#simon ghost riley cod

[coconut-cactus]

I think I'm getting the hang of drawing Simon big

[chronophobiaclown]

does SamBucky lowkey have the same vibe as Ghoap or am I hallucinating

[oceantornadoo]

simon riley AND reader who are absolutely terrible at dating.

he ghosts you after the first date. you thought it was a once-in-a-lifetime connection with unmatched banter and crackling physical tension. guess not. you lose a couple of nights of sleep over it and chalk it up to men ain’t shit and move on.

simon who can’t stop thinking about your date as he gets shipped out the next day. runs through an op quicker than ever, barking at soap more than usual, toeing the line of unprofessional. every day that passes is a day he can’t touch his personal phone, leaving your text thread abandoned.

you get a text a month later. “you around?” have to check the thread to remember who it was, finding yourself absolutely shocked, struggling to remember the hulking mass of a man who made you giggle so much over that one dinner.

simon shows up to your picnic date with apology flowers and a new leather jacket. explains why he was gone without prompting, a gruff monologue as you find yourself getting distracted by the new scratch on his eyebrow and the scruff on his face. unconsciously, your fingers brush it barely, wanting to make sure it was real.

simon stops mid-sentence, gripping your wrist in an iron hold. the shock of what you did hits you, profuse apologies spilling from your lips as you try to explain and tug your wrist back. he won’t let you though, keeping it in place, your soft skin against his worn calluses.

“‘s okay, love. jus’ ask next time. still jumpy from work.” you finally snatch your hand back, embarrassment warming your body as you nod your head in acknowledgment. he thinks about letting the awkwardness settle and take roots, adding a string of failed dates to his black book.

instead you make the choice for him, attention catching on a nearby curious toddler. you give the little bugger a wave with your biggest smile, sticking out your tongue to make the kid laugh. simon decides then and there that he’s going to keep you.

[clancycatears]

MDNI (18+) ; thinking about how ghost gets under your skin juuust right after an argument.

you’re giving him the silent treatment as he’s floating around the house, carrying out little bits of service in an attempt to catch your attention again.

doing the dishes? nonsense, he’s always doing them anyways, even if he’s scrubbing the pot you left to soak—neglecting it because it was your least favorite dish to clean.

cleaning out the fridge? you could’ve sworn you’d done it last month—but it had to be so much longer, because he’s throwing out three glasses of expired sauces. (that neither of you had used since you first bought them)

cleaning out the shower? you’d just gone in there yourself, conditioner still slick on acrylic floor. but no biggie, he’s cleaning it off since he has to shower later, anyways.

and then, he’s returning to the living room where you sat, your fumes dying with every little task he works, to dust off and clean the 55-inch telly screen.

you still don’t meet his eyes, still insistent on being angry—even after all he’s been doing in an attempt to catch your attention. though once you look up, he’s already hooking a leash onto your dog and taking him out for a walk.

oh, so he just needed some air. maybe he was still upset, too.

nope. he’s coming home with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, letting the dog free before returning to your form on the sofa.

he tilts his head around to catch your eye, you don’t give it to him. he tries to show off the flowers to you, and you look once, but then cast your eyes aside once more.

so he sighs, setting the flowers to your side, before getting on his knees in front of you. he holds your thighs as he kisses your knee, then rests his cheek on the same spot he’d pecked.

“c’mon, sweet’art. can’t stand the silence.”

and you relent, because he looks too damn good on his knees for you.

ghost masterlist

[jaesblogstuff]

He saw all of it, all of it.

Minding his business isn't his forte, especially when it comes to you.

Its subconscious. You don’t even realize you’re quieter lately. But Simon does. You’re still you. You laugh at the dumb TV shows he pretends not to enjoy, you hum in the kitchen when you cook, and you toss the occasional pillow at him when he makes a dry joke at your expense. But there’s something off. Something in your smile. It doesn’t meet your eyes. The new obsession with oversized clothing. You keep making excuses for why you can’t stay long. Why he shouldn’t come by. You’re tired. You have work. He might come over. And Simon, he never pushes. Never asks.

Not until he sees it.

You were making tea. The sleeves of your hoodie pushed up as you reached for the honey. And that’s when he sees the bruising just below your wrist and some of your arm. It doesn’t look like an accident. You don’t even know it’s showing. You’re chatting about nothing. Your voice soft, almost too light, and Simon stares like he’s seen a body on the floor.

He says nothing.

But something changes in the way he sets the mug down. A little too firm. A little too sharp. You blink at him. “You okay?” He gives you a look. Neutral. unreadable. “Forgot something in the truck,” he mutters.

And then he’s gone.

⸻

It wasn’t planned. Simon didn’t come looking for a fight, he just came to see the face of the man who left bruises on you. But the moment he opens the door and sees him—smirking, alive, untouched—it’s causes something to flip in him.

The guy barely has time to register who Simon is before Simon grabs the front of his shirt and slams him into the wall hard enough to rattle the picture frames.

“What the—fuck—?”

“You hit her?” Simon’s voice is a growl, low and cold. The guy tries to push him off. “Get off me, man, what the hell—”

Simon doesn’t give him the chance.

His fist connects with his jaw. Once. Twice. A sickening crack of bone and cartilage. The guy stumbles, dazed, hands flying up too late.

“You think you’re tough?” Simon hisses, grabbing him again, slamming him down onto the floor this time. “You like putting your hands on her?”

“I—I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie.”

Another hit. This one more restrained, but just as mean. A punch to the ribs. The guy wheezes, crumples, coughing. “Touch her again, I dare you,” Simon growls, crouched over him, eyes blazing. “Don’t look at her again. If you do—” He leans in closer, a snarl in his voice, dripping with threat.

“I’ll make sure you never lay hands on anyone again.”

Blood trickles from the guy’s nose, his lip split and leaking onto the hardwood. Simon stands, breathing hard. He doesn’t look back as he leaves. His knuckles throb. His chest feels too tight. But his hands don’t shake. Not until he’s back in his truck—on the way back to you.

⸻

He doesn’t come back for hours. You try to brush it off. You clean the mugs, fold the blanket on the couch, check your phone twice. But something’s crawling under your skin, cold and tight. The front door finally opens after midnight. He walks in quiet, dripping from the rain, hoodie up, hands shoved in the pocket like he’s holding something back.

Your heart jumps. “Simon?” You rise, wrapping your cardigan tighter around you. “Where the hell did you go?”

He doesn’t answer.

Not at first. Just kicks off his boots like he does every time, like this is any other night. But it’s not. His knuckles are bloodied. Split. And his jaw’s cut, a faint smear of red along his cheek. You follow him into the kitchen. The sink runs. Hot water turns to steam. He scrubs at his hands like he’s trying to erase something.

“Simon,” you say again. “What did you just go to do?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just stares at the water swirling down the drain. Then, quiet, almost broken:

“How long.”

You freeze. “What?”

He turns, finally. Looks at you with something like grief behind his eyes. “How long was he hurting you?”

Your breath leaves in one sharp exhale. Your first instinct is to lie. Deny. Laugh it off. But his expression doesn’t shift. He already knows.

“I—I didn’t…” you swallow. “It wasn’t like that.” He scoffs. Soft. Almost sad. “Don’t lie to me. You’re not that good at it.” You look away. Your throat burns.

The silence stretches between you, thick as blood. “Did you hurt him?” you ask.

His jaw tightens. He rinses his hands again. “I made sure he won’t touch anything for a long time.”

You flinch.

He notices.

His voice softens. “I’m sorry.” Then he steps back. Like he’s the one who’s done wrong. Like you should be afraid of him.

“Simon…” You reach for him.

He stops you. Not cruel, just tired. “I need to clean up.”

You’re left standing in the kitchen, hands curled around the edge of the counter, breath shaking. He’s always been there. Always protected you. Always loved you quietly, in the ways no one else noticed.

Now the quiet is deafening.

[druap]

iykyk uncolored version under the cut

holy fuck this made me legit tweak out, im never doing lineart of tactical stuff EVER again OG pic:

[ashenwraithlow]

“Just existing”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

He’s seen too much. But it’s the smallest things that haunt him most.

───── ⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹ ─────

It’s late. You’re standing at the sink, brushing your teeth, the minty foam making your cheeks puff out a little. Your hair’s a mess, in your way-too-big-shirt – probably one of his – and you’re swaying faintly, humming something under your breath.

You catch him in the mirror.

Simon, leaning against the doorframe. Silent. Watching.

His eyes aren’t sharp like on mission. They’re soft. Too soft. Like he’s studying something he doesn’t dare touch too hard in case it breaks.

You rinse your mouth and lift a brow at him. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

He blinks. Slow. Shrugs, but doesn’t look away. “…Dunno. You just… exist.”

You laugh quietly. Shake your head.

But he doesn’t smile back.

To him, that’s not small.

You, standing there in the safe, boring light of a bathroom mirror. Not bleeding. Not running. Not screaming into a comms line.

Just existing.

He watches you fold socks like it’s a ritual. Watches you chew pen caps while doing crossword puzzles. Watches you hum to yourself while making tea and doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath the entire time.

You’re the only person who’s ever made him feel like the world can pause.

And it wrecks him.

Worse than the war zones. Worse than the blood and screams and smoke and loss.

Because this?

This is what he never thought he’d have.

And every second of it feels like being in a dream he’s afraid to wake from.

So he watches.

Burns every detail into the inside of his mind like sacred scripture.

───── ⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹ ─────

“He needs to remember exactly how it felt – just to be in the same room while you exist.”

[chamomiletealeaf]

Sending a video to Simon while he’s on deployment of you humping your body pillow in your cute lace baby blue panties with a little pink bow on the front, aka, his favorite pair, making sure he can see the now dark blue spot in them from soaking yourself.

You’re panting, squealing Simon’s name bouncing your ass on the pillow while you straddle it rubbing your twitching clit back and forth on it.

You have the camera positioned behind you to get a full view of your ass and pussy from behind and when you cum in your panties you make sure to arch your back so Simon can see how wet your orgasm made you.

He sees the video and immediately locks himself away in his bunk for the night, roughly fisting his cock over and over to you moaning his name, the soft jiggle of your ass and thighs, and the way your cunt just gushes for him like his own personal little cam girl.

God he can’t wait to get home.

[porkcutletbowl44]

WAIT WAIT LISTEN (nsfw btw)

What if ghost is disguised as a loser?

You would think he's a complete beginner like the rest of the team does. He doesn't ever talk to anyone, he avoids people like the plague and literally tells random people to fuck off no matter who they are he's just trying to mind his business with his two fingers of bourbon.

No one has ever seen him leave with a woman on his arm.

Jokingly—in all seriousness— you did ask him out to hook up, fully thinking you were his first, you were gonna give him the ride of his life even if he was a two pump chump and called quits his first orgasm by a real vagina.

And nobody would know, he's secretive enough on the clock and nobody has a clue what he does away from military work, so this would be your dirty secret; your little dream coming to life.

Only to your shock, he fucks you like he's trying to leave a imprint of your body into the mattress. Girthy cock dragging perfectly against all the right places, spearing through you over and over having your tongue brain dead.

Before you can even ask who the fuck are you and what have you done with ghost— he pulls out mid fuck to bury his face in your ass with massive globs on spit on his tongue, shaking your cheeks in his face like some kind of fucking porn star as he eats both from the back like an animal.

You're at a loss, and immensely (disappointed? Bewildered?) pleased that you just scored a night with a man of your dreams and he's apparently secretly good with your body for some reason... (And no, he does not let you leave. At all. You ain't leaving his flat and that's final.) ((Also congrats no one else will let him be as nasty as he is so he's definitely not letting go you're getting married next week you gotta match his freak))

[haven-1307]

Simon’s girlfriend touching herself to his gruff voice over the phone while he’s away on deployment. She’s tried and tried to work her fingers into the sweet spot but no matter how much she tries she just can’t quite reach like he can. Her delicate fingers poke and prod trying to find it and you can only huff with annoyance when it doesn’t work.

Simon solution? Getting a mould made of his cock, just for his sweet girl to use when he’s on the other side of the world. It fits perfectly, hitting the spots that have her breath stuttering and her back arching. Curling inside her, feeling the pinch on her cervix when the toy bottoms out.

[lacelinedcorpse]

Thinking about.....

Simon riley, not ghost, never ghost with you. Riley who lets you color in his tattoos, watching with amusement when you rehydrate old purple markers with saliva just to dry them out again against his chapped and weathered arms. The same gruff old man who complains about his tinnitus and creaking bones running about and fretting over grocery prices with you. Simon who scorns you for trying to get him to indulge in your most recent attempt at crochet, only to end up skillfully looping balls of yarn into cat scarves to sooth the bitter lump in your mind after one to many single row attempts. Your silly riley who jump starts you mornings with cold toes on warm skin burning you with sensation but soothing your mind with affection.

[coconut-cactus]

When your chicken has a baby daddy you don't know about

Check out the drabble that spurred this on here🐥🐥🐥

[cosmicamor]

★ . . . 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠.

nsfw content. mdni. swearing. unprotected p in v. kitchen sex. female orgasm. dirty talk. repost from a little while ago.

“ya know what this skirt does t’me, love,” simon growls lowly in your ear, his front pressed firmly against your back as his hands roam down your thighs, bunching the material up as it reveals your ass and the cute little panties you had on underneath.

“don’t know what you’re talking about” you smirk, playing coy. you knew exactly what you were doing.

“maybe i should remind ya then, huh?” he gives you no time to answer as he pushes you down against the kitchen counter, the marble cold against your skin. a stark contrast to the heat coming from simon behind you.

his large hands reach for your panties, pulling them down with ease and exposing your glistening cunt. a groan falls from his lips as he sees this, immediately fighting off the urge to just delve head first into your sweetness.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he says more to himself than to you.

the sound of him unbuckling his pants fills you with excitement, your core throbbing and waiting to be reunited with his cock. it was all you could think about while he had been away, and you practically go weak in the knees the second he runs himself along your entrance.

“such a needy little thing” he smirks. you can’t see his face but you know, you can tell by the small lip in his tone that he’s enjoying this - enjoying having you exposed like this - and even more when he hikes up one of your legs.

“god, si. please.” you practically whimper, brows all upturned and eyes half-lidded with desire. you needed him now.

hearing the desperation in your voice is all he needs before pressing his length inside you, both of you letting out a breathy moan as he stretches out your walls and fills you to the brim. he gives you a moment to adjust, to accommodate his girth, as his hand gently runs over your hip as though to give you moral support for the satiable feeling flowing through you.

“that’s my girl,” he leans down, his head pressed against the back of your shoulder. “takin’ me so well.”

all you can do is nod, your breathing growing heavier as he begins to slowly move. his movements are gentle at first before he finds that perfect rhythm that he knows drives you crazy. the kitchen is all breathy moans and the sound of his hips slapping your ass with each thrust.

“ffuck, si,” you cry out. you could feel his tip rubbing against your insides, pushing you closer and closer to that sweet release.

his nickname falling from your lips is all the motivation he needs to go faster. the sound of his skin hitting yours is almost diabolical, something that only the two of you will ever hear. his mind is fuzzy, nothing but the need to please you filling it.

he can feel you starting to clench around him, your warmth squeezing him as you near your orgasms edge. he can tell by the uneven moans and pants falling from your lips that you’re on the brink of it.

“let go, sweet girl. i’ve got ya.” he encourages, pushing you to your wits end as your orgasm crashes down over you in waves. your body goes stiff, tightening around him and pushing him to his own release inside you, pumping you full of him. “such a good girl. maybe now you’ll think twice before wearin’ that skirt o’yours.”

you simply shake your head, “only gonna make me wear it more.”

୭ back to main masterlist ┆ join my taglist here .ᐟ

[oceantornadoo]

inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

-

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

-

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

-

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

-

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

[clancycatears]

mdni (18+) simon riley, who's never been one to know what love truly is until he experiences the little things.

the spray from the showerhead was warm and grounding, just the way simon liked it.

the two of you never quite had the time to shower together due to the sheer clashes in your daily schedules, though tonight was the one night in a very long time where there was an opening. nothing inherently sexual besides your naked figures standing next to one another. it was intimate. tender.

once your bodies had soaked up enough water, simon paused to reach for his shampoo. you were quick to stop him, uttering a simple "wait, let me" before taking the bottle yourself, flicking the cap open, and squeezing a glob onto the palm of your other hand.

he's stunned for just a moment, feet cemented to the acrylic floor of your tub, his puppy-like, spruce eyes following every movement of your hands—watching as they reach for his soiled, dirty blonde locks.

his beat of his heart came to a stop for just a moment when your fingertips scraped over his scalp, dragging back and forth to scrub the suds into his hair. it was something so simple, yet so refreshing, that his body instinctively leaned closer to yours, absorbing the warmth of your body heat alongside the spray of water.

something about your caress was so gentle, careful, loving—that it brought an unfamiliar pressure behind his eyes. it was a feeling so foreign that he hadn't recognized it, nor felt it for years. never during his enlistment. never in his childhood. but now, with you.

he loved you, he really did, and that had brought tears to his waterlines.

you held simon closely, allowing him to drop his forehead to your shoulder, letting the waning mix of suds and water trickle down his body when his scalp shifts under the spray. a small sniffle—tiny, minuscule—sounds from his nostrils while you wash off what was left in his hair.

"th-thank you, dearie. love ya lots, y'know tha’?"

a chuckle from your end. "love you too, si. always do."

and he knew, he knew, you really meant it. a true, honest affirmation that brought the very first tear to fall.

[luxcuriousao3]

Just thinking about Rich Girl!Reader x Ghost

tw: none

-

He's meeting your parents for the first time. You're all at a fancy restaurant. His suit is rented and two sizes too small. He has never been somewhere this opulent in his life. He has no idea why there are so many fucking spoons.

"What are your intentions with our daughter?" Your father asks him in the poshest voice he's ever heard. Simon tries to figure out a tactful way to say "to love her more than anyone else till I die in the dirt in some foreign country. And also breed her."

He fails.

Instead, his answer comes in the form of unintelligible grunts and mumbles. Your father is not impressed. Your mother clutches her pearls. Next to him, you take a very large sip of your wine.

The meal goes on. After a course of shrimp cocktails, the waiter brings over bowls of clear soup. Simon picks up one of the many, many spoons and starts to eat. It tastes like lemon water. But hot, because it's soup.

Your parents are looking at him in horror. You whisper "oh no" under your breath.

For some reason, you all have your fingers in the lemon water soup.

He is lost. He doesn't understand rich people. You have so many spoons. Why do you have so many spoons if you are going to eat it with your fingers.

"What are you doing?" Your mother asks. She is scandalized. She is disgusted. She is clutching her expensive-looking pearls, again.

Simon looks down at the soup. A lemon wedge sits at the bottom of the bowl of hot water. It does not look very appetizing. It does not taste very appetizing either.

"It's to wash your fingers, baby," you lean over and tell him quietly. "So they don't taste like shrimp for the next course."

Simon slowly removes his spoon from the not-soup. He contemplates suicide. He decides against it.

"Right," he says, delayed. "I knew that."

He hates rich people. Except for you.

"Of course," you reply quickly. You are trying not to laugh at him. He can tell.

He feels betrayed. You are no longer an exception to his hatred.

The dinner goes poorly. Your parents do not approve of him. You don't seem to care. On the car ride home, he asks you why.

"It doesn't matter if they like you or not," you say easily, looking at him with those soft eyes he loves so much. "They can cut me off for all I care. I don't need anything but you."

Simon's hands tighten on the wheel. He clears his throat and blinks his eyes to make them stop stinging.

He hates rich people. But he loves you.