked the bear, but you just couldn't help it, could you? craved the way his cock filled you up so good. he was going to ruin you for everyone else.

"you... you on the pill, darling?" he grunts out into your ear, heavy breaths puffing against your skin.

"ah, fffuck... yes, please. please, sir, want you..." you're cut off by a desperate moan as he thrusts into you heavily, his bodyweight pressing against you. the chain around his neck, dog tags, press into the skin on your back, branding against your skin, leaving a little red mark, pressing his name into you.

when he comes inside you, he huffs, rubbing your clit gently as he pulls out, softening cock resting against your thigh. "good fuckin' girl."

safe to say, you may just have to poke the bear a little bit more.

written by dead-flight. do not copy, translate, or give to ai.

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yourstrulyrani · 3 months ago

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roommate!simon riley x reader

a/n: can i just say thank you so much for the love yall gave on my first post ever?! i woke up to like 160 notes which is crazy i was not expecting that. thank you for even taking the time to read it, i cannot wait to grow my account even more and get to know all of you lovely people 🥲🤍 (thank you to my potato too, i love u 3000 girl)

roommate!simon riley who gives you full decorative freedom of the place. whether you want to keep it simple or go all out and decorate based on the season or whatever, he doesn't care. he's usually on deployment anyway, so he doesn't see reason in having a say since you're the one who always comes home at the end of the day. however, he thought it was sweet when he saw a ghost plushy on the couch one night he came back from deployment.

roommate!simon riley who adores it when you make food from where you're from. he loves to hear you explain the history of the food as you're cooking. you cook so good that once, he purposely forgot his lunch just so you could make something and drop it off on base. however, he has done this too many times to the point that now on base you've gotten the nickname "roommate ramsay" (mainly by soap).

roommate!simon riley who always checks in on you when he's on deployment. he texts you, asking if you've ate, if you've came back from work, or just to banter with you. he calls you just to hear your voice. you may think he's a little distant and just sees you as a person he lives with, but to him, you have grown to be much more.

roommate!simon riley when off deployment, loves to do little domestic things with you. he goes grocery shopping with you, relishing in the feeling of you walking beside him as he pushes the cart so to others, you both look like a couple. he scoffs when you try to pay and instead pulls out his card. he loves to go on walks with you after you get off from work as it helps clear your mind. you both share the blanket as you watch tv, and he can't help but to wrap the tiny ghost plushy around his huge arms. he knows you're too busy staring at his arms instead of the tv, tattoo sleeve and scars and bulging biceps included, but he doesn't mind. because after all who wouldn't want their pretty roommate staring at their body like they can be licked all over?

(i think all i need in life is a 6'4 man with a tattoo sleeve who manhandles me and then i can die happy)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #roommate au #simon riley headcanons #simon riley cod #ghost simon riley #roommate simon riley #omg they were roommates #roommate x reader

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lesbiten · 2 years ago

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i completely rearranged the bird cage (i wanted to remove a perch that was bad for their feet which means everything else had to move as well) and theyve spent the last hour trying to figure out where the new sleepy place is

#birch has found a place to sleep but juniper is too fat to fit on the tiny perch with him #its meant for one bird lol #i think junipers been telling him to move because now theyre both going to different perches to test them out #its so cute when they explore #simon says

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differenteagletragedy · 3 months ago

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Part three of Simon Riley x Single Mother <3

Part one -- Part two

It rains the next day, and the day after, then Simon gets the orders — he’d be leaving on a mission for a week or two, maybe more.

While he’s away, he thinks of you more often than he’s comfortable with. He wonders if you had the baby yet, and if you did, if the delivery went smoothly. He thinks of how you’d told him that it was just you and Charlie, and how he hopes you’re managing everything on your own.

It’s too much and he knows it, but he thinks it all the same.

By the time he gets back home, it’s been a little over a month. A few days are spent holed up in his apartment, decompressing and trying to remember how to breathe, then he’s back to it.

To you.

More walks, by the park, around the perimeter then a lap through town and back again. Eyes scanning each time, ears perked in case the little boy comes calling.

No luck — at least, not for a while. But a week or so later, during one morning stroll, there you are.

Your big belly is gone, save for a tiny little swell, and in its place is a baby carrier, which seems to be securely strapped in place, but he sees you hold onto it anyway. Sticking out of the bottom of the carrier are two impossibly tiny socked feet.

If he thought you looked tired the first two times he saw you, it’s nothing compared to how you look now. You look exhausted, weary down to your bones, but you still smile as Charlie, energetic as ever, shows off on the monkey bars.

Simon slowly makes his way over, stopping a few feet away from you. The movement makes you notice him, and you give a small laugh.

“You sure like this place, huh?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets, and says, “Trees are nice.”

There were a few cherry trees that were blossoming now, growing along the sidewalk by the street, and he did always think they were nice-looking. You didn’t need to hear, at least not yet, that he’d found something much more beautiful to see in the park now that he’d noticed you.

At the sound of Simon's voice, Charlie jumps down from the monkey bars and runs over, putting a hand on one of the baby's feet.

"This is my baby sister, Emma," he tells him. "She looks like me but you have to be careful with her because her head is soft and her neck doesn't work right."

He chuckles, then uses Charlie's introduction as an excuse to take a glance at the baby resting against your chest. He can't see much with the way the carrier is situated, just a tuft of hair sticking out of the top, then Charlie pulls his attention back to him.

"You never said your name," the boy points out.

"It's Simon."

"I'm Charlie."

"I know."

"This is Mum," Charlie says, tugging on the hem of your shirt. "She has a different name too though."

You laugh softly, and hold your hand out to Simon, telling him your name: it's your third time meeting each other, and finally, a proper introduction.

The morning goes by much the same as your last park playdate went. Charlie bounds from the jungle gym to the slides to the swings, demanding attention and applause. Simon keeps a bit of a distance and tries to ignore just how much closer he wants to be. But with how tired you are now, or perhaps now that you know Simon just the tiniest little bit better, you speak more freely.

It does absolutely nothing to stop his yearning.

Finally, Charlie starts showing signs of slowing down. He gets a little less talkative, doesn't have quite so many tricks to show Simon, and then he stands, going to you and grabbing one of your hands away from where it rests on the baby carrier.

"Can we go home now?"

You nod, smiling at the boy, and he lifts his arms expectantly.

Simon notices you frown, just a little, before telling your son, "Baby, you know I can't carry you, I've got your sister."

"But I'm tired."

"Can you walk for me?" you ask.

He sees Charlie look from you to the baby and back again, tears welling up in his wide bright eyes, and it's enough for him to speak up.

"I could carry him, if you like."

It would be a big step in your friendship, if you could even call it that at this point, him carrying your son home, but he's ready to take it. Moreso, he's ready to offer it -- he'd take so much more, anything you offered.

"... You don't mind?"

Soon enough, the four of you are on the sidewalk, with you leading the way. Charlie is already asleep on Simon's shoulder as he holds him in his arms.

"The baby woke him up early," you explain as you walk. "I thought he'd last till his afternoon nap, but then you showed up and he had to show out."

He smiles, and when he feels the warmth spreading through his chest, he knows he's in even more trouble than he thought. It was one thing, being interested in you, but it was another to be interested in the whole package.

But of course, he had been all along, hadn't he? You drew him in, something about you seeped inside him right away, digging in its claws and holding on tight, but he couldn't deny, at least not anymore, that there was something more, too. Charlie had been, every moment he'd seen him, sweet and precocious and disarming, and now the baby ...

"Everything go all right?" he hears himself asking, speaking softly as Charlie lets out a gentle snore by his ear. "The delivery and all."

"Oh, yeah," you answer, turning down a little residential street. "Quick and easy, or I guess as easy as birthing a human can be."

"You got someone helping you?"

You shake your head, smiling up at him.

"Nope, just us. We do all right though."

You guide him through a rickety little gate towards a house, cute but rundown, and unlock the door, stepping inside and letting him come in before closing the door behind him. You show him to Charlie's room, and he lays the boy down gently in his little twin bed.

"Want some tea?" you offer, and he agrees. Anything to just stay a little longer.

While you're filling the kettle, the baby starts crying. She'd fussed a bit here and there at the park, but this sounds more insistent, Simon thinks, and you sigh, the exhaustion clear on your face.

"What can I do?" Simon asks.

And before he knows it, he's in your kitchen, taking over the tea while you sit on the couch, feeding little Emma. He can hear you as he hunts through the cabinets for cups, can hear your quiet little shushes and her little coos and gurgles as she feeds, and it's easily the most domestic scene he's ever taken part of.

By the time he meets you in the living room, two cups in hand, the baby is resting in your arms. He can see her little face fully now. Charlie was right, she does look like him. And they both look like you.

You excuse yourself for just a moment to lay her down, then come back, baby monitor in hand. You set it on the coffee table, trading it for your cup of tea, and sit beside him on the couch.

For the first time, it's just the two of you.

"Can I ask you something?"

It's not the most reassuring way to begin the conversation, but he nods, having an idea of what you might have on your mind.

"What's all ... this?"

"All what?"

You give him a look -- he knows what, but he can't very well say it, so he hesitates, trying to find the best way out of this. But you, in another show of how perfect you could be for him, give him an out.

"Look," you begin, "my thing has never not been being unable to see red flags. My thing is actually kind of zeroing in on the red flags and running straight for them. And that's not you."

"... No?"

"No," you reply. "You're yellow at best."

He smirks. "I'm a yellow flag?"

You nod, smirking back, and god, he just wants you more.

"And how's that?"

"You've got ... something. You've got sad eyes. Like you've seen a lot of stuff and like you maybe don't know how to deal with it. Something to keep an eye on, but not something that's going to destroy someone else."

"You sure about that?" he asks.

"I wouldn't let you carry my kid home if I wasn't."

He nods, taking a sip of his tea. Just when he thinks he's in the clear, you say, "But that still doesn't answer my question."

Simon considers for a moment. He barely even understands the pull he feels towards you himself, how can he explain it? But you watch him with patient eyes, close enough to touch, and he knows that if he's ever going to have a shot at actually having this, for keeps, he's going to have to try.

"I ... has there ever been something that you've never had, but you still knew you wanted it?"

You give him a small smile, and there’s understanding in your eyes — of course you have.

“And what is it that you want?” you ask.

But it’s not really a question. You know, and he can see that. So he doesn’t answer, but keeps his eyes on you steady.

“Simon,” you begin, and he has to force himself not to focus on how sweet his name sounds on your lips so he can hear the rest of what you have to say. “I don’t … why?”

“Just hit me that day,” he explains, his voice low and quiet. “Don’t know why, but it hasn’t gone away.”

“And … Charlie? The baby?”

“Charlie’s a good kid. Can’t imagine the baby will be much different.”

You stay silent for a beat, then tell him that you need to go check on the kids. He’s alone again, and he’s on the cusp of something with you, he just knows it.

When you come back a few moments later, you sit a little closer, a look of resolve on your face, and he waits.

“I’m kind of a mess,” you tell him.

“That’s fine.”

“I have two kids, and their dad is … he’s not in the picture.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“… Simon, I have a newborn.”

“I know, I met her. Head’s all soft and neck doesn’t work right. I remember.”

You laugh, but it’s nervous laughter, your eyes darting around the living room like you’re trying to find more reasons for him to want to run, but with every passing moment with you, he’s more and more sure that he wants to stay.

Finally, you speak again, your hand coming to rest on his arm.

“Just … I don’t know, ok?”

“You don’t have to.”

You don’t have to know, he wants to say, because he does. He knows you fit, and that he could take care of you and your children. He could carry Charlie home when he gets tired from playing too hard, and he could make you tea while you feed Emma. He could paint the house, fix it up, replace the gate with something good and sturdy. He could fix that leak in your kitchen faucet and make your life easier and do the best thing he’d ever do, with you and your family.

But you’re not ready to hear that. And he’s a patient man. He can wait.

PART FOUR - PART FIVE - PART SIX - PART SEVEN - PART EIGHT - PART NINE

#call of duty simon riley #cod simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #daddy simon #ghost x you #ghost x reader #call of duty ghost

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tojisteddy · 3 months ago

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Cherry Waves | 18+ mdni, tiny plot & a lot of smut, >2k wrds (I think), cowgirl, fingering, daddy kink (pa & daddy used (idc)), creampie, dacryphilia, dubcon, overstim.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is completely and utterly exhausted after coming back from a mission. But his sleep schedule is fucked, doesn’t know how he even got a wink of sleep while out in god knows where.

The only thing he knows for a fact will lull his 6’4 build to sleep, is being balls deep in your sopping wet cunt.

He’d get home after a long silent drive, throwing his stuff to the floor, yanking the mask away and brown eyes searching for you.

Usually you meet him at the front door. Taking his things and properly setting them aside before he scoops you up and takes you to the bedroom. Today was different, mainly do to Simon being a day early. You peeked your head from the kitchen, curls falling due to gravity, confused at the sudden noise from the entrance, eyes widening when you see the blonde. Shit, you dont even know managed to say anything out your face hole.

“I- fuck- you’re early Simon.” And he blinks at you. Once. Cocks his head to the side before nodding, “wrapped things up fast to be here.” To be with you. Simon, who used to be able to go away for months at a time and was unbothered by the lack of civilian interaction, now only wanted to be out for a month or two at a time. He had something— no— someone waiting for him at home. A cute little kitten to take care of. He couldn’t leave his pretty thing alone for too long, could he? You were the one thing helping him keep his sanity. He had to be with you.

And he doesn’t say anything else, just goes up the stairs, knowing you’re right behind, following his leisure strides as best as you could.

“Sluggers at my friends till tomorrow, she really wanted to see the old pup.”

“The wash’s makin that weird sound again. I was gonna call the repair man, but you’re here now.”

“I didn’t get a chance to make dinner, but tell me whatever you want when you’re ready. I’ll whip it right up for ya.”

And the man is just barely acknowledging your words as you followed behind him to the bedroom. Grunts of understanding escaping his throat at everything statement, but he wants you to give him a quick rundown of what he’s missed. Just so he can mentally prepare for how to handle it just like he always does.

“Come ‘ere.”

He’s already pulling his clothes off, sitting on the bed of your bedroom, reaching out for you because you’re just not moving fast enough. You’re straddling him, and his hands are slowly making their was down your hips after taking off one of his shirts you had on, to your inner thighs, then grazing the back of his fingers to your underwear— they’re wet. Simon lets out a breathy laugh, “already this wet, haven’t even touched you. Been waitin for me doll?”

Like he didn’t know you were gonna get excited just from seeing him back, he’d had you on this routine even before you two were in a establishment relationship. Get the house all spic and span, stretch yourself out, take a day off from work or two— or three because as soon as he got in the house he was gonna fuck you like no one’s ever seen before. And he’s sliding your panties to the side, slipping two fingers in so they’re knuckle deep and thrusting them right at your spot.

Why so fast, you ask? Well Simons desperate. Desperate to get his aching dick inside the gooey pink walls that’s shapped for him. That doesn’t mean he’s not getting you to cum for him once, get you to melt under his touch was Daddy’s simple muscle memory. He looks away from your pussy, that’s load and soaking his fingers to look up at you who’s covering your mouth. He tsks, slapping your hand away as you whimper.

“Not gonna let me hear you? After I’ve been away soooo long?” He fains a frown, curling his fingers into you more, fingering you faster, harsher, and the butterflies in your stomach build. “Pussy so greedy princess, won’t let me go, she’s callin for me— shit- but you, you won’t even let me hear your pretty voice. You turned into a spoiled bitch? Ungrateful for what I do?”

“N-no sir.”

“No? Then let me hear how much you’ve missed me dollface,” the moans leave your mouth like a second language, your lost in pleasure, grinding your hips against Simons stomach and he hums in delight. Atta girl, what a good girl.

“I wanna- lemme- haa, cum. Pa can I? Nngh Daddy-“

Simon rolls his eyes, flicking your forehead with his free hand, silly thing, “Cut the whinin out ‘nd let it go.”

And you unravel so beautifully, thighs shaking, pulsing around his long fingers, slick drenching them. It’s almost dizzying how good you cum so much so you lose yourself while Simons connected your lips, it’s so sweet. Bewitching, getting you all worked up all over again.

Usually when you’re taking him, he has to give you a swat on the thigh or ass so you dont try to take all of him at once, but you were taking it nice and easy today. Just like he taught you. Slowly taking Simon’s veiny member inch by inch, practically choking his airway by how tight your cunt was. His eyes fluttered closed his eyes, letting out a breath in relief once you bottomed out, tip giving a slight kiss to your cervix. Christ, this was were he was meant to be. Inside your drenched pussy for the rest of his life.

He’s kneading at you hip, other hand caressing your your stomach (freak) up to your jaw.

“Took it so good princess. So fuckin warm, love that shit.”

Awww, he was being sweet.

No actually this time, when you were good by ‘helping him out’ after being away for so long Ghost was soft with you. Praised you, worshiped you, thanking God for letting him get back to your pretty face, sweet voice and mesmerizing cunt. And it’s so slow when you start moving, his head of blonde hair resting on your shoulder, shuddering breaths leaving his mouth. Like a wave, he’s drowning in the feeling. Drowning in you. Addicted to whatever mystical being that you were. He’d drown a million times if it meant being with here in his big arms, holding you so you’d melt into each other.

He didn’t know if he could admit, his precious thing, he needed you. It made him sick thinking of a life without you. He had to have you. Forever and a thousand more years, to hell and back.

“Missed you so much Daddy mmph- so happy you’re b-back,” you gasped, you were completely and utterly full, hips rotating and moving up and down on his length, all you could do was mewl, “Did so good out there baby. Protectin everyone— fuck- protecting me.”

If you thought that the military man didn’t have a praise kink, you’d be absolutely wrong. Your words were like music to his ears, his eyes finding you and that beautiful enthralled in ecstasy face. the real reason he was able to continue in day in and day out doing his job that was fucking his brain up. You were a sign that he was doing something right.

“I’m a baby? Babies protect the world, huh?” his lips curved up.

“y-yeah,” you whined, fuck, you were barley thinking. Babbling.

“Yeah?”

“Yes pa, mmph- you’re my baby.” You sniff, your waterline filling with tears. Even if you’re the one doing all the moving this time, Simons good, too fucking good at making you feel— well— good. And he’s everything. Everything you ever wanted, everything you ever needed, so much so, it doesn’t feel real. His hands are everywhere, pulling, kneeding, nibbling. Focused on getting you there because you felt divine around him, just how you were supposed to be.

“That’s fuckin silly love, can’t be your baby and your daddy, that doesn’t make any sense does it?”

What an annoying brat this man was, you slap at his shoulder as he laughd, pulling you chest to chest, your nipples getting hard from the friction. “D-Don’t tease.”

“You love it, the way youre squeezin me, you definitely fuckin missed it. juuuuust how you love my dick. Shit, wanna make me cum? Don’t you baby? Use me. Ride it just how you want and make your daddy cum.”

And it’s fucking loud as you slam yourself down on him, the clap, clap, clap of your skin colliding together with every movement. You don’t even know how your eyes didn’t glue themselves to the back of your eyelids yet because the way Simon was stretching you out, keeping you niiiice and full as you clawed at his back, you should have. All you can do is gasp as your orgasm takes over you, you try pulling yourself away, but Simons pulling you closer. Whispering, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, it’s okay princess. Feel it. You can handle it.”

You’re a fucked out, mewling mess but still, Simons there. His mouth connecting to your nipples, sucking and biting as his hands on your hips, rutting up into you, he grips your curls with one hand, forcing you to look him in the eyes, “Fuckin move [+], told you to use me.” And it doesn’t matter that you’re exhausted, tears streaming down your face, your hips burning, sobbing that it’s too much. You’re some how, very sloppily, moving your hips because you were Simons good girl, you’d do anything to make him feel just as good as you did.

“Ahuh, that’s girl, my pretty baby girl.” Ghosts practically bruising your hips, groaning at how good your tight cunt is as he plops you up and down on his cock. You feel is length twitch and the tiny movement sends you over the edge again, screaming a pornographic moan as a shit, shit, shit leaves the scarred man’s mouth.

“Fuck meeee baby, that’s it, milk it.”

It’s so soft, light, as Simon cums inside you. His tattooed arms holding onto you like a vice, keeping you steady so you’d take everything he gave you, whispering in your ear of how good you were for your Pa. How he was so happy to be back in your arms. He’d lay you both down as you passed out and bundling you both up in the comforters. All while making sure you stay stuffed with him, because after you both took a much needed rest— Ghost would be back at it by sunrise.

Fucking you like you were the last person on earth.

a/n: would you believe me if I said this has been sitting in my drafts since February? Lmk what you think. Inspo: Cherry Waves by Deftones obvi.

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𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @figthoughts @tessakate @sevikasblackgf

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