Light On - single mom/neighbors fic
Simon Riley/female reader
Prompt: Your apartment floods. Inspired by and for @liliumbosniacum
"I need to take leave."
Simon's phone is pressed against his face, one hand holding the device, the other with a canvas bag in his hand, it's contents overflowing: blankets, baby clothes, your pillow.
"Everything alright?" Price sounds suspicious, but more curious than anything, and Simon sighs.
"Neighbor's flat flooded. She's got nowhere else to go so I'm letting 'em stay with me for a while." Price, thank fucking god, doesn't push it any further, disconnecting with a rumble about checking in with him next week, wishing him a happy holiday, and a parting good luck.
When he hangs up, you're standing hesitantly in his doorway, pile of clothes in your arms.
"That the last of it?" He asks, and you nod.
"Are y-you sure this is okay?" You're still upset, shaken, and he doesn't blame you. You were terrified when you woke up to bone chilling, ankle deep water, frantically shouting about a burst pipe into the phone over Emmaline's shrieks.
"It's okay, sweetheart. I've got plenty of room." He does. His flat is larger than yours, and though they're both two bedroom floor plans, his bedrooms are bigger, and he has two bathrooms, compared to your one. "I got the crib reassembled in the guest room." He motions to the door that's half opened, a few bags of Emmaline's stuff collected on the floor.
"Thank you." you murmur, and then step forward, burying your face in his chest. He holds you there, rubbing your back, working his thumb into the knot that sits at the base of your neck. “At least we saved the tree,” you laugh, wet and sad, and he hums, bowing to press his lips to your forehead.
“I’m sorry love.”
“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Nothing I could control.” You’ve got a point there, and he appreciates the approach, marvels at your ability to not be angry or frustrated with your neighbor, even though it wasn’t really their fault as well. He’s irritated for both of you, anxious over visualizing what would have happened if the chunk of the ceiling that fell was misplaced and landed on you, or Emma.
You pull away, face twisted up into something that looks painful, tears on your lash line, and he frowns. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, sweetheart, c’mon. It’s alright.”
“I know.” You cry, clamping your hand over the bridge of your nose and trying to turn away. “It’s just all her gifts we-were in my room and now they’re ruined, and-“
“Okay, so we’ll get more. We still have plenty of time.” He reassures, rubbing his palms up and down your arms until you come back to him, letting him fold you back into his embrace. “We’ll fix it. Don’t worry.”
“We will?” You sniffle, and he nods.
“I’m on leave, until after the holiday, so I’ll be around, we can go shopping and replace everything. It’s going to be alright. I promise.” That word slips out of him again, promise. I promise, just like he told you this morning when you were frantic and he said it was okay that you stayed with him, I promise, just like he assured last night when you apologized for Emmaline crying for most the evening. “Okay?” His chin rests on the top of your head, and he turns to kiss you, the touch as soft as he can manage. You hum, and then sigh into him.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No.” His refusal is immediate, and you look at him in near exasperation.
“Simon I can’t kick you out of your bed! You’re too big for the couch, anyway, and I don’t mind, I’ve slept on a couch plenty. Plus I’ll be able to hear better, when Emmaline wakes-“
“Sweetheart.” You’re in the living room, bouncing Emmaline in your arms, walking back and forth in front of the fireplace. She’s wearing a red and white striped onesie, like a candy cane, and Simon chuckles when she makes grabby hands at him as he approaches. You sigh, and he tucks his hands under her, lifting her away and into his arms, pleased at how you instantly relax and stretch your back and shoulders in response. “Think you’re getting too big for mama, baby girl.” You roll your eyes, playfully knocking your elbow into his side, and he grunts. “You’re not kicking me out of my own bed.”
“No?” You turn with a hand on your hip, other one holding a half full bottle.
“No, well. I mean-“ he falters, suddenly losing his confidence. “I’m happy to let you have it, or…” He can’t get the words right, can’t communicate what it is he wants to tell you, too worried about scaring you off or being too forward, pushing you too far.
“Or?” You look so pretty, standing in his flat, your belongings, Emma’s, strewn about, just your presence alone making this place feel more like a home than it ever has before. He feels dizzy, overflowing with emotion when Emma lays her head down on his chest, and you smile at her, looking back up at him, delicate, sweet smile on your lips. He bends, tilting your face upwards to meet his, lips ghosting against one another as Emma coos from his arms.
“Or… we can share it.”
This thing breaks me every. single. time. because Simon is such a mama's boy. He had been getting tortured with his comrades non-stop, and this is literally his reaction when being told ''that's your mother's skull''. His smile?? The comfort he's getting as he holds it?? I'm gonna scream.
Not only this but he's such a family man it's insane. This man kicked his abusive father who had been tormenting them for over 20 years out of the house, beat his ass, didn't go back to the army until his brother recovered from addiction (which he saved him from), was his brother's best man when he got married, loved and cherished his whole family, used to play with his brother's kid, showed his family true love and what a normal life is for years, even after he got hung by the ribs, tortured, SAd by men and women, had violent nightmares and mild psychosis.
This man was about to kill himself when he found his family dead, but instead he decided to get revenge for them and kill those responsible for their death, all the while he decided to become a Ghost and give his family a funeral pyre, destroying everything that attached him to Simon. But no, Simon never fully died and he knows it, that's why his tattoo sleeve has a set of dog tags in honor of him.
—Maturing is realizing how hot this actually is—
You love going to the pub with Simon Riley.
He doesn't go often, only going when the lads force him to. But he always brings you along, mumbling something about how you make it more tolerable. But your brain always gets so fuzzy when you're out with him, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol.
It's the way he throws his arm around the back of your chair without much thought every time. How his warmth soaks through your skin from behind your head as he leans the mass of muscles overtop the back of the booth you share. How his large hand grasps the lip of the stool you're on in a tight fist, hiding the view of your ass from unwanted eyes.
It's from the way he looks at you. He has that lazy, bored look in his half-lidded eyes. He keeps his gaze stuck to your face, only looking away to roll his eyes at something one of the lads say. He's always looking for your reaction, eyes glued to you as the boys tell a story or make a joke. An aching pressure forms between your legs from the way he studies you when it's your turn to speak. His eyes are dimmed from the low lighting, looking down at you from the edge of his glass of whiskey as he takes a slow sip.
Your mind goes blank from how close he gets. It's loud and rowdy at every pub. The sound of drinks being made, the lads talking, and the loud blaring of the tele's rugby game making the environment deafening. Even with Simon's trained ears, he has to lean down to hear you. His neck cranes down, his upper body bending forward slightly so you can talk directly into his ear. You almost forget what you needed to say, the mix of his cologne and whiskey filling all your senses.
Don't even get yourself started with when he needs to speak to you. His hand moves from behind you, cradling the back of your neck as he pushes your body close to him. It's completely unnecessary seeing as you're practically glued to his side already, but you can't help the dazed look on your face as you give him your full attention. His breath is hot against your ear and cheek, hand massaging the nape of your neck absent-mindedly. It carries the smell of alcohol and a bit of tobacco, but you find it way more attractive than you should. Most of the time, you don't even process what he said, making him squeeze the back of your neck slightly to draw out your response. You simply nod along, clearly clueless. It makes Simon chuckle out a scoff, reaching into your side pocket to grab the lighter he was asking you for so he can go smoke outside.
In all honestly, it's probably from the smoke breaks he forces you to come along for. He refused to leave your side, even if it's to go to the bathroom or to the bar for a refill. He'll stand outside the door or behind you at the bar, waiting patiently and observing the terrain until you're ready to go back to the guys. So you pay it back by leaning against the cold brick wall, watching as Simon flicks the flame over the end of his cigarette before taking deep drags. You're completely mesmorized, watching the way the moonlight makes his side profile glow as puffs of nicotine smoke leave his mouth.
His nose is slightly pink from the cold, and he shrugs in his jacket in an effort to keep warm. Orange bits of burnt tobacco flake from the end of the cigarette as he breathes in the addictive chemical, eyes watching as scarce cars drive past. When he gets to his last inhale, he pulls the bud away but keeps the smoke trapped in his mouth. He turns to you, expectedly, holding the cigarette end away and to the side as you walk up to him. His other hand, warm from being in his sweater the whole time, grasps your chin as he opens your mouth with the slight pressure from his thumb. He takes a second to readjust your head, tipping it slightly up at him in the perfect angle. He leans in real close, tilting his head slightly to the side as he stares into your eyes. His lips are centimeters away from yours, parting and blowing the smoke into your awaiting mouth.
You desperately try to breathe it in before the winter wind can take it from you. Simon hums, rewarding you with a quick peck to your lips before he’s turning away and crushing the cigarette between the cement and his heavy boot. He doesn't wait around in the cold, walking back to the entrance of the pub. He presses his back against the open door, letting the cold wind in as he waits for you to enter first. You already know his smoke break means the end of the night out, not a bit surprised when Simon mumbles as you walk past him to finish your drink and gather up your shit so the two of you can finally go home.
And the whole way home, you find that you can't think past the dizzying fog in your mind as the masculine figure besides you drives back to the flat.
I need some... toe curling, mouth watering, hair ripping, blood spiking, heart racing, jaw clenching, rough, creamy, absolute filthy Simon...
Tension, tension, tension girl I'm feening
OKAY !! I'll do it!! A little drabble (not rly a drabble) just for you!
– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
— Yourself and Simon have an argument.
Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.
It was like running in circles- endlessly tired, exhausted, and finding yourself in the same fucking place you were when you started. It felt like nothing you ever had to say was reason enough to convince him to change. It was a tireless fight, begging Simon for more affection, more time, more attention than he was able to give.
It didn't stop the irritation from building, though. It crept under your skin when he'd sit on the sofa watching the TV instead of talking with you. When he'd get ready for bed and fall asleep without so much as a "goodnight".
You'd certainly grown sick of the distance. Of feeling like a stranger was living with you. Trying your hardest not to take up space or make a single noise for fear of pushing him even further away. Living in your home had turned into an abysmal state you didn't want to put yourself in.
It hadn't crossed your mind to approach him- not until you'd finally reached your wit's end, finally cracked the porcelain facade that had been saving your relationship. Not anymore.
He didn't expect it- in fact, things were fine, to him. Admittedly, his mind was elsewhere, though he had a good excuse; the toll of deployment. He needed a good reset, a recharge, and in the meantime, he had neglected you. Unintentionally, of course, but still, he'd made you feel unwanted, unloved- nearly a burden.
Your patience had snapped, run so thin it finally tore like a thread under tension. Though he thought nothing of it- his hands had taken hold of your waist, pulling you into his chest as you finished the dishes in the sink. You knew by the rigidity in his muscles and soft breaths against the back of your neck; he wanted you.
Any other time, you wouldn't resist him. The warmth of his palms, the smell of his body- he could pull arousal from even the deepest parts of you. Though now, you recoiled from his touch. You shrunk yourself down, pressing against the counter until he released his grip.
"You tired?" He asked.
You scoffed, so quiet and meek it was nearly pathetic. You were still afraid to say the wrong thing, to send him packing.
"No," You shook your head. Honesty was important, but you weren't sure you were ready to have this argument. So you settled for half-truths and cowardice.
His hands once again reached your hips, large fingers digging into your skin, wrapping a giant forearm around your middle as he pulled you into him.
"You want me to beg?" He mumbled in your ear- so clearly turned on by the idea of begging for a piece of you.
Your eyes clamped shut, swallowing harshly as you tried to resist temptation. It felt good, so fucking good, to feel his hands on you again, to have his voice in your ear, his soft breaths against your skin. You could've crumbled then and there, fallen into him and let him have what he wanted- but your body had a way of preventing such weakness.
You were sad. Instead of utterly aroused, soaking your panties, you felt sick, nauseous. It lodged in your throat, stung at your eyes and twisted your face into a look of contempt.
"You want me now?" You asked, slipping from his grip and throwing your dish towel on the counter.
He raised a brow, watching you. "Thought I was bein' obvious."
"You were," You nodded, your hand finding the counter for balance. "But you just pick and choose when you want me, right?"
His brows furrowed, and he took a step back to allow for some space between you.
"What's that s'posed to mean?" He tilted his head, eyeing you down.
Your heart had begun to race, your chest heaving to keep up with the pulse in your ears.
"You haven't touched me in weeks," You breathed out. "Haven't hardly said a word to me in weeks."
He sighed, hanging his head briefly. His eyes met yours and he nodded slowly.
"Takes time to get myself reacquainted after bein' gone. Thought you understood," He muttered.
"Don't blame me for this," You scoffed, though this time it was audible and poignant. "You want to fuck me but you won't spend time with me? Talk to me?"
He raised his brows in shock, tilting his head as if it could allow him another lead to follow. He stepped closer, trapping you between his arms with your back against the counter. You avoided his eyes, avoided letting him see the tears gathering in your waterline.
"I do wanna fuck you," He answered. His eyes glowered at you, menacing and almost threatening.
Your jaw clenched. A look of disgust crossing your features.
"You think if I didn't fuck you it'd change anything?" He asked, watching your eyes meet his. "You been missin' my attention, sweetheart? I know I miss bein' inside you."
You huffed, nostrils flaring as he brought his lips to your neck. Your hand reached his chest, using all your strength to push him off- he remained a statue, still pinning you against the counter.
"Don't fight me," He murmured. "I know you're mad- needy," He pressed his lips against your jaw, hunched over enough that he could whisper in your ear. "I'll make it up to you, love."
You wanted to roll your eyes, but his voice called to you like a Siren- it nearly made your eyes close to savour just how good it sounded to be taken care of. To be touched, fucked, by him again.
"I missed you," You admitted, still soured by his behaviour. "And you just want to fuck me."
He drew his hand up your side, his large hand encasing your waist.
"Missed you too," He said, like it was obvious. "Can't miss you and want you at the same time?"
His lips were inches from yours, forming a small, nearly unnoticeable smile. He liked the fight, the rejection; it only made him work harder for an even sweeter reward. His fingers worked open the button of your jeans, causing you to stutter.
"Y-you can," You trailed off, your head falling back as he sensuously dragged his lips up your neck, teeth softly scraping your flesh.
"Then what's the problem?" He mumbled.
You sighed, relaxing into his arms as his hand swiftly dove beneath your panties and his fingertips pressed against your clit.
Despite your adamant denial, you were wet. Pulsating, sore, desperate and needy. He was right- you missed his attention. Yearned so deeply for it, it nearly hurt.
His fingers drew soft circles around your clit, your body jolting with every rotation, your knees weakening against him. He had no qualms about holding you up while he touched you, nor when his fingers slid inside you so easily it made him chuckle.
"I'll take proper care of you, sweetheart," He said softly.
His lips met yours, in the middle of a gasp, fighting you to move your lips against his, accept his tongue in your mouth. You did- without hesitation, and let your hands glide over his shoulders so he could hold you up.
"Simon," You muttered. "More- please," You breathed into his neck.
Your hips rocked against his hand, his fingers deep in your pussy, throbbing around his digits while he coaxed whimpers and moans out of you. Your arousal was evident, loud echoes off the apartment walls of the mess he'd made of you.
He loved it. Loved hearing how fucking turned on you were. Loved that your pussy got wet so easily without more than a few strokes of his fingers. Loved that you clenched around his fingers and struggled to get closer, grasped at his shoulders and ground your hips to get more out of him. He liked setting the pace, though. Wanted to watch you cry and beg to go faster, harder.
He'd give you relief with his cock, instead. Wouldn't want to waste the feeling of your pussy tightening around him- it always made him cum even harder when you milked his cock. He withdrew his fingers, forcefully lifting you from the ground.
He entrapped your lips with his again, trudging down the dark hallway until he found the light of your bedroom and kicked the door open. He set you down, lifting his shirt over his head so you could run your hands over his abdomen.
You shivered, his broad shoulders flexing, swaying as he maneuvered toward you, forcing the back of your knees to hit the bed. You fell back, sitting on the bed and staring up at him expectantly.
"Turn over," He ordered, watching with amusement as you scurried to land on all fours.
Your head peered over your shoulder, lowering yourself to the bed as he stepped behind you. His belt clanked as he pulled it open, tugging his jeans down to reveal his cock. He'd been struggling with his own desire- as much as he'd missed you, he couldn't ever properly fuck you unless he knew he would be totally, completely present.
He ran his palms over your ass, drawing a shudder from your body as the warmth crept further up your waist. He lined himself up with your weeping cunt, slowly working his way inside with short, soft thrusts until his hips met your ass.
You were breathless- mouth agape, eyes fluttering shut as his cock nudged your cervix, stretching you out enough that your body erupted with goosebumps. He grunted softly at the feel of your pussy around him, the deliciously wet, plush walls inadvertently pulling him in. He too, shuddered, then bent at the waist to mould his chest to your back.
"'M sorry," He breathed against your shoulder blades. "Been neglectin' you."
It didn't bother you that Simon apologized when he was inside you- he was already vulnerable, already bearing himself to you; the apology sent warmth radiating through you.
"It's okay," You slurred, twisting your body to find his dark eyes already watching you. "Don't stop," You muttered, breathing out. "Just don't stop, baby- please," You moaned out, guttural and breathless while his thrusts pushed you forward on your hands.
His soft lips touched your shoulder, wrapping an arm beneath you to pull your back even closer, using his other hand to adjust the flesh of your ass so he could bury his cock even deeper inside you.
"Neglected this sweet fuckin' cunt too," He groaned. "Can never stay away from you- never get enough."
You sighed aloud, especially as his cock withdrew from your walls, leaving you empty and hollow- before sliding back inside. His arm moved to cling around your waist, his hard fingers sliding down your stomach to rub at your swollen clit fervidly.
"Don't do it again," You chided, though with half of your usual authority while he rutted his hips up against you. "I missed you," You muttered.
He left another gentle kiss against your shoulder, now breathing a bit heavier in your ear. You could feel the Adonis belt of his abdomen hit your ass, his dick angled just right as it rubbed inside you, his calloused fingers rubbing back and forth across your clit; your stomach had begun to tighten.
"Missed you too," He uttered, exhaling sharply when your pussy clenched around him. "Bloody fuckin' hell I missed you."
"Simon-" You gasped, your climax approaching at an unexpected pace while his words hit your ear, warm breath tingling your skin. "Keep going- I'm so close," You whined, your hips pushing backwards to force him inside you, faster, harder.
"Christ, love," He grunted. "Keep doin' that, 'n' I'm fuckin' done in," He chuckled, short and deep, hardly long enough for you to notice, but it moved through your back.
You came shortly after- knuckles white with the strength of your grip on the sheets, lips parted in a gasp, a heavy groan vibrating from your chest. Your stomach tensed, pussy tightening around his cock in short bursts, making his hips stutter with every thrust. As your eyes clenched shut, a black abyss of swirls and stars appearing behind your eyelids, you breathed out finally.
He wasn't far behind, finishing inside you as he always did, though he stayed still for a moment after, catching his breath. And when he finally came down from his climax, he fell to the bed, pulling you into his arms.
A soft kiss on your temple, his dick still lodged inside your worn pussy, coated with his cum, and he muttered a quiet, 'Night, love. We'll talk in the mornin'."
Barry saying that Price listens to Heavy Metal and Sam saying that Ghost listens to classical music is just *chefkiss*
It's canon now.
Barry said that Price needs the intensity in his head in order to maintain his collected nature on the outside. And Sam mentioned that Simon listens to classical music in order to tune out the noise in his head.
Lean mean killing machine.
His teeth nipped at your neck, a little giggle escaped your lips. Hands holding his head and back as he pressed his own grip into your hip. Your smile was small, trying not to entertain him while waiting for one of the girls to wake up from their naps.
“Simon, I mean it-“
His forehead pressed against your jaw, slick with sweat as he panted, “Five minutes. Five minutes and I’ll be quiet too.” You didn’t have to look at him to know his desperate gaze, the way his bottom lip would be swollen from your teeth chewing on it a few moments earlier.
Your nails scratched his scalp, his body involuntarily shuddered. “The girls will be up any moment-“
His nose pressed against your pulse, the knee in between your legs pressed up a little bit - you gasped, gripping your husband’s head and back like your life depended on it.
“You’re not letting yourself relax again.” His forehead rose from your skin, his dark eyes met yours with a gentle gaze. “We don’t have to fuck but it’s not always about the kids. Sometimes it’s about you.”
You let a huff escape your nose, eyebrows furrowed and your eyes rolled. A smile tugged at your lips.
He kissed your cheek. “Gotta remember you need time for yourself too.”
“And for my needy husband.”
He kissed your nose and lips, the lips he was tracing with his tongue a few minutes prior. “You can always kick me off and call it a day.”
You shook your head, your nails dug into his back. “You’re so sure they won’t wake up.”
“Door’s locked anyway.” He smirked, pressing his lips with fervor. You tilted your head upwards, deepening the kiss and feeling your husband’s hands dip underneath your waistband. He pulled away after only a second, mischievous and greedy. “Tell me to stop if you need.”
You nodded, letting your head fall back onto your pillow as your husband began to kiss down your chest, his lips parting as soon as they met your cunt.
Legally his to protect
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x civilian!reader ft.✨bubba✨
SUMMARY: before you were blacked out lines in his dossier, you were a blank space and a needed signature while he was a secretive man and the phone call you didn't have the heart to make.
Pic credits to the amazing @/661ave
He was done. Finally. He had filled in the 50 page long application and dossier for your and your baby’s protection which took him hours to do and he was finally done, or so he thought. That was until he turned the last page.
Here, accepting terms of the non-negotiable and confidential contract, except if the applicant or subject of the request disagrees, are represented, the members of the division able to exert said demands and fulfill their duty to do so.
“Signature of applicant”, he could do that.
“Signature of Captain, proving knowledge of the process undertaken by their subordinate” Why would he need to know?
“Signature of General of the Army, granting said service” oh, now we’re pushing it.
“Bloody fucking hell…” he murmured, seating back in his office chair after reading the last and final necessary signature.
“Signature of beneficiary*”
*(if major/emancipated minor or signature of custodian if not)
This was going to be harder than expected.
That same day, Price entered his office while sipping on his tea and quickly discarded the dossiers he had been holding on his desk until one that laid neatly atop of the mess his table was, caught his attention.
“Lieutenant Simon Riley requests–” His eyes immediately shot up to the door where he saw Soap and Ghost walk by his office. He abandoned his mug and knocked on the glass to get his attention and motionned for him to come inside. Soap glanced at Ghost worriedly.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked.
Ghost furrowed his brow at him under the mask, it seemed like Soap was expecting to be caught for something “I don’t know, should ya be?”
“Good…let's keep it tha’ way Sergeant” he replied glaring at him and turning to Price’s office “It’s me he wants”
Once he entered the room closing the door behind him, he went to stand in front of Price’s desk as he still glanced questioningly at the dossier.
“Got somethin’ to tell me, Simon?”
“Did you sign it?” he plainly asked. The lieutenant really didn’t want to have this conversation.
“Not yet. I just want to understand what exactly I'm signing” Price noted, narrowing his eyes at him. The version of the dossier he held had many things blacked out meaning he’d be completely in the dark if Simon didn’t start speaking soon.
“Then you migh’ need glasses. It’s written on the first page…in bold black letters”
“That I’ve seen, I'm just tryin’ to get you to talk t’ me, Simon. Did somethin’ happen?”
“Negative. Make sure your signature is readable... tha' way we won't have to do this again” Ghost straightened and held onto the tactical vest he wore as he walked to the door but when he opened it, he turned to Price again “Just…sign the bloody papers—please”
The Captain offered him a slow nod with a soft smile he couldn’t hold back and watched him go knowing now that something or rather someone had been able to peel some layers off the stone cold soldier.
It took Ghost a decent amount of time to get all of his superiors to sign the dossier even after rushing them and conveniently forgetting how long a background check actually took but once he finally got the signed copy, he stared at three signatures and a blank space. He had to get you to sign it or nothing could or would be done.
Simon found this ridiculous, why did you need to agree to be protected? And why on earth did you have to know? Normally, these sort of documents were relayed to the beneficiary by security officers but he had requested to do it himself…he thought it'd be easier that way but as he sat in his truck parked near your apartment building glaring at the dossier on his passenger seat, he had started to feel like that decision was a mistake but deep down he knew it wasn’t. Did he really want three suited and armed people knocking on your door and asking you to sign papers you wouldn’t understand?
His knocks on your apartment door were soft, it was second nature for him when it came to you to just do everything 10 times softer. So he waited very patiently, looking down at his shoes and hyper fixating on every noise in the small building. There’s someone exiting their apartment downstairs three doors to my left. Her neighbor is coughing, don’t think he should be near the baby…could i get him evicted for it? No, that's too much… Is it really? Yes, stop. She’s not answering. I’m hearing movement, heavy and dragged steps. Go for the gun Simon– His thoughts were interrupted once he heard loud cries and the locks from your door clicking open and there you were looking up at him tiredly.
“Simon. Hi” you smiled as you looked back to where the cries were coming from.
“Hey” he cleared his throat “Sorry, I should’ve called–”
You chuckled “No, don't be ridiculous. You’re always welcome. Come in”
He watched you walk away right after to go pick up your crying daughter, bouncing her in your arms and trying to comfort her while he gently closed and locked the door and removed his shoes by the door. It was a reflex by now, his way of disconnecting from the exterior life.
“Is she alright?” he asked, concern evident in his unmasked face as he entered the living room.
“Uh…she might be coming down with something or maybe she’s teething” You looked tired, exhausted actually, the same way he did after a mission “She won’t fall asleep”
That’s it, bloke’s gettin’ evicted by sunrise. You stood in the middle of your living room and kept bouncing her in your arms, eventually smiling to yourself as her cries quieted down and when you turned and glanced at her, you realized she was ogling at Simon through teary eyes. You looked up at him and chuckled softly. “If i had known that would work, I would have called you two days ago” you spoke quietly.
“Here, I'll take her” he said, reaching for her.
“Are you sure?” you worried, receiving a low hum before your daughter was already launching herself in his arms. It was probably the deepest silence you had heard in days and it was enough to bring you to tears.
“How about we let mum rest, yeah?” the infant fussed and squirmed a bit until she heard him shush her while patting her back softly “I know, I know…Not feelin’ too well huh, bubba?” Simon mumbled as he let your daughter snuggle into him. He then reached for you, caressing your face lightly to get your attention.
“You can call me for anythin' you do know tha’, righ?” he spoke gently... as gentle as his touch had been while his eyes were fixed on your zoned out self as you looked at your daughter “Sweetheart?”
“Mmm? Oh…I–it’s really not your problem, I can’t ask you that of you”
He shook his head, stepping closer to you “You absolutely can…hop in the shower, i’ll take care of her and make you somethin’ to eat”
“You shouldn’t have t–”
“I want to–go, please love. Let me help”
It didn’t take much more for the fatigue to finally get to you, you let the warm water wash the tiredness away as all else you heard was silence and the eventual soft clinking of plates in the kitchen until that stopped too. You had no idea how long you’d been in the shower for, with your forehead against the cold tile until a voice cut through the stillness of the moment. The bathroom door had been left open so he stood in the hallway for your privacy.
“Are you okay?” he asked, receiving no answer although he knew you could hear him. He was swaying softly as your daughter slept soundly in his arms.
“Am i ever gonna be good at this?” your voice shook slightly, making his heart drop.
“She’s sick love, this isn’t about your ability to be a mother and you’re a good one… please, don’t doubt it” He then heard a quiet sniffle. The water droplets no longer fell and the shower curtain had been pushed aside.
You wrapped your towel around your body and convinced yourself that the tears were the water from your shower. The second you met your gaze in the mirror, you remembered that you were all she had, you couldn’t fall apart just then “Did you need something? I never asked”
Fuckin’ hell, the papers “How about you eat what i’ve made you and we can talk after”
You agreed, putting on clean clothes and sitting at your small dining table as you ate the sandwich he had made you while watching your daughter sleep soundly through the monitor, you didn’t even know you had bread at home and much less freshly pressed orange juice.
Simon was cleaning up the living room even after you repeatedly told him that he didn’t have to, he didn’t want to hear any of it. Not to mention that the cleaning was also helping him forget about what he knew came next.
Once you were done, you cleaned up and sat back on the dining table, waiting for him to join you. You saw him pull something from under his discarded coat before approaching you and then set what looked like an envelope in front of you before he even sat down. You didn’t touch it, only met his eyes once he was seated.
“I need you to sign it” he voiced plainly.
You carefully opened the envelope and pulled the dossier out “Lieutenant Simon Riley requests for…to be put under military custody and protection. Why? Did something happen?”
“It’s–It’s hard to explain”
You shrugged and nodded to yourself. Now, you didn’t need to know everything about the man in front of you... he had helped you when you needed it most and you obviously trusted him with your daughter, how could you not? You knew he was a good man, but this? This needed some explaining “There’s a lot you won’t explain, Simon”
“Well I’m gonna need something else this time” you spoke softly.
He felt vulnerable under your gaze in a way he could easily become addicted to. He liked the trusting relationship between the both of you but definitely loved far more the fact that you were questioning his actions and his behavior in a way he could only admire and be thankful for.
“Nothin’ happened” he assured “you don’t need to worry about tha’...I just want you to not have to worry about anythin’...ever again–I’m not around much and I can't help but worry about you two when I'm gone. I know it’s not my place but I just wanna make sure you’re safe”
You nodded at his words as you turned pages. You didn’t even know he was a Lieutenant before this. “You’re not just an...ordinary soldier, are you?”
He shook his head and ducked your eyes. Maybe this was it, he thought but there wasn’t a more noble way to go.
“Are there things we won’t be able to do?”
”No…they’ll provide daycare, protection everywhere you go, a place to stay in each place, they’ll evacuate you if any threat occurs but they’ll have you move soon to a safer place if you decide to sign it...you’ll be able to choose from a selection of houses. You don’t even have to tell me where, it doesn’t matter”
“I can't afford a house, Simon”
“You won’t need to—” you’ll be my responsibility, he wanted to say but it’d be far more appropriate if you read it in legal and platonic terms on page 36 “You also have a number you can call if anything goes wrong but I’d still like for you to call me”
You considered the look on his face for a minute and could see that he genuinely cared, not that you had any doubts about it.
Oxygen failed to reach his brain and lungs when you rose to your feet and disappeared for a second. As he held his breath, he thought about how stupid it’d be for him to die so gently but once again that train of thought was cut by the sight of you coming back with a pen.
You sat back down and before signing, you looked up at him again “Is your name really Simon?”
Simon nodded “Yes”
I never lied to you, sweetheart and never will.
“Are aliens a current concern of the government?”
“What?” he blinked at your serious face.
“Are– aliens–” you repeated slowly, emphasizing every word.
“No, I–I heard you. Why would you ask tha’?”
You shrugged, slightly leaning forward on the table “Are you one of them?”
He chuckled at the way you narrowed your eyes at him waiting for an answer “No ma’am”
“Answer the question then”
“They’re not, at least in the field I work in but I could ask around if tha’ makes ya feel any better”
“Mmm…” you held eye contact with him for a few seconds before signing the papers and sliding the dossier towards him and calling his name softly to get his attention “Whenever you’re ready…i’d like for you to tell me anything about you—Anything”
He let your question linger in the air as he looked down at your signature that now meant you entrusted him with your and your baby’s lives and he swore right then and there to honor that trust “It’ll be hard to hear and to know” he warned.
“And I was told I was hard to deal with yet here you are... I guess the right person eventually comes around”
He met your eyes at those last words... right person “Yeah?”
You nodded “I can be that person for you if you let me”
It had been practically a whisper yet so loud to his ears that it would be the only thing in his mind for days. “I’d love that”
i know there’s the common hc that johnny is the super horny one of the group (and don’t get me wrong, i love it! he’s so nasty!) but i think he gets the most play (besides kyle) and if we’re talking about nastiest horniest (borderline losery) i think it’s simon.
i think he’s so deprived of everything that literally the most random shit gets him horny. and i also think he refuses to touch himself unless his balls are on the brink of exploding.
idk i love the thought of lil loser simon who whimpers when he gets touched bc he’s not used to it.
18+ mdni / dark and twisty, whump
You don’t even have to move your head to see in order to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds and feels during a snowfall that blankets everything, houses, trees, mountains, your mind.
You love it. Always have. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It was what drove you to move out here in the first place. Chasing the snow. The feeling of a quiet forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white. The smell of the air the morning before a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the darkness when everything is dampened down by the weight of a million, billion unique, crystallized webs.
Except this snow feels different. It doesn't feel like a velvety white, soft dream world, but a nightmare... one filled with pain, anxiety. Why are you here? What's happened?
And why do you hurt so fucking bad?
"You're awake." A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn't as lighting sharp pain shoots through your upper arm all the way to your neck, and you cry out. "Easy." It's the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He's sitting in a chair that cannot possibly be comfortable, watching you.
"Where... am I?" You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to choke back the burn of bile that's racing up your throat.
"Are you going to be sick?" He reaches, stroking a finger down your face. You hold your tongue, unsure, and he must not like it, because he sighs, and then frowns at you. "Tell me."
"No, I don't-" You can't even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving, and he's springing to action shifting you amidst unbearable pain, turning you on your side to where a clean bucket sits, right beneath your bed.
"It's alright, that's it." A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears leaking from your eyes.
"I know, I know. Poor thing." He coos, and it sounds so... endearing, so sweet yet... frightening, like the poison of a predator, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.
"H-hurts." You cry as he rolls you back into your original position. "It hurts."
"I know it does, sweet girl. We're going to fix it." He dabs a cloth on your face, across your forehead and then down to clean your mouth up, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, concern rife in his features.
"Poor baby. Were ye sick?" You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, encouraging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you've had a few sips with a gentle 'not too much'.
"Who are you?" You smack your lips. The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it's well water, maybe?
"I'm Johnny." He's setting up something, beside you. You can see him organizing something, but can't quite make them out due to your lack of mobility. "An' this is Simon. Or Si. But ye probably won't be callin' him that quite yet." Johnny and Simon. Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can't you remember?
"What happened?" You try again, gritting your teeth against the pain.
"Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about this yesterday? Ye slid off the road, ended up in a thick of trees. Ye're lucky the one didnae impale ye." Impale?
"And you found me?" You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?
"Aye, we did. Pulled ye free, brought ye home." Home?
"We couldn't leave you to die, and the storm is pretty bad. Pass is closed." Simon offers as an explanation, and you close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed.
"Thank... thank you." Johnny hums, and then to your complete shock, leans forward, brushing his lips against yours as you blink furiously.
"Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we wouldnae." What?
"Do what?" The broad one, Simon, casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He's got a piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them. Do what?
"Bite down on this, precious." Simon instructs, placing it against your bottom lip, to which you jerk away in protest with a whimper.
"Do what?" You try again.
"We need to set your humerus, and clavicle." Set your humerus? And your-
Oh. Oh no.
"N-no. No, you ca-can't." You stutter, but Johnny gives you a sad look, shifting on the bed to place a hand on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm against your good shoulder, the one that doesn't hurt. His hand is warm, so warm against you, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong... intimate. "Please, don't. Please, please-"
"It's alright." He shushes you, and the pressure against your body increases as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather into your mouth, bracing a hand above your elbow, and below your shoulder on the side that hurts. You gasp for air, fear shaking your body, and Johnny coos at you, telling you you'll be alright, that you're with them now and they'll take care of you, that it will only hurt for a little.
"Ye'll probably pass out, bonnie. We'll get the second one done while ye're down, and I already gave ye something for the pain." He assures, like it's supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon's grip.
This can't be happening. How can this happen? No, nononono-
There's a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating agony that's delivered to your arm like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it's way out of your throat. You think you're crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, everything all at once. It hurts. It hurts so bad, it hurts-
"We're sorry, we're sorry." Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your mind starting to sever itself from your body, floating away as you slip inside a dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to unconscious as they both stare down at you, sickeningly sweet concern layered overtop the faces of a bear and a wolf, predators licking their maws in preparation, waiting to devour their prey.
Mutual Bodyworship with Simon Riley
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader
Tags: fluff, established relationship, size differance, mention of getting an erection, bodyworship, scar kissing, cute Simon Riley
A/N: The big guy needs big loving!
Kissing Simon's scars is a bodyworshipong act that can take hours. When he takes off his shirt you surprise him with a kiss or two on his back first. You feel him shiver and grip the edge of whatever is available to him and let out the shakiest sigh. His body arches into your lips and hands to feel you closer, wordlessly asking you for more.
Simon doesn't say he likes this kind of treatment but he looks forward to it every day that he's home. Being ticklish isn't why he looks forward to it. It's because you get on top of him when you kiss his chest and stomach. Typically you don't go lower when you don't have any intent to take his pants off.
It's not something that's done to make him aroused but he can get to that state if you choose his weakest spots. Simon tries not to draw attention to it but it's hard when you're right on top of it and grinding down on it. He tries to distract you by telling you there's a new scar on his chest that needs attention. It's the only time he'll verbally ask for it.
If Simon wants you to get closer and really make you forget about the fact that you worshipping his body makes him hot and bothered he will flip you over and do the same to you. He's a big guy so he can do that easily and keep you still with one hand. His other one can pull your shirt up and kiss and mumble praises against your skin, kiss any imperfection you think you have.
simon ‘ghost’ riley is a light sleeper. he’s so well trained to be on high alert that even when he’s not on duty he wakes at the smallest sound.
sometimes you’ll get up in the middle of the night and he immediately sits up. “you alright?” he slurs.
you make a small sound of discomfort or wiggle a little too much and his head is turning on the pillow, his eyes on you. and he always asks if you’re okay. you’ve told him he’s being silly and sometimes you just have to get up to go to the bathroom, but you gave up on telling him that—he’s adamant on checking on you.
and anytime he wakes up, no matter where the disturbance comes from, he’s looking over to your side of the bed to make sure you’re okay first.
and if you ever do need him in the middle of the night, all you have to do is whisper his name. he opens his eyes almost immediately and instinctively tightens his arm around you. “everythin’ alright?”
and one time you couldn’t sleep. your face was buried in his chest as he clung to you, the soft rumble of his snores letting you know he was knocked out. you didn’t want to wake him, but you were crying. you barely even moved as you teared up into his chest. suddenly, his hands squeezed you tighter. “whats’a matter?” he coos softly.
you tilt your head up to him teary eyed. “i didn’t mean to wake you.”
he clicks his tongue. “tell me what’s wrong, baby.” his hand gently caressing your face, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear.
and he’s so protective. if you roll over and out of his hands he’s quick to pull you back into his grip. he likes having his hands on you while he’s sleeping. it makes him feel more secure knowing you’re okay.
when you fall asleep together on the sofa, your body pressed to his, his arms are wrapped around your waist, clutching you closely against him. it doesn’t even matter if he’s too warm, he wants you touching him at all times whenever he’s asleep.
it’s gotten to the point where he can barely sleep when he’s not with you. without you safely in his arms, without being able to physically feel you under his fingertips, it continuously wakes him up. he’s lucky to get two hours in a row without waking.
post that inspired this | my cod masterlist
thinkin ab being ghost's little assistant <33
Being Ghost's assistant is actually more fun than it seems. Yes, you know he's a scary, powerful man. And he's fired many assistants before you just for breathing too loudly, but he seems to take a liking to you... sort of.
He orders you around most of the time, barking commands at you. "Go get my tea. And don't spill it this time." He grunts. The last time you had gotten him tea, you'd tripped over a wire and spilled it all over your white shirt, staining the fabric and making it see through. Ghost had been more concerned about his tea than the fact that your tits were visible through your blouse.
Like the dutiful little assistant you are, you wander off to the office's kitchen and brew Ghost a cup of tea, adding a tea bag and no sugars. That has been drilled into your head many times, and most of times have you bent over Ghost's desk, your hands pulled behind your back as Ghost thrusts roughly into your cunt, growling down at you about he specifically told you no sugars, and now his tea is too sweet to drink.
Occasionally, he's nice to you. Calling you into his office just so he can have you sit on his lap and look pretty, his chin resting on your shoulder as he types away emails and you lounge on his lap.
Once he's done with that, then he'll push your thighs apart and slip his hand under your skirt, kissing down your neck and along your shoulder as his fingers rub your clit through your lacy panties, his gravelly voice cooing in your ear about how good you're being for him, sittin' so pretty on his lap, letting him do whatever he wants with you.
He can play with you for hours, content to just lean back in his chair and play with your pussy, hiking up your skirt and forcing your legs apart so he can stuff his fingers inside you and make you cum over and over on his thick digits, curling them repeatedly to make you whimper and cry.
But you know his all time favourite thing to do with you is bend you over his desk and spank you. He just loves to teach you a lesson. It doesn't matter how trivial the mistake is, whether it be you messing up his tea again or just a little typo in an email. He'll use whatever excuse to have you in his office, bent over the desk with his hand coming down on your ass over and over.
You know the other office workers can hear your cries for mercy as Ghost hasn't bothered to soundproof his office, but you don't care. You want them to hear, want them to know how he treats you and that you're his good girl.
simon riley is an avid clit kisser i don’t make the rules 🤭
yes yes yes !!!
it's everytime before he even begins to lick and suck on your pussy, he always peppers soft gentle kisses on the inside of your thighs and then very delicately on your clit. his own erection is straining against his trousers, his teeth sinking into his lower lip when his tongue takes a long lick before he peels back your walls and feasts upon your cunt. sucking and licking, thrusting his tongue while he uses his fingers, curling them to stimulate the bundle of nerves hidden inside, "s'mine. all mine, isn't it lovie?"
and once he's finally satiated, once your body is trembling from the euphoric orgasm he's coaxed out from you, before he leans away he kisses your clit one last time. he's slightly possessive over it and you, relishing in the way your body reacts from how sensitive you are, how much his tongue and his two fingers have reduced you to this state, "my perfect girl. no other man can make you like this, can they?"
Thinking about the way Ghost must look on his knees, how his eyes must burn into you, his big hand holding the back of your thigh as you stand over him. It's a good look for him, pretty as you trace your fingers over the scars on his face and have him turn his head to kiss them. He needs you to look at him, to see him, to see Simon and not Ghost. Ghost doesn't want to be put on his knees like Simon does. Ghost doesn't need it, doesn't need to be yours the way Simon does. He tells himself that he doesn't need your praise, that it doesn't make him shiver to hear you tell him he's good(good to you, a good man, good, good, good), but it does.
He needs you to look at him when you touch him, even when he can't look at himself. He can only stomach his reflection in your eyes, but what a striking figure he makes there. How pretty he must be to have you look at him like that? When he sits at your feet it's like finding salvation; every touch, every glance, every stroke of your fingers, leads him to righteousness. He could never belong anywhere else, and he makes it his job to convince you to keep him there.