#simon riley

[sigh-tofm]

reader at a bar being approached by johnny ‘my wife thinks you’re attractive’ mactavish but his wife is 6’4, 250lbs, wears a skull balaclava in public and is staring you down like you killed his mother

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

loner! simon riley being completely unaware that he’s largely endowed

mentions of: huge dick simon riley, loser simon riley, vaginal sex

just loner! simon riley with a huge cock that’s all

he was completely unaware of how big he really is, thinking it’s probably just average or maybe even smaller, and straying awkwardly away from any sex talk with his friends.

he was also completely unaware of how it literally swings when he walks, especially when he is alone in his apartment with no boxers just because they felt so unreasonably uncomfortable, like his cock was suffocating. his tight cargo pants always bunched up at the crotch area.

he was quite messy whenever he came whilst fisting his cock. his rough hands marred with scars moving up and down sloppily, lewd wet noises filling up the room as he leaned his head on the wall, his black skull balaclava in his mouth to stifle any groans.

his cock felt heavy, weighing down his hands and sometimes would even make his hands ache.

and he had a heavy load of cum when he came it would spurt all over his abdomen, making a sticky mess on his hands as he tried to wipe it with a towel, his actions sloppy due to the ache in his right hand.

so when he first fucked you he felt like an amateur, completely unaware of your gaze glued to his bulge as he freed his aching cock, looking already huge in his large hands. he struggled, like a lot getting it in.

he was so excited to feel your warm cunt around him, missing your hole multiple times.

“fuck, ‘m sorry luvie, don’t know why it’s not going in.” his cheeks beat up, a faint dust of pale pink as his fat tip nudged against your glistening hole, his hand steady trying to guide it. “jus’ a lil stretch,” he cooed as he watched the way his tip was enveloped by your cunt, a loud squelching noise before he finally sank in.

god he loved watching that small tummy bulge whilst fucking you.

he never thought he’d feel so good, your gummy walls so tight and warm around his cock, squeezing him like you wanted to milk him dry. simon was used to the feeling of his palms, the rough dry skin, but god it did not compare to the feeling of your cunt.

he came within seconds after you, his cum dripping out despite his cock being plunged so deeply into your cunt.

he swore that he saw your stomach swell just slightly due to his cum.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Omg guys look- seeing this after talking about a rock climbing AU feels like fate.

[maskedbyghost]

cw: manipulation, possessive reader, suggestive language

You told him you didn’t do casual.

You didn’t make it a big deal. You just said it like you meant it, not trying to sound dramatic or emotional about it. Just honest.

“I don’t do casual,” you said, eyes on your drink. “It always ends up messy, and I’m not built for that.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “That’s alright,” he said eventually. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

You nodded. No reaction on your face, no shift in tone. “Then we can just be friends.”

He raised an eyebrow like he was trying to figure you out. “You sure?”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. I like hanging out with you. We don’t have to fuck.”

“…Alright,” he said, after a pause. “Friends.”

And that was the start.

Except friends don’t show up to his gym when he’s meeting a girl for a workout date.

Friends don’t slip him a text during his Tinder dinner like,

“you left your hoodie here again. i’m wearing it. smells like you.”

Friends don’t show up to the pub when he’s got plans with someone, all dolled up like you just rolled out of a damn music video, giving his date a once-over and offering a tight smile that says run, babe.

You’d always act surprised when things didn’t work out. “Oh no, she ghosted you? That’s so weird.”

And Simon? He wasn’t completely oblivious. But he was tired, and lonely, and honestly kind of lazy when it came to trying to figure women out, and you were just so easy to be around, so warm and funny and low-maintenance and somehow always around when he needed someone.

So when he started seeing you more than anyone else, it didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

He told himself it was just friendship.

Even when you leaned against him on the couch. Even when you started sleeping over. Even when he started feeling a little sick thinking about you with anyone else.

The night it finally changed, he had just come back from a shit deployment — nothing too dangerous, just long and annoying and cold, and you’d been waiting at his place (with your own key, because somehow that had happened), and you were in his clothes, curled up in his bed with takeout, and when he saw you like that he just… stopped thinking.

“You’re perfect for me,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself.

You blinked, looking up from your phone. “What?”

“I was so fucking stupid,” he muttered, dropping his bag, walking toward you like something magnetic was pulling him in. “I didn’t see it. I don’t know why.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him for a second, then smiled, slow and easy, like you’d been waiting for him to finally figure it out, like none of it really surprised you, but you were still happy to hear it out loud.

From there, it was easy.

The relationship happened fast. Slipped into place like it had always been there. He’d gone from “I don’t do serious” to leaving his toothbrush at your place, to falling asleep with his face buried in your neck, to holding your hand in public without even realizing he was doing it.

He was happy. Stupidly happy. The kind that made his friends suspicious and his coworkers tease him. The kind that made you look like the hero of some cozy domestic fantasy where nothing ever goes wrong and love is enough.

It wasn’t one big moment. It was a bunch of little ones that slowly added up until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Like how you always just showed up when he had plans, how his phone would buzz with a text from you right before he left for a date. Or how you’d casually mention how certain girls “weren’t his type,” even when he never brought them up to you.

And then one day, while you were going through an old playlist together, you said, “God, I remember this song. I used to listen to it every time I thought about you with someone else.” And you didn’t even blink after saying it.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it starts adding up.

You’d played him. You’d baited him.

And now he’s sitting on the couch, watching you walk into the room in one of his old T-shirts, holding a bowl of snacks, looking like home, and he honestly doesn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed off or bend you over the arm of the sofa and remind you who he is.

You plop into his lap like you do it every day (because you do), nestling in like you’re settling into your rightful throne, and he wraps his arms around your waist automatically, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“You know what I realized today?” he asks, voice low.

You hum. “What?”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking it through. “We’re together because you manipulated me.”

You pause for like… half a second. Then?

“Yeah,” you say, nonchalant. “And?”

He squints at you, mouth twitching like he can’t decide if he wants to smile or frown. “You sabotaged every girl I tried to hook up with.”

“I did,” you say, and lean forward to grab the remote. “Most of them were trash anyway.”

“You tricked me into thinking you weren’t interested.”

“Mhm.” You don’t even look at him. “Worked, didn’t it?”

There’s this long silence, and then Simon groans and lets his head fall back on the couch dramatically.

“I should be mad,” he mutters.

“You’re not,” you say, smiling down at him like he’s your prize. “You love me.”

“Fuck, woman,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours. “That turns me on.”

You grin, shifting your weight so you’re straddling him properly, hands sliding up his chest slowly until your fingers curl around the back of his neck. You squeeze—not hard, just enough to make him feel it.

“You belong to me,” you whisper against his ear. “Always have.”

He shivers. Actually shivers.

“…Jesus.”

You kiss his jaw, slow and smug. “Say it.”

“…Yours.”

“Good boy.”

And yeah. He is.

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[yourstrulyrani]

Omgg imagine a reader who is obsessed with simons arms. Like veins and biceps and everything. I feel like he would try to be humble but loves teasing her with flexing them

husband!simon x wife!reader ~ you love simon's biceps, and simon loves the way you love them. a/n: as someone who has an unhealthy obsession with biceps this is so me HAHA (also to 🌊, i saw ur request too and am working on it!! ♥︎)

You are obsessed with Simon's body.

Being in the army, you know your husband's body is built for it. You were astonished at how much muscle he gained over the time you've been with him. Currently, he stands at 6'4 and weighs in at a mean 250 pounds. He trains well and you make sure you feed him even better whenever he gets off deployment because you know he has a habit of missing meals when he's away for work. His legs are strong, every muscle prominent and his thighs are thick. His torso is so wide it covers you up whenever he's lying on top of you or hugging you. You make sure to compliment his body whenever you can. You love complimenting your man just as much as he loves to act humble about his build.

Sometimes it's like...

"Simon, you're so huge. I love it." You say as you massage your husband's sore shoulders, straddling the back of his legs while he lies on his stomach on the couch. "It's nothing, lovie. Just comes with the job." He dismisses your praise, but hides his blush by looking away from you and hiding his face into the crease of his inner elbow.

Or sometimes it's...

"Baby, did you get more buff over deployment?" Your hands move up and down his torso, and you can most definitely feel the change in the definition of his abs because you can feel them through his shirt. "I guess so, doll?" He gives you a shy smile, "It's nothing, though, really. Probably some extra muscle because of the missions." He takes the hands that were roaming around his torso and places them up to his lips, kissing your wrists. "I missed you, sweet girl."

Albeit, your most favorite part about your man is his arms.

Specifically his biceps. You catch yourself staring at the way his veins start from his hands and end up at his biceps. When he's away for deployment, you manage doing the heavy lifting like moving the coffee table while cleaning or carrying multiple grocery bags in each hand. But when Simon is off deployment, you make sure to put those arms to use every single time you can. Simon doesn't mind either. If anything, he loves it and wants to be of help for you. He vacuums with one hand and lifts the coffee table with the other, he takes in all the grocery bags in one trip, and chops the wood for the fireplace without you ever asking to do it.

Simon caught on very early in your relationship that you had some sort of obsession with his arms, and he makes sure to act upon it. He may act all humble, but he loves the way you vocalize your love for his body and the way you look at him too. He loves to use his arms whenever he can, always looking for an opportunity to show himself off to his sweetheart of a wife.

One day, you ordered two bags of soil for your garden. Before you could carry them inside, Simon stopped you at the doorway, "I got you, lovie." He rolled up the sleeves to his already short-sleeved shirt, pushing them up to his shoulders. He took one bag in each of his arms. All you could do in the moment was stare at the way his arms flexed dangerously. Even with one of his arms tattooed fully, you could still see the curve of his bicep and the veins that adorned it. You were caught out of your daze when you heard him ask sweetly, "Do you want these in the backyard?" You nodded with your mouth open, still focusing on the bulge of his arms. Before heading over to the backyard, he passes you a cheeky wink. He knows as much as you do how good his biceps look, and he loves you for it. "You know, if you take a picture it'll last longer."

He walks over to you, bags still in his hold, and places a kiss to your lips before heading over to the backyard.

Tease.

The next day, when you ask him to grab your phone, he checks out your change of wallpaper: Asleep on the couch shirtless is Simon lying on his back, tattooed bicep and gorgeous torso visible in the frame with your cat on his lap.*

*i specifically thought of this gorgeous drawing by @bitterrfruit for reference. if you're seeing this arabella, i love your writing and art you are so, in the best way possible, disgustingly talented.

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p

[tojisteddy]

Tears Dry on Their Own

or: Simon Riley picks you up after a break up and decides he’ll keep you.

cw: 5.6k words (jeez), mdni 18+, plot with smut, postbreakup!reader, avoidant!reader, harddom!simon/meanie!simon, possessive!simon, dub con, no use of y/n, situationship, p in v, creampie, cowgirl, spanking, dumbification, daddy kink, manhandling, age gap (mid 20s reader, early-mid 30s Simon), reader aesthetic.

a/n: obvious influenced by Amy Winehouse’s song, did a drabble about it but expanded it further. love u, bye.

One thing you knew for certain is that no one stays forever. No one does. Be it friends, co workers, family, relationships— everyone leaves. Whether from death knocking or not.

So why did you have to wait idly by for anyone when you could go off yourself? Spectate the grounds when you were ready and the smoke cleared?

And that’s how you lived. Coming and going, disappearing from the face of the earth and then reappearing like nothing happened. Like some stray. Was is good habit? Of course not. But you’d been tired of disappointment.

Tonight was no different from any other though— that ugly, disgusting, irritable feeling of heartbreak. Disappointment pimp slapping you once again.

Was it even a breakup if it didn’t even start? It was stupid for you to be hung up on a married man. Every single thing about it was stupid but it’s not like you knew he was married. You’d only known for three hours. Mark was his name and he was— he was kind— atleast to you that is. Sometimes.

Okay, out of 100 he was kind 76% of the time. But he bought you clothes, shoes, jewelry, paid for trips, he’d pay your rent— you were a kept woman. Nothing wrong with that.

He’d call? You’d come. Somewhere in the middle, you’d thought Mark would fall in love with you though. That you weren’t just a pretty face, or a good fuck— you could do the emotional, the romance of it all. Not run. All Mark did he’d laugh at you.

“You’re not being reasonable, baby,” he chuckled snidely as he went around the large hotel room, picking up the littered clothing he’d left on the floor.

Reasonable? What was reasonable? Asking for a relationship was unreasonable? That doesn’t even sound right. Your face scrunches up.

Mark feigns a pout, cupping your face after adjusting his tie, “Don’t give me that face baby. You’re too pretty for it.”

“Then I’m just nothing to you Mark?” Your voice didn’t even sound like your own, tight and sharp. But it felt so much smaller.

He scuffs then sighs, gently kissing your lips, “You know you’re not nothing to me baby. You’re- you’re pretty, sweetheart. So gorgeous. You’ve— helped me… so much doll. Been so good to me this entire time. Don’t ruin this for me, please?”

Ah.

Don’t ruin it [+].

Just keep smiling, keep looking pretty, keep wearing that pretty dress and that pretty necklace he got you. Laugh at his jokes, get your own rocks off. But the thought of it just being a pretty and sitting object kept festering in the back of your mind. You wanted more, more, more. You deserved more. You should be able to ask for the whole damned world if you wanted to and receive it on a silver platter with the finest wine and a vanilla ice cream drizzled with chocolate with the cherry on fucking top.

You wouldn’t get that from Mark— you hit a dead end.

It was when you went to go get your friend a gift, you’d entered the revolving door mindlessly, then you heard the family crowd in on the other side. Two kids giggling, a pretty blonde wife smiling and then, fresh and neatly styled brunette hair, hazel brown eyes, dressy attire and a grey trench coat— Mark. The same loving smile he gave you on his face as he planted a kiss at her temple.

He didn’t even notice you.

Your feet stumbled, entering the building, dizzy. Heart trailing out of you and along with the bastard and his fucking generic tv looking family. You followed, back through the revolving door to try to get a glimpse of him.

One more time, one more fucking time— a bad habit. A bad decision. You’d let the man walk away with whatever you gave him today.

It was your fault for letting it get this far to begin with, getting so attached to such a guy who gave you almost everything you’d wanted. Everything but love.

You let out a ragged breath, your lip trembling as you stare at his back. Him trailing away on such joyace footing right along with the setting sun along with his family. Taking the day with him. While you’re stuck to face the music.

Be a big girl, [+]. You’re a big girl. That’s what you’ve always been.

You turn on your heels, no gift in hand, in the opposite direction. The dark blue overtaking the sky, click, click, click of your heels hitting the pavement with every step. Vision getting blurry the further you walk. You don’t even know where you’re going, just letting the tears fall, the pit in your stomach turn into a labyrinth. You could handle it. Just a big, silly, knee scraping fuck up.

Shit, you needed a drink.

It started with a one night stand, doesn’t it always? He’d been away for so long, too long, and just needed to get his mind back into civilization. No other way to do than to get his dick a little wet? And you were available. He’d seen you once before, on some social media. Your posts would attract anyone who saw them. An alluring little thing in that grimy filter, so pretty, had all your curls tossed to one side, smiling with your pretty brown eyes, lifting your shirt just a bit so you could see the black thong you were wearing— a little teaser.

It was an absolute miracle he found you sitting across him in that empty bar, you lifted your head from the counter, long lashes clumped together, mascara slightly smugged, adding to temptation. Ghost bet you’d look even prettier crying on his dick and not over whatever had you in tears that was so minuscule :(.

You were in a tight, cropped, long sleeve turtle neck, dark low rise jeans that oh-so-perfectly hugged your curves and a 90s layered haircut that went down your back. You pulled out your compact mirror, the tears dried up by themselves, you lightly patted your face with fingers. Your eyes wandered around you, then finally to Ghost. You studied him in curiosity, eyes flicking from his brown eyes to his skull faced balaclava. What the fuck was he wearing? You looked around the empty bar only to gain a smirk from him that was unbeknownst to you. He beckoned you over with two fingers.

You were admittedly a little tipsy, talking to someone, even to a masked muscular man would be better than mumbling into the bar tender who very visibly didn’t want to be working their shift. So you dragged yourself over. Ghost watched your hips swish with every motion, even with a couple shots in you, and your eyes a glossy, you were walking as if you hadn’t been through the ringer. Poised.

Ghost listened to your dumb sob story like the many women your age. Some guy fucking you over, but you liked him still. Wanted to be with him and for him to choose you. But he wasn’t going to choose you. Same script different character. Ghost would be kind to you though, at least for the moment—

“Should I help ease your mind then?” His voice raucous, almost obnoxiously deep, sent your brain swooning.

You wave him off, sniffling, “I don’t think I’ll forget this one. I think it was more of a wake up call.”

“Didn’t say I could make your forget,” and his hand reaches yours, pulling you just enough so you’re facing him but still sat in the bar stool. He rubbed your hand gently, “Asked you should I help ease your mind.”

Your heart goes haywire, you lick your lips, eyes flicking from his all black attire to his brown eyes that swam in your own.

“Trynna kill me?”

“Don’t think murderers admit that to their victims, do they?”

The ends of your lips curved up, giggling smacking your forehead and leaning on the bar, insanely gorgeous, “right of course.”

He got you there.

You looked between the brute and the rest of the dingy bar, lights flickering above you— you’d play your hand with the devil tonight.

“Then please do.”

Was it strange for you to follow a man with a mask out of a bar and to his place? Of course. Not an ounce of urgency or concern, he teased you about it with his thick fingers were two knuckles deep inside you as soon as he got you in his house about a 30 minute drive from the bar. “Brainless little thing aren’t ya?”

He tsked, his fingers curling, grazing your g-spot and getting a yelp from you. “Thinkin with your cunt, we’ll have to fix tha’.”

It was when he felt you drenching around his aching red tip with precum, Simon almost lost his mind. Maybe you were the one trying to kill him. Had to get more in you. Arched your back further, slowly stretching your sloppy cunt inch by fucking inch.

“Oh- oh my go- Ghost!” your breath hitched, toes curling, you lift your head just enough to look back at him with those big doe eyes, Christ, you were going to kill him. “Y-you said just the tip.”

He’s just barely acknowledging you, too consumed (literally) by how tight you were choking him length, he grunted, “Heh, Not when she’s begging for me to be inside ‘er. You crazy? Fuckin greedy little cunny you’ve got, as if the tip would be enough.”

And you were whining so beautifully as you clenched around him, clinging at the sheets because the bastard was so thick, so biiiig (just like you moaned), and he pulled you right back down on his length because you could take it. Had to.

He couldn’t even fit all of him inside you.

That’s when he knew he had to keep you on a leash. Not a tight one, loose enough to let you wander, let you think you could continue on like you’ve always been. Hopping around from man to man, unknowingly letting yourself be some bitch. No, no, no that wouldn’t fucking work, not anymore. Not for Ghost. Perfect kitty, soon enough he’d tighten it, just when the time was right, enough that he wouldn’t loose track of you, keep you in check.

Make you his.

You’d assumed Ghost was in the bathroom when you scrambled out his bed and out of his house. The man was a monster, in the best way imaginable, but one night is one night. You’d keep your end of the deal. A taxi was on the way because he truly did live in the middle of no where, no uber or lyft— it was £70 taxi well spent.

“You’re gone?” Ghost asks, wiping his hands with the towel that was in his back pocket. You didn’t know what time it was but the man already had a little smudge on his and face, unshaven stubble, sweat already bleeding through his shirt— he looked too handsome to be true. You’d already felt butterflies fluttering around in your stomach.

“Uh- yeah. I- ehem- it’s been fun.” You nod, curtly.

He hummed, “Sure.”

There’s an awkward silence only filled with the rock music coming from inside the garage. You check your phone, 10:45 am, new message; taxi service: I’ve arrived.

You look up from your phone but there’s absolutely no taxi.

Ghost sees the look of confusion on your face, he’s already moving to one of the cars parked in front of the garage, “Does it look like that taxis coming out here? We’re in the middle of the woods.”

“Oh…” you scatch the back of your neck, and sigh, “well I’ll just walk to meet him then.”

Ghost looked at you, raising an eyebrow, a silly little thing, “So you can miss the taxi and be stranded there for the next forty minutes? Don’t be dumb, baby. Just get in the car!” He barks out his orders, getting in his black truck and slamming it shut.

It’s a simple three minutes, down the long path of his drive way, through the paved brush in the woods to his mailbox. Exactly where the yellow taxi cab sat parked. The truck stilled, Ghost unmoving while you gathered your purse, double checking to make sure everything was there. Your glance at him once more, scars crawling up his neck to the mask, blonde hair, pretty long lashes, brown eyes—

Ghosts voice filled the silent car, just as you opened the passenger door. “You come back when you want.”

It was a simple sentence. A direction.

He was taunting you, had to be. You’d thought about his words for the entire car ride back to your flat. Then day or so, and if you didn’t get a sign from god, you’d move on with your life as if that never happened.

But while rummaging through your purse, on the inside pocket while looking for your wallet, there was a crumbled up piece of paper. Ghosts address and number on the back.

You found yourself back there a week later, after contemplating up and down the small walls of your apartment. you drove yourself this time, cursing to yourself that this was stupid and he wouldn’t want to see you again. But you knocked anyway…

Silence.

You knocked again, rocking on your heels and taking a step back to take a look at the fairly large house. Probably a five or six bedroom, it was old, but fixed up properly. A garage connecting to it, two different trucks outside of it.

Simon opened the door, shirtless, stomach with a little pudge over his untoned abs, tattoos on full display and biceps flexing— he should’ve been on the cover of Mens Health Magazine. A damn model. The blonde nodded towards something in the front garden.

“The keys under the flowerpot over there.”

Without another word, he stepped to the side, letting you into the house. A German shepherd came walking down the hall, immediately coming to sniff you out like you were a bad guy. You immediately went to pet him, your hands finding his collar, a bin shaped tag in the middle of his neck that read, ‘Slugger.’

“I’ve got some things to take care of. You do what you want.”

And with that, Ghost was down the hall. Leaving you in the foyer with his dog. And you’re in disbelief because wasn’t this supposed to be— well— a hookup? A quick, ‘hey, I’m signaling you to bone me.’ You grumble, “that ass,” slipping off your shoes and stepping further into the house.

“As if I’d sit around ‘nd wait, ‘m not some pet.”

Let’s not calling waiting then, you wasted time. Ghost's house was a shell of what once was. The leather couch’s and the tv were new. The end tables, coffee table and mirror that hung on the walls were testaments of time though. Old antiques that had to be from the 70s or 60s, a record player placed in the hallway towards the kitchen, still used, rock records spanning the last five decades sat in crates on the floor. Under the tv was a plethora of movies, vhs to dvd, old classics to new action movies.

There were no pictures though. No photo albums to show that a family once lived here in this old house, none on the walls either. Just old paintings of sceneries, a few wilting plants in the corners of the room. But you could tell, the old bannister that led upstairs, the way the house just barely creaked with you and Slugger’s movements, the pencil marks of growing heights on the wall. A family was here once, but it was long gone.

Being here was like intaking the last lifeless breaths of something, utterly still- stuck.

The couch sunk once you plopped down on it. You sighed, Slugger happily panting with his tongue out at you. Graciously waiting for head pats. You chuckled giving him a little ruffle at his cheeks, “Guess we’re both waitin for the same thing, huh?”

“Still busy?” Your voice was naturally sultry, alluring, popping your head into the room where you heard the keyboard being tapped. This room, Ghosts office, completely different from what surrounded it. New, fresh, sleek, renovated.

Ghost hadn’t intended to be stuck at his desk for the last hour, paper work irritated the blonde to no end. He’d rather hand it off to Price. But you’d shown up on your own accord. Didn’t fight when he told you he had something to do, sceptical but still wanting to see whatever he had out for you— patient, just like he wanted. Good kitty.

“No,” a little white lie, he patted his leg, “come on.”

You shift on your feet, footsteps on the smooth hardwood gliding you behind his desk and onto his leg. “I didn’t take you for a business man Ghost.”

“A nickname like mine and you thought business?” His eyebrow raises, amused.

“Related to it! It’s related, no?”

“The military. Lieutenant.” You giggle, shoving his shoulder, “Then I was half right! Not bad, if I do say so myself.” You go on talking, treading lightly on the tightrope, your heart rate picking up while his thumb brushing over your plump lips, lost at the sight of you, gorgeous.

You chuckle, eyes finding his, “You’re not even listenin to a word—“

“—You talk too much.” He murmurs, planting his lips on his. It’s quick. Too quick for your own liking, your grip his hair and put his lips back on yours. They part just enough for his tongue to slip through. It’s wet, it’s sloppy, it’s desperate. Ghost throws your shirt and bra on the cluttered desk, skirt hiked up above your hips, underwear hanging off your foot. It’s already feeling humid, his large hands groping the two large globes of your ass, gripping harshly as you slid his large pink tip between your folds.

“ ‘S not gonna fit-“ you babble, moaning at the simple feel of his dick on you. One of his hands move up your back, “It’ll fit, just like it did last time, don’t think about it so much.”

“B-but-“ Ghosts hand reaches the back of your neck, gripping, “-[+], I’m not askin you. I’m telling you. Put. It. In.” You snuck down on his cock, painfully slow. Eyes squeezing shut with a shaky breath as you tried to take Simon. You remembered the limit, dreamt about it in your sleep and woke up with soiled panties. But you wanted to try fitting more, more—

“Oi, don’t get fuckin greedy. You know what to take,” Simon grunted, giving your clit a nice flick.

“ mMmm’ I’m sorry, sorry.” You mewled. You felt your brain was already shot, eyes turning into your skull as you bounced up and down. Ghosts head coming down perfect to bite and suck on your hardened nipples. You were hiccuping and crying, feeling that vein while his dick scraped your soaking walls.

You hadn’t even realized how dumb you looked, head resting on his shoulder, your arms hooked up under his while Simon took hold of your hips, guiding you up and down, back and forth, on his cock, drool continuously forming that you had to suck back up and slurring out daddy, daddy, daddy.

There’s a snap in your face, a deep chuckle you feel that comes from the bottom of his stomach, “God, is that brain even on? Too fucked out to hear me?”

You keen, “feels- ooough! Feelsh so g-good daddy.”

“I knooow. Poor baby,” Simon fake coos, pulling you away so he could really get a look at that adorably stupid look on your face. Simon couldn’t wait to see more of it. “Can’t even think properly, huh? Don’t worry, Daddy’ll do the thinking for now on. You’d like that, hm? Need someone to guide your little head.”

You moan and bite your lip, looking at him with those pretty brown eyes while rutting your hips so desperately— “Need you, need you so- hicc— soooo-“ Your own gasp cuts you off, eyes widening and shutting and you fell into the crash of a orgasm.

So sweet, so good, a orgasm that got you so high, it would land you right back down into Ghost's arms.

The relationship was— well the situationship— it wasn’t a bad arrangement.

You found stability within Ghost. Shocker? To you, yes.

There were no set rules to him, you could come and go as you pleased— the key under the green flowerpot in the front yard were yours— and if Ghost was there, he’d fuck you just as you needed. Rough and deep, pulling at the blonde strands of his hair whilst he ate your swollen pussy after wearing you thin, crying and thrashing. And when you woke up Ghost was either gone, in the living room watching some 80s flick rerun or in the garage.

“Leaving?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

“Mm.”

He didn’t press, he didn’t pull. He was constant. Ghosts house become your little safe haven. Anytime you felt like running off, being alone yet not alone, you were back there, blast music whenever you wanted, dance around without your neighbors banging on the wall and you’d have a cute little dog to pet everytime you gad the chance, Even when he’d gone on a mission, he’d leave you a note, ‘replace what you eat’ or ‘take care of the house’ because he’d known you’d be there. That was the very least you could do, right?

Take Slugger on a walk or two, fill the fridge before ransacking it, leave a couple clothes in the bedroom because you always forgot something at your place. Buy the fashion magazines you’d been dying to read and set them right under the stack Ghost had left there.

It felt so nice to be in Ghosts big arms, you didn’t have to have that hard shell you worked so hard to create, let his calloused hands explore you. Gently from your stomach to your chin, caressing ever so softly, you couldn’t help but lean into it. Lashes fluttering, sitting idly in one of his shirts that went mid thigh or maybe in the little black and blue tank top and underwear set he bought you.The one with lace at the hem that showed off your plump ass and hard nipples— you waited patiently for whenever he came home. Be it 7 pm or 1 am.

Let him ruffle your hair before you could swat him away, let him get a long and good look at you after his long day. Bring your ankle to his lips on the other end of the couch you two were both slouched on, movie playing in the background, before playfully biting.

Simon would ask, “What’d you do all day, hm?”

“Work, bullshit, more work.” You’d scuff, playing your nails but you weren’t focused on them. Not at all, more focused on Ghosts reaction, none of course, “let’s hear the bullshit then.”

You couldn’t help but want to be there. Because Simon wanted to hear you, his sweet girl, go on and on till you got tired, all curled up in his lap. Dozed off and nuzzling into the man’s every touch. Simon adored that about you.

You hadn’t even realized how kept you were until he handed that card, telling you, “you should get your own dresser instead of hogging mine. And get Slugger that collar you wanted for him.” As if you’d forgotten.

Did you run because you could see a storm brewing a mile away? Felt yourself reverting to the girl you once were with Mark. Being left to your own devices then meant to be the stress reliever. Kept. That’s what Ghost had to see you as right? Nothing more than pretty object. Right?

No, this was your greed festering again. Something you should’ve shoved downs flight of stairs just when you got that little nibble of proper attention you wanted. Ever wanting, ever needing— More, more, more. Fuck the world, you wanted the galaxy— the universe. You’d dreamed of it one night, living peacefully in this house, warmth filling it, laid out in his truck, watching the stars pressed into the blondes side. But Ghost couldn’t give you the universe. You were stupidly sure of that— convinced every molecule to refute the idea of it. No man could. You’d accepted that.

You’d rather be alone than to be let down.

And maybe it’s on Simon for not tightening the leash when he had the chance. He shouldn’t have let you perch in his lap and rub into him without telling you that there was no backing out of— well— this. Another problem. He should’ve told you that you’d be his, no more of the back and forth. Settle you properly. You hadn't even known you’d slithered around a snake tamers neck.

You were so blatantly ignoring him. Ignoring his calls, his texts. And it’s not like he was harassing you, he’d call or text once a week. See if you’d bite, but he’d get nothing. But you were still going place to place (he had your location on), showing off all sexy and high tailed with your friends. Eating, clubbing, working, showing your pretty face to the camera. Like nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

It irritated Simon. To the point, the men working under him were even more terrified and exhausted of him after training. Soap had to remind him to ease up on them, “They’re wee babies aren’t they?”

No, they were annoying little brats, who should understand without being told. Just like you.

Simon realized his fault. He just needed to train you right. Strays are all the same. You could keep them around for so long, let them bite and scratch even as you pet them, they leave, maybe get roughed up a bit then— they’d be right back when they needed or wanted. Looking for comfort, to find out if anything had changed— safety. You’d known where you were supposed to be eventually.

He heard the front door open, gently shutting it closed and the zipper of your boots coming off.

“Where’ve you been?” Simon thundered. He was sat on the couches closer to the window, man spreading, brown eyes piercing you.

You glance off, voice just above a whisper, “Around.”

Around? Right. Just paying the person you gave your attention to, no mind. Not an answer that would fly, not in Simons book.

“I just came to get a jacket.”

But you don’t move, the tension is too thick. Almost suffocating. You didn’t know why you were back honestly. You wanted to see him, just for a bit. Even if it was to grab one of his old shirts. Say hi to Slugger. The jacket was an excuse.

“What’d’you want [+]?”

What do you want? You blinked. Once. Twice. To go home. A new thought because you so badly wanted to be here no matter what you did, your mind would trail back to being here, face pressed in Simons thigh, almost purring the way he rubbed the back of your nape, Slugger on his doggy bed sleeping, Simon telling you to hush because you were talking over the horror movie you were scared of— that’s what you wanted.

But is that what you deserved? Is that what Simon wanted? Simon was looking right through you, eyes deep and searching for any waver yet understanding. Oh, it wasn’t just a simple question. It was, ‘What do you want so I can make you stay?’ Fickle were the worries that crossed your mind to Simon. He saw the way you kept shifting foot to foot, eyes in a panic, playing with your nails and the rings on your finger—you were scared. He was driving you into a corner on purpose.

Run. Just like you always do. It’s better this way.

“I-I want my jacket.” You stammered out, swallowing the spit in your mouth, “I need to get it, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Your reply was like a rejection, a smack in empty forrest. You move finally, up the stairs, and you hear it. It’s like a rare bell that chimes when you finally come to a realization— Simons chuckle. It’s short but deep, drenched in sarcasm.

Faster.

Ghost was on you before you could get down the hallway, throwing you over his shoulder— tightening.

It was wrangling a feral cat. This entire beginning to now, letting you come and go when you wanted, feeding you, cuddling you, gifting you— it was house training a stray. And now that you’d bit his hand, and I mean really bit it, he’d force you into a house cat—

Help your stupid little brain remember where you belonged.

Right up under Simons large build, your hands pinned together at your stomach in one of his hands, shoving your face down into the mattress of his bed with the other, dropping every fucking inch of his girth into your tight pussy. Squirming too much, mewling, “ ‘s too much- agh- daddy too much!”

And there’s a large hand that comes down on your ass, fixing your lower back to arch so you weren’t in fetal position, “Shut up ‘nd take it, take it, fucking take it.”

You’d never in your life felt so full, so stretched, so out of your mind. Your lucky Simon was giving you the opportunity to take those shaky breaths, try to get used to the size, but it didn’t make a difference. Your snug cunt was gripping him like a vice, he wanted to memorize every single bit of it.

He breaths through his nose, shuddering before snapping his hips into yours, “Fuckin hell, baby, all this f’me. Always been for me.” His thrusts are slow and mean, dragging himself out so his tip is right at the entrance of your hole then plowing back into you.

“Fuuuu- so full- so much,” you gasp, tears forming in your eyes.

“Holdin out on me, mmph- you were holdin out on me alllll this time. Like I wouldn’t- fuck- be able to fit in your pretty pussy ‘nd then leavin me high and dry,” he grunts, delirious on your gummy walls, thrusts becoming more rapid, his heavy balls hitting your clit with every movement, He snickers, “You lost your brain princess, this is where you should be. Turnin that dumb little brain off and takin my cock.”

Simon presses your hands down on your stomach, exactly here his dick was pressing your cervix, you flinch, sobbing out his name as you cream all over his dick. “Therrrre she goes, gorgeous fuckin slut you are. You've been aching for it haven't you?”

The blonde flips you onto your back, sliding back into your sensitive heat without a second thought. You claw at Ghosts back, eyes rolling into your head like a flimsy doll. Cockdrunk baby, he jaw clenches, that quick wave of jealousy washing over him, but he lets it out out in the way he fucks you. Getting three of his fat fingers and rubbing loud and sopping mess you’ve left around your clit. Getting you through three orgasms just by playing with that bundle of nerves.

He nibbled everywhere, sure to leave hickies around your neck and chest, then bites. literally. “To think, you’d go off without a word to me, like you don’t care. Who told you to run off like that? Huh? Daddy didn’t, did I?” The blonde presses all your weight down on you, swiveling his hips.

“N-no” you hiccup, his hand goes to your throat, giving it a nice squeeze, “No what? Don’t you have any manners doll?”

“No sir,” you yelp, that strawberry pink cockhead hitting your g-spot. The plap, plap, plap, of Ghost bottoming at your then giving your g-spot a knuckle sandwich with his dick.

“Told you, you over think too fuckin much,” Ghosts voice strangled, “Get out of your head, enough of the running.”

“I don’t,” you shake your head but Simon squeezes your cheeks together, throwing your legs over his shoulders, “don’t fuckin lie, [+], don’t feed me bullshit.”

And you feel smaller than you ever had, whimpering, the most vulnerable you've ever been, forcing everything out and handing over the key to Pandora’s box- “You- you can’t let go, okay? You have to- hicc- you have to be with me!”

As if you had to ask.

He just needed to hear it from your plump lips, even if it took you being overstimulated, tears on his shoulder and your mixed cum spilling out of your swollen pussy. He’d tame you over and over and over, just for you to stay with him. Keep you close.

“Open,” Ghosts mezmorized, your mouth falls open and a wad of his spit falls in. He closes your mouth with his thumb, “Swallow” and you did, throat bobbing in his hands. He pressed your forehead together, molding your lips, biting your lips so much you can feel the blood.

You're purring, eyes glazed over and slurring, “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Daddy?”

“Princess,” he leers but you moan louder at that, arms wrapping around his tattooed broad shoulders.

Call and fucking response, the ends of Ghosts lips curve up. Such a sweetheart, checking to see if he was there, and he would always be right there.

“Sweet baby, learning to be greedy?” He hummed and you’re slowly nodding that clueless little head of yours, your walls clenching a few times, “-hmph want you, want it.”

“Gooood girl, my good girl. Gonna fill your little cunt, yeah? Just how you want, just how you need, right Kitty? Gonna take all of it?”

It doesn’t take much for you to fall off the edge of Simons words, back arching off the bed and Simons holding you tight, still slamming into you while leaving a tender kiss to your forehead. Till you feel those big fat globs of milky cum hitting your cervix.

Simon looks at the state of you, glowing, breathtaking even in your exhausted state, he could’ve moaned at the sight of you, pushing your curls out of your face and licking up the tears that once fell.

Gorgeous kitty, Simon would take care of you now.

a/n: this took forever. I love blackcat!reader the most. Lmk what you think pls

most recent masterlist more meanie!simon

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse

[thebookbutterfly]

One of Simon Riley’s love languages is just The Stare TM.

Multiple times a day you will turn around and be faced with this giant man, just staring you down. Entirely locked in. Pupils the size of dinner plates.

Sometimes he’s in the corner of the room, other times he’s just looming over you. He’s so quiet it’s like he just appears out of thin air.

The poor man is like a moth drawn to a lamp. He can’t help it, he likes looking at you. :( Doing anything really. It’s an addiction more than a habit.

You don’t mind it. It’s kind of endearing seeing how wide his pupils dilate every time he catches a glimpse of you. ❤️

[thisnoah]

Smooching my cat

[skyrigel]

Simon never heard his father say sorry, or please, or thank-you, or I love you.

In their house, when his mama would put down hot, heavy casseroles, her skin damp with sweat, eyes darting for some sweet words, his father never said one word of thanks, let alone 'some'. Only waved his thick, impatient hand.

His father never took the plates to the sink. Never noticed when she stayed up at night to sort the screws by size and purpose—organizing the chaos he left behind just to find one damn hammer.

His father never said ‘please can you—’ only grunted with that bitter mouth, glared with those unkind eyes when he needed something.

Simon never heard him say I love you. And he couldn’t believe his eyes the day his father plucked out his baby brother from his mama's arm, and didn’t spare one glance for his Ma. She didn't deserved that, did she? Her weak frail body, cracked murmuring lips — she should be celebrated with adoration, comfort, love.

Love, and an infinite of it.

His father never sat beside her just to drink tea. Never told her about his day. Never asked about hers — what she did, or liked, or wanted. Never reached out his thumb, however calloused it was, to wipe away the sprout on her chin. That he was grateful she's next to him, that he loved her.

So when life happened, and Simon was left to pick up his pieces and place them in a way he wanted to be—he thought whomever he will be, anything, but his father.

Anything but him.

And then life happened again but this time it arranged itself in beautiful ways. Because you came with it this time. You and all your silly lovely ways, you who kissed your knee before resting your chin, you who cheered up catching up with fridge' light switching off, you so beautiful, so kind, made up of sundust. His sunshine — lighting up his world.

And God, he was so, so grateful. Every moment, every day !

“I love you,” he’d say the moment he wakes up next to you. Pressing his love on your lips, on your shoulder, on your neck.

“I love you,” when you spill milk in the morning daze and stare at it like it might disappear.

“I love you,” when he wipes your chin and kisses your forehead.

“I love you,” when he takes your hand in his and rubs it between his palm, why ? Because he'll spend his whole life keeping your hands warm than anything else.

“I love you.” because he loves, loves, and loves you so much that it hurts, so much that it heals, so much that it's everything sweet ever happened to him.

“I love you.” for all the ways his father failed, and Simon too, as a son, as a brother — failed to save his mama and lil' brother. I love you, because in loving you he is allowing himself to be loved.

Masterlist

[jaesblogstuff]

Attitude, No problem. Simon knows how to handle it.

we all know where this is headed...don't we now, i’ll think about a pt.2 (i thought about it)

It happens, wrong side of the bed today. Didn’t wake up plotting to be a menace. But something about today’s been off since your feet hit the floor. Your shirt didn’t sit right. Coffee tasted burnt. The recruits acted like they were sharing a single brain cell and juggling it between drills. You snapped—nothing major, just enough to charge the air around you. A muttered, “fuckin' recruits,” under your breath. A scowl that hadn’t left since 0800.

Simon clocked it before anyone else. of course he did.

You could feel his eyes on you all day. Subtle, sure—but there. Tracking you. Watching like a man waiting for the other shoe to drop. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. But he noticed. In the hallway, on the range, during debrief. Like he was cataloguing every scowl, every clipped reply, every shrug you weaponized like a shield.

And when he finally finds you alone, it’s like he’s already decided how this is gonna go.

You’re in the armory. Polishing a sidearm you don’t even need. Just something to do with your hands. You needed the quiet. The distance.

Then he walks in. Boots heavy. Shoulders loose. That calm, unreadable thing he does when he’s already two steps ahead.

“y'all right?” he says.

You don’t look up. “Fine.”

He comes closer, leans against the edge of the workbench, arms folded. “Was thinkin’ we’d grab food after shift. That Thai place you like.”

You shrug. “I don’t care. Do whatever.”

It hangs in the air like a dare. You don’t mean it to, but it does. He licks his lips before they form a thin line. The door clicks behind him, and he walks up behind you. Not touching, but hovering close to your ear.

There’s a pause.

Then his voice—low, quiet. That particular kind of still that comes before a storm.

“You’re gonna fix that attitude,” he says, “or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?”

You freeze.

His eyes are steady. Fixed. He says it like a warning. Like a promise. Like he’s already halfway to making good on it. And the worst part? It works. Your gut flips. Heat curls at the base of your spine. You know that voice—know what it means when he drops it like that. When he stops being soft.

“Now i’m going to ask again, Was thinkin’ we’d grab food after shift. That Thai place you like.”

You blink, throat dry. “Yeah. Thai sounds good.”

His head tilts slightly. Jaw flexes once. Then, flat and final-

“Good. that sounds better.” leaving a nice tap to your ass.

And then he’s gone, leaving you there with nothing but the hum of fluorescent light and a pulse you can’t quite settle.

Whatever’s still simmering under your skin?

He’ll handle it later. Exactly the way you need.

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

Imagine accidentally walking into a military dive bar by yourself, not knowing that the customer base was mainly military folk, and just kind of rolling with it

Imagine you dressed cute, your hair was done, and it had been a long week- you deserved a good ol' night on the town, damnit, and you didn't want to pay another Uber to go to another bar

Imagine you making your way up to the bar to order your first drink of the night and when you order a simple cocktail, the bar goes quiet for a split second because who orders a cocktail in this place?

Imagine not knowing that since the second you walked in that door, you've had eyes on you. Of course you've had eyes on you since you walked in, but one pair in particular stayed glued to your form as you walked through the bar

Imagine looking around after getting your drink from the bartender to see where you'd try to sit for a bit to sip on your drink

Imagine there being an empty table near the far end of the bar that you decide to claim as your own as you continued to scope out the bar patrons

Imagine finally locking eyes with the one man that has had his eye on you since the minute you walked in the door

Imagine freezing as you look into his eyes from across the bar, suddenly aware that this huge, masked military man had been looking right at you

Imagine deciding after a second fuck it and you just gave him a smile and a small wave before sipping your drink. After all, he had been looking at you first, right?

Imagine seeing him look away briefly after your wave and you finally turn to look around the bar again, idly sipping at your drink

Imagine not even a minute later, that very same man is now standing right next to you- how the hell did he get there so fast-? And so quietly-?

Imagine the silence that ensues, neither one of you wanting to say the first word (well, it was either not wanting or not knowing what to say)

Imagine the first thing you speak to Simon 'Ghost' Riley, unknowing who he is or what his reputation was, being, "So, uh... Come here often...?"

Imagine that really being your best line for this strange man

Imagine Ghost letting out a soft grunt as he nodded, "Often enough. Never seen you here before."

Imagine you giving him another smile, this one softer and more genuine as you reply, "I didn't realize this was so... Military oriented. Am I even allowed to be here?"

Imagine hearing a small huff from the man, his eyes indiscernible as he says, "Course you're allowed. I'd like to see them try to kick a bird like you out."

Imagine giggling softly, "A bird like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

Imagine all the while, Simon 'Ghost' Riley's teammates are still sitting at the bar, watching this all go down like it was a soap opera. It was, wasn't it? Their Lieutenant going out of his way to flirt with the little bird who accidentally wandered into a military-centric dive and still ordered the little cocktail you liked.

ugh just imagine

masterlist

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

mentions of: vaginal sex, oral (m) receiving

simon riley with a dick piercing, specifically a jacob’s ladder and one on his tip.

small silver studs going up his cock, stopping just before his tip. that was also adorned with another silver stud. he never thought much of it, going on months long missions before finally crashing down into his apartment meant that he had very little time for indulgence. but then he met you, a sweet little birdie that he so desperately wanted to take home.

“feel this?” his tip gently rubbing along your slick folds, the sensation of the cold metal making you shiver. “it’s gonna be inside you luvie, think you can handle it?” he teased, though he already knew the answer the moment your eyes glistened when he mentioned about his piercings. he loved the way your tongue swirled around it, watching as you focused on his tip, your big eyes staring up at him through your lashes. though he was pretty damn sure your throat was going to be bruised when he lost controlled and fucked your mouth like it was your cunt.

he loved the way you moaned, the way your nails scratched his muscular back as he drilled his cock into your warm cunt, stretching it out obscenely. “piercing feels good yeah birdie?” the extra friction against your spongey walls making you clench around him.

his pierced tip plunged against your sweet spot, nudging it before the studs dragged along your gummy walls. “got you all messed up haven’t i birdie?” he cooed as his thumb brushed against your plush bottom lip, tugging it slightly. “’m gonna make sure i ruin any man after me.”

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

"I love Kentucky"

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Twenty One

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.1k words - AO3 CW: 18+ mdni, discussion of kidnapping, sedation. Angst.

“Da?” Penny points at the guest room. “Bunny?” 

“Aye lamb, Bunny.” He tries not to look at the door, tries to push away the avalanche of despair. If he could dig it free it from his brain, he would. He’d take it away from everyone, you, Si, himself. He’d rewind time, take it all back, start from the beginning and fix it all. 

The memories burn like fire. They’re ash in the back of his throat. 

“We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.” 

 What a lie. Who were they kidding, doing this? Pretending they were some knights in shining armor, coming to rescue you? 

They became everything you feared. 

Pen nestles into his neck, gripping his shirt as she wiggles. “Story?” 

“Jus’ one alright?” She signs okay, and sighs. 

“Gus?” He grits his teeth. Penny's love for Gus has been a tiny bright spot in an abysmal expanse of misery, but her obsession just reminds him of everything else. 

“Gus is downstairs, it’s nap time.” He can feel the tumultuous slope of a tantrum, Penny’s mood ratcheting up and up until it explodes. She’s tired, and stressed, too much like her Dad, reading the emotions in the house like its second nature. She knows something is wrong. 

“Gus Gus,” her lower lip trembles, legs kicking. “Wan’ Gus Gus.” 

“Ye’ll see Gus later.” She doesn’t understand anything that’s happened, and the guilt eats at him, at what they’ve done to their family, what they’ve brought into their home. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

He holds her tight, kisses her forehead. “I love ye, Penny.” She sniffles. 

“Luh you.” 

 “Not at all?” 

“No idea mate. Looked at me like she’s never seen me a day in her life. A bit bizarre if you ask me.” Simon rubs a hand over his face. “But she also pointedly avoided looking at me. Tried to make herself smaller.” Johnny grimaces. They've moved as fast as they could, but you didn't make it easy.

In a weird way, Johnny is proud of you.

“How does she seem?” He knows this answer. To not recognize Kyle you must be tired beyond belief, operating on autopilot, frozen stiff with fear. 

“Skittish. Exhausted. Scared.” His shoulders slump, entire body sinking into the cushions of the couch. Your frightened face haunts his dreams, a little rabbit running for her life. He can't imagine how you must feel, believing you were betrayed by them, running away with their babe in your belly.

In another life, maybe they’d stay in Scotland with you. He’d show you all the things he loves about it, all the things he still calls home, the same things he showed Pen. Maybe it would be different. 

“Did you get it done?” Simon interrupts his spiral, redirects their focus. 

“Yeah, managed to slip it into the little pocket at the top, she had no idea. It’s online and I sent you guys the link; you should be able to see the ping. I’ll stay on her until you get here.” 

“From a distance.” Simon reiterates, and Kyle scoffs. 

“Do you think I’m an amateur?” 

Penny isn’t in her room after her nap. 

She gets up at the same time everyday without fail, dependable clockwork that they work their lives around. 

Johnny’s heart jumps into his throat. Logical thinking starts to fade away into panic, fear, his fumbling fingers swiping at his phone just as her little giggle echoes from down the hall, and relief rushes through his bones.

She's in your room. Curled up in your side, feet in your lap, little palm on your belly, staring up at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

“And then the cow said-” 

“Moooo!” He’s sick at the sight, another tidal wave of grief pulling him out to sea, reminding him of things they’ll probably never have now, your love, your trust, a family with you.

But you haven't left, a desperate voice in his head reminds him, you've had plenty of opportunities, but stays here. Why? 

Maybe all hope isn't lost.

“That’s right,” you brush her wispy curls back from her face and smile, “you’re such a smart girl Pen.” She pats the curve of your stomach, and then signs. 

“Baby?” Your hand folds over hers, and Johnny’s throat is so tight he can barely breathe. “My baby.” You laugh, and she giggles as you hug her close, kissing the top of her head. 

“This is your baby brother or sister Pen. What do you think? Boy? Or girl?” Penny shrugs, giving you a sheepish look. 

“Gus?” 

“Didn’t you see Gus earlier? Did you feed him breakfast?” There’s some shuffling, and she wiggles down to the floor, waiting patiently as you groan and swing your legs over the bed. “Alright, he could probably use some more fish flakes anyway.” You look tired, weary, but still your smile is soft for Penny, gentle and encouraging. 

It fades when you catch him in the doorway. 

“Hey.” You nod, the small spark in your eyes dying immediately as you watch him cautiously. Like he’s a threat. 

“How long have you been standing there?” 

“Er, not long.” What’s another lie in the long list of transgressions at this point? 

“Pen wants to see Gus so… I thought I’d take her downstairs.” You shift uneasily, and he steps aside. Penny’s hand is tucked in yours, and a vision of one of you falling, tripping, and taking the other down flashes in his mind. 

“Be careful on the stairs Pen.” She goes down on her knees now, backward, sliding her stomach across each step in a slow but methodical process. One that could trip you up. “I can take ye down-” 

“No,” she vehemently refuses, “I do it.” 

“She can do it on her own.” You back her up immediately, both of his girls united in solid opposition against him. Bleedin’ Christ. Penny points downstairs. 

“Da. Gus.” She signs for both, for once oblivious to your agitation, and he winces when you shoot him an annoyed look. 

“I’ve got her Johnny.” 

“Okay,” Penny’s already started on her descent, and you hold onto the banister, still glaring at him. He gulps. “Ye be careful too.” For a second, the storm breaks, the thunder rolls over the hill into the distance, torrential downpour turning a drizzle, and the sun tries to peek through the clouds. Sadness and longing, flickers in your eyes, so clearly displayed that it urges him forward, a step too close. You back away. 

The sun is gone, and the storm rages. 

The prefilled syringe glints in the sunlight where it sits on the table. Johnny tries not to look at it. 

“Are ye sure-” 

“No,” Simon snaps, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m not. But I don’t see what our choices are. We can’t leave her on her own with Graves at large. I promised… I promised she’d be safe. That I’d take care of her.” 

“We both did.” 

“Well we did a shit job.” He pales when he looks back at the needle. “We’re one hundred percent sure? It’s not going to harm them?” 

“Aye, triple checked. Safe for mum and baby.” They sit across from one another in silence. Simon is far away, somewhere even Johnny can’t reach him, and when he speaks next, his voice cracks. 

“She’s going to be so scared. She won’t understand what’s happening.” He covers his face, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. “She already thinks… she thinks we’re a threat. She’s not going to listen to anything we say.” 

“I know.” 

“We have to do it this way.” He’s whispering, locked in an endless battle of wills with himself, and Johnny reaches for his hand. He doesn’t know what else to do. Sick with dread twisting his heart, he knows the options are limited. He knows this is a good course of action, possibly the safest, the most rational. 

Even if it will turn them into your monsters.

“I know, Si. I know.” 

You’re on the patio. 

He’s found you there a few times, curled up on the outdoor couch, sun on your face as you read or scroll on your phone. 

He wants to go to you, encouraged by the sliver of something he saw in your eyes earlier, but he knows he can’t. If he pushes too hard, it will only make you retreat.

“She’s been out there for an hour.” Simon stands at his side, and if you look up, you’ll see both of them staring. Watching. 

“Did ye talk to her?” 

“Tried. She ignored me.” 

“Did ye actually?” His patience is thin today, a fine thread threatening to fray. “Try?” Johnny knows what it truly is, this avoidance of you. Simon brings you meals, checks in, but keeps away, holds his position at a firm distance. 

He can’t live with himself. 

“Johnny,” it’s a warning shot, but he chooses not to pay it any attention. 

“Did ye? Try at all? Because I haven’t seen ye try since we got home, since that day she woke up.” Simon stiffens. 

“She doesn’t want me.” 

“She doesnae want either o’ us Si. What did ye think would happen? That everything would be fine and she would forgive us? She would trust us automatically?” He’s on the verge of yelling now, and instead of trying to soothe him as usual, Simon scowls and turns away. Johnny snaps. “We said it’d take time an’ work but ye’re jus’ runnin’ away now, every chance ye get, an’ leavin’ everything to me!” 

“I…” He’s never seen his husband so lost. These past two weeks, every day he’s slipped further and further away, and nothing Johnny says or does brings him back. “I can’t, Johnny.” 

“Ye have to try.” For her. For me. For your family. Simon shakes his head. 

“I can’t.” 

“Jesus.” The heel of your palm goes to your temple, and he holds his breath. “What-” You trail off as you look up, take them in, guilty as sin. 

If only his Ma could see him now. See what he’s done. 

You shoot upward, scrambling towards the head of the bed, eyes wide and frozen with fear. 

Shaking and terrified. A little rabbit caught in a snare. Their snare.

You watch them like they're executioners leading you to the block. 

“Wh-what…” 

“Listen to us sweetheart, just listen,” Simon soothes, voice low and cautious but fast because he knows they’ve got to get it out, establish the truth right away. “You’re safe, everything’s okay, you and the baby, you’re safe here.” You shake your head, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“You… b-brought me back?” Your voice cracks. “You brought me back and n-now he’s…” you break apart on a sob. 

“He’s never going to touch ye ever again, bunny. We swear it. I know,” you try to scoot off the bed, but Simon holds you still by your shoulders. They have to get this out, have to get through this part no matter how difficult it is, no matter how much you don't want to listen. You have to hear the truth, the reasoning.

“I know you don’t believe us, but we can prove it.” Johnny pulls out his phone and clicks open the secure email attachment. It’s the mission report from when Graves betrayed them outside the Mexican Special Forces base, and it’s only partially redacted thanks to Kate.

It’s a risk. 

It will confirm your fears and dissolve them. It will tell you who they truly are, what they truly do, while proving they’re telling the truth. 

It’s a gamble. 

“Read this,” Simon pushes it into your hand and you recoil. It doesn’t stop him, he wraps your brittle fingers around it and then stands, Johnny right behind him. “Take as long as you need. We’ll be here.” 

“Did ye like it?” You refuse to look at him, half of a pot pie eaten and sitting at your side on the tray. No answer. 

You blink at the ceiling. 

“Wanted to check in, see if ye needed anything?” Please, say something. Say anything. “Somethin’ else to eat, maybe? Si said ye didnae eat much of yer lunch. Are ye feeling sick again?” You’ve been having bouts of nausea, which you’ve told them is normal. You said you brought it up with your midwife at your appointment last week, she wasn’t concerned, and left it that. He knows you only supplied the information because they were badgering you about it, and as you told them the other day-

“I’d do anything to get you to leave me the fuck alone.” 

When you turn to look at him, he almost wishes you hadn’t. 

There’s a lifetime of pain in your eyes. Anger. Distrust. Hurt. All of it caused by their hand, their decisions. 

He tries anyway. He has to. 

“Did ye know goldfish can grow up to ten inches? Researched it when we…” he swallows the lump in his throat, “when we got home.” Still nothing. Your fingers twitch on the edge of your kindle, and he’s overcome with the urge to place his hand there, to hold yours. “Ye know, Si an’ I were talking, it might be good for you to come down for a meal? Maybe ye could come downstairs for breakfast tomorrow? Pen asked.” Using Penny is wrong, he knows that, but he’s drowning and he doesn’t know how much farther they can sink at this point. 

But it all falls on deaf ears. 

You give him one last long look, another glare overflowing with malice, more rage, more despair, everything twisted up into a complicated knot. 

He's well practiced with bombs, confident, rarely makes a mistake-

but this is one he's terrified to defuse.

“Johnny… just... leave me alone. Please.” No, he wants to tell you, no, I'd rather have you scream at me for hours on end, I'd rather have you throw another mug at my head, over all of this... this agonizing silence.

“Okay,” he whispers, “I’ll… leave ye be.” 

“Upset?!” You cover your heart with your palms. “Upset…” 

“Sweetheart-” Simon hangs back behind Johnny, allowing him to take the lead, again, but still trying to coax you to calm, and you look at one then the other, shaking your head, tossing the phone on the bed.

“You… you hid all of this from me. I knew you were military but this…” You’re angry, but beneath it, fighting for freedom, is pain. Pain caused by them, by this betrayal. “Phillip aside, you kidnapped me!” 

“We had no choice,” Johnny’s voice wavers and he scrambles for control. “We couldnae leave ye alone and unprotected, an’ we knew ye wouldnae listen to us if we just… showed up.” 

“I wish I had better aim,” you spit, staring daggers at where Simon’s arm sports a fresh bandage, covering the stitches. He flinches. 

“We would never hurt ye-” A bitter laugh cuts him off, and you throw your hands up, gesturing around the room. 

“What do you call this then, Johnny? What would you call drugging me and hauling me away from my home?” 

"That wasnae yer home! Yer home is wit' us, bun." You stare at him in disbelief.

"You're out of your fucking mind if you think this... this could be my home now."

“I promise-” Simon starts again but you glare at him. 

“Your promises mean fuck all, Simon Riley.” 

“We’ve never lied to ye, bunny, an’ if we had known from the beginning, we could have protected ye, made sure he never came near ye again.” It’s low to use your own evasion against you, your own survival instincts, but he’s grasping at straws. He’s not sure it’s possible to tell you how sorry they are anymore, they’ve said it a thousand times. You snort. 

“You’re unbelievable. Both of you. And you’re no better than him.” 

“That’s not true.” Simon cuts, sharp edge slicing through your declaration. “We would never, ever hurt you. We love you.” Your swallow is audible, and for a second, you falter. A tear falls. Johnny steps forward. 

“Bun-“ 

“I want you to go.” 

“Ye have every right-” 

“Get out!” You scream it, pointing at the door with a shaking finger. “Get the fuck out.” Simon doesn’t take a single second before turning his back and disappearing, leaving Johnny alone with you. 

Defeated. 

“I love ye.” He murmurs softly, and you scoff. 

“Fuck your love, Johnny. It means nothing.”

The scream wakes them both at zero two hundred. 

It’s blood curdling, could shatter the windows, shake the house down to the studs. 

Simon’s faster than him lately, gets the drop- 

But he bypasses your room. 

“I’ll take care of Penny.” Of course. She’d be awake. That would’ve woke anyone. 

The door creaks when it flings wide, and then he’s sitting at your hip on the mattress, holding you, calling your name. The whites of your eyes shine in the dark, pupils slowly adjusting as he flicks the light on next to the bed. 

He braces for a fight, shores his defenses, readies himself for the venom, but the only thing you give him is the trembling of your lower lip, and your tears, your hand stretching for his. “Shhh, ye’re okay, it’s okay. Was jus’ a dream bunny, jus’ a dream.” Your chest heaves. 

“I… Phillip...” 

“He’s no’ here, it’s just ye and me. Simon and Pen down the hall.” He’d be lying to himself if he said this isn’t making a sick part of him happy, this need you seem to have for him, for comfort, even if it may be fleeting. “Ye’re safe, pretty girl.” A moan escapes you, working its way into a sob, and you curl forward. 

Into him. 

In this darkness, the early hour of the morning, the two of you are suspended in time, alone in this world where nothing bad ever happened and you’re safe in his arms. Like the man he sees in the mirror doesn’t disgust him, like his remorse isn’t a living, breathing thing, a reaper waiting to take him away. 

And when your nose presses to his chest and you wet his shirt with tears as he rocks you, promises you’re safe, that they’ll take care of you, that he loves you, all the words they’ve said since the day they met you, the guilt threatens to drown him-

And his own tears drip from his face.