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masked-daydream · 27 days ago

Note

Ok so you did the one when us the reader is pregnant, what if the reader had the baby?? What would think the Dateables would do?? How would they help the reader??

DATE EVERYTHING! SCENARIOS

Single! Pregnant! Mom Reader! x Dateables CONTINUATION

Single! Mom Reader x Dateables

Baby & Dateables

Part 1, Part 2, Reggie's Part

Due to popular Demand, I have finally made a part 2 of this particular scenario, but this time it will feature after the Reader gave birth. So here's a treat everyone 😁 who wanted a continuation.

The Baby will be refered to as they/them or genderless for now, it's up to you on what they're gender is.

"You know...I haven't been breastfed as a child..." Tony wiggled his eyebrows as he looks at you while feeding your newborn.

You just narrowed your eyes at him then flicked his forehead, which he responded by a resounding yelp.

You then remind him of his current task on making sure that the newly built crib that he made is safe for your child. Which he immediately went to check on again.

It's been a few days passed ever since you gave birth to your little miracle. And you still remember the reactions of the objects when your water broke.

You giggled remembering that time as you slightly remembered Florence appearing and ordering Phoenicia to call the ambulance, as Celia is consoling you and calling someone to carry you to Koa. Farya teaching you breathing exercises and Teddy helping you calm your nerves until the ambulance came.

You vaguely remember leaving the dateviators to someone as the paramedics took you to the hospital where you gave birth.

Fast Forward when you finally got home carrying your newborn to your home. You saw the dateviators in the couch and remembered about the others.

As you put them on you're immediately surrounded by the objects asking you if you're ok and also about the baby as well. As you show them your little pride of joy in your arms there worries turned into relief as they cooed in the appearance of your newborn.

Then you remember Dorian, Farya and Celia controlling the crowd telling them to see you in another time to not overwhelm you as Dorian took you into his arms bridal style with your baby in your chest to bring you to your bedroom. You told Dorian that you could just walk to your bedroom but he insisted in carrying you so Farya could check on you and the baby.

You feel bad about leaving them while you're in the hospital but Celia told you not to worry about them and they understood the circumstances of your birth and they have been preparing your return while you're in the hospital.

You then smile as Dorian settled you into Betty as she and Mateo already prepared the other side of the bed with a blanket and small pillows to put your baby in.

After Farya's done with her check up in which she concluded that you are both healthy which you and the others are thankful for. she then excused herself and the Mayor as they went back to their respective places.

Then you feel yourself getting lighthearted as you watch your newborn rest. as the fears since you've returned melt away as you remembered the objects care for you which will soon be applied to your newborn as well.

You smile fondly remembering that time, as you sat in a chair near your bedroom as you began rocking your child to sleep again after they are done suckling.

Then you felt Chairemi coo at your newborn admiring their adorable face as Curt & Rod manifested to talk about your baby in hushed whispers as to not disturb your child.

A new surprise then happened when you thought that the ability to see the objects can only happen with the dateviators on. But you were surprised when your baby first opened their eyes and smiled at the first object they set their eyes upon in the middle of the night.

Which is Mateo who was very much shocked as he slowly let's one of his fingers close to the baby which they grabbed and cooed. Which made his heart swell with cuteness.

He then informed you and the others regarding this information which the other objects took in with excitement at the new revelation.

Because of that as time passes in your household all objects have settled a new routine with you and your baby. With nearly all of them being willing babysitters everytime you need to focus on your work or needing a break.

For example, whenever your child cries as they noticed you're gone when they woke up, they would immediately be calmed down by either Betty, Teddy, Dorian or Ben-Hwa who despite being a very bold is surprisingly good at calming down your baby with their smooth voice and calm demeanor.

Some objects immediately step in to carry your baby when they wake up so they could hang-out with them. With explicit instructions from you on how to carry your child.

Some objects would carry your child to let them in on some very child-safe activities which will be monitored by Dorian or Wallace to make sure your child is safe and also meeting their needs whenever they needed it.

Some activities which includes The Hanks letting the little house homie watch some of their stunts as the baby laughs in excitement at the group being boisterous and fun.

In the Home Gym, when the baby will eventually will be passed on by each of the objects in the Gym, Each of them either talking to the baby about their activities with Kristof telling the baby on how they will be a strong warrior someday, With Dunk and Shelley probably trying to teach the baby on how to crawl or roll over to impress you and with Stepford on which your baby immediately took a liking to him from how shiny he looks and looking at the Trophy with wonder.

Sometimes the objects in the attic will come down and look after your little love, infact some of them are very good babysitters.

Lady Memoria will reminisce and talk to you (if you're present) and your baby about your similarities and will also use some of your old toys from back when you were a kid for your baby.

Infact she probably was the one who helped you organized some old stuff from your attic to be reused or gifted to your child. Which you will be grateful for.

Sophia may come off as a suprise when being a babysitter for your child. You thought that since she despises disobedience she will be very annoyed at your baby who can't even comprehend things yet.

But you were shock on how good she is when she strutted in your office, carrying your baby who looks quite calm despite the big oversized black sunglasses in their eyes in her arms demanding you where you keep your child's formula and bottles so she could bottle-feed them.

You later found out that she was basically Monique's parental figure since she also can be a bit protective as her duty as a safe.

Speaking of Monique she is also quite helpful in doing some budgeting for your baby's needs and also for some reason, decides to teach your baby about how finances and budgeting works which your child just looks at them cutely while sucking on their pacifier.

And there is also Hector who pretty much cherishes your baby holding them in a way that a good father should. With his calming voice and loving demeanor which made him one of the best babysitters in your household.

At some point just like how Dunk and Shelley are trying to teach your child on how to roll or crawl on their own. There will be a little competition on who could teach/help your baby on achieving their very firsts so they could impress you.

With Phoenicia and Lady Memoria being there to take pictures and memories for every first achievement your baby does which is kinda wholesome.

Like with the Kitchen crew where the moment there's a green light on your baby being ready for solid foods they will be the very first to feed them.

As you sat in one of the Dining room chairs with your daughter/son in your lap you see Mitchell and the others preparing various foods for your child to try, you can't help but feel happy as you see their eagerness for another milestone for your child.

As they are done preparing the various foods each of them take turns on making your baby try some of the foods which includes some fruit and vegetable puree, infant cereals and more...

On which of them take in on every reaction your child makes to each food and making sure that they are not allergic to any food. Sometimes your child's reaction made them laugh like the one where Freddy made them try their first lemon slice which made say a few 'awws' and giggles as your child recoiled from the sour.

Then during bath time or change time you see Jean-Loo being the expert on changing the diapers on your baby whenever they poop or pee themselves which kinda makes sense.

And then there's Rebel who was warned by multiple dateables to watch their language whenever their around your baby. Which they are very annoyed by which is why they try to avoid your baby whenever it's bath time.

But unfortunately your baby quite likes them for some reason. infact whenever they see Rebel they start reaching out their little baby arms to them and cooing like their asking them to carry or just wanting to touch their yellow wing-like arms.

And as much as Rebel wants to leave they can't help but stay, cause the baby starts crying in fear of their favorite rubber ducky leaving. Which some of the other objects in present giggle and tease Rebel about it which will they respond with a glare or a hidden middle finger.

As some objects volunteer in being babysitters each have their own way on making sure your baby is taken care of. whether it will be them talking about their hobbies or just overall doing odd stuff to make sure your baby doesn't cry.

For example, You see some gossipy objects like Wyndolyn, Curt & Rod, Bathsheba, Scandalabra and Tina include your baby in their whenever the do a little gossip, one of them will hold your child in your lap as they talk. They would occasionally ask your baby something which the baby then respond in random babbles and sounds. Which they respond in "I know right?!" , "Preach it little man" , "Oh you are Soo right!" surrounding your child in laughs and entertainment on which your baby enjoys.

Some Calmer objects with good aura and a approachable presence are very good in keeping your child asleep.

Which include Teddy (obviously) in which your baby made him their favorite napping spot because of their storytelling, Betty, Koa, Able, Stefan and Gaia whom are also good napping spots when they're being carried.

And for your child's development and creativity Lyric, Keyes, Rainey, Miranda, Mac, Artt and Telly will help with your child's learning and artistic development.

As Keyes, Miranda and Rainey sing and perform for you and your Baby you see your darling's eyes grow wide with wonder as they smile and babble when those three performed.

Which is kinda funny as your child also reacts the same way when Johnny Splash and Jean-Loo performs as well.

Telly will make sure to show your child some educational and fun shows. None of those brainrot stuff. Infact there is a chance your baby will be shown some songs from Gracie's corner or shown some cartoon like Bluey or turn on some old cartoons like The Backyardigans. Your child will definitely grow up to be creative 😊

As your Child learns how to dance because of the shows and music televised by Telly, their little arms and legs waving in excitement while laughing. They will be joined by Bodhi who starts to dance and sing with your child.

Speaking of Creativity as they are exposed to Lyric and Artt they will soon learn on how to create art and stories. There will be a time where your child show you their creativity; either through a painting/drawing of you and them or a story that they made by themselves.

This will help them in their critical thinking skills in the future as both Chance and Parker and the rest of the Office Crew whenever they have one of their G&G game sessions. Sometimes they even let your baby join as an adorable character in each sessions.

There will be some objects who can get a bit protective. Like Bobby Pinn who at first will be all tough and uncaring at first saying that a baby is not that useful in a criminal empire.

Then you saw them crying while holding the baby as they cuddle them. Saying that they'll protect them no matter what. 🥹

Like Captain Jaques Pierrot who have decided to promote your child as his 'cabin boy' which sooner or later will be the 'first mate' of his crew. Despite the odd titles he gave to your daughter/son, Jaques will hold your baby gently as they interact with his eye patch wearing chick. Who your baby loves to touch it's fluffy feathers.

As the night falls and everyone lay to rest including you, Your baby will dream of Nightmare but this nightmare will not scare them. Oh no, infact Nightmare herself cherishes your little spawn as your baby looks at them with no fear as they smile, letting your little spawn laugh as they play with her various heads and arms, each eyes looking at your beloved spawn with fondness.

At some point each night you woke up urgently as you hear your baby cry. As you approach them to feed- you see a white shirtless figure already doing it.

Doug holds your baby in his arms talking to them with that deadpan voice of his on how they nearly woke up the entire household with their cries, making the others think that their hurt but no, you're just hungry. Doug says as he holds the milk bottle in his other hand as he talks to your child with no malice despite the words. You just smile fondly, That even Existential Dread himself can exist for your child without the feeling itself.

At some point you get confused, lost and wonder on how you can raise the little human. Despite the others saying that they will help you in any way they can nearly all of them have no experience in babies well except for one.

Mikey Transaction will guide you in childcare in anyway he can, as he got 3 kids himself. He is also one of the best babysitters in the home easily making your child laugh and relax and maybe someday he'll introduce you to his Kids as well.

Another contender for being good with childcare is Winnifred as she makes sure that every bath time the water is in perfect temperature. As she joins in the bath with you as she hugs you like a lover as you both make sure your baby is clean including yourself. And also making sure that every baby bottle or pacifier is sterilized and the milk formula will be warm enough for your baby.

During the time after you gave birth you will probably get a video call or text from your dearest friend Sam as she demands pics of your child and also will join you in shopping with your child as sooner or later will call her Auntie Sam.

As time passes with each day hearing laughter and feeling love, as your child grows up with the love and care they deserve. You begin sigh watching them hangout with various objects and concepts in the house each caring for your baby in their own unique way

You thought to yourself that you will be alone, being scared of the growing life inside of you. But as you watch your beloved child smile all your worries melt away.

As you feel someone's arms hold you in your waist you remember that you are no longer alone. As you have your friends and lovers beside you with your baby. You know that you will never feel that you're not enough ever again.

After all Home is where the heart is- as each day is filled with the love you have for your child and family.

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shotmrmiller · 5 months ago

Text

(Unnamed for now, 4.8k words of nothing but self indulgence because ex bf simon is king. just porn without plot, the usual filth. also i wrote myself into a hole with the smut but whatever.)

If your friends knew that you'd gone to great lengths to look presentable— less cave-dweller, more human— hoping to get lucky tonight only to end up waving off anyone of interest because you're too busy sulking about a relationship you willingly broke off, they'd kick you from the group chat.

(Or never let you live it down.)

But here you are, perched on a barstool, its cracked leather slightly sticky beneath your legs, the cocktail you'd ordered a while ago sitting mostly untouched on an even stickier bar top. Lamenting. Moping all over a guy who hasn't bothered to return a single phone call since you left him the voicemail. And it hadn't been his fault, really. He'd been upfront with you from the get-go; he's a busy man with a job you don't want to know about and are safer not knowing about.

You'd noticed the specific wording he'd used. Not better off but safer off, its implications perilous. The hardened look he'd given you when you'd pressed him on it, hoping for a slip of the truth, had been the first and only warning you'd needed.

Get off his case, understood.

You clench your teeth, irritation nipping at your nerves. You'd like to think that you've mourned this ex-relationship plenty and feeling an acute, smoldering ache again over a whisper of a memory (and not even a fond one at that)—

Time to douse these flames.

Waving the bartender down, you push away the watered-down drink and gesture for a shot. She eyes you warily, hesitating for a moment before sliding an empty glass over and reaching for some top-shelf bottle your bank account already feels the bite of. The fiery burn that courses down your throat resembles the one in your chest.

The alcohol swiftly does its job, offering a sense of relief, and you're grateful for it, even if fleeting. The room starts to blur a bit, the strobing lights overhead bleeding together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain, and you let yourself sink into the moment, the gentle ebb of intoxication pooling heat in your cheeks, warmth seeping into your limbs.

Things don't look so bad now; the world has taken a dreamlike quality to it, with softened edges and vibrant colors. With the liquid courage dulling the sharpness of your previous thoughts and easing the tension in your shoulders, you reckon that now you can start looking for your prey of the evening. It's why you even bothered to slink out of your comfort zone in the first place.

Mission directive: Get laid. Or plan B: go home with a new number saved in your contacts.

You rest your chin on your palm, eyes lazily scanning around the room, taking in the hazy but lively atmosphere. The dance floor is a whirl of energy, couples moving to the rhythm of the music, a group of friends huddling in a corner, hands gesturing animatedly as they chat each other up, and at the front—

If you swiveled away in your chair any faster, the courage you'd knocked back 10 minutes ago would come back up, spilling onto the bar top the barkeep gave up trying to keep clean. There have been numerous instances where your mind plays tricks on you, teasing you with glimpses of big and blonde in your peripheral while out running errands, the miserable lump in your throat only dislodging once you've made your grand escape.

(It's not running away; It's a tactical retreat. You'll face the music when it's less deafening.)

And in keeping with tradition, you settle your tab and scurry off to the bathroom, clutching your bag like a lifeline. A familiar shadow just walked in through the front door, once again haunting you. No matter how many times you whisper reassurances under your breath, dismissing it as a cruel joke your mind loves to play, the semblance of him never fails to arouse a bit of panic in you.

The trip to the bathroom feels like you're trekking across the country, weaving in and out and around crowds of people, dodging flailing limbs like an extreme sport. The inside is relatively small and cramped; three stalls for the entire bar. It's blessedly empty, so you beeline to the sink, hoping for a splash of cold water to settle your nerves.

The water is startlingly cold, or maybe it feels colder because you're flustered, and you're mid air-drying your hands when you hear it: that unforgettable gait, heavy and solid, like a tank rolling over rugged terrain. It's something that you can still hear echo in the small confines of your flat when the world is quiet. The mirror in front reflects your tense face, its edges cloudy with time and poor-quality cleaning solutions.

Get a grip, you're losing it.

Until the door swings wide, hinges screeching as it gives way with no resistance, and you realize that you're not losing it. But you just might.

"'Ello, poppet."

Incredulity forces a chuckle out of you because it's either you laugh or you cry.

"Nice," he eyes the cracked tile beneath your feet, "choice for a night out. Beer's more piss than ale, though." The door closes behind him.

The mockery in his voice is wildly unwarranted, especially for a man you haven't heard from for a better part of the year, and you finally gather your wits to bite back indignantly.

"What? It's not your cuppa? I always assumed you ratted out in seedy holes like this." The bruise-tight grip you've got around your bag makes your fingers ache. "I'll be sure to pick a more refined place for you next time."

He wastes no time closing the gap between you two, your three steps back negated by his single one with laughable ease, and the space around you seems to shrink, his presence swallowing it whole. You'd forgotten just how large a man he was— is.

A different beast altogether.

"No need. We won't be comin' back 'ere again." Your brows quirked at that. He's gone and learned French, apparently. Oui. You try to keep your personal bubble intact by taking another step back only to come in contact with a stall door, its chilly surface forcing your spine rigid. Cornered, caught in the crosshairs of the hunter's gaze, and the intensity of it makes you feel vulnerable, bare, as if you're staring up the barrel of a loaded gun.

"Easy, lovie, no need to look at me like tha', 'm jus' 'ere to talk," he says with a tone that's tinged with condescension, and his giant mitts are up and palms facing you like he's dealing with a skittish animal. There's a thought there, buried deep, that you refuse to acknowledge.

"Talk?" The question bursts out before you can stop it, followed by a sardonic laugh that feels unexpectedly cathartic as it leaves your mouth. Talk now, when you not only kept your line of communication open but also actively tried reaching out for weeks? Weeks spent waiting for a response, foolishly hoping he'd give a damn enough to at least put up a fight for you and what you had?

He tilts his head slightly, eyes unreadable. "Better late than never," he remarks, but that's the problem, isn't it? You were forced to come to terms with never, whether you liked it or not. And you had not liked it, but it had been necessary. To know there was a part of his life you weren't welcome to, regardless of reason, was something that shadowed your interactions. The realization that you were kept at arm's length due to the duality of his life was too bitter a pill to swallow.

It'd been a painful process making peace with the fact that maybe things just hadn't been meant to be. C'est la vie and all that tripe. But now, here he stands before you, having materialized out of thin air, a bloody intrusion upon the fragile peace you've built for yourself— it feels like a mockery of the emotional distress you've had to endure.

"Better late than—? You honestly fucking think you can just," you stumble over yourself in disbelief, "just corner me in a tiny bathroom of a dingy bar to talk?"

Simon raises one bulky shoulder, unconcerned. "You chose the place."

His piss poor attempt at a joke is like a slap in the face. "Right. Goodbye, Simon." You step around him briskly, your arm brushing against his. Just as your fingers graze the cold metal of the door handle, his encircle your wrist and gently pull you away. The span of his palm could easily engulf the entirety of your hand, and you can't help but wonder if you're as delicate and fragile as you feel in his grasp.

"Let me try that again," he murmurs tentatively, and you curse your good nature— the one that's always been too quick to soften even when you know better. You know just how clumsy he is with words, how his tongue ties itself in knots when emotions creep into the conversation. Simon gives your wrist a tender squeeze. "Ya can leave whenever you want."

Damn it. Damn it. Fine. This confrontation has been a long time coming anyway. "Then try again and make it fast," you snap, words short and clipped. "How we haven't been kicked out of here yet is a bloody wonder."

He steps away from you and leans his hips against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. Here Simon stands, no longer a hazy apparition in the corner of your eye but fully here. Real. Uncomfortable so. You shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"Didn't mean to disappear on ya," his tone carries a note of something resembling regret. "Work took me across the world, couldn't reach out t'you even if I wanted to." And there it is, the crux of the problem. His job. Always his job. The one part of his life you've never been allowed to see, what had been the ever-constant shadow hanging over your relationship. What tore him away from you for weeks at a time only for those same gaps to start getting longer and longer while his stays grew shorter.

That's not good enough.

"So that's it?" Simon cannot honestly expect you to take his paltry excuse and run with it. As if it's enough to stitch together the wound his silence left behind. "Work? That's what you're going with?" It's the audacity that stings the most, the hope that you'd simply accept it and move past all of this heartache.

For all you know, he could be lying through his teeth, spinning enough truth to make it seem believable. You must have your suspicions plastered on your forehead because Simon peels himself off the sink with a sharp breath and narrowed eyes.

"'M many things, love, but a liar ain't one of 'em." His hand disappears into the front pocket of his worn denims, and when he pulls it free, you instantly recognize the tattered, frayed edges of his wallet. Still clinging to life, it seems. As stubborn as the man holding it. He opens it and extends it to you because it's imperative you see...?

"Work." And right there is an ID, not your plain old driver's license, which you're unsurprised to see absent. The man has no business being behind the wheel of any vehicle; he's a threat to all life and limb while on the road— but a military ID, the insignia emblazoned on the card unmistakable. You'd pieced together as much but never fully assumed, never formed a picture, just a blurred outline that left more questions than answers.

Name: Simon Riley. Rank: Lieutenant. Special Forces is right above the square where a photo is supposed to be. "There's no picture." You flash your eyes up at his in question.

"Never," he states.

You swallow thickly. An admission, this is. A roughly hewn olive branch tucked away in the ratty wallet you'd told him to toss ages ago. He snaps it shut with a practiced flick and then rucks up the right sleeve of his jacket up to the crook of his elbows, exposing his forearm, stark and freckled, the skin pale but then closer to his wrist, his flesh taking on a more golden hue— honeyed, sun-kissed.

Simon Riley does not tan.

"Sat on my arse out in a barren stretch o' land f'r months on end, cookin' under the blazin' sun while waitin' for orders tha' never came," he grumbles, voice weary. He doesn't flinch when your wandering fingers feather across the darkened strip of skin. "The only form o' communication was local." You flip his hand, the underside of his wrist startlingly pale like the underbelly of a fish. "Couldn't 'ave reached out even if I wanted to. No signal."

It hangs heavy, what he was willing to share, and you're wondering if he's only asking for understanding or something else. Your treacherous heart flutters in your chest, breath squeezing from your lungs. A tiny part of you hopes for he's asking for that something else.

There's a new scar on his palm, close to the hardened calluses on his knuckles, the deep, puckered groove still red and raw— fresh enough to make you wince— and you can't help the frown that pulls at your lips. You can bet he took care of this himself, the oaf. Probably spit it clean and wrapped it up with whatever he had on hand. He's lucky it didn't infect.

"Only when I came back did I receive the missed calls, the texts, the bloody voicemail," he gnarls, and while the sharpness of his tone isn't aimed at you, you feel the biting sting of it anyway. Simon cradles your hand in his much larger one, and he doesn't squeeze, doesn't hold too tight; he simply holds it, the choice to refuse him if you wanted.

You don't.

"And this isn't something you could've told me before? I know I pressed when I shouldn't have," chagrin pools in your cheeks, "but I worried for you. You were sometimes so unreachable, standing between two worlds at once. I couldn't help ease the weight of your responsibilities because I didn't know what I was dealing with." As you thread your fingers with his, they feel impossibly small, brittle— like the bones of a bird swallowed in the expanse of his hand. How unsettling.

(Yet you wouldn't have it any other way.)

Simon shakes his head, slow and deliberate, but his grip on your hand tightens. "I've more enemies than friends," he mutters, raising your hand to his masked lips, the gesture oddly tender as he presses a kiss on it even though it forces you to rise onto your tiptoes. You blow a puff of air, mildly exasperated. Big geezer.

"Every time I rid myself o' one, two take their place. I only did it t' keep ya safe. There's nothin' they'd love more than to exploit any o' my weaknesses." He says it as though the admission itself is dangerous, and maybe it is, but the risk, you believe, is one worth taking even if he won't.

Where he sees danger, you see trust. And that's all you ever wanted. Trust, because either you'll have all of him or none of him, so you tell him that.

His grip tightens imperceptibly. "Only wha' I feel is safe f'r you to know. Nothin' more." You know he means it. You've seen how far he's willing to go, how much he's willing to sacrifice, to keep you out of harm's reach.

Simon will shoulder just about anything alone if it means you'll be kept safe.

How lovely. He's taken it upon himself to play Batman when no one cast him into the role. Ah, well. A win is a win, and you've long learned some battles aren't worth the effort today, so you tuck this conversation into the back of your mind, a note to revisit at a later date. As for now, though...

"Alright, Si," the old nickname slips from you so easily, as if it never left, "We can continue this tomorrow, if you're able, but as for me," your gaze flickers to the faint ring of grime around the drain and the scribbles covering the peeling walls, "I've just about had it with this place."

But he's got no interest in letting you go now, not when you've given him the second chance he'd been desperate for. Instead, he jerks you to him, your shoulder colliding into his chest, his arms cinching tight around you. There is no grace, no soft pretense to it— just a raw, unfiltered need of a man clinging to what he's been too afraid to lose; your arsecheeks apparently because that's what he's currently pawing at.

Pervert. Honestly, you'd applaud him for holding back from groping you for this long. No shame in giving credit where it's due. You thought about letting him have his fill, indulging his starved-dog behavior until his hands started to wander beneath your clothes. You ought to make him stop this before it spirals into something completely out of your control.

Ah, but then he latches onto the sensitive spot on your neck, right below the ear, so close to your drumming pulse and your words snag in your throat like fishhooks when he suckles.

It's tragic how quickly you cave.

Simon's breath fans hot over your spit-slick throat, slow and composed while yours is sharp and shallow as if you can't quite catch it. He jerks his head toward the stall, and you freeze, disbelief rooting you in place.

"You're joking." He's gone and lost whatever scraps of sanity he had left back wherever he was because there's no way you're getting down and dirty in— your lip curls in distaste as you look at the industry-grade bottle of disinfectant that sits in the corner— here. But then he's dragging you toward the nearest stall anyway, your bag tumbling to the ground, not my bag, Simon, shit, you owe me another. The door is a pitiful excuse for privacy, barely clinging to the hinges and sporting a gap wide enough to make you grimace. You've hardly any time to register anything else before Simon is already at your feet, smoothly dropping to one knee, the crown of his head dipping slightly below your navel.

Simon's hands cup the back of your thighs, palms spread wide as they trail upward, the tips of his fingers finding lace and not your everyday cotton. With a deliberate slowness, he lifts the hem of your skirt, his neck craning just enough to bring his line of sight under the drape of fabric, and his gaze lingers.

Oh right. You've got on that set— the one he'd carefully chosen for your birthday, that one that fits you so perfectly it almost feels unfair. A little indulgence that'd been meant for his eyes only. Even as you'd slipped it on earlier tonight, it'd felt like you'd been breaking the rules.

It makes you wonder...

You hook a leg over his shoulder, the heel of your shoe digging into the straight plane of his back. "Well?" Your question is wrapped in feigned nonchalance. "Does it make you upset?" Simon shrugs, dismissive, his eyes steady as they lock onto yours. The dim light above buzzes faintly, its unkind glow spilling over his rugged face. It does nothing to soften the sharpness of his features.

And you notice a new scar, tiny, close to his hare's lip.

"Doesn't threaten me, sweet'eart."

A sharp laugh escapes you. How infuriatingly arrogant. Simon leans in, his nose brushing against your sex roughly before he takes a crude sniff, unrestrained, unapologetic. Nasty as always.

The faintest smirk curls the corners of his lips. "Can't blame me, my girl and I 'ave been apart f'r too long." Humming, you place a hand on his head, palming over the short bristles of his hair before curling around the back of his neck, and you grind down on him.

"If you're hungry, then eat." The smile you give him after your gracious offer is nothing short of salacious.

Simon thumbs your gusset to the side and slips his tongue through your folds, and it's electric, raw. Frissons ripple through you, starting from your nape, and it cascades down your arm and your legs, and the sensation is sharp, almost overwhelming, and you bow forward, nails digging into the dense muscle of his traps.

It's been so fucking long.

Hot, wet pressure circles around your swollen clit, purposefully shy of what you covet, enough to stir something within you but not enough to satisfy— nowhere near enough. It makes you testy. Impatient. It pushes you to lose control, feeling it slip from his grasp, only to land squarely in his.

It's the exact reaction Simon craves. You can grind down on the tip of his nose all you want, push and pull at his head every which way, but you don't come without his say so, and to earn that, there's something you have to do.

By the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip, bite-swollen and glossy with spit, peering down at him with bleary eyes after having rutted against his face without restraint, frantically seeking the friction you yearn for, you also know what to do.

Good.

Now he waits. Your pussy is dripping slick, dewy honey trailing down his chin and joining the sticky mess pooling near his knee, but he doesn't care— his focus is entirely on you. Simon knows exactly how this will end. You're as mulish as ever, he muses, but you'll break. You always do. It's not a question of if but when, and he's content to wait as long as it takes for the inevitable. After all, he's a patient man when he chooses to be.

Your chest heaves with every ragged draw of air to your lungs, your pretty lips quivering with need, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. If he had the skill, he'd pencil this very moment onto paper, immortalizing it. The desperation that clings to your features, the frustrated grunts you give when he laps at your— his— cunt, tongue skimming just shy of your pearl.

It's intoxicating. A heady visceral rush that courses through his veins and pools white-hot in his groin, stiffening his cock almost painfully.

And then, when a finger dips into your sopping entrance, the composure you'd been desperately clinging to begins to come apart. Simon watches it unfold through heavy-lidded eyes, the gentle part of your lips, the tremor in your breath— he drinks up every single second.

"Please," your voice is barely more than a breadth of a whisper. Your surrender is almost as sweet as you.

The kiss he plants on the inside of your thigh is searing as he hums. "What's it?" The prickly stubble of his jaw scratches against your skin. "Don't lose ya courage now," he murmurs, "you've already fought 'alf the battle.

Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, but you truck on, dignity long lost, in tatters next to your bag on the floor. "Please let me come." Your words come out in a half whine, half plea, and Simon's response is immediate; he cants your hips as two thick fingers enter you fully, and at this angle, it's more than he knows you can take, but you asked for it. Begged for it.

Simon takes it slow, not easy, the suction on your clit maddening; strong, fluttering pulses that seemingly beat in tandem with your heart and the world begins to tilt on its axis, his strong hands keeping you anchored lest your knees give way beneath you.

The world narrows down to the sound of your hiccups, the tension coiled spring tight below your navel, the feel of his shirt knotting in your fist— if he had hair long enough to tug, you would've ripped it out.

You knock your head back against the door almost violently, the dull throb stamped out by the livewire crackling beneath your skin when you finally do come, a scorching heat radiating from within your core out, leaving a raw, tingling sensation in its wake. It stings, you dazedly muse. The orgasm that was wrenched from you was so thunderous your pussy stings. It's short-lived but potent, and you can't help but wince, your lips curling, teeth slightly bared in discomfort.

Ouch.

Simon, on the other hand, is just peachy, unbothered as ever, leaned back on his haunches, chin glistening with slick, his thumb sweeping what's about to drip off his nose.

"Don't think for a second I'm returning the favor here. I've standards, Simon." He huffs in response but says nothing, expecting nothing less of you, instead opting to shrug his jacket off and place it over your drooping shoulders. Your limbs feel leaden as you exit the stall, Simon nimbly reaching for your health hazard of a bag before leading you toward the door.

Your fingers curl around the knob, and twist and pull—

and nothing. Confusion knots your brows together as you retrace your steps. Had you pushed or pulled it open? You can't quite recall, so you give it a firm push it instead—

and nothing. Again. The door stays closed.

"Need help there?" Irritation sparks within you, wishing your glare would eviscerate the obstinate door. Does Simon think himself funny? All you want is to go home, scrub yourself sparkling clean, and sleep until the late afternoon, but the door is conspiring against you. Good. Great, even.

"Bloody door," you grumble, "It won't open." Simon steps forward, unhurried, and twists the handle once, twice—

"Open sesame," he says, tone utterly flat and casual, and you snap your slackened jaw shut. "Oh for fuck's sake, Simon, keep your shit jokes," but the door opens with a click.

You're joking.

You're fucking joking.

It swings wide with a creak, and you glance around instinctively. Nothing out of place— just the usual drunken bodies flowing in and out, their laughter and slurred conversations blending into the background.

Simon drapes a heavy arm around your shoulders, large hand squeezing firm as he walks you out, and you trudge alongside, your gait sluggish, until a massive bulk stumbles into your path, and Simon quickly places himself between you and the drunken mass, both a protector and a threat.

The bloke is a guy with a row of thick hair that runs from his forehead to the nape of his neck, the sides clean shaven. "Sorry, bonnie, didnae mean ta-" limpid blue flashes to Simon, his thin-lipped smile stretches wide— too wide— flashing too many teeth for comfort, "bump into ye." He doesn't linger though, clodhopping his way back to the bar. There's a bold-lined tattoo on his nape, of a... revolver? A choice.

"Walk. I'll take ya home. Won't come in for a nightcap," the lines by his eyes becoming more pronounced. "Scouts 'onor." Simon pulls you along, and you're fighting off the sleep in your eyes when a man in a cap, his profile partially hidden by the brim, bumps his knuckles against Simon's shoulder, and curiosity outweighs your fatigue.

"Who's that?"

Simon grunts. "Security."

You don't remember having been frisked by security when you came in.

The crisp air outside bites your cheeks when you step out, and you're grateful for Simon's forethought as you tug the sides of his jacket closer to you, burying your nose into the collar— it smells of cigarette smoke and him, musky and woodsy— a quiet comfort. Sleep tugs at your eyelids, each step feeling heavier than the last as you make your way towards his vehicle.

The metal door groans as it opens, and he extends a hand, aiding you up when you squeeze it as you slur out a confession.

I missed you.

He doesn't falter in his movements as he guides both your feet inside, and his hands are steady as he adjusts the belt, buckle quietly clicking into place until he straightens, gaze dark and fluid as it lingers on you.

He runs the rough pad of his thumb along your bottom lip tenderly.

"I know, sweet'heart. Get some sleep."

The door closes with a firm but gentle push.

I know, he says. Exhaustion pulls at you, dragging you further away from consciousness. Bastard.

Simon doesn't wake you when he pulls up to your driveway, hooking an arm under your knees and the other around your waist to take you inside, your head lolling on his shoulder. Tomorrow, you'll ask him how he knows where you live, considering you moved for a new job months ago.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #x f reader #just to play it safe #i wrote myself into a wall with the skirt thing lol #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #cod smut #simon riley smut #simon riley #LAZY BEGINNING AND IM GONNA BE HONEST WITH YALL #I DONT CARE #IM ONLY GOOD FOR TWO THINGS #SMUT AND QUIPS #USELESS IN EVERY OTHER ASPECT OF LIFE

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