readwritealldayallnight

[readwritealldayallnight]

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

Simon Riley has had his fair share of whiplash before, both literally and metaphorically.

The physical aspect of his work, he’s always recovered from, has never allowed to get in the way of his job, but injuries aside, the man has dealt with betrayal from those he was meant to trust one too many times.

He’s been deceived by his superiors in more ways than one, has faced treachery from the very people giving him orders through the comms in his ears.

These falsehoods at the mouths of men were never enough to bury him, to see him six feet under as they might have intended, in actuality they only fanned the flames of the wildfire raging within him, further helped him burn anything and anyone who would seek to end him, a man always holding a lit match in his hand, waiting for someone either bold or idiotic enough to pour the kerosine on him.

Now, however? That same fire is burning in his chest still, only with no one but himself to turn it against, his own actions responsible for the hurt and suffering he’s left reeling from, the flames kissing his every nerve ending as they leave burning devastation in their wake.

If that was all it was, he could accept the consequences.

If his heart was the only one left bleeding from wounds so deep and irreperable that they left the best surgeons in the world stumped, he could accept his fate.

If he was the only one left feeling this hurt, he could manage, could grin and bear it as he’s done with every pain in his life.

But it wasn’t just him anymore, was it? He’d chosen to let you into his life, had chosen to step past the threshold of your trust when you’d swung the door open and invited him in with arms wide open, all but rolling out the welcome mat for him.

And now? He was no longer the sole person left reeling from his actions, from this deep wound in his chest that wouldn’t, couldn’t stop bleeding.

For now there was you, sat across from him with hot tears streaming down your heated cheeks as they had been for the better part of an hour now, the fire in your eyes blazing as bright and fierce as he imagines his own expression might have once mirrored, a carbon copy of the flames he once felt aided him in being so detached form his work, from his depravity, the same ones that now lick at his wounds with a poisoned tongue.

Each time Simon glances out the windows of your flat, he’s reminded of how still the night air is outside, how calm of an evening it was when he stepped into the place he’d begun calling home, so long as the two hearts he considered as extensions of his own were inside as well, beating in unison.

Inside however, it’s been a whirlwind of a storm, a calamity of turbulence bordering on catastrophic, a mess he himself has created and knows not how to repair, how to move on from without losing hold of everything he so desperately wishes to cling to.

Were he a fly on the wall, he might find it almost comical, serendipitous of sorts, how your shaking hands are still holding on to the aged and worn fabric of his once cherished balaclava, a second skin he would once have never been caught dead without.

Every so often when your eyes seem to have cried all the tears they can, they flicker back down to the pale mask, the same one that became seared in your memory the night Rosie came to fruition, the same night an enticing stranger from the pub came inside you and changed the direction of your life forever, and your sobbing begins anew all over again.

Simon thanks his lucky stars the baby has been sleeping longer through the nights as of late, as she has yet to stir in her room down the hall, allowing her father to deal with the consequence of his actions as he attempts to keep her mum from falling apart further.

“Love, I-”

“I don’t understand.” You whisper, nearly choking on another sob as you sniffle and wipe your nose with your shirt sleeve, eyes never glancing up to meet his own pained ones. “I just don’t understand, Simon.”

“Birdie.” He answers, squatting down in front of you, the anguish evident in his voice as he debates whether or not to reach out for you, needing the feeling of you near for his own sake, but not wanting to frighten you.

“I don’t understand, Simon. How? How?! How is this possible? Ha-have you known this whole time?”

“No.” Simon rebukes the idea outright, clearing his throat as his emotions threaten to choke up the seasoned veteran as well. “No. Love, I’m as shocked as you are. I- I’m havin’ trouble wrappin’ my mind ‘round this, as well. I swear to ya.”

“How has this never come up before? Never once did you think to mention the time you finished inside of a girl nine months before Rosie was born? You never did the math, Si?” You question him, finally lifting your tired, reddened eyes to meet his gaze, the sight sending a pang through Simon’s chest.

“Honestly? I’d nearly forgotten ‘bout that night, love. This is the first time I’ve thought ‘bout it since it happened. Thought you’d said you were on the pill.” He hates saying such a thing out loud, not when the mere suggestion means that the culminaiton of your love, living and breathing as she sleeps one room over, might not be here today. But he truly hadn’t spent much more thought thinking about the beautiful girl he’d brought home that night, not wanting to grow attached to something he knew he’d never allow himself to have.

“I did. I was Simon, I was on birth control. And I took a goddamn morning after pill on top of that, but obviously it didn’t work.” You snap back at him, sending a glare his way before you’re letting out a shaky breath, shaking your head to yourself as you glance again at the damned mask in your hands. “I spent months looking for you, Simon. Months. I went back to that pub, begged them to help me find you somehow. They told me you’d only paid in cash, there were no cards to trace, that it was the first and last time they’d ever seen you in that place. And that was it, a dead end. I- I couldn’t remember where you lived, I was so wasted. I was at a total loss.”

And it was true. Simon had never risked going back to that pub again since that night, not wanting to risk running into the pretty bird who’d made his heart feel something he didn’t want to feel again. His heart aches, knowing the trouble you’d gone through, trying in vain to find the man who’d knocked you up and disappeared without a trace.

“Love, I’m so sorry. If I’d known-”

“I spent all those months alone, Simon.” You cut him off, meeting his eyes once more as you square your shoulders, a new sort of vindication taking over your expression as you sit up straighter, dropping his mask at his feet. “I went to every appointment alone. I went into labour three weeks early because she was so big, apparently thanks to you, alone. I gave birth to our daughter, alone. I accepted that I was going to have to do this all by myself.”

Simon lets you go on, nodding along to your every word, knowing that he deserves to hear it, that everything you’re saying is true. You did go through everything with no one but yourself to rely on, to count on, to keep you afloat through such an uncertain time.

He longs to tells you that he would change the past if he could, that he would do so in a heartbeat, would reign devastation and ruin upon anyone if it meant he could right this wrong, but he knows that there is no point, his words cannot change what has happened, cannot change the fact that this is the situation he’s in now, as unimaginable as it may be.

How he wishes he’d been there from the start, longs to mourn for a time he so easily could have been apart of had he not been a coward who hid. There is an especially sharp twang that shoots through his despondent heart when you mention how alone you were throughout the beginning, a time in your life he now can’t help but to completely reimagine had he not been a fool and been there.

What if he’d simply just given you his bloody number? Would he have been the first person you’d rang when that plus sign popped up on the test? Would he have held you as you cried, frightened and uncertain of your future, but at least with a shoulder to cry upon and arms to hold you through it all?

Would he have come to those doctors appointments with you, his heart skipping a beat when the doppler smoothed across your belly and found that small, steady heartbeat living inside of you? Would he have fought tears as you clutched his hand for dear life through every contraction and push until finally the best sound in the world rang throughout the delivery room, Rosie’s cry hitting his ears for the first time?

His chest aches irreparably knowing he so easily could have been there for all of it. He could have been there massaging your aching feet and laughing each time he felt the baby kick underneath his hands. He could have put the cot together for you and hung the mobile and built the rocker and told you would everything would be alright because if nothing else you had each other.

But Simon knows as well as anyone that he cannot change the past, no matter how desperately he may wish to do so. The truth is set in stone, and he wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to bash his head in with it.

“And you’re trying to tell me, that after all that time, when I walked up to that damned fence that day, that everyone on that crew told me to talk to none other than you? That you were the only soul who was willing to help me?”

“Birdie, I-”

“I can’t believe this, Simon. There’s just no way. There’s no way!” You exclaim, rising to your feet as the emotions begin to boil inside of you again, your cheeks reddening further as disbelief takes over, fact seeming stranger than fiction right now. “How could this be possible? What are the odds? What are the fucking odds that it was you? That it’s been you all along? I can’t- I don’t- This doesn’t-”

You’re starting to hyperventilate now, Simon can see how the panic is trying to dig its claws into you and take over as reality sets in, as the adrenaline comes crashing and everything becomes all too real to comprehend. You might be upset with him, but he knows what he has to do, at least to calm you down some.

Simon comes to stand as well, stepping closer to you until there’s no space left and wraps his strong arms around you, giving you nowhere to go but to remain within his orbit, breathing in his scent and feeling his heart beat beneath your ear, a soothing hand coming to rub between your shoulder blades as you fight to keep your breathing steady.

“I know, love. I know.” He murmurs into your hair, craning his neck down to press a kiss against your temple, momentarily pleased that you’re not fighting to escape his hold, that he can still provide you with a modicum of comfort when you need it most. “It seems impossible but- stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“How can this be possible, Si?” You whisper meekly into the fabric of his shirt, the vibrations resonating throughout his chest as he ever so slightly begins to rock you in place, his hands never ceasing their ministrations against your skin. “How?”

“I’ve only got one guess.” He replies, giving the slightest shrug as you push back against his chest to look at up at him, waterlogged eyes blinking through the blur to make him out clearly. “It was meant to be.”

You can’t help but to scoff as you allow your forehead to fall forward against his chest, the rolling of your eyes undoubtably but unseen to him as he decides to go on.

“M’serious. Rosie was meant to happen, sure. But you and me? Us? It was meant to happen, birdie. One way or another. We were supposed to happen.” He reiterates, lifting both hands to cradle your cheeks, slowly bringing your face back to meet his as eh leans his forehead against yours.

“You lied to me.” You whisper as softly as you can, a stray tear slipping past your lash line and meeting his thumb where is lays against your warmed cheek. “Simon, you’ve been lying to me. For months now.”

“I know. I know I have. I won’t deny it.” He confesses, stroking the apples of your cheeks as your peer up at him, desperate for someone tomake sense of all this but unsure whether you want it form him any longer, the perfect picture defitnion of inner conflict and turmoil stood before him. “But I can explain, love. Please, let me explain.”

He worries that this is it, that if you choose not to believe him, decide not to hear him out and allow him to try and explain, as would be your right, seeing as how this entire fiasco seems far too insane to be reality, that this could be it. This could be the moment Simon loses you, loses everything he never knew he wanted but could never imagine living without.

He couldn’t possibly fathom a life without you anymore, without Rosie, without these firecrackers in the shape of a woman and a baby who have turned his life upside down in a rollercoaster of emotions that he never bought a ticket for but never wants to get off of.

He needs you to hear him out, needs for you to give him a chance, just one chance to explain the undeniably fucked up inner workings of his brain, the mechanisms with which he operates that might not make sense to anyone but his own traumatized mind, if only to offer you a glimpse into why he’s done the things he’s done.

He knows how delicate this is, how precious of a chance he holds in his hands when you offer him the meekest of nods, granting him yet another kindness he will never know how to properly repay you for in his mortal lifetime.

You allow him to lead the both of you towards the couch where he settles in next to you, never letting go of your hands as his thumbs rub aginst your much softer skin, as though he could swipe this whole mess away as deftly as he reaches up to wipe one of your tears away.

Simon Riley from a year ago, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

This emotionally constipated man who’s been taught to shove his feelings down and simply grin and bear it from a young age would shudder at the thought of laying everything out in the open, of being so vulnerable in front of a pretty bird, his pretty bird

You might as well be an insurgent holding a gun to his temple with bullets he loaded himself, he feels so nervous, the severity of this situation not lost on him. Whatever words are going to come out of his mouth could alter the trajectory of his remaining days for better or worse, with no one but himself to place blame upon.

But now? Simon who’s been through thick and thin with you, has planted seeds of hope and watched them grow into love and trust and bliss and happiness in a way he never knew his life could bloom into, this Simon knows what’s on the line, knows what is at stake, and knows this is a fight worth fighting for, worth dying for.

This love, this hope, this … thing that you’ve built between the two of you, the three of you, is too strong, too immense in its gravity to ever exist in the past tense.

It could only ever be something that was going to happen, and once it happened, once your two worlds collided and became one, once a living, breathing, tangible piece of evidence was born from the undeniable passion existing between the two of you, that was it.

There could never exist another universe, an alternate timeline, another world where Simon has this, and allows it to slip between his fingers, to become a thing of the past, something that was.

Something that was his and his alone, only to be ruined by him alone.

But the same hands that could so easily tear everything apart, equally held the potential to build it back up again, didn’t they? Couldn’t they even be strong enough to hold it all together before it fell apart in the first place? Douse the fire from within before it burns everything beyond recognition?

“We get dirty, and the world stays clean.” He utters before clearing his throat, the words catching as he swallows and takes a steadying breath, giving your hands a squeeze and he looks up into your waterlogged eyes. “I’ve had to live by those words for… longer than I can remember, birdie. My entire career, my whole life really has been about choosing between the lesser of two evils. Doing the dirty work that no one else would when it was necessary.”

“I don’t need to tell ya how fucked up I am, you’ve seen more than ‘nough glimpses of it to know I’m not a good man, least not when we met. But love, when I saw ya that day,” Simon clears his throat again, the emotions trying to get the better of him when he feels you give his fingers your own reassuring squeeze back. “I jus’- I knew there was something there. Didn’t know wha’ it was, because I swear to ya birdie I didn’t remember that night. But I just saw you, and something told me life wasn’t going to be the same. That I had to do something to- to have ya. To keep ya. At least until you decided you didn’t want anythin’ to do with me but- that wasn’t wha’ happened. You smiled at me and- it was over for me right then and there, love.”

He can see your expression softening with his every word, notices your sniffles lessening and notes that your tears have stopped cascading down your cheeks. He knows you though, can tell that your guard is still up, despite slowly lowering it enough to hear him out.

“And so yes, I lied. It wasn’t- I-” he cuts himself off with a shake of the head, glancing around the room as though his eyes might land on the script he needs right now, a cue card telling him exactly what he’s meant to say in such a situation. This was far from easy for him, to not only rationalize his actions but to speak them aloud and try to justify them to you, it was a foreign concept. All he could do was simply keep talking.

“Birdie, lying in order to keep you was a means to and end, the lesser of two evils. No, I’d never met the owners of the nursery ‘til I was all but bribin’ ‘em for a spot for Rosie. Had to convince them I’d get the job done weeks early to secure her that spot. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat because it was what you girls needed. I had to lie to get it, but I got it done. I was only thinkin’ of the end product.”

He watches you take a deep breath, your shoulders losing a mere modicum of that tension they’ve been holding onto all evening, your jaw loosening as you shift in your spot, your thigh now touching his.

“Knew it was wrong. But I was to used to it, love. Doin’ the dirty work to get shit done. Next thing I knew they were presuming that I was Rosie’s father and you were my wife and I jus’- I didn’t correct ‘em. Didn’t want to. Not really. Part o’ me knew how fucked up it was to pretend that you two were my family when I’d only known you a week but- part o’ me hoped if I said yes that eventually it would become true. Wouldn’t be an issue so long as it became true.”

“But it’s not them I regret lyin’ to. If it benefits Rosie, I’ll lie to anyone, doesn’t matter who, not for a second. It’s you, love, that I regret lyin’ to. I- I knew it was wrong, but I kept thinkin’ if I just had ‘nough time, everythin’ I was fibbin’ ‘bout would happen anyways- if I got dirty and you stayed clean then-”

“Simon.” You speak for the first time since his impromptu monologue began, reaching a hand up to cradle his cheek, thumb brushing against scars along his tattered skin. “Breathe.”

He takes your reminder to heart and inhales deeply, steadying himself once more before coming to reach his own hand up to hold yours in place, leaning his face further into your touch, feeling now more undeserving of your tenderness than ever, while also needing it more desperately than he ever has.

“Righ’. I jus’- I hated seein’ you worry over money love, hated seein’ you stress ‘bout anythin’. Didn’t like it especially when I knew I could help. So yes, I went behind your back and started payin’ Rosie’s daycare bills without tellin’ you. And I won’t tell you I regret it love, because I don’t, not really. What I do regret is not talkin’ to you but- I haven’t known how to go ‘bout this the right way, I suppose.”

“That’s one thing you’ve got right.” You mutter, expression softening further at the chuckle he can’t help but to let out, self deprecating or not.

“I can only imagine how this all looks from your end, love. Wouldn’t blame ya for whatever you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me, ‘bout our future. I know I’ve lied and hid things from ya, and for that I’m sorry. But this was never about me wanting to take the choices and decisions away from your love. The opposite, actually. I wanted to be able to give you the chance to choose. To decide whether or not you wanted to go back to work yet without the pressure of money deciding for you, to pick the nursery you wanted without worryin’ ‘bout fees or bills. I know I went ‘bout it all wrong, but I’ve only ever wanted to give you the choice to decide for yourself love.”

“Simon.” You whisper with the slightest shake of your head and your thumb continues to smooth over his cheek bone, eyes beginning to fill with tears again.

“I’ve never known a love like this before, birdie. Have never had something like this before, someone like you. I did the only thing I knew how to do and that was to fight for you, lie for you, get dirty and give you and Rosie the life you deserve. I know that good things don’t stay easy, things that are worth something are worth figthin’ for, and I’ll beg on my hands and knees every day and night if you let me make it up to you, love. Let me show you that I’ll never lie again, not to you. Never again.”

“I just- I don’t know what to think right now.” You admit with perfect honesty, meeting his eye with an air of utter exhaustion hanging over you. “I need some time to- to process all this, you know?”

He nods in agreement, understanding that this has been quite the whirlwind of a few hours for you both, but you especially, discovering that your partner has been lying to you, but most of all, finding out that Simon has been Rosie’s father all this time.

“Let me sleep on this, yeah? I just- I need time.” You reiterate, pulling your hand back into your lap and averting your gaze from his.

“Course. I can- I can sleep out ‘ere, if you’d like.” He offers up, ignoring the twist in his arteries at such an idea of sleeping away from you.

“Might be a good idea for tonight.” You reply, standing and walking towards your shared bedroom without glancing back at him, each of your steps appearing heavier than the last until you’re out of his sight.

With a long sigh Simon stretches further into the couch cushions, having never found them as uncomfortable as they are right now. His fingers are itching for a smoke, a habit he hasn’t indulged in for months since he met you, what used to be his go to stress relief apart from punching something until his knuckles bled.

He isn’t sure how many minutes or hours go by as he lays back and stares at the ceiling, replaying every word he said aloud over and over in his head, hoping to whatever God may be listening that it was enough, that he will be enough to keep you, to convince you that he isn’t a man with bad intentions, just a bad past. A man who loves you more than he’s ever loved anything and doesn’t know what to do with these feelings of his that seem larger than life.

He knows it must be approaching the early morning hours however, when the telltale cries start softly from the direction of Rosie’s room. Instinct has him sitting up, ready to tip toe towards her cot and bring her to you, though he finds himself pausing, unsure of how to go abotu this now. Rather than safe in your flat, he feels as though he’s standing in the middle of a tight wire walk, dangling over the precipice one too many storeys high above the ground, winds howling from all directions and nothing but you as the flickering light guiding him across the line to safety. But is he allowed to seek out your light right now?

He hears your footsteps creep over into Rosie’s room, hears when her cries soften down to sleepy murmurs as he imagines you’ve picked her up, cradling her to your bosom. He can’t help himself when he stands from the couch and inches closer to her doorway, peeking in to the room to watch you rock her gently to and fro, a soft humming coming from your lips.

He’s seen Rosie every day for months now, knows every beauty mark and wisp of hair and fat roll and freckle. He knows how to make her laugh, how she prefers her bottles, how to rock her back to sleep, how to swaddle her just right. But seeing her now, he can’t help the emotions threatening to spill over his lash line as he gazes at her in your arms.

That’s his baby. She always has been, some measly DNA wasn’t going to change that fact. But he can’t help but see her in a different light now, knowing that she truly is the amalgamation of the two of you, the physical proof of your connection to one another, his little girl. He has a daughter, a real life, in the flesh, living and breathing daughter. He has no one to thank but you for this most precious gift he never once thought he would want, let alone have. He really does owe everything to you.

But just as he feels as though his heart beats forever in sync with yours, you are just as in tune with him.

“Come on in, Si.” You whisper into the still, quiet of her room, nothing more than a soft nightlight in the corner lighting the small space.

He’s taken aback from a split second, certain that he’d been cunning enough to do unnoticed, especially as your eyes haven’t once flickered in his direction. But it appears you know him better than he knows himself.

He carefully steps towards you two, each step intentional until he’s stood directly in front of you, both your gazes locked on the babe in your arms. Unconsciously, his arms come up to cradle yours as you both hold her in your embrace.

“Let’s bring her back to bed with us, huh?” You whisper to him, his eyes quickly glancing up to meet yours in the dark of the room, though he swears the love has never been so clear to see in them.

“Really?” He whispers back, worried that he sounds like the scared little boy he feels like, wanting nothing more than to believe that you’ll have him, that you’ll take him back and forgive him for every fucked up thing that’s wrong with him and let him prove to you that he’ll do right by you.

“Really.” You say back to him, stepping closer still until he can reach down to rest his forehead against yours, the tears no longer being held back as they silently fall down his cheeks. “The bed doesn’t feel right without you.”

You set Rosie back down in her cot for just a moment, despite her grumbles at being out of her parents arms, just in time for Simon to fall to his knees on the carpeted floor and lean into your embrace, his head pressed against your abdomen as his shoulders shake with silent sobs.

“It’s you and me, Simon. It’s us ‘til the end.” You say to him, running your fingers through his hair as you wrap your arms around his shoulders best as you can.

You know that everything isn’t resolved just yet. There will be future conversations and discussions to be had, more truths to be uncovered, layers to be peeled back and boundaries to be set. You aren’t about to let him off that easy, but you also know a good thing when you see one. And if Simon still can’t see what a good man he has in fact turned out to be, then you’ll enjoy the view for the both of you, clear the fog from his eyes until he realizes he’s been there all along.

“But if you ever lie to me again, Simon Riley,” you add, grabbing his face with both hands to make sure he’s looking you in the eyes. “Then I’m naming our next kid Johnny.”

“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Haven’t we been through ‘nough suffering already?”

Have I ever mentioned how much writing angst pains me physically? Especially when I know there’s only one more chapter left of this series?

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[readwritealldayallnight]

Chapter nine out now!!

- M 🫶🏻

Bird Watching

Construction Worker!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x single mom!reader

‘Birds of a feather,

We should stick together, I know,

I said I’d never,

Think I wasn’t better alone’

Part one (2.3k words)

Part two (2.4K words)

Part three (3.6k words)

Part four (4.5k words)

Part five (6.3k words)

Part six (8.8k words)

Part seven (5.4K words)

Part eight (4.8k words)

Part nine (5.2k words)

Part ten

‘I knew you in another life,

You had that same look in your eyes,

I love you,

Don’t act so surprised’

[readwritealldayallnight]

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

Simon Riley has had his fair share of whiplash before, both literally and metaphorically.

The physical aspect of his work, he’s always recovered from, has never allowed to get in the way of his job, but injuries aside, the man has dealt with betrayal from those he was meant to trust one too many times.

He’s been deceived by his superiors in more ways than one, has faced treachery from the very people giving him orders through the comms in his ears.

These falsehoods at the mouths of men were never enough to bury him, to see him six feet under as they might have intended, in actuality they only fanned the flames of the wildfire raging within him, further helped him burn anything and anyone who would seek to end him, a man always holding a lit match in his hand, waiting for someone either bold or idiotic enough to pour the kerosine on him.

Now, however? That same fire is burning in his chest still, only with no one but himself to turn it against, his own actions responsible for the hurt and suffering he’s left reeling from, the flames kissing his every nerve ending as they leave burning devastation in their wake.

If that was all it was, he could accept the consequences.

If his heart was the only one left bleeding from wounds so deep and irreperable that they left the best surgeons in the world stumped, he could accept his fate.

If he was the only one left feeling this hurt, he could manage, could grin and bear it as he’s done with every pain in his life.

But it wasn’t just him anymore, was it? He’d chosen to let you into his life, had chosen to step past the threshold of your trust when you’d swung the door open and invited him in with arms wide open, all but rolling out the welcome mat for him.

And now? He was no longer the sole person left reeling from his actions, from this deep wound in his chest that wouldn’t, couldn’t stop bleeding.

For now there was you, sat across from him with hot tears streaming down your heated cheeks as they had been for the better part of an hour now, the fire in your eyes blazing as bright and fierce as he imagines his own expression might have once mirrored, a carbon copy of the flames he once felt aided him in being so detached form his work, from his depravity, the same ones that now lick at his wounds with a poisoned tongue.

Each time Simon glances out the windows of your flat, he’s reminded of how still the night air is outside, how calm of an evening it was when he stepped into the place he’d begun calling home, so long as the two hearts he considered as extensions of his own were inside as well, beating in unison.

Inside however, it’s been a whirlwind of a storm, a calamity of turbulence bordering on catastrophic, a mess he himself has created and knows not how to repair, how to move on from without losing hold of everything he so desperately wishes to cling to.

Were he a fly on the wall, he might find it almost comical, serendipitous of sorts, how your shaking hands are still holding on to the aged and worn fabric of his once cherished balaclava, a second skin he would once have never been caught dead without.

Every so often when your eyes seem to have cried all the tears they can, they flicker back down to the pale mask, the same one that became seared in your memory the night Rosie came to fruition, the same night an enticing stranger from the pub came inside you and changed the direction of your life forever, and your sobbing begins anew all over again.

Simon thanks his lucky stars the baby has been sleeping longer through the nights as of late, as she has yet to stir in her room down the hall, allowing her father to deal with the consequence of his actions as he attempts to keep her mum from falling apart further.

“Love, I-”

“I don’t understand.” You whisper, nearly choking on another sob as you sniffle and wipe your nose with your shirt sleeve, eyes never glancing up to meet his own pained ones. “I just don’t understand, Simon.”

“Birdie.” He answers, squatting down in front of you, the anguish evident in his voice as he debates whether or not to reach out for you, needing the feeling of you near for his own sake, but not wanting to frighten you.

“I don’t understand, Simon. How? How?! How is this possible? Ha-have you known this whole time?”

“No.” Simon rebukes the idea outright, clearing his throat as his emotions threaten to choke up the seasoned veteran as well. “No. Love, I’m as shocked as you are. I- I’m havin’ trouble wrappin’ my mind ‘round this, as well. I swear to ya.”

“How has this never come up before? Never once did you think to mention the time you finished inside of a girl nine months before Rosie was born? You never did the math, Si?” You question him, finally lifting your tired, reddened eyes to meet his gaze, the sight sending a pang through Simon’s chest.

“Honestly? I’d nearly forgotten ‘bout that night, love. This is the first time I’ve thought ‘bout it since it happened. Thought you’d said you were on the pill.” He hates saying such a thing out loud, not when the mere suggestion means that the culminaiton of your love, living and breathing as she sleeps one room over, might not be here today. But he truly hadn’t spent much more thought thinking about the beautiful girl he’d brought home that night, not wanting to grow attached to something he knew he’d never allow himself to have.

“I did. I was Simon, I was on birth control. And I took a goddamn morning after pill on top of that, but obviously it didn’t work.” You snap back at him, sending a glare his way before you’re letting out a shaky breath, shaking your head to yourself as you glance again at the damned mask in your hands. “I spent months looking for you, Simon. Months. I went back to that pub, begged them to help me find you somehow. They told me you’d only paid in cash, there were no cards to trace, that it was the first and last time they’d ever seen you in that place. And that was it, a dead end. I- I couldn’t remember where you lived, I was so wasted. I was at a total loss.”

And it was true. Simon had never risked going back to that pub again since that night, not wanting to risk running into the pretty bird who’d made his heart feel something he didn’t want to feel again. His heart aches, knowing the trouble you’d gone through, trying in vain to find the man who’d knocked you up and disappeared without a trace.

“Love, I’m so sorry. If I’d known-”

“I spent all those months alone, Simon.” You cut him off, meeting his eyes once more as you square your shoulders, a new sort of vindication taking over your expression as you sit up straighter, dropping his mask at his feet. “I went to every appointment alone. I went into labour three weeks early because she was so big, apparently thanks to you, alone. I gave birth to our daughter, alone. I accepted that I was going to have to do this all by myself.”

Simon lets you go on, nodding along to your every word, knowing that he deserves to hear it, that everything you’re saying is true. You did go through everything with no one but yourself to rely on, to count on, to keep you afloat through such an uncertain time.

He longs to tells you that he would change the past if he could, that he would do so in a heartbeat, would reign devastation and ruin upon anyone if it meant he could right this wrong, but he knows that there is no point, his words cannot change what has happened, cannot change the fact that this is the situation he’s in now, as unimaginable as it may be.

How he wishes he’d been there from the start, longs to mourn for a time he so easily could have been apart of had he not been a coward who hid. There is an especially sharp twang that shoots through his despondent heart when you mention how alone you were throughout the beginning, a time in your life he now can’t help but to completely reimagine had he not been a fool and been there.

What if he’d simply just given you his bloody number? Would he have been the first person you’d rang when that plus sign popped up on the test? Would he have held you as you cried, frightened and uncertain of your future, but at least with a shoulder to cry upon and arms to hold you through it all?

Would he have come to those doctors appointments with you, his heart skipping a beat when the doppler smoothed across your belly and found that small, steady heartbeat living inside of you? Would he have fought tears as you clutched his hand for dear life through every contraction and push until finally the best sound in the world rang throughout the delivery room, Rosie’s cry hitting his ears for the first time?

His chest aches irreparably knowing he so easily could have been there for all of it. He could have been there massaging your aching feet and laughing each time he felt the baby kick underneath his hands. He could have put the cot together for you and hung the mobile and built the rocker and told you would everything would be alright because if nothing else you had each other.

But Simon knows as well as anyone that he cannot change the past, no matter how desperately he may wish to do so. The truth is set in stone, and he wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to bash his head in with it.

“And you’re trying to tell me, that after all that time, when I walked up to that damned fence that day, that everyone on that crew told me to talk to none other than you? That you were the only soul who was willing to help me?”

“Birdie, I-”

“I can’t believe this, Simon. There’s just no way. There’s no way!” You exclaim, rising to your feet as the emotions begin to boil inside of you again, your cheeks reddening further as disbelief takes over, fact seeming stranger than fiction right now. “How could this be possible? What are the odds? What are the fucking odds that it was you? That it’s been you all along? I can’t- I don’t- This doesn’t-”

You’re starting to hyperventilate now, Simon can see how the panic is trying to dig its claws into you and take over as reality sets in, as the adrenaline comes crashing and everything becomes all too real to comprehend. You might be upset with him, but he knows what he has to do, at least to calm you down some.

Simon comes to stand as well, stepping closer to you until there’s no space left and wraps his strong arms around you, giving you nowhere to go but to remain within his orbit, breathing in his scent and feeling his heart beat beneath your ear, a soothing hand coming to rub between your shoulder blades as you fight to keep your breathing steady.

“I know, love. I know.” He murmurs into your hair, craning his neck down to press a kiss against your temple, momentarily pleased that you’re not fighting to escape his hold, that he can still provide you with a modicum of comfort when you need it most. “It seems impossible but- stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“How can this be possible, Si?” You whisper meekly into the fabric of his shirt, the vibrations resonating throughout his chest as he ever so slightly begins to rock you in place, his hands never ceasing their ministrations against your skin. “How?”

“I’ve only got one guess.” He replies, giving the slightest shrug as you push back against his chest to look at up at him, waterlogged eyes blinking through the blur to make him out clearly. “It was meant to be.”

You can’t help but to scoff as you allow your forehead to fall forward against his chest, the rolling of your eyes undoubtably but unseen to him as he decides to go on.

“M’serious. Rosie was meant to happen, sure. But you and me? Us? It was meant to happen, birdie. One way or another. We were supposed to happen.” He reiterates, lifting both hands to cradle your cheeks, slowly bringing your face back to meet his as eh leans his forehead against yours.

“You lied to me.” You whisper as softly as you can, a stray tear slipping past your lash line and meeting his thumb where is lays against your warmed cheek. “Simon, you’ve been lying to me. For months now.”

“I know. I know I have. I won’t deny it.” He confesses, stroking the apples of your cheeks as your peer up at him, desperate for someone tomake sense of all this but unsure whether you want it form him any longer, the perfect picture defitnion of inner conflict and turmoil stood before him. “But I can explain, love. Please, let me explain.”

He worries that this is it, that if you choose not to believe him, decide not to hear him out and allow him to try and explain, as would be your right, seeing as how this entire fiasco seems far too insane to be reality, that this could be it. This could be the moment Simon loses you, loses everything he never knew he wanted but could never imagine living without.

He couldn’t possibly fathom a life without you anymore, without Rosie, without these firecrackers in the shape of a woman and a baby who have turned his life upside down in a rollercoaster of emotions that he never bought a ticket for but never wants to get off of.

He needs you to hear him out, needs for you to give him a chance, just one chance to explain the undeniably fucked up inner workings of his brain, the mechanisms with which he operates that might not make sense to anyone but his own traumatized mind, if only to offer you a glimpse into why he’s done the things he’s done.

He knows how delicate this is, how precious of a chance he holds in his hands when you offer him the meekest of nods, granting him yet another kindness he will never know how to properly repay you for in his mortal lifetime.

You allow him to lead the both of you towards the couch where he settles in next to you, never letting go of your hands as his thumbs rub aginst your much softer skin, as though he could swipe this whole mess away as deftly as he reaches up to wipe one of your tears away.

Simon Riley from a year ago, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

This emotionally constipated man who’s been taught to shove his feelings down and simply grin and bear it from a young age would shudder at the thought of laying everything out in the open, of being so vulnerable in front of a pretty bird, his pretty bird

You might as well be an insurgent holding a gun to his temple with bullets he loaded himself, he feels so nervous, the severity of this situation not lost on him. Whatever words are going to come out of his mouth could alter the trajectory of his remaining days for better or worse, with no one but himself to place blame upon.

But now? Simon who’s been through thick and thin with you, has planted seeds of hope and watched them grow into love and trust and bliss and happiness in a way he never knew his life could bloom into, this Simon knows what’s on the line, knows what is at stake, and knows this is a fight worth fighting for, worth dying for.

This love, this hope, this … thing that you’ve built between the two of you, the three of you, is too strong, too immense in its gravity to ever exist in the past tense.

It could only ever be something that was going to happen, and once it happened, once your two worlds collided and became one, once a living, breathing, tangible piece of evidence was born from the undeniable passion existing between the two of you, that was it.

There could never exist another universe, an alternate timeline, another world where Simon has this, and allows it to slip between his fingers, to become a thing of the past, something that was.

Something that was his and his alone, only to be ruined by him alone.

But the same hands that could so easily tear everything apart, equally held the potential to build it back up again, didn’t they? Couldn’t they even be strong enough to hold it all together before it fell apart in the first place? Douse the fire from within before it burns everything beyond recognition?

“We get dirty, and the world stays clean.” He utters before clearing his throat, the words catching as he swallows and takes a steadying breath, giving your hands a squeeze and he looks up into your waterlogged eyes. “I’ve had to live by those words for… longer than I can remember, birdie. My entire career, my whole life really has been about choosing between the lesser of two evils. Doing the dirty work that no one else would when it was necessary.”

“I don’t need to tell ya how fucked up I am, you’ve seen more than ‘nough glimpses of it to know I’m not a good man, least not when we met. But love, when I saw ya that day,” Simon clears his throat again, the emotions trying to get the better of him when he feels you give his fingers your own reassuring squeeze back. “I jus’- I knew there was something there. Didn’t know wha’ it was, because I swear to ya birdie I didn’t remember that night. But I just saw you, and something told me life wasn’t going to be the same. That I had to do something to- to have ya. To keep ya. At least until you decided you didn’t want anythin’ to do with me but- that wasn’t wha’ happened. You smiled at me and- it was over for me right then and there, love.”

He can see your expression softening with his every word, notices your sniffles lessening and notes that your tears have stopped cascading down your cheeks. He knows you though, can tell that your guard is still up, despite slowly lowering it enough to hear him out.

“And so yes, I lied. It wasn’t- I-” he cuts himself off with a shake of the head, glancing around the room as though his eyes might land on the script he needs right now, a cue card telling him exactly what he’s meant to say in such a situation. This was far from easy for him, to not only rationalize his actions but to speak them aloud and try to justify them to you, it was a foreign concept. All he could do was simply keep talking.

“Birdie, lying in order to keep you was a means to and end, the lesser of two evils. No, I’d never met the owners of the nursery ‘til I was all but bribin’ ‘em for a spot for Rosie. Had to convince them I’d get the job done weeks early to secure her that spot. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat because it was what you girls needed. I had to lie to get it, but I got it done. I was only thinkin’ of the end product.”

He watches you take a deep breath, your shoulders losing a mere modicum of that tension they’ve been holding onto all evening, your jaw loosening as you shift in your spot, your thigh now touching his.

“Knew it was wrong. But I was to used to it, love. Doin’ the dirty work to get shit done. Next thing I knew they were presuming that I was Rosie’s father and you were my wife and I jus’- I didn’t correct ‘em. Didn’t want to. Not really. Part o’ me knew how fucked up it was to pretend that you two were my family when I’d only known you a week but- part o’ me hoped if I said yes that eventually it would become true. Wouldn’t be an issue so long as it became true.”

“But it’s not them I regret lyin’ to. If it benefits Rosie, I’ll lie to anyone, doesn’t matter who, not for a second. It’s you, love, that I regret lyin’ to. I- I knew it was wrong, but I kept thinkin’ if I just had ‘nough time, everythin’ I was fibbin’ ‘bout would happen anyways- if I got dirty and you stayed clean then-”

“Simon.” You speak for the first time since his impromptu monologue began, reaching a hand up to cradle his cheek, thumb brushing against scars along his tattered skin. “Breathe.”

He takes your reminder to heart and inhales deeply, steadying himself once more before coming to reach his own hand up to hold yours in place, leaning his face further into your touch, feeling now more undeserving of your tenderness than ever, while also needing it more desperately than he ever has.

“Righ’. I jus’- I hated seein’ you worry over money love, hated seein’ you stress ‘bout anythin’. Didn’t like it especially when I knew I could help. So yes, I went behind your back and started payin’ Rosie’s daycare bills without tellin’ you. And I won’t tell you I regret it love, because I don’t, not really. What I do regret is not talkin’ to you but- I haven’t known how to go ‘bout this the right way, I suppose.”

“That’s one thing you’ve got right.” You mutter, expression softening further at the chuckle he can’t help but to let out, self deprecating or not.

“I can only imagine how this all looks from your end, love. Wouldn’t blame ya for whatever you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me, ‘bout our future. I know I’ve lied and hid things from ya, and for that I’m sorry. But this was never about me wanting to take the choices and decisions away from your love. The opposite, actually. I wanted to be able to give you the chance to choose. To decide whether or not you wanted to go back to work yet without the pressure of money deciding for you, to pick the nursery you wanted without worryin’ ‘bout fees or bills. I know I went ‘bout it all wrong, but I’ve only ever wanted to give you the choice to decide for yourself love.”

“Simon.” You whisper with the slightest shake of your head and your thumb continues to smooth over his cheek bone, eyes beginning to fill with tears again.

“I’ve never known a love like this before, birdie. Have never had something like this before, someone like you. I did the only thing I knew how to do and that was to fight for you, lie for you, get dirty and give you and Rosie the life you deserve. I know that good things don’t stay easy, things that are worth something are worth figthin’ for, and I’ll beg on my hands and knees every day and night if you let me make it up to you, love. Let me show you that I’ll never lie again, not to you. Never again.”

“I just- I don’t know what to think right now.” You admit with perfect honesty, meeting his eye with an air of utter exhaustion hanging over you. “I need some time to- to process all this, you know?”

He nods in agreement, understanding that this has been quite the whirlwind of a few hours for you both, but you especially, discovering that your partner has been lying to you, but most of all, finding out that Simon has been Rosie’s father all this time.

“Let me sleep on this, yeah? I just- I need time.” You reiterate, pulling your hand back into your lap and averting your gaze from his.

“Course. I can- I can sleep out ‘ere, if you’d like.” He offers up, ignoring the twist in his arteries at such an idea of sleeping away from you.

“Might be a good idea for tonight.” You reply, standing and walking towards your shared bedroom without glancing back at him, each of your steps appearing heavier than the last until you’re out of his sight.

With a long sigh Simon stretches further into the couch cushions, having never found them as uncomfortable as they are right now. His fingers are itching for a smoke, a habit he hasn’t indulged in for months since he met you, what used to be his go to stress relief apart from punching something until his knuckles bled.

He isn’t sure how many minutes or hours go by as he lays back and stares at the ceiling, replaying every word he said aloud over and over in his head, hoping to whatever God may be listening that it was enough, that he will be enough to keep you, to convince you that he isn’t a man with bad intentions, just a bad past. A man who loves you more than he’s ever loved anything and doesn’t know what to do with these feelings of his that seem larger than life.

He knows it must be approaching the early morning hours however, when the telltale cries start softly from the direction of Rosie’s room. Instinct has him sitting up, ready to tip toe towards her cot and bring her to you, though he finds himself pausing, unsure of how to go abotu this now. Rather than safe in your flat, he feels as though he’s standing in the middle of a tight wire walk, dangling over the precipice one too many storeys high above the ground, winds howling from all directions and nothing but you as the flickering light guiding him across the line to safety. But is he allowed to seek out your light right now?

He hears your footsteps creep over into Rosie’s room, hears when her cries soften down to sleepy murmurs as he imagines you’ve picked her up, cradling her to your bosom. He can’t help himself when he stands from the couch and inches closer to her doorway, peeking in to the room to watch you rock her gently to and fro, a soft humming coming from your lips.

He’s seen Rosie every day for months now, knows every beauty mark and wisp of hair and fat roll and freckle. He knows how to make her laugh, how she prefers her bottles, how to rock her back to sleep, how to swaddle her just right. But seeing her now, he can’t help the emotions threatening to spill over his lash line as he gazes at her in your arms.

That’s his baby. She always has been, some measly DNA wasn’t going to change that fact. But he can’t help but see her in a different light now, knowing that she truly is the amalgamation of the two of you, the physical proof of your connection to one another, his little girl. He has a daughter, a real life, in the flesh, living and breathing daughter. He has no one to thank but you for this most precious gift he never once thought he would want, let alone have. He really does owe everything to you.

But just as he feels as though his heart beats forever in sync with yours, you are just as in tune with him.

“Come on in, Si.” You whisper into the still, quiet of her room, nothing more than a soft nightlight in the corner lighting the small space.

He’s taken aback from a split second, certain that he’d been cunning enough to do unnoticed, especially as your eyes haven’t once flickered in his direction. But it appears you know him better than he knows himself.

He carefully steps towards you two, each step intentional until he’s stood directly in front of you, both your gazes locked on the babe in your arms. Unconsciously, his arms come up to cradle yours as you both hold her in your embrace.

“Let’s bring her back to bed with us, huh?” You whisper to him, his eyes quickly glancing up to meet yours in the dark of the room, though he swears the love has never been so clear to see in them.

“Really?” He whispers back, worried that he sounds like the scared little boy he feels like, wanting nothing more than to believe that you’ll have him, that you’ll take him back and forgive him for every fucked up thing that’s wrong with him and let him prove to you that he’ll do right by you.

“Really.” You say back to him, stepping closer still until he can reach down to rest his forehead against yours, the tears no longer being held back as they silently fall down his cheeks. “The bed doesn’t feel right without you.”

You set Rosie back down in her cot for just a moment, despite her grumbles at being out of her parents arms, just in time for Simon to fall to his knees on the carpeted floor and lean into your embrace, his head pressed against your abdomen as his shoulders shake with silent sobs.

“It’s you and me, Simon. It’s us ‘til the end.” You say to him, running your fingers through his hair as you wrap your arms around his shoulders best as you can.

You know that everything isn’t resolved just yet. There will be future conversations and discussions to be had, more truths to be uncovered, layers to be peeled back and boundaries to be set. You aren’t about to let him off that easy, but you also know a good thing when you see one. And if Simon still can’t see what a good man he has in fact turned out to be, then you’ll enjoy the view for the both of you, clear the fog from his eyes until he realizes he’s been there all along.

“But if you ever lie to me again, Simon Riley,” you add, grabbing his face with both hands to make sure he’s looking you in the eyes. “Then I’m naming our next kid Johnny.”

“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Haven’t we been through ‘nough suffering already?”

Have I ever mentioned how much writing angst pains me physically? Especially when I know there’s only one more chapter left of this series?

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[readwritealldayallnight]

I like to think that, unless you truly insisted on having one, Simon wouldn’t be the type of guy to buy you a wedding ring

Not because he doesn’t think you deserve one, and not because he doesn’t want to spend the rest of your lives together

But he remembers how his dad always held the premise of “the ring” above his mums head

How on the rare days when she’d argue back at her husband, he’d grab her wrist, waving her hand about while pointing at the ring he’d given her once upon a lifetime ago, shouting about how it meant she belonged to him, had no right talking back to him, how it meant she had to do as he said or else

So while some little girls might dream of one day having a sparkling diamond slipped onto their finger, the idea of doing the same with you never quite sat exactly right with Simon

Instead, he considers the dog tags hanging around your neck, the same ones he slipped over your head the first night you kissed him, the ones with his name inscribed onto the metal to forever hang against your chest, warmed by your heart and your love, to be more than enough

Just as you make him feel like he’s more than enough

[readwritealldayallnight]

Sometimes I forget about my earliest posts- like this gem

You haven’t noticed him yet.

Lost in the words printed on the pages, you haven’t glanced up from your book since Simon stepped out of the shower, peeking at your figure through the window panes.

You’re out on the small, cramped balcony of your shared London flat, curled into yourself to squeeze all your limbs as comfortably as you can onto the wicker chair.

The half empty cup of tea sitting on the small side table next to you is no longer as warm as it was when you first brought it out. Without a second thought, Simon goes to warm up the kettle again, not wanting you to get cold.

He frowns as your fingers quickly catch the edge of your book before the wind can flip your current page away, your hair being blown away from your face. He spots the tiny shiver that goes through you and decides he’ll bring out a throw blanket for you as well. Maybe one of his hoodies.

You’d teased him about something like this the other day, after he’d finished tucking your chair in at a local cafe. Saying that his love language was sooo obviously acts of service.

He’d playfully rolled his eyes, joking about how yours must be to never stop talking, chuckling at the half hearted kick he received underneath the table, before you explained that that wasn’t what love languages are.

Simon wasn’t so sure about that whole idea. All he knew was that he liked taking care of you, just as you took care of him. Simple as that.

He knows he always feels lighter after you send him a thankful smile any time he carries your bag for you or opens your door.

He knows you can’t stop smiling for at least a minute any time you swipe an eyelash off his cheek, carefully holding it in front of his lips so he can blow it away and ‘make a wish’.

He knows his chest always swells with pride any time you compliment his cooking, whether he attempted a dish on his own or simply added a seasoning to something you were already making.

He knows all the tension disappears from your shoulders when you’re sat in his lap, gently wiping away his black face paint from around his eyes, taking extra care around his delicate skin, humming a soft little melody for the both of you to hear.

He knows there isn’t anything in this entire god forsaken earth that makes him happier, than making you happy.

That’s why he’s been secretly looking into a new place for the two of you. This tiny shoebox of a flat had been fine when it was just him crashing here a handful of times a year between missions. When you got together and began spending more time sleeping here than at your own place, it only made sense to move in once your lease was up.

But now your books are piled in stacks along the baseboards, the closet can barely contain your clothes mixed in together, and the sight of you sitting out on that cramped balcony just doesn’t sit right with him.

He wants to give you a proper place, a home. He wants to be able to give you an actual yard with room to sprawl out and grow a garden if you want, or just lay out a picnic blanket and read until the sun sets.

He wants to hear you nag him about mowing the lawn, or raking the leaves, or shovelling the driveway. He wants to run out into a sudden summer storm with you to quickly pull off the laundry that had been drying on the clothes line, laughing the entire time.

As though sensing his gaze on you, you slowly lift your head, a chuckle slipping past his lips as your eyes immediately light up with excitement, a sweet smile gracing your lips as you send him a wave.

He lifts his hand, waggling his fingers back at you, the same corny grin on his face, knowing that there isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for you.

[readwritealldayallnight]

You’re over the moon, as excited as a little girl before her first slumber party when Simon agrees to spend the night at your place for the first time

You go all out, fresh sheets and bedding, fluffed up pillows, a candle burning on the dining room table, favourite take out ready to be ordered, images of mind blowing sex and falling asleep in each others arms dancing across your mind

And yes, the evening goes well, the dinner is great, the sex is even greater, but in hindsight, with the way Simon’s nose has been broken over and over and never truly set properly after the fact, you should’ve realized he would snore

But it’s not just snoring like those sleepy little bunnies in cartoons do

Simon snores like a chainsaw is going off directly next to your ear, his breath catching at times to the point you’re worried he’s stopped breathing entirely until the power tool sounds start up again

It’s almost comical at first, how this man has earned the nickname ghost for being as quiet as one, yet you picture him falling asleep on missions and rattling the walls of whatever safe house he’s hunkered down in for the night, his teammates likely worried he’ll alert the enemies with his near deafening snores

And god do you love this man, you really really do, but you’ve never been so tempted to hold a pillow over his face before

In the morning, he makes up for your lack of sleep by putting that same nose to work against your clit as he eats you out with the same energy and vigour you imagine his lungs use to keep him breathing through the night

You imagine you’ll get used to it eventually, perhaps invest in some earplugs

But when Simon pulls you into your shower and says he brought his own products, you can’t justify his single bottle of men’s all in one body wash and shampoo and conditioner and apparently sometimes dish soap when he’s running short-

You didn’t truly expect him to be fully house trained yet, did you?

[readwritealldayallnight]

Hello!!! 'Intended' is so sweet, thank you for writing 💓💖💗 it's left me hungry for more

Thank you so much anon, I’m really glad people have been enjoying it so far!

I’m super excited for this storyline! It’s gonna be a slower burn, almost enemies to lovers, fluffy smutty angsty rollercoaster ride

- M 🫶🏻

[readwritealldayallnight]

Okay woah sorry let me wipe the tears from my eyes before I type this-

I have NEVER had someone take the time to not only read one of my fics but to comment and reblog with a full blown analysis and appreciation for the paragraphs and the characters and the story like WHAT

I seriously don’t know how to thank you properly, this has warmed my heart so so much, I really appreciate you!!!!

- M 🫶🏻

Intended

Part One - The Proposal

Call of Duty Medieval AU Knight!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Princess!Reader

With tired feet threatening to drag with every step he takes across the stone floors, feeling as heavy as the considerable armour he dons from head to toe, he pushes the immense doors open and steps into the room, dreading that he knows already what is to occur beyond these walls.

Though not a scholar by any means, and with one too many blows to the head throughout his years of combat, he remains far from a stupid man, wise enough to know what he is about to walk into, why the had King insisted that he cut his morning hunt short, a request the gluttonous man rarely makes, and present himself before the royal at once.

The young man had hoped to avoid this day if only for just a short while longer, to delay the inevitable conclusion he was walking towards at this very moment, but alas, the Gods had a different fate in mind for him it seemed.

To think, how different life has already become since the Queen’s passing no more than a fortnight ago, a sudden pain in her chest having worsened overnight until the bells in the steeple were announcing her demise for all the kingdom to hear.

With the customary period of grieving scarcely come and gone, her subjects were still mourning the loss of the singular person capable of keeping the King in line, all while the now widowed man was already itching for change.

“Took you long enough.” The King was to be found where he was always sure to be, at the head of the table decorated in a lavish feast, now only to enjoyed by one. He’d at least had the decency to wipe the remaining ale from his lips before addressing his most trusted knight, a few persistent droplets clinging to the scruff around his mouth.

Still clad in his bloodstained armour, for a short hunt did not necessarily equate an unsuccessful hunt, the Knight’s prizes were being dragged into the kitchens as they spoke, leaving blood stained trails in their wake. He stepped purposefully further into the grand room, his every step intentional until he was near enough to his King to detect the subtle sway in the way the older man held his cup.

The man was drunk, as he had been for a very long time now, though not yet appearing belligerently so.

In spite of his heavy armour and chain mail underneath, Ghost moved as silently as his name might suggest as he moved to kneel before his highness, lowering his gaze to the expensively tiled floor beneath him, one he’d come to know with great familiarity after nearly two decades under the man’s service.

“Enough of tha’. Stand up, boy.” The King’s booming voice echoed through the room, commanding his knight to rise. “What’d you bring me back today, hm?”

“Snagged a pair o’ deer up by the creek. Dozen or so hares. Few birds.” Ghost’s low timbre reached the man’s ears at the same time as his cup reached his lips again. He need not know about the boar he and his men had nearly caught before they were summoned back to the castle, what the man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Good, good. A more than adequate prize, considering. Very good. You never fail to succeed, do you Ghost?”

“Sir.” Was the only reply he would offer, along with a curt nod, never one to bask in the man’s praise.

“Haven’t called you here to discuss game, however.” The greying man clarified, glancing around to his handful of servants in waiting, stood silently in the shadows of the room, prepared to answer to their King’s beck and call. “Leave us.” He instructed, not needing to repeat himself before every soul was scattering this way and that, all too eager to be out of the man’s sight, though a few were certain to be found with ears pressed up against key holes in hopes of eavesdropping.

“I will keep this short, not interested in formalities these days.” the man began, grunting as he struggled to stand from his seat, swaying slightly in place until he was near enough to the knight to see his reflection in his armour. “Twenty-five years is entirely too long to have kept her sheltered the way her mother did. Ridiculous. As if keeping one hidden away would bring the others back. Senile woman. Should have done this ages ago. Long overdue. Owe every grey hair on me to that wench.”

Ghost allowed to man to ramble on, mumbling between sentences as though he could not decide whether he was speaking to himself or the only other soul in the room. Ghost remained steadfast in his place as he listened to the man go on, eyes silently taking him in. It was hard to believe sometimes, that this was the same man, the supposed King, who had over two decades ago slain each and every member of his family, sparing only the young boy he once was, bringing him back to the kingdom to be raised into the fearsome Knight they now called Ghost, only to repay the debt of having spared him his life. Never once had Ghost looked up to the fat man before him, not during his tainted childhood, and certainly not now as a man twice his size, serving him bravely throughout the years as he always has, though forever carrying a flame of hatred for his heighness.

“Her mother is gone now, gone, rest her soul. I need her gone, as well. Taken care of. No longer my burden, if you understand.” The King continued, finally slowing in his speech to glance up at the Knight for he stood easily over a foot taller than most men in the court.

“Are you askin’ me to kill her, sir?” Ghost inquired, without a hint of emotion in his tone. He was all too aware as to the her they were referring to.

“Worse.” The King clarified before taking another swig of his drink, his teeth coloured a deep red when he opened his mouth again to bear a snarky grin at the younger man. “I’m askin’ you to marry her.”

With a steadying breath, you dared to inch yourself closer yet, ignoring the tumultuous feeling in your stomach as the toes of your shoes dragged any loose hay along the floorboards with you. Your fingers clutched the at the fabric of your skirts, keeping them lifted enough as to not trip and fall too soon. Perhaps the impact would not be as painful as you were imagining, perhaps the fall would be the most frightening part of it all, a mere few seconds of wind rushing past your ears until it was all over, your woes solved for all eternity. Let them think what they might, say what they please, it would be of no matter to you in the end, nothing more than a stain on the cobblestones below when it was all said and done.

“What in the- what do ye think yer doin’ up there m’lady? ‘Ave ye gone mad?” A familiar accent called from the ground, the annoyance in his voice clear as day.

“Is it not evident, Mr MacTavish? That I am in the midst of ending my suffering once and for all.” You declared with your chin held high, refusing to meet his eyes as you attempted again to convince yourself to go through with this, to remember that this would be the lesser of two evils, the solution to a problem you could not otherwise solve.

“Come again?”

“I clearly intend to kill myself, MacTavish.”

“Not if yer intention involves jumping from there, m’lady.” The handsome stable hand clarified from the ground.

“I beg your pardon?” Only now glancing down at the man stood a mere few yards away, hearing his grunt of effort as he threw down the sack of grains he’d been carrying over one shoulder, his piercing azure eyes squinting to decipher your form through the low light of the torch flames.

“S’not high enough, ma’am. You’ll twist yer ankle at best, but yer certainly not going to kill yer self from that height. Sorry to disappoint ye.”

“Oh. Well- are you certain?”

“Positive. I myself jump down from there often, an’ I’m afraid I’m still standin’. Ye did not want to go any higher than that, did ye?” He questioned, stepping slowly closer with every word he spoke.

“Well, I am still a tad afraid of heights, you see.” You admitted, pinching the fabric of your sleeves in worry.

“Aye, I remember well. I’ve rescued enough of yer kites over the years, m’lady.” He agreed all too nonchalantly, not a trace of panic to be found in his voice, only mild irritation at the inconvenience you were creating for him.

“I see- uh- this doesn’t change my intentions! I will- I will find another way.”

“Of course, of course. Did ye want a rope perhaps? Seems like a fine night for a hanging, if ye prefer.”

“Gods no.” You rejected the idea outright, having witnessed one too many public hangings to know that the men’s limbs kicked and thrashed too much for your liking, fighting for life far longer than you’d prefer to experience yourself.

“Agreed. Perhaps we could fill a pail with water and ye could drown yerself. Nah, on second thought, ye deserve something quicker. A beheading might do the trick, though if yer aim was to remain subtle that one might be a touch too-

“Oh, forget it!” You exclaimed, stepping back from the edge of the barn’s second storey, all but huffing as you made your way down the rickety ladder, careful not to trip over your skirts in the process, though uncaring for how dirty or ripped they might become. None of it mattered anymore, carried the same importance as it might have only a moon ago, not when your mother was gone, the only person left in your family who loved you for who you were, the only one who stood up for you against your father.

“Now, don’t suppose ye’d want to tell me what this is all about then?” He asked soon as your two feet were safe on the ground again, reaching across to pull a strand of hay from your hair.

“Do not stand here and treat me as though I were a fool, pretending as though you haven’t heard.” You bit back at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I would imagine the deaf are the only few who have not heard the news at this point.”

“Ye always have had a way with words, haven’t ye m’lady?”

“John…”

“Apologies. Only tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He answered somewhat sheepishly, at least pretending to appear remorseful for his teasing. “Though I suppose it is a rather improper time to jest.”

“An excellent deduction.” You snapped, though the soft look in his eyes already had your cold exterior melting, unable to keep the facade up around him. “John- what am I to do? This- this all feels like a terrible dream.”

“Nothing is set in stone yet, m’lady. There has been no official announcem-”

“There will be no announcement! No engagement! They will shove me into a wedding dress and stick me at the altar as though I were a child’s doll and that is how the world will find out! You know how my father is, he will see to that this happens as quickly as possible.” You couldn’t help but to whine, unable to grapple with the idea that your worst dreams were coming true, that the day you’d been dreading since you were a little girl was finally coming to fruition.

With nothing to be said, John opened his arms in invitation, not a word needed as you stepped into his embrace and allowed his embrace to be the first comfort you experienced in a long time.

“What shall we do, John? How do you imagine we stop this from happening?” You spoke into his chemise, the smell of wood and dirt and sweat emanating off of him a familiar and safe aroma during such a tumultuous time.

“Ach, I dinna ken, m’lady.” He replied, leaning his cheek against the top of your head as his hands soothed up and down your back.

“There must be something that can be done. We simply have to think. Perhaps we could-”

“M’lady.” John interrupted apologetically, the look on his face when he pulled back was a pained one, a regretful expression you did not often see from the bold, confident man you’d come to know over the years. “M’afraid there’s nothing to be done this time, other than grin and bear it.”

“You’re speaking as though this is certain to happen!” You gasped, pulling back from his embrace, upset by the way he was unwilling to fight for you and your freedom as you were.

“And yer speaking as though ye have a say in any of it.” He countered. “What exactly do ye predict will happen to ye if you refuse your father, hm? What do ye think he’ll do to ye? Send ye away something far away if we’re lucky. Say he did so and jus’ throw ye down in the dungeons instead?”

You stared down at the ground as you toed a clump of dirt, the truth in his words not anything new to you, though hearing it from him didn’t lessen the sting or soften the impact.

“Now I pray every mornin’ and every night that yer mam’s soul rests in peace, Gods bless her. But she isn’t here anymore, m’lady. She can’t protect ye from this any longer. M’afraid I can’t protect ye from this, either. Oh, please no- do not cry, m’lady. Cannot bear to see ye cry.”

John quickly stepped forward and closed the gap between you both again, pulling you back into him as your tears threatened to spill over, the frustration and anger and sadness and helplessness and fear catching up to you all at once as you struggled to come to terms with the fact that this would be your new reality, whether you liked it or not.

For better or worse, as they say.

The stars had shifted outside, the darkness growing deeper as he hours changed and sand fell through the glass. John had calmed you down some, as he always seemed to be able to do, and had you both now sitting semi-comfortably together in the corner of the barn, seated on bales of hay and safe from any prying eyes. This had always been your little corner, a spot solely for the two of you, ever since John had begun working in the stables and caught your eye.

“John,” you whispered to him, though there was no one near, the words you were about to speak feeling too sacred to be said too loud. “I am frightened.”

“Aye, I dinna blame ye.” He replied, tightening his hold around your shoulders as you leaned further into his touch. “Cannot imagine being in your shoes.”

“He will kill me.”

“Nah, yer father will not lay a finger on ye m’lady. Not if you do as he wishes.”

“No, not him.” You clarified, shaking your head as you pictured a pair of dark eyes peering through the small slits of a Knights helm. “The Ghost.”

“Oh. Him.” Was the only reply John could manage, staring off into the distance with you as you both appeared to imagine the man in question. “I dinna believe he’ll hurt you, m’lady.”

“You know as well as I do the things he has done. He is cold, ruthless. Not a single one of his enemies has survived him.”

“Well, you will have to ensure you do not become his enemy in that case.” He tried to tease, though the smile never quite reached his eyes as he said it.

“John.” You spoke again, turning to meet his gaze as you took a steadying breath, not failing to notice the way his eyes dropped to your bosom for a fleeting second as your chest rose and fell. “I want you to take me.”

“M’lady, they would kill us both if we tried to run anyw-”

“No, no.” You interrupted him, correcting his misunderstanding. “Not take me as in flee. I- I want you to take me, John. To bed.”

“Oh. Oh.” John replied, his cheeks reddening to a deep crimson as he scratched the back of his neck, eyes scanning your face. “M’lady, you know I could not.”

“I will not have that monster be the first person to touch me, John. I want it to be you, after all.”

“Bonnie,” the pet name he used for you on rare occasions slipping out as you cupped his cheek with a warm hand, trying to convey the severity of your words to him. “Ye do not know how I long for ye. How much I wish I could be the one to feel ye, to show ye what pleasure can be found in another’s touch.”

Whether by gravity or coincidence, you knew you were both inching closer to one another, hot breaths beginning to fan across the other’s cheeks with every word said between you.

“Then please John, take me. Have me. I am yours.”

He plucked your hand from his cheek with both of his, bringing your palm up to his chapped lips for a kiss as he shut his eyes, as though he were in pain doing so.

“M’lady, ye know well as I do that we could never. The risks far outweigh anything else, I fear. Ye cannot imagine how it pains me to say so, for I do want ye. I need ye.” He registered, tightening his hold on your hand as he pressed it against his chemise where you could feel his heart beating beneath. “But I’ve always known that I can never have ye.”

Though his answer was expected, the disappointment was still poignant, an ache settling deep in the cavities of your heart as you nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“I can-” he added, reaching a single finger up under your chin to tilt your eyes back up to his. “Give ye this, however.”

That was the night John MacTavish gave you what you’d always dreamt he would, your very first kiss, tucked safely together in the back of that barn without a soul around to judge you, to sell you out, to report back to your father and ruin you.

If only life could have ended there, with his lips on yours, his arms around you and yours around him, hearts pressed together as they beat as one.

But alas, fate had other plans in store. And though you had never feared goblins or ghouls as a young girl, had never worried about the shadows under your bed or shapes in your wardrobe, you found yourself now with a growing fear of ghosts. Or at least, the Ghost.

Taglist: @lunamoonbby @connnn @backgroundgirl887 @iminlovewithjasontodd @zendariii @aminitacarrow @pookiei-bookie @kotterisanna

[readwritealldayallnight]

Intended

Part One - The Proposal

Call of Duty Medieval AU Knight!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Princess!Reader

With tired feet threatening to drag with every step he takes across the stone floors, feeling as heavy as the considerable armour he dons from head to toe, he pushes the immense doors open and steps into the room, dreading that he knows already what is to occur beyond these walls.

Though not a scholar by any means, and with one too many blows to the head throughout his years of combat, he remains far from a stupid man, wise enough to know what he is about to walk into, why the had King insisted that he cut his morning hunt short, a request the gluttonous man rarely makes, and present himself before the royal at once.

The young man had hoped to avoid this day if only for just a short while longer, to delay the inevitable conclusion he was walking towards at this very moment, but alas, the Gods had a different fate in mind for him it seemed.

To think, how different life has already become since the Queen’s passing no more than a fortnight ago, a sudden pain in her chest having worsened overnight until the bells in the steeple were announcing her demise for all the kingdom to hear.

With the customary period of grieving scarcely come and gone, her subjects were still mourning the loss of the singular person capable of keeping the King in line, all while the now widowed man was already itching for change.

“Took you long enough.” The King was to be found where he was always sure to be, at the head of the table decorated in a lavish feast, now only to enjoyed by one. He’d at least had the decency to wipe the remaining ale from his lips before addressing his most trusted knight, a few persistent droplets clinging to the scruff around his mouth.

Still clad in his bloodstained armour, for a short hunt did not necessarily equate an unsuccessful hunt, the Knight’s prizes were being dragged into the kitchens as they spoke, leaving blood stained trails in their wake. He stepped purposefully further into the grand room, his every step intentional until he was near enough to his King to detect the subtle sway in the way the older man held his cup.

The man was drunk, as he had been for a very long time now, though not yet appearing belligerently so.

In spite of his heavy armour and chain mail underneath, Ghost moved as silently as his name might suggest as he moved to kneel before his highness, lowering his gaze to the expensively tiled floor beneath him, one he’d come to know with great familiarity after nearly two decades under the man’s service.

“Enough of tha’. Stand up, boy.” The King’s booming voice echoed through the room, commanding his knight to rise. “What’d you bring me back today, hm?”

“Snagged a pair o’ deer up by the creek. Dozen or so hares. Few birds.” Ghost’s low timbre reached the man’s ears at the same time as his cup reached his lips again. He need not know about the boar he and his men had nearly caught before they were summoned back to the castle, what the man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Good, good. A more than adequate prize, considering. Very good. You never fail to succeed, do you Ghost?”

“Sir.” Was the only reply he would offer, along with a curt nod, never one to bask in the man’s praise.

“Haven’t called you here to discuss game, however.” The greying man clarified, glancing around to his handful of servants in waiting, stood silently in the shadows of the room, prepared to answer to their King’s beck and call. “Leave us.” He instructed, not needing to repeat himself before every soul was scattering this way and that, all too eager to be out of the man’s sight, though a few were certain to be found with ears pressed up against key holes in hopes of eavesdropping.

“I will keep this short, not interested in formalities these days.” the man began, grunting as he struggled to stand from his seat, swaying slightly in place until he was near enough to the knight to see his reflection in his armour. “Twenty-five years is entirely too long to have kept her sheltered the way her mother did. Ridiculous. As if keeping one hidden away would bring the others back. Senile woman. Should have done this ages ago. Long overdue. Owe every grey hair on me to that wench.”

Ghost allowed to man to ramble on, mumbling between sentences as though he could not decide whether he was speaking to himself or the only other soul in the room. Ghost remained steadfast in his place as he listened to the man go on, eyes silently taking him in. It was hard to believe sometimes, that this was the same man, the supposed King, who had over two decades ago slain each and every member of his family, sparing only the young boy he once was, bringing him back to the kingdom to be raised into the fearsome Knight they now called Ghost, only to repay the debt of having spared him his life. Never once had Ghost looked up to the fat man before him, not during his tainted childhood, and certainly not now as a man twice his size, serving him bravely throughout the years as he always has, though forever carrying a flame of hatred for his heighness.

“Her mother is gone now, gone, rest her soul. I need her gone, as well. Taken care of. No longer my burden, if you understand.” The King continued, finally slowing in his speech to glance up at the Knight for he stood easily over a foot taller than most men in the court.

“Are you askin’ me to kill her, sir?” Ghost inquired, without a hint of emotion in his tone. He was all too aware as to the her they were referring to.

“Worse.” The King clarified before taking another swig of his drink, his teeth coloured a deep red when he opened his mouth again to bear a snarky grin at the younger man. “I’m askin’ you to marry her.”

With a steadying breath, you dared to inch yourself closer yet, ignoring the tumultuous feeling in your stomach as the toes of your shoes dragged any loose hay along the floorboards with you. Your fingers clutched the at the fabric of your skirts, keeping them lifted enough as to not trip and fall too soon. Perhaps the impact would not be as painful as you were imagining, perhaps the fall would be the most frightening part of it all, a mere few seconds of wind rushing past your ears until it was all over, your woes solved for all eternity. Let them think what they might, say what they please, it would be of no matter to you in the end, nothing more than a stain on the cobblestones below when it was all said and done.

“What in the- what do ye think yer doin’ up there m’lady? ‘Ave ye gone mad?” A familiar accent called from the ground, the annoyance in his voice clear as day.

“Is it not evident, Mr MacTavish? That I am in the midst of ending my suffering once and for all.” You declared with your chin held high, refusing to meet his eyes as you attempted again to convince yourself to go through with this, to remember that this would be the lesser of two evils, the solution to a problem you could not otherwise solve.

“Come again?”

“I clearly intend to kill myself, MacTavish.”

“Not if yer intention involves jumping from there, m’lady.” The handsome stable hand clarified from the ground.

“I beg your pardon?” Only now glancing down at the man stood a mere few yards away, hearing his grunt of effort as he threw down the sack of grains he’d been carrying over one shoulder, his piercing azure eyes squinting to decipher your form through the low light of the torch flames.

“S’not high enough, ma’am. You’ll twist yer ankle at best, but yer certainly not going to kill yer self from that height. Sorry to disappoint ye.”

“Oh. Well- are you certain?”

“Positive. I myself jump down from there often, an’ I’m afraid I’m still standin’. Ye did not want to go any higher than that, did ye?” He questioned, stepping slowly closer with every word he spoke.

“Well, I am still a tad afraid of heights, you see.” You admitted, pinching the fabric of your sleeves in worry.

“Aye, I remember well. I’ve rescued enough of yer kites over the years, m’lady.” He agreed all too nonchalantly, not a trace of panic to be found in his voice, only mild irritation at the inconvenience you were creating for him.

“I see- uh- this doesn’t change my intentions! I will- I will find another way.”

“Of course, of course. Did ye want a rope perhaps? Seems like a fine night for a hanging, if ye prefer.”

“Gods no.” You rejected the idea outright, having witnessed one too many public hangings to know that the men’s limbs kicked and thrashed too much for your liking, fighting for life far longer than you’d prefer to experience yourself.

“Agreed. Perhaps we could fill a pail with water and ye could drown yerself. Nah, on second thought, ye deserve something quicker. A beheading might do the trick, though if yer aim was to remain subtle that one might be a touch too-

“Oh, forget it!” You exclaimed, stepping back from the edge of the barn’s second storey, all but huffing as you made your way down the rickety ladder, careful not to trip over your skirts in the process, though uncaring for how dirty or ripped they might become. None of it mattered anymore, carried the same importance as it might have only a moon ago, not when your mother was gone, the only person left in your family who loved you for who you were, the only one who stood up for you against your father.

“Now, don’t suppose ye’d want to tell me what this is all about then?” He asked soon as your two feet were safe on the ground again, reaching across to pull a strand of hay from your hair.

“Do not stand here and treat me as though I were a fool, pretending as though you haven’t heard.” You bit back at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I would imagine the deaf are the only few who have not heard the news at this point.”

“Ye always have had a way with words, haven’t ye m’lady?”

“John…”

“Apologies. Only tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He answered somewhat sheepishly, at least pretending to appear remorseful for his teasing. “Though I suppose it is a rather improper time to jest.”

“An excellent deduction.” You snapped, though the soft look in his eyes already had your cold exterior melting, unable to keep the facade up around him. “John- what am I to do? This- this all feels like a terrible dream.”

“Nothing is set in stone yet, m’lady. There has been no official announcem-”

“There will be no announcement! No engagement! They will shove me into a wedding dress and stick me at the altar as though I were a child’s doll and that is how the world will find out! You know how my father is, he will see to that this happens as quickly as possible.” You couldn’t help but to whine, unable to grapple with the idea that your worst dreams were coming true, that the day you’d been dreading since you were a little girl was finally coming to fruition.

With nothing to be said, John opened his arms in invitation, not a word needed as you stepped into his embrace and allowed his embrace to be the first comfort you experienced in a long time.

“What shall we do, John? How do you imagine we stop this from happening?” You spoke into his chemise, the smell of wood and dirt and sweat emanating off of him a familiar and safe aroma during such a tumultuous time.

“Ach, I dinna ken, m’lady.” He replied, leaning his cheek against the top of your head as his hands soothed up and down your back.

“There must be something that can be done. We simply have to think. Perhaps we could-”

“M’lady.” John interrupted apologetically, the look on his face when he pulled back was a pained one, a regretful expression you did not often see from the bold, confident man you’d come to know over the years. “M’afraid there’s nothing to be done this time, other than grin and bear it.”

“You’re speaking as though this is certain to happen!” You gasped, pulling back from his embrace, upset by the way he was unwilling to fight for you and your freedom as you were.

“And yer speaking as though ye have a say in any of it.” He countered. “What exactly do ye predict will happen to ye if you refuse your father, hm? What do ye think he’ll do to ye? Send ye away something far away if we’re lucky. Say he did so and jus’ throw ye down in the dungeons instead?”

You stared down at the ground as you toed a clump of dirt, the truth in his words not anything new to you, though hearing it from him didn’t lessen the sting or soften the impact.

“Now I pray every mornin’ and every night that yer mam’s soul rests in peace, Gods bless her. But she isn’t here anymore, m’lady. She can’t protect ye from this any longer. M’afraid I can’t protect ye from this, either. Oh, please no- do not cry, m’lady. Cannot bear to see ye cry.”

John quickly stepped forward and closed the gap between you both again, pulling you back into him as your tears threatened to spill over, the frustration and anger and sadness and helplessness and fear catching up to you all at once as you struggled to come to terms with the fact that this would be your new reality, whether you liked it or not.

For better or worse, as they say.

The stars had shifted outside, the darkness growing deeper as he hours changed and sand fell through the glass. John had calmed you down some, as he always seemed to be able to do, and had you both now sitting semi-comfortably together in the corner of the barn, seated on bales of hay and safe from any prying eyes. This had always been your little corner, a spot solely for the two of you, ever since John had begun working in the stables and caught your eye.

“John,” you whispered to him, though there was no one near, the words you were about to speak feeling too sacred to be said too loud. “I am frightened.”

“Aye, I dinna blame ye.” He replied, tightening his hold around your shoulders as you leaned further into his touch. “Cannot imagine being in your shoes.”

“He will kill me.”

“Nah, yer father will not lay a finger on ye m’lady. Not if you do as he wishes.”

“No, not him.” You clarified, shaking your head as you pictured a pair of dark eyes peering through the small slits of a Knights helm. “The Ghost.”

“Oh. Him.” Was the only reply John could manage, staring off into the distance with you as you both appeared to imagine the man in question. “I dinna believe he’ll hurt you, m’lady.”

“You know as well as I do the things he has done. He is cold, ruthless. Not a single one of his enemies has survived him.”

“Well, you will have to ensure you do not become his enemy in that case.” He tried to tease, though the smile never quite reached his eyes as he said it.

“John.” You spoke again, turning to meet his gaze as you took a steadying breath, not failing to notice the way his eyes dropped to your bosom for a fleeting second as your chest rose and fell. “I want you to take me.”

“M’lady, they would kill us both if we tried to run anyw-”

“No, no.” You interrupted him, correcting his misunderstanding. “Not take me as in flee. I- I want you to take me, John. To bed.”

“Oh. Oh.” John replied, his cheeks reddening to a deep crimson as he scratched the back of his neck, eyes scanning your face. “M’lady, you know I could not.”

“I will not have that monster be the first person to touch me, John. I want it to be you, after all.”

“Bonnie,” the pet name he used for you on rare occasions slipping out as you cupped his cheek with a warm hand, trying to convey the severity of your words to him. “Ye do not know how I long for ye. How much I wish I could be the one to feel ye, to show ye what pleasure can be found in another’s touch.”

Whether by gravity or coincidence, you knew you were both inching closer to one another, hot breaths beginning to fan across the other’s cheeks with every word said between you.

“Then please John, take me. Have me. I am yours.”

He plucked your hand from his cheek with both of his, bringing your palm up to his chapped lips for a kiss as he shut his eyes, as though he were in pain doing so.

“M’lady, ye know well as I do that we could never. The risks far outweigh anything else, I fear. Ye cannot imagine how it pains me to say so, for I do want ye. I need ye.” He registered, tightening his hold on your hand as he pressed it against his chemise where you could feel his heart beating beneath. “But I’ve always known that I can never have ye.”

Though his answer was expected, the disappointment was still poignant, an ache settling deep in the cavities of your heart as you nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“I can-” he added, reaching a single finger up under your chin to tilt your eyes back up to his. “Give ye this, however.”

That was the night John MacTavish gave you what you’d always dreamt he would, your very first kiss, tucked safely together in the back of that barn without a soul around to judge you, to sell you out, to report back to your father and ruin you.

If only life could have ended there, with his lips on yours, his arms around you and yours around him, hearts pressed together as they beat as one.

But alas, fate had other plans in store. And though you had never feared goblins or ghouls as a young girl, had never worried about the shadows under your bed or shapes in your wardrobe, you found yourself now with a growing fear of ghosts. Or at least, the Ghost.

Taglist: @lunamoonbby @connnn @backgroundgirl887 @iminlovewithjasontodd @zendariii @aminitacarrow @pookiei-bookie @kotterisanna @joufrance @konigsm @ichordrunk @succulambb @happygalaxymilkshake @bubbygworl13 @shitaaba @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @wintersongstress @moonbluff @tessakate

[readwritealldayallnight]

Intended

You had never asked to be born a King’s daughter, would never have willingly subjected yourself to a life of bejewelled barbarianism and decorated deceit, all under the overwhelming weight of a crown never meant to be yours. But then again, you certainly had never asked to be betrothed to the fearsome knight they call Ghost, either.

or Call of Duty Medieval AU Knight!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Princess!Reader

Part One : The Proposal (3k words)

Part Two : The Wedding

Part Three : The Fight

Part Four : The Kiss

more chapters to come

[readwritealldayallnight]

Do we think we’re ready for an epilogue with these two yet?

Wife at First Sight

A mini series of drabbles where Simon decides you’re his wife the moment he lays eyes on you

Part one (~800 words)

Part two (~300 words)

Part three (~900 words)

Part four (~600 words)

Part five (2k words)

Part six (2k words)

Part seven 18+ MDNI (2k words)

Main masterlist

[readwritealldayallnight]

Your dog’s been missing for nearly a full day now, what feels like the longest 24 hours of your life

It had been a typical walk in the park with him, literally, as you’d side-stepped gaggles of children running by to beg their parents for more pocket change, a local summer fair in the park having the area much more crowded than usual, playful music resonating through speakers and ice cream vendors doubling their prices accordingly, an idyllic day by all accounts

You’d been distracted, glancing along the paths to decide which one would be best to take, not wanting your pup to get overwhelmed by the crowd and god forbid get a whiff of the hot dog vendor a few yards away, when he suddenly did something he’d never done in all the years you’d had him

He took off

You had hardly registered his leash slipping out of your grasp before you caught one last glimpse of his tail sprinting through people’s legs, dodging strollers and bikes as he disappeared out of your eyesight

You’d tried your best to chase after him, completely blindsided as he’d never done anything like this before, beside yourself with worry when you couldn’t find him anywhere, likely appearing hysterical as you begged and pleaded with those around you, asking if they’d seen a dog, if anyone had seen him

But no luck

You’d had to call a friend to pick you up and take you home, after what felt like hours of searching for him, your eyes too wet with tears to find your own way back to a flat with one less soul than when you’d left

Missing posters had been posted on social media immediately, your friends and acquaintances sharing the posts often, sending you messages with well wishes, expressing their own feelings of sadness on your behalf

The woman behind the desk at the library kept sending you pitiful looks as you printed as many missing posters as your arms could carry, a picture of your dog enclosed along with promises of a cash reward for her safe return, intent of hanging the flyers up everywhere and anywhere people might see

Ghost watches you from a safe distance, spots your figure moving from lamppost to tree to wheely bin as you tape and staple your sweet little flyers everywhere the eye can see

Part of him almost feels sorry, for a moment, when he sees the expression on your face, all puffy, red eyes and dark under eyes to match the epitome of a distressed dog owner

But then he reminds himself that there’s no real harm done, after all, your mutt’s safe back at this flat, enjoying all the spare bits from his butcher job that a dog could ever dream of, the very same cuts of meat that had the dog sprinting away from you and towards him in the park yesterday

Besides, he’ll only wait a little longer before he calls the number at the bottom of those cute little flyers you’ve made, before he’ll return your dog to you safe and sound, before you’ll be thanking him for finding your best friend, before he’ll be insisting that a cash reward isn’t necessary, not when he’s got another reward in mind

After all, he’s had his eye on you for long enough now, has been waiting oh so patiently to act, he can handle a few hours or so

But what did you expect, love? A man can only hear your sweet voice saying “Oh Riley, you’re such a good boy! I love you, Riley” so often before he snaps

[readwritealldayallnight]

Definitely one of those little hints I’d sprinkles in, good catch 😉

Thank you so much for the kind words!! It means a lot that you would not only read my writing but find it worth reading again!

I know I’m sad to see this story come to an end but I’m also excited to wrap everything up in a nice little bow and give it to you guys, along with the happy ending they deserve

- M 🫶🏻

Part eight of Bird Watching aka hot construction worker!Simon Riley x single mom!reader (18+ MDNI)

October 31st, one year ago

You had almost stayed home that night.

None too eager to spend the latter half of your Tuesday elbowing sweaty strangers as you shuffled around on a mysteriously sticky pub floor, you had at least tried to talk your way out of it, all in vain of course.

“I don’t even own anything that could remotely pass as a costume! What would be the point?”

“You own enough yellow. If we get you a big hat you could pass for the guy from curious George.”

“You know what, that may not be the worst idea-”

“No!” Your best friend had interjected, returning from the kitchenette with beers in hand, passing one over to her boyfriend in exchange for a kiss on the cheek as she sat on the old couch’s armrest. “She will not be going dressed as the man in the yellow hat, thank you very much. Besides, it’s a masquerade costume party, masks required. The monkey man will have to sit on the bench this year.”

“Oh well, I guess that leaves me out of luck.” You had shrugged, not in the least bit bothered by the idea of being left behind tonight.

“Yeah, nice try. I told you, go check in my room. We went through so many rejects before we landed on being superheroes.” She’d told you, pointing a manicured finger towards her bedroom down the hall. Her roommates had their own plans for the night, leaving her and her boyfriend to roam the city as they pleased, hopping from bar to bar dressed in cheap superhero suits from the sketchy costume store a few blocks down.

Though soon as she’d gotten word that you didn’t have any plans of your own for Halloween, your best friend was insisting that you join the two of them and come out, in spite of your adamant protests that you were fine staying in.

You didn’t have any qualms about Halloween, quite the opposite actually. You had countless fond memories from your childhood and youth, images of dressing up in costumes that looked ridiculous with puffy jackets stuffed underneath as mums instructed, going from door to door in hopes of gathering as much loot as your little arms could carry, being wary of the houses with decorations deemed too scary to approach.

You liked Halloween, you liked spending time with your best friend, hell you even liked her newest boyfriend more than the last few ones she’d brought around.

But work had been stressful as of late, the idea of showing up hungover the next day seeming less than appealing to you.

And so, you’d compromised.

You’d go out with them, take it easy on the drinks, and stay out until midnight. Soon as it wasn’t October 31st anymore, you’d be hightailing it back home to your warm bed and alarm clock due to go off in only so many hours.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can find in there.” You’d told her, shaking your head at the beer bottle she offered in your direction, making your way towards the assortment of costumes that awaited you.

That was how you had found yourself nursing an all too expensive gin and tonic in the back of an absurdly crowded pub that night, faux spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling illuminated each time the lights shifted and beamed upon the decor, paper ghosts and bats strung about, a corny Halloween playlist blasting through the speakers as a crowd of masked party-goers moved about.

Your friend had been right, she and her boyfriend really had gone through quite a few costumes before deciding on superheroes; there were pirates, Star Wars characters, vampires, classic masquerade masks, more than your indecisive mind really needed, to be frank.

Sifting throuhg the garments, your eyes had landed on a long, lacy white dress just as your fingers found the plastic of the mask belonging to its partner.

With only so much time left before your friend had wanted to head out, you’d decided that going as Christine from The Phantom of the Opera, while also wearing the Phantom’s half mask, was the best you were going out be able to pull off on short notice.

Part of you regretted choosing such a warm costume, constantly rolling your billowing sleeves up in hopes of getting just a sliver of cool air to relieve you from the heat of so many bodies in a small space, though from the looks of it, there wasn’t a soul in the room that wasn’t sweating in their attire either, save for perhaps the two shirtless lads pretending to be Magic Mike dancers in masquerade masks.

Besides, it’d only be another hour or so before you’d have fulfilled your duty as a best friend and could sneak off back to the comfort of your familiar four walls, you could manage the heat and music for a little while longer.

Your friend and her boyfriend were talking about something or another, and though they were right next to you in the booth, you could scarcely hear them over the pounding bass, opting instead to glance around the room at the creative, as well as the certainly put together at the last minute, array of costumes packing the room.

Gaze landing on the movement at the front door as the bouncers let someone else come in, you’d nearly choked on your drink when you spotted him for the first time.

Nearly a head taller than anyone else in the dimly lit room, his presence was one that didn’t have to demand attention, but instead earned it instantaneously.

He needn’t say a single word before the crowd was parting for him, as though his immense stature truly was one of biblical proportions, your eyes never once daring to blink as they followed his form through the sea of swarming bodies, only realizing that you were holding your breath when he stopped at the bar’s sticky counter.

The mountain of a man had hardly lifted a finger before someone behind the counter was turning to face him, prepared to take his order, the same bar that other patrons were waiting nearly ten minutes to get a drink from.

You hadn’t come out with the intention of seeking any fun outside of your trio of friends tonight, had never meant on straying from your plan to be home not long after midnight, hadn’t planned on even entertaining anyone who might’ve offered to buy you a drink or wanted a dance.

But you certainly hadn’t intended on someone like him walking in tonight.

Clad head to toe in everything black, the only contrast being the white of the skull mask he adorned, one which shone bright as a beacon guiding stranded ships to shore every time the pub lights flashed by him, not that anyone dared glance his way long enough to discern whether they were being led to safety or not.

You had perhaps given his oddly unique costume choice a second or two’s worth of thought before the rapid beating of your heart aginst your ribs decided for you that you didn’t care, perhaps he like you had to find a costume at the last second.

He’d been wearing a simple t-shirt, though the shadows cast across the taut skin of his biceps easily put the wanna be Magic Mike men in the crowd to shame, his physique resembling that of someone who didn’t exercise for vanity’s sake, but for a life that required such brute strength.

You were still trying to ignore the increasingly steady pulsing growing between your thighs when you’d been snapped out of your daydream.

“So what are we looking at?” Your friend had shouted near your ear to be heard over the fifth rendition of Monster Mash to be played through the speakers that night, before her lips were wrapping around the straw of her sour key cocktail, narrowed eyes following your gaze.

“Nothing.”

“Is it mister tall, dark, and scary over there?” She’d questioned, jutting her chin in the direction of the bar. You’d gone to rebuke her claim, to shut down her line of inquiry before it strayed further, but any words you might have come up with in your defence were futile when he’d lifted up the bottom of his balaclava with a single dexterous finger, inching the material up just enough to reveal a sharp jaw and a bobbing Adam’s apple as he downed his drink without flinching, despite the dark colour of the liquid telling you it was one that would’ve had you grimacing.

“No.” You’d managed to cough up after a second too long of not answering, grateful for the darkness of the bar hiding your redenning cheeks.

“It’s okay if it is. I get the appeal, dude’s fucking jacked.” She’d replied with a single shrug of her shoulder, a knowing smirk sent your way just as her partner in crime’s arm slung around her shoulders.

“Wha’?” Her boyfriend had asked, evidently already drunker than the both of you combined.

“She’s making heart eyes at the guy over there.” She’d turned to shout in his ear this time, pointing in the direction of the bar where skull face still stood.

“I am not.” You’d grumbled, though your words went unheard as everyone’s eyes were on the skeleton man in question.

“Wha’? The grim reaper?”

“Precisely.” Your friend had answered with a mischievous smile painted across her lips, turning to face you again, before passing her empty glass over to the man hanging onto her every word. “Go get me another one in the meantime, won’t you baby?”

As he’d agreed easily, you friend had stepped closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both regarded the stranger across the room, the mass of bodies between you nothing more than a simple nuisance you hardly noticed when he was the view on the other side.

“You’ve been together less than a month and you’ve already got him this whipped?” You’d asked her, eyes never straying from the masked man who continued nursing an amber coloured drink.

“The sex is just that good. Speaking of which…”

“Don’t start.”

“And why the hell not?” She’d shot back at you, bumping your hip with hers as she leaned her chin down onto your shoulder. “You deserve some earth shattering sex every once in a while too. And skull boy over there certainly looks like he could rock your world.”

“I came out for you tonight, not to flirt.” You’d replied, though the confidence in your words was diminishing with each second you spent watching a pair of thick arms strain aginst a tight shirt.

“And I’m telling you, as your best friend, that you are more off the hook if you wanted to get laid tonight. In fact, I encourage you to do so.”

“What if he’s waiting on someone?”

“Then he’ll tell you so.” She’d replied simply, beginning to sway the two of you in place as Thriller came on over the speakers. “Besides, do you see anybody going up to him? He’s here alone, babe.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” You’d said, downing the rest of your drink in one swig before turning to face her head on, snapping your eyes away from the masked man for the first time since he’d walked in as your heartbeat pounded through in ears drums.

“Oh, relax.” She’d reasoned, putting two steadying hands on your shoulders and looking you in the eyes, as best as she could in the bar’s dim lighting. “Listen, we’re gonna do like we used to do with Yasmine, right? We’ll use my guy this time.”

“I don’t-”

“Girl, would you at least talk to him before you convince yourself you can’t do this? Look how big this dude is. Just imagine the size of his dick. Are you willing to let that slip?”

Daring to slide your eyes back over to his massive stature, you couldn’t help but to have gulped as you did in fact dare to imagine for one fleeting moment, just what it would be like to get a man of that size in your bed for one night.

“You’re right. I want him.”

“‘Ere you are, love.” Her boyfriend had said as he made his way back into your small circle, passing the drink along to your friend who instantly slipped it into your hand and tipped it towards your lips.

“You, drink this.” She’d instructed you, nodding as you downed the liquid courage without needing to be told twice, not if you were going to go through with this after all. “And you,” she’d added, focusing on the now confused man beside her. “You’re gonna help her get laid.”

“I’m gonna- wha’?” He’d questioned, increasingly baffled by the conversation he’d returned to.

“The guys in our friend group used to do this for one of our friends. You’re gonna pretend to be buggin’ her. She’s gonna go to the big man for rescuing and you’re gonna back off and come back to me.”

“Why would I do tha’? Surely she can just walk up to him?”

“Well if you wanted to see my tits tonight…”

“My lady.” He’d said quickly, offering you his arm as though he were a proper gentleman and not some drunk grad student in a superman costume eager to appease his girlfriend in hopes of seeing her boobs later that night.

Gulping down the last of your friends drink and chuckling at the wink she sent your way, you’d strolled ahead of her boyfriend fast enough that you couldn’t change your mind, the alcohol running through your system helping to pull you towards the bar with just enough bravado to properl you in his direction, hands unabashedly landing on a massive bicep before you could stop yourself.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” You could hardly hear yourself over the music and the ringing in your ears, though you knew he’d heard you, was looking at you, when his gaze landed on your face for a second before following yours, eyes falling on a sweaty superman behind him.

“You’re expecting me to believe that this is your boyfriend?” He’d asked as steadily as he could, gesturing not unkindly towards the skull masked man you were still holding onto, hoping desperately that this stupid college trick you and your friends used to use would still work.

You’d been grateful to be leaning against the bar top as you felt your knees suddenly threaten to give out, seeing as the masked stranger had just slipped a muscular arm around your shoulders and spoke in a voice so deep it sent lightning shooting down your spine.

“Husband. Actually. Best move onto the next one mate. She’s taken.” His gravelly Manchester accent had cut through the clamour of the pub, the feeling of the very same arm you’d been ogling now wrapped around you was rapturous. You definitely owed your friend for this one.

Your friend’s mate didn’t need much more than that before he’d been slipping back into the crowd, almost certainly expecting a snog now after this victory.

“Jesus, he’s been hounding me all night, wouldn’t take no for an answer, but you say all of ten words to him and he’s over it? Ugh, men I swear.” You’d said, learning your elbows against the bar top as you went to wave down someone behind the counter, intent on another drink.

You were all to pleased to feel a heated gaze on the side of your face, tilting your head enough to catch the stranger’s eye and sending him a playful smile.

“Funny way to say thank you.” He’d replied, taking half a step closer into your orbit none too subtlety.

“Hey, I was getting there.” You had laughed genuinely, relieved if not in slight disblief that you had him talking to you, had his attention now. “Would a drink be enough to repay you for saving me?”

He seemed to have thought it over for a moment, mulling his answer befor shifting an increment closer to you, relaxing the arm still slung over you shoulders as he easily got the bartender’s attention, despite your best efforts to do the same half a second ago.

“Only if you’like have one with me. Got to keep up the appearance that we’re here together now, haven’t we?”

“Hmm, suppose so.” You’d agreed with him easily, quickly snatching up the barstool next to you as its occupant left. You couldn’t help the deep blush that spread across your cheeks when the man next to you all too easily reach a muscular arm behind you to grab ahold of the stool and drag you closer to him, appearing as though he’d hardly used any effort in doing so. “So, what’s my knight in shining armour’s name, then?”

“Call me Ghost.”

Had his lips been free, Simon might’ve found the decency to apologize for the state of his apartment, a disarrayed sight that would’ve brought his first CO’s to shame, but as it was, his lips were a tad preoccupied dancing against yours.

It’s not like he’d been planning on entertaining tonight anyhow.

Certainly hadn’t planned on this being the outcome of coincidentally walking into a pub hosting a fucking mask party, while he took his own mask on its farewell tour for a night of pity drinking.

Hadn’t planned a pretty little thing all but stumbling into his lap, hadn’t intended on having so many drinks with her, definitely hadn’t meant on finding the things she said so genuinely interesting, hadn’t meant on staying out until the lights in the pub turned on and the owners were telling patrons to leave.

Sure, he had been to one to lean in and kiss you outside under the flickering lamppost around the corner as everything else around you faded into mere background noise, he had been the one to grab your waist tighter when your arms looped around his neck, fingers slipping into hair and under clothing, he had been to one to ask if you wanted to go to somwhere else after the whoops and cheers of a passing group of boys bled through into your reality

What he hadn’t planned on was for your flat to be nearly forty minutes away from the pub, when his was a less than five minute walk, the decision on whose place to go back to being clear though not his preferred choice, though it was all irrelevant when the difference meant getting your naked all the faster

He hadn’t planned on needing any condoms that night, or any time soon for that matter, not a single one or be found in the flat, something you reassured him was fine seeing as you were on the pill, and if he just pulled out, something he all too easily agreed to when your dress slipped off your frame and pooled around your ankles on his floor.

One thing Simon did plan on however, from the moment he’d decided he was going to be bringing you into his bed that night, was that the mask would be staying on.

Yours had fallen off or been ripped off ages ago, whereabouts unknown and uncared for as his frame pushed forward, widening the spread of your thighs that much more, as a massive fist came down and gripped your ankle, propping the limb up against his broad shoulder as he thrusted again.

Simon was far from being anywhere near a lightweight, especially when it came to his drinks, though even he had to admit, he’d been a tad excessive tonight, matching your drinks each time with two if not three times the amount of alcohol inside his glass, losing track of the number as it reached double digits.

He was a smart man, a well-trained one, no matter how many drinks he might’ve had, Simon was also aware of his surroundings, constantly surveying for potential threats or dangers, never leaving his guard down entirely, lest it be the first and list time he does so.

No, his memories of walking back to his flat together, of stumbling through the door as you couldn’t keep your mouths of the others, of ridding each other of every piece of clothing hiding the others warm skin, of landing in bed together in a tangle of heat and sweat and sparks, wasn’t because he was drunk of his drinks.

Simon was drunk off of you.

Each sound you made as his hands roamed the expanse of your naked flesh, every dip and curve, had him feeling higher than an addict.

Every touch you pressed aginst him, every inch of his skin you caressed, squeezed, scratched, and held had his head spinning faster than an overdose.

Simon fully intended on getting every ounces worth out of tonight, on squeezing each bit of pleasure he could out of you and the feast you’d presented before him, on making the most of this fuck as he could, intent on this being the only time.

You were a lovely thing, a soft thing, a much too beautiful and delicate thing for someone like him, for the man beneath the mask he still could not relinquish, not while he was still broken in the way he was, all sharp angles and points that would inevitably leave you hurt, worse off for knowing him.

He would let himself have something like this, someone like you, tonight, but only tonight, just this once.

Though Simon certainly hadn’t meant on cumming in you that night either.

“Please, Ghost! Fuck- I’m so- oh fuck!” Your cries had been the most beautiful symphony to his ears, no concerns about a heardboard banging against the wall when he had nothing more than a mattress and a sheet on the ground, his strong arms cushioning your head with every powerful thrust he gave your sore cunt.

“Oh? Wha’ was tha’? You weren’t about to cum were you?” He’d teased, slowing his pace to instead grind his pelvis against your throbbing clit, the pressure just right as you’d thrown your head back farther, Simon taking advantage of the expanse of your bare neck to press his warm lips to your pulse.

“I’m so close, Ghost- holy shit- don’t stop.” You’d pleaded with him fingernails dragging down the width of his back as you followed his rhythm.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He’d murmured in your ear, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he slowly picked his pace back up, getting you to that point of release for the fourth of fifth time that night.

He knew you were there when you tensed up around him, ankles locking behind his back and moans growing louder as you squeezed impossibly tight around his length, testing every bit of self-restraint he had left.

“Fuck, love. You’re so tight.” He’d grunted, still grinding his hips as to drag out your bliss. “Fuck- I’m gonna- wait- I-”

The words were lost on his lips as he couldn’t help but let out a guttural sound of his own, his heavy balls emptying into you without any hope of stopping it, warmth spreading through you as he continued rutting despite the overstimulation.

“Shit. I didn’t meant to-” He’d started, only pulling out of you after you’d both caught your breaths, leaning his heavy weight off of you and watching in slight horror and secret hunger as his cum covered cock pulled out of you, evidence of your shared release soaking the sheets.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You’d reassured him, glassy eyes staring into his own as your delicate hand held the side of his mask, thumb tracing the grooves beneath his eye sockets.”Like I said, I’m on the pill. And I’ll grab a Plan B on the way home.”

On the way home

He’d planned on you leaving, had planned on finding a way to avoid letting you linger in his sheets too long after it was all said and done, had intended on paying for your taxi fare and bidding you farewell.

What he hadn’t planned on was the odd pang in his chest when he heard you agree it was over.

“Si? What’s wrong? What is it? Simon?” You’d been trying to snap him out of his daze for at least a minute now, something suddenly happening in his brain to have him nearly unresponsive as he struggled to hear you over his thoughts.

“It’s me.”

“What was that?” As upset as you currently were with him, you still loved him, still wanted to help and support him if he was about to have an anxiety attack or something of the sort, his mumbling coming out too quiet and unintelligible for you to understand.

“It’s me.” He mumbled just a touch louder, more coherent, as his eyes began moving again, though not yet reaching you.

“You’re what, Si?” You tried to ask him, still perplexed as to what he was suddenly going on about, confused as to what revelation he appeared to have gotten in the middle of an argument.

“It’s me, love. Birdie, I- fuck.” He said, his gaze finally meeting your, eyes blown wide in apparent shock, an expression you’ve never sen before plastered across his face.

“Jesus, Simon. Sit, sit down, please.” You stood, grabbing his forearm and pulling him towards you where you were sat on a stack of moving boxes, helping him to do the same across from you, only letting go of him when you were sure the box would hold his weight. ��What are you talking about? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Love, I- I’m the dad. It’s me. I’m Rosie’s dad.” He said, gesturing towards himself with both hands, speaking as though this were breaking news.

“Si, I- I love that you call yourself her dad, I agree, but we’ve been doing that for months now-”

“No,” he interrupted you, leaning forward wit his elbows on his knees, a nearly crazed look in his eyes as he tried to reason with you. “No, birdie, I- I’m Rosie’s dad. I’m the one who got you pregnant last Halloween. I- fuck- I’m the dad.”

“Wha- what are you even talking about?” You stuttered, more than slightly flabbergasted that Simon would think this was something fun to joke about, knowing how sensitive of a subject this was to you. “That’s not even a little funny, Simon.”

“No, lovie. Listen to me- I swear to ya. O’Malley’s Pub, a fuckin’ Halloween mask party, right? You stumbled into me when some bloke was messin’ wit’ ya.”

If Simon noticed the blood drain from your face at his words, he didn’t comment, instead continuing in his explanation that left your ears ringing.

“You were dressed as that maid from the opera whatever, least ‘til I brought you back to my flat, round the corner from that same pub, am I right?”

“What- how could-”

“And then I fuckin’ came in ya, we spent hours in that bed and the last time of course I bloody fuckin’ came in ya.” He continued, sounding mad at himself as he recounted the events of that night, the possibility of it all being too astounding for your mind to comprehend.

“You’re lying again!”

“Birdie, please-”

“No! How could you possibly be her father? What are the odds that it was you that night, Simon? That you’re not only her father but when I walked up to that fence last year and every person on that damned crew told me to talk to you? That you were the one who showed up and came through for me. There is no way! I can’t believe you would-”

“Stand up.”

“W-what?” You asked incredulously, watching as his eyes never left yours, though his chin jutted out towards the box you were still sat atop.

“Stand up and open that box, love.” He replied simply, his calm demeanour unwavering you now more than anything else. You still felt red in the face, your pulse pounding in your head as you felt tears threatening to spill over.

For some reason you still stood, you still turned around and glanced at the box in front of you, one of Simon’s from the flat you’ve never visited before, not when he always came over to yours.

The box was simply labeled ‘Work’ in Simon’s sloppy hand writing, a black sharpie telling you this box was one you’d never seen the inside of before, should it be from his old career in the military and not his new one of hammers and nails and hard hats.

“Open it.” He told you, eyes softening when you tilted your head slightly to glance at him. “Please.”

As furious and confused and exhausted and conflicted as you felt at that moment, you still opened that box, still lifted up the folded camo print pants that were stacked at the top, sifting through the heaps of clothing until your fingers found something out of place.

Eyes locking with Simon’s, you’d hardly needed to glance down at your hand to confirm what you’d just pulled out into the open.

That damned skeleton mask.

If there’s anything I love more than a run-on sentence, it’s a cliff hanger… and thus the night Rosie was created 😉

We’ve only got two more chapters to go with this pair! I’ve been having so much fun writing this story, it’ll be bittersweet to watch it come to an end, but equally excited to tie it all together

- M 🫶🏻

Tag list: @dawnnightshade666 @topaz125 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @th3on3and0nly1r1s @sirbonesly @biscgutz @cmbghost @glossy01 @slowlyshycomputer @barcelonaaababe @astrxsee @sweetpeakarolinaaa @aqua-nina @wizzdot @beautifuleaglealpaca @peachy-satan00 @drewsuncrustables @pato-spoiler-27 @lem-hhn @dravenskye @juullllssss @mxsatorisimp @merkitty49 @monssan99-blog @notkyleelol @tessakate @sahvlren @danika1994 @viennakarma @pastel-devil-06 @asoulsreverie @puppydollgstar @strawberrygato @heletsmelovehim @404creep @just-lilita @desiretolive @marigold-morelli @robinfeldt98 @sleep101 @scaleniusrm @wh0reforstars @beebeechaos @lulutheoverthinker @casterblue @amans-puer @mestrecadumaverick @loud-mouph @t3a-bag @enfppuff @kneelforloki @scorpio-echo @casketofroses @vintage-karma (Taglist is full, tumblr only lets you add 50 users)

[readwritealldayallnight]

At long last, Bird Watching is now on Ao3! Took me a minute to get everything transferred but all 8 chapters on tumblr can be found on the archive as well

- M 🫶🏻

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon’s heard that whole “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure” bit before, never gave it much thought or credence

Though he can’t help but to find the saying only slightly cruel now, as he sits alone outside a dingy cafe

The view might not be great, stuck facing the neighbouring shops bins piled high with garbage bags as the bin men are apparently running late, but the coffee is the only thing making it worth the visit every so often

A thrift store, a place where someone’s once cherished belongings are given the chance at a second life, a second home, apparently has its own standards for what is worthy of being a treasure and what gets tossed out without a second glance

One such item, leaning against the dirty cans and tilted his way, is a large mirror, a single crack running down the middle, ruining whatever potential it might have once held for itself, now left broken and discarded outside

He’s never considered himself much of a critique, at least not when it came to furnishing a home, but even Simon has to admit it’s an ugly mirror, the trim along the glass being an intricate design that once might have caught someone’s eye, but was now so damaged and filthy it was undeniably an unattractive thing

Perhaps the thing he considered to be ugliest of all was the reflection staring back at him, the mirror tilted just so that from where he sat, Simon was left seeing his ugly mug each time his eyes glanced over, reminding him of how he himself would never be someone’s treasure, only ever just a part of the trash piled high for people to ignore, to avoid

Insert reader, walking along the streets when the sun suddenly blinds her, tilting her head around to spot the glare of the harsh sun refracting off something across the road

Even Simon, with his damaged hearing after standing too close to one too many blasts, is able to hear the delighted gasp coming from your mouth when you spot the mirror, watches how you scarcely look both ways before you’re crossing the street in a hurry and crouching before the dusty, grimy mirror, grabbing your shirt sleeve to wipe some of the dirt away

Were you genuinely impressed by this broken, crummy thing they’d left out for the garbage truck to haul away? Pleased with this thing no one else would have wanted? Already imagining where in your flat you’ll place it, how you’ll fix it up and make it your own, make it a true treasure again?

Well, seeing as you’ve got such horrid taste already, he may as well walk up and ask if you need any help dragging it to wherever you’re going

Who knows, you might just see something in him too

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part seven of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom reader

The fight happens on a day like any other, a random Tuesday in early March

Stepping outside as you clutch your baby close to your chest, you’d almost expected to find the earth to have stopped spinning, to see birds dropping dead to the ground midflight, for dogs to bark incessantly at seemingly nothing at all, hell maybe even for the sun to have disappeared from the sky entirely

But no, everything was still the same, the world went on, the earth kept spinning, and life continued, even in spite of that heavy feeling in your chest telling you that nothing would ever be the same again, not when your world had just seemingly slipped out from under you

What else were you to think after learning what you’d just been told?

You’d sat in that office for far too long, the bright murals on the walls more obnoxious than ever, smiling paintings of woodland creatures mocking you with every second that ticked by, your mind unable to wrap itself around the words being thrown at you, seeing as they were so contrary to everything you knew, so opposite to the man you’d come love

“I’m sorry but- I think you’re wrong. There’s- there’s got to be more to this that I’m not understanding. It doesn’t- this doesn’t make any sense.” You’d mumbled, staring into space as though caught in a daze, certain you’d wake up from this dream sooner than later and laugh about it in the morning, though with every pitiful look the assistant director sent your way, you were worried this was one nightmare you wouldn’t be able to pinch yourself out of

“Hon, I really wish I was wrong too.” She said, rubbing what you’re sure she intended to be a soothing hand across your back, though everything felt too hot right now, too claustrophobic, and you were resisting the urge to flinch from her touch.

“You must be.” You practically whispered to yourself. It had been at least twenty minutes of this now, going back and forth in disbelief despite the paper trail before you

“What about that small chance that I’m not, though? What if this is what’s happening?” She added, pulling her hand back and angling herself to better face you, her expression still pinched into that look of pity and concern you wanted to smack off of her, despite knowing she was speaking with the best of intentions

“What? That he’s trying to trap me?! Has been from the beginning? There’s no way, nuh-uh.” You shook your head adamantly, refusing to believe that there was any possibility of something so ludicrous being true, of being your reality, your life

“Please just- just hear me out?” She all but pleaded, glancing towards the closed door as you heard the sound of laughter echoing down the hall, parents still filtering in and out, picking up their children like any other day, unaware of the drama unfolding in the office. “We always thought it was kind of strange at first that he wasn’t listed on her birth certificate when you submitted it with all your other paper work but- we really didn’t give it much more thought. Really didn’t think twice when he added himself to the list of contacts after you hadn’t put him down, because he told us you’d just forgotten to. I mean from the moment he walked in here he’s always called himself your husband, and you his wife, always claimed to be Rosie’s dad.”

At this point your eyes are squeezed shut, unable to differentiate between what you’re hearing and what you know to be true in your heart. Or at least, what your heart desperately wants to believe is true- your confidence slipping with every word she speaks

“And when he insisted a few months ago that 75% of Rosie’s daycare fees be charged directly to his account, we-”

“What?” You all but hiss at her, eyes snapping open in shock

“So you didn’t know about that either.” She mumbles, cheeks reddening in apparent embarrassment, whether for your or herself you’re unsure, though you’re certain you’re starting to see red the longer you sit here. “I mean, is it even all that surprising at this point? You just got done telling me he’s been trying to have you financially depend on him from the get go.”

“I said he’d offered to help me with the bills when we first started dating. Not that he tried to entrap me!” You bite back, unable to feel sorry yet that you’re being so short with her when this isn’t her fault, right now you need someone to be upset with, someone to take your feelings out on, and unfortunately she happens to be the unlucky messenger caught in the crossfire.

“I’m sure that’s how he made it sound, but hon, I’m just seeing red flag after red flag here. It starts with small ‘favours’ like that, then he’s telling you that you don’t have to work anymore, that you can rely on him. And asking you to move in so soon-”

“It- it isn’t ‘so soon’. We’re already practically living together, we- we’re in love. This- this isn’t- I don’t-” you cut off yourself off, unsure what you’d even say at this point. You can feel a headache coming on, your mind running a mile a minute, you wouldn’t be surprised to find steam coming off of you you’re feeling so heated. You’re beyond confused now, your heart knows that Simon’s never led you astray before, never give you a single reason to doubt him or think of him as dishonest. But you can’t ignore what you’re hearing either, as contrary as it might be to what you’ve known to be true, the facts are set out before you

“I know you love him.” She says softer this time, eyes trying to convey a comfort you don’t want right now. “But I can’t lie, I’m worried now. Like you said, this could all be some very strange misunderstanding. But from where I’m sitting babe, it seems like he’s been lying to you for months now, if not from the start. And the only reasons I can think of him doing that, aren’t very good ones.”

“I just don’t-” Your words are cut off when a knock rasps against the office door, both of you glancing over in time to see the door open.

“Hey Emma, Rosie’s mum hasn’t picked her up yet and I have to clean the room- oh! There you are!” One of Rosie’s educators says, stepping into the room with none other than your baby sat against her hip

You can feel the tension momentarily leave your body as Rosie spots you, her neutral expression turning into one of pure joy as she realizes her mama’s here, tiny arms reaching out towards you as she starts to flail in her teacher’s arms, sweet little coos erupting from her as she all but tries to leap towards you

“We were just chatting. Sorry to have kept you waiting with her. Hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” You say, standing from your chair and taking Rosie into your arms, feeling her lay her little head against you as she makes herself comfortable in your hold, a comfort you desperately need yourself right now

“Her? Trouble? Never. She had a great day today.” The teacher smiles politely, excusing herself to likely go finish her closing duties, certainly eager to get out of here now that you’ve got Rosie off her hands

“Maybe we could-”

“I’m gonna get this one home.” You cut Emma off before she can start, readjusting your hold on Rosie as you take a steadying breath. You want nothing more than to get out of here, to pretend that this never happened, though you aren’t sure you’re ready yet for what’s certainly about to happen at home. “Thanks for the chat. I’ll think about what you said and- I’ve got some talking to do with Simon now, I suppose.”

Perhaps by some small miracle, Simon ends up having to work late that night, shooting you a text to let you know that he’s sorry he won’t be home for supper and to please give Rosie a goodnight kiss from him if he isn’t back by her bedtime

You don’t reply to his message

You feel numb, as though this were something that was happening to someone else, a story you might overhear people whispering about while in line at the grocery store, or even an all too cheesy reality TV show storyline, certainly not something that’s happening in your home, to your family

You feel akin to a ghost, a spectre simply going through the motions as you float through the flat, following Rosie’s bedtime routine with nothing more than muscle memory to guide you from step A to B

She’s nodding off in your arms before you know it, blissfully unaware as to the turmoil happening in her mum’s mind, the fight that’s likely to ensue when her dad comes home, none the wiser as you lay her down in her crib for the night, a soft kiss planted on her forehead for Simon’s sake because as conflicted as you are, his love for her is undeniable

If anything, that’s the very thing that has you feeling so confused right now, is because you know Simon loves you, both you and Rosie, and so everything that’s just been revealed to you is so utterly contradicatory you can’t even begin to try and wrap your brain around it

He’s never been anything short of wonderful to you, willing to bend over backwards to make you smile from the very moment you met

The Simon you know wouldn’t lie to you, wouldn’t hide things from you, wouldn’t try to entrap you in any way like Emma or anyone else might try to insinuate

And yet…

Shutting her door quietly, you make your way down the hall, glancing at the piles of boxes that have only recently made a home for themselves along the walls of your flat

Moving boxes, the majority of them being from Simon’s own place across town that he hasn’t been to in months, as you prepare to move into the new house in the upcoming weeks

A house that you love, a house that you dreamt about, a house you can picture becoming a home, and yet still, a house he bought without asking you first, apparently a common trend

Plopping yourself down on the couch, rubbing furiously at your tired eyes as you try in vain to make sense of this conflicting situation

Because the Simon you know, isn’t capable of lying to you

The Simon you know has never once failed to fulfill a promise to you, never ceases to exceed your wildest dreams and expectations time and time again, always coming through for you in every way you’ve ever wanted and never knew you needed

The Simon you know is one who works harder than anyone you’ve ever met before, but didn’t hesitate for a split second to drop everything when Rosie had her first runny nose, fussing over her incessantly until you were both sure it was nothing more than a case of the sniffles

The Simon you know never lets you go through a late night feeding alone, getting up out of bed with you every single time her cries reach your ears, or sometimes insisting you stay asleep while he either goes to retrieve her for you or feeds her a premade bottle himself

The Simon you know doesn’t complain when the kitchen sink springs a leak after he’s had a long day at work, but rather angles Rosie’s high chair so she can see him working as he talks her through every step of the repair, teasing her about starting to pull her weight around he house as she giggles

The Simon you know pretends to grumble when you insist on applying sunscreen to his face on particularly sunny days, but secretly loves every second you spend so close him, fingers tracing his skin and taking care of him as delicately as you would with Rosie

The Simon you know shamelessly carries the diaper bag over his shoulder wherever you go, proudly wears Rosie on his chest in the baby sling any chance he gets, and most of all, never fails to hold your heart in his hand no matter how full they may already be

Tonight however? You can’t help the way your heart seemingly drops when you hear the telltale sound of keys at the front door

Simon is home

“Birdie?” His deep, Manchester accent calls out from around the corner. You’re hardly in control of your body as you rise to your feet and all but float towards him, torn between needing his comfort during such a confusing time, but equally fighting off the hurt and skepticism you’re beginning to feel

“Hi Si.” You meekly respond, coming into his view just as he’s toeing off his mud-caked boots, his eyes lighting up once he sees you

“Hi love.” He replies, stepping closer until you’re within his reach, naturally falling against his chest as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, your eyes closing as you breathe in his scent. “Rosie asleep yet?”

“Put her down just a couple minutes ago.” You answer, arms snaking around his torso to embrace him tightly, unable to deny the hot tears beginning to prickle at the corner of your eyes.

“M’sorry I missed bedtime.”

“S’alright. Gave her your good night kiss for you. And I saved you supper. Just some chicken and salad but-”

“‘Jus’ chicken and salad’ is already more than I deserve for coming home late to my girls. Thank you, birdie.”

You know your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes when he pulls back to look at you, pulling yourself out of his hold to head towards the kitchen, his footsteps right behind yours

“How was your day? Not workin’ you too hard are they?” He asks, opening the fridge and pulling out the plate you’d saved for him

“No, work was fine.” You answer, awkwardly rubbing your arms as you lean against the wall, poking the edge of one of his moving boxes labeled simply as ‘stuff’ with your socked toes. “Actually, my day got kind of weird towards the end, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Simon asks you, peering at you over his shoulder as he gets ready to reheat his food

“Well I uh- I went to pick up Rosie from nursery and wound up talking to Emma. You know, the assistant director?”

If you didn’t know Simon so well, didn’t know his mind and his body language like the back of your hand by now, you might have missed the oh so subtle way he tensed up for no more than a split second, his large frame perfectly still as he held his breath for no longer than a blink of the eye, but you saw it

“‘Course. How is she?” He asks as casually as he can, though he pointedly isn’t meeting your gaze anymore

“She’s fine. Busy as usual. But anyways, I got chatting with her in the first place because I was just letting her know about the move soon. Wanted to update our address.” You add, waving a hand towards the many boxes dotted around the place

“Ah, right. Smart o’ you to get a head start on tha’.” Simon chides in, still not looking at you as he goes about grabbing himself silverware and a drink, keeping his head down the whole time

“I thought so too.” You say, pushing yourself off the wall to step closer to him, feeling your heart begin to pick up pace as dare to say what you’re too afraid to confirm. “Also figured I would go ahead and update Rosie’s contact information, while I was at it. Was well overdue adding you.”

At this point Simon has stopped moving entirely, his back turned to you as he faces the kitchen sink, not a word to be said as you continue

“But then she told me that you were already on there.”

Nearly a full five seconds pass by in complete and utter silence, before Simon slowly spins himself around to face you

“Oh.” Is all he can apparently manage to say at first, his face pulled into an expression you aren’t overly familiar with, eyes glancing everywhere but at your face. “Did you somehow add me and forget?”

“That’s what I thought at first too.” You elaborate, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, despite knowing that there isn’t a logical explanation for the second half of what you’re about to say. “But it was strange because she told me that she remembers having a conversation with you, after our first visit. Said that you were the one to add yourself.”

Again, Simon seems to forfeit to what he knows best in moments of high stress, a painful silence that echoes louder than any shouts ever could

“Things got really strange though, the more she told me. Like how you’ve been paying the daycare bills behind my back.”

“Love, I-”

“What was she talking about, Simon? Please tell me she was wrong.” You interrupt him, feeling your cheeks begins to burn with untamed emotions you haven’t dared to let out yet, the stinging at your lash line growing stronger as hot tears threaten to topple over

“No. She wasn’t wrong, but-”

“What?” You interrupt him, trying your best to keep your volume low for Rosie’s sake, though you can tell your emotions are already starting to get the better of you

“Look birdie, I- I’m not ready to talk about this yet. Let’s leave it alone for tonight, yeah?” Simon says as coolly as he can manage, though you notice the way his jaw ticks, how he runs his hand through his short hair as he only does when frustrated

“What the hell does that mean? You’re not ready to talk about what? Simon what is going on here?” You ask him, feeling yourself becoming light headed as the conversation takes the turn you were fearing it would, his words failing to reassure the uncertainty brewing within you

“Love it’s not- there isn’t anythin’ going on. I’m only jus’ trying to take care of you. So please, let’s just leave it.”

“No, Si. I can’t just ‘leave it’. Not when I’m finding out that you’ve been lying to me for who knows how long!” You insist, reaching behind you until you feel a stack of the moving boxes hit your calf, sitting down on the large box as you look up at Simon across the room. “What am I supposed to-”

“I said enough! Just drop it, please birdie. It’s nothin’.” He snaps at you, going to slam a hand down on the kitchen counter but catching himself at the last second, glancing down the hall towards Rosie’s closed door as he shakes his head to himself

“No! I’m not just going to drop this, Simon. How am I meant to know that you haven’t hidden anything else from me?”

“Oh, because you don’t hide anythin’?” He asks, stepping closer to you while trying to keep his voice down, lest you both wake the baby up

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Christs sake, I’m talkin’ ’bout Rosie’s father. What else would we be talkin’ ‘bout?” He admits, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat, coming to sit on the boxes across from you

“Are you kidding me?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him. “We’ve gone over this before, it was a fucking one night stand Simon! Rosie doesn’t have a father, because I don’t know who her fucking father is! Is that what you want to hear? That I dont know the stranger who knocked me up after sleeping with him one goddamn time?”

“I don’t know what happened because we never talk bout it!” He replies, one foot incessantly tapping agains the tiled floor as he struggles to keep his cool. “There’s some bloke out there who could show up one day and take everythin’ I’ve worked for, so bloody fuckin’ right I’m concerned! How could you not know who he is? Might not know his name, but you could pick him out of a lineup surely? Describe him?”

“Are you seriously that insecure right now? You’re feeling threatened by a ghost? Because that’s all he was Simon, was a fucking ghost! It was a goddamn Halloween party. Every single person in that was wearing a mask, including me!” You argue back to him. “You want me to try and describe some tall guy wearing all black and a stupid skull mask? Is that it? How he didn’t even take it off while we were having sex? How he only wanted me to call him Ghost the entire goddamn night? What does it matter, Simon?“

By the end of your rant, you’re left huffing and puffing, borderline seeing red as you can’t believe of all things, this is what Simon would feel the need to bring up at a time like this

You’re expecting him to argue back, waiting on him to retaliate with whatever other ugly words you’re going to throw at each other tonight, the first proper fight you’ve ever had

And yet, he’s sat perfectly still, eyes locked on your own though it’s as if he isn’t quite seeing you

Rather, he looks like he’s seen a ghost

“Simon?”

He remembers that night almost too perfectly

Exactly half a year since his forced retirement, Simon was all too eager to get through the last of his ‘highly recommended’ therapy sessions

The older gentleman he met with once a month wasn’t all that bad, to his credit, had some decent stories to share and never pressed Simon to fill in the silence when he wasn’t in the mood to do so

But he was still a shrink at the end of the day, wasn’t he? Still wanted the former Lieutenant to talk about his feelings and his past and his thoughts and his nightmares and just about everything Simon would rather keep under heavily guarded lock and key

Even if he never insisted on making Simon spill his guts the way he might have imagined a shrink was obligated to do in their mandated fifty minute sessions, he’d still somehow managed to get the younger man to open up to the smallest degree, learned as much as he was willing to share within these bleak walls

Though he held no ill feelings towards him nor his profession, Simon couldn’t help but glance at the clock above the shrink’s head at least every other minute, looking forward to having his Saturday afternoons back to himself soon as this last appointment was done and over with

“Simon?” He remembers the old man saying, catching his wandering eye. “Did you hear me?”

“Sorry. Go on.” The muscular man had said, crossing his arms across his chest as he’d fought to give the man before him his full attention.

“I was only just saying,” he kindly went on, a soft smile appearing below his white moustache. “If if was something you might be open to exploring, I don’t think it would be the worst idea if you wanted to wear the mask out in public again. One last time.”

“Why would I do tha’?” Simon had questioned.

“Please correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve spoken before about feeling conflicted between who you used to be six months ago, and who you’re having to become now post-retirement. A man with a name and a job and obligations. Whereas for over a decade, you were certain you’d never be anything more than this Ghost fellow you’ve mentioned. This man without a name, without a face. Am I right on this?”

“Suppose so.” He grumbled, shifting in his spot, the softness of the cushions around him a mundane luxury he was still growing used to feeling.

“You’ve also said that the honourable discharge came as a bit of a surprise, an unexpected end to this Ghost, as it were. Something, or someone, you never had the chance to truly mourn.” The shrink had gone on, gesticulating his pale, wrinkled hands with every word he spoke in Simon’s direction.

On his end, Simon could only manage to nod in response, taking in the man’s perspective

“The mask was something pivotal for you, something you held on to without fail for years, Simon. Years. It’s understandably difficult to be told you would no longer going to need this thing you had grown to, dare I say, depend on? Something that kept you separate from the rest of the world? A world you were being thrown back into without a choice?”

The older man had allowed for a beat of silence as Simon absorbed his words, only keeping his eyes on him as any indication now that he was still listening

“Now, I know you’d said that you haven’t put the mask back on since. We also evidently can’t replicate the sort of environment that Ghost used to live in. But if you wanted to put the mask back on for one night. If you wanted to put the mask back on for just a moment and perhaps allow yourself to make peace with this change in your life, to say goodbye to Ghost and give yourself the chance to fully become Simon, well, tonight might not be the worst night to try and do so.”

As if he needed his own shrink reminding him that it was Halloween that night

He remembers the odd few pumpkins lined up outside the apartments he’d passed on his walk home from the session

Remembers the posters for discounted costumes and reminders to check your children’s candy dotted along brick walls here and there

Hell he’d even had a group of giggling trick or treaters run past him at one point that evening

Staring at the handful of boxes he still couldn’t bring himself to unpack yet, Simon sat ins his flat entirely too long that night with a drink in hand, staring at the very one he knew held the thing he woulnd’t have been caught dead without less than a yer ago, now ruffed between some folded shirts

The more drinks he got in his system, the less ludicrous the doc’s idea had sounded to him

Perhaps he should don the mask one last time, if only to see what it felt like to have his second skin back on him again, to be Ghost for only just a moment more

He had been tearing the cardboard box open before he knew it, ripping through clothing until his hands met the familiar feeling of the skull beneath his fingertips

He hadn’t bothered looking in a mirror or anything dramatic of the sort as he slipped the material over his head, not feeling the need to glance at the face he once relished in knowing was the last one countless had ever seen in their lives

Unsure of how he felt but knowing he didn’t want to sit still, Simon had gone back out onto the streets, the sun having set long ago and trick or treaters certainly tucked into bed by now with lollipop coloured tongues and wrappers awry

He knew he wanted to keep drinking that night, seeing as it was the only way he could fall asleep most nights, and needn’t go very far before following the noise of the nearest pub, only just around the corner from his measly flat

Though the place had been crowded that night, packed with the young and old all dressed in differing levels to commitment to their costumes, Simon was pleased to see he could still part a crowd with ease as he’d slunk his way over to the busy bar

The music had been damn near defeaning, and the heat from all the dancing bodies was poignant, his senses kicking into overdrive as he fought the urge to turn hightail and head back to the solace of his empty four walls

The barkeep hadn’t even bat an eye at Ghost’s appearance as he’d made his way over and took his order, making haste to keep up with the demanding crowd

What had the doc said, again? That he ought to be taking this time to say goodbye to Ghost and welcome in Simon?

Pure rubbish, as far as he was concerned

He would always be Ghost in a way, wouldn’t he? Mask or not, his hands would still be stained with someone’s blood, his eyes will still be ones that witnessed death for a living, his heart would still beat to a broken drum, he would always be a ghost of a man on way or another

And so, no, he likely would not have said goodbye to Ghost that night, had he had much of a chance to continue thinking about it

But then again, fate has a way of making things fall into place right when they need to, doesn’t it?

For Simon had only just received his drink when a young woman had suddenly come crashing into his side, her hands unabashedly coming to grasp onto his bicep as she leaned her weight into him

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She’d said, loud enough to be heard over the music, glancing not at Ghost, but rather at someone who’d come to stand just behind him

Prepared to swing around in his seat and size up the person behind him, Simon’s eyes had gotten caught halfway there, when they landed on the stranger holding onto him

Donned in a flowing white dress with long billowing sleeves, a single red rose tucked behind her ear to match the red painted across her enticing lips, Simon was surprised to find an almost perfect Christine from the Phantom of the Opera stood before him, though perhaps more so that the young woman was also wearing the Phantom’s half mask across her face

“You’re expecting me to believe that this is your boyfriend?” A gruff voice had spoken out from the din of the crowd, Simon’s gazing finally landing on a poor imitation of a superhero, the lad clearly wasted on one too many drinks as he tried stepping closer to the mystery woman

Simon’s gaze had fixed back upon the woman’s face, eyes locking for the first time that night, the music in the room suddenly no longer so intolerable, nor the heat so unbearable, not when she was looking at him like that

Simon was smart enough to catch onto what was going on here in time to step in, cutting into the man’s attempt to squeeze closer to the young lady still clinging to Simon’s arm, his tall stature alone enough to have the bloke taking a step back

“Husband. Actually.” Ghost had decided to clarify for him, slinking an arm around your shoulders and ignoring the spark he felt as he did so, blaming the drinks he’d had himself. “Best move on to the next one, mate. She’s taken.”

Luckily, the lad apparently still had enough common sense, or at least self preseration instincts, to know when it was time to back off, moving back through the crowd with his head hung low, not that either of you were still looking at him, instead turning to face one another again

“Jesus, he’s been hounding me all night, wouldn’t take no for an answer, but you say all of ten words to him and he’s over it? Ugh, men I swear.” You’d said, leaning your elbows against the bar top as you went to wave down the barkeep, before catching Simon’s eye again and sending him a playful smile

“Funny way to say thank you.” He’d said, ignoring the way the genuine widening of your smile at his words had sent a jolt through his heart

“Hey, I was getting there.” You had laughed, the sound barely making its way to his ears through the noise of the crowd, but even just the whisper of it has him unconsciously stepping closer to you. “Would a drink be enough to repay for you saving me?”

Simon had glanced back over his shoulder, the tosser nowhere to be seen amongst the flashing lights and ever moving mass of bodies strolling and dancing about

You’d been nearly blinding to him in the darkness of the bar that night, your pale dress and startlingly white mask illuminated by the moving lights, the fog of his drinks already catching up to him, you were an image to behold nonetheless

It’d been a long, long time since Simon had had a girl in his bed, let alone a bird as pretty as you, but Ghost however? If he was lucky tonight, he might be able to get you to come back home with him, and then never see you again when he took the mask off in the morning

“Only if you’ll have one with me.” He’d replied, watching as you lifted a single brow in amusement. “Got to keep up the appearance that we’re here together now, haven’t we?”

“Hmm, suppose so.” You’d agreed easily, hopping up onto the barstool next to him as it freed up, the blush on your cheeks apparent when he’d reached his muscular arm behind you to drag the stool closer. “So, what’s my knight in shining armour’s name, then?”

“Call me Ghost.”

Muahahaha

I’ve been dropping hints in the chapters for a while now, and quite a few of you have guessed it, but yes, it seems Simon might know the baby daddy better than he thinks he does

As an almost strictly fluff writer, the angst in this one was so tough to write! Luckily next chapter will be filled with lots of fluff and smut to make up for the fight

- M 🫶🏻

Tag list: @dawnnightshade666 @topaz125 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @th3on3and0nly1r1s @sirbonesly @biscgutz @cmbghost @glossy01 @slowlyshycomputer @barcelonaaababe @astrxsee @sweetpeakarolinaaa @aqua-nina @wizzdot @beautifuleaglealpaca @peachy-satan00 @drewsuncrustables @pato-spoiler-27 @lem-hhn @dravenskye @juullllssss @mxsatorisimp @merkitty49 @monssan99-blog @notkyleelol @tessakate @sahvlren @danika1994 @viennakarma @pastel-devil-06 @asoulsreverie @puppydollgstar @strawberrygato @heletsmelovehim @404creep @just-lilita @desiretolive @marigold-morelli @robinfeldt98 @sleep101 @scaleniusrm @wh0reforstars @beebeechaos @lulutheoverthinker @casterblue @amans-puer @mestrecadumaverick @loud-mouph @t3a-bag @enfppuff @kneelforloki @scorpio-echo @casketofroses @vintage-karma (Taglist is full, tumblr only lets you add 50 users)

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part eight of Bird Watching aka hot construction worker!Simon Riley x single mom!reader (18+ MDNI)

October 31st, one year ago

You had almost stayed home that night.

None too eager to spend the latter half of your Tuesday elbowing sweaty strangers as you shuffled around on a mysteriously sticky pub floor, you had at least tried to talk your way out of it, all in vain of course.

“I don’t even own anything that could remotely pass as a costume! What would be the point?”

“You own enough yellow. If we get you a big hat you could pass for the guy from curious George.”

“You know what, that may not be the worst idea-”

“No!” Your best friend had interjected, returning from the kitchenette with beers in hand, passing one over to her boyfriend in exchange for a kiss on the cheek as she sat on the old couch’s armrest. “She will not be going dressed as the man in the yellow hat, thank you very much. Besides, it’s a masquerade costume party, masks required. The monkey man will have to sit on the bench this year.”

“Oh well, I guess that leaves me out of luck.” You had shrugged, not in the least bit bothered by the idea of being left behind tonight.

“Yeah, nice try. I told you, go check in my room. We went through so many rejects before we landed on being superheroes.” She’d told you, pointing a manicured finger towards her bedroom down the hall. Her roommates had their own plans for the night, leaving her and her boyfriend to roam the city as they pleased, hopping from bar to bar dressed in cheap superhero suits from the sketchy costume store a few blocks down.

Though soon as she’d gotten word that you didn’t have any plans of your own for Halloween, your best friend was insisting that you join the two of them and come out, in spite of your adamant protests that you were fine staying in.

You didn’t have any qualms about Halloween, quite the opposite actually. You had countless fond memories from your childhood and youth, images of dressing up in costumes that looked ridiculous with puffy jackets stuffed underneath as mums instructed, going from door to door in hopes of gathering as much loot as your little arms could carry, being wary of the houses with decorations deemed too scary to approach.

You liked Halloween, you liked spending time with your best friend, hell you even liked her newest boyfriend more than the last few ones she’d brought around.

But work had been stressful as of late, the idea of showing up hungover the next day seeming less than appealing to you.

And so, you’d compromised.

You’d go out with them, take it easy on the drinks, and stay out until midnight. Soon as it wasn’t October 31st anymore, you’d be hightailing it back home to your warm bed and alarm clock due to go off in only so many hours.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can find in there.” You’d told her, shaking your head at the beer bottle she offered in your direction, making your way towards the assortment of costumes that awaited you.

That was how you had found yourself nursing an all too expensive gin and tonic in the back of an absurdly crowded pub that night, faux spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling illuminated each time the lights shifted and beamed upon the decor, paper ghosts and bats strung about, a corny Halloween playlist blasting through the speakers as a crowd of masked party-goers moved about.

Your friend had been right, she and her boyfriend really had gone through quite a few costumes before deciding on superheroes; there were pirates, Star Wars characters, vampires, classic masquerade masks, more than your indecisive mind really needed, to be frank.

Sifting throuhg the garments, your eyes had landed on a long, lacy white dress just as your fingers found the plastic of the mask belonging to its partner.

With only so much time left before your friend had wanted to head out, you’d decided that going as Christine from The Phantom of the Opera, while also wearing the Phantom’s half mask, was the best you were going out be able to pull off on short notice.

Part of you regretted choosing such a warm costume, constantly rolling your billowing sleeves up in hopes of getting just a sliver of cool air to relieve you from the heat of so many bodies in a small space, though from the looks of it, there wasn’t a soul in the room that wasn’t sweating in their attire either, save for perhaps the two shirtless lads pretending to be Magic Mike dancers in masquerade masks.

Besides, it’d only be another hour or so before you’d have fulfilled your duty as a best friend and could sneak off back to the comfort of your familiar four walls, you could manage the heat and music for a little while longer.

Your friend and her boyfriend were talking about something or another, and though they were right next to you in the booth, you could scarcely hear them over the pounding bass, opting instead to glance around the room at the creative, as well as the certainly put together at the last minute, array of costumes packing the room.

Gaze landing on the movement at the front door as the bouncers let someone else come in, you’d nearly choked on your drink when you spotted him for the first time.

Nearly a head taller than anyone else in the dimly lit room, his presence was one that didn’t have to demand attention, but instead earned it instantaneously.

He needn’t say a single word before the crowd was parting for him, as though his immense stature truly was one of biblical proportions, your eyes never once daring to blink as they followed his form through the sea of swarming bodies, only realizing that you were holding your breath when he stopped at the bar’s sticky counter.

The mountain of a man had hardly lifted a finger before someone behind the counter was turning to face him, prepared to take his order, the same bar that other patrons were waiting nearly ten minutes to get a drink from.

You hadn’t come out with the intention of seeking any fun outside of your trio of friends tonight, had never meant on straying from your plan to be home not long after midnight, hadn’t planned on even entertaining anyone who might’ve offered to buy you a drink or wanted a dance.

But you certainly hadn’t intended on someone like him walking in tonight.

Clad head to toe in everything black, the only contrast being the white of the skull mask he adorned, one which shone bright as a beacon guiding stranded ships to shore every time the pub lights flashed by him, not that anyone dared glance his way long enough to discern whether they were being led to safety or not.

You had perhaps given his oddly unique costume choice a second or two’s worth of thought before the rapid beating of your heart aginst your ribs decided for you that you didn’t care, perhaps he like you had to find a costume at the last second.

He’d been wearing a simple t-shirt, though the shadows cast across the taut skin of his biceps easily put the wanna be Magic Mike men in the crowd to shame, his physique resembling that of someone who didn’t exercise for vanity’s sake, but for a life that required such brute strength.

You were still trying to ignore the increasingly steady pulsing growing between your thighs when you’d been snapped out of your daydream.

“So what are we looking at?” Your friend had shouted near your ear to be heard over the fifth rendition of Monster Mash to be played through the speakers that night, before her lips were wrapping around the straw of her sour key cocktail, narrowed eyes following your gaze.

“Nothing.”

“Is it mister tall, dark, and scary over there?” She’d questioned, jutting her chin in the direction of the bar. You’d gone to rebuke her claim, to shut down her line of inquiry before it strayed further, but any words you might have come up with in your defence were futile when he’d lifted up the bottom of his balaclava with a single dexterous finger, inching the material up just enough to reveal a sharp jaw and a bobbing Adam’s apple as he downed his drink without flinching, despite the dark colour of the liquid telling you it was one that would’ve had you grimacing.

“No.” You’d managed to cough up after a second too long of not answering, grateful for the darkness of the bar hiding your redenning cheeks.

“It’s okay if it is. I get the appeal, dude’s fucking jacked.” She’d replied with a single shrug of her shoulder, a knowing smirk sent your way just as her partner in crime’s arm slung around her shoulders.

“Wha’?” Her boyfriend had asked, evidently already drunker than the both of you combined.

“She’s making heart eyes at the guy over there.” She’d turned to shout in his ear this time, pointing in the direction of the bar where skull face still stood.

“I am not.” You’d grumbled, though your words went unheard as everyone’s eyes were on the skeleton man in question.

“Wha’? The grim reaper?”

“Precisely.” Your friend had answered with a mischievous smile painted across her lips, turning to face you again, before passing her empty glass over to the man hanging onto her every word. “Go get me another one in the meantime, won’t you baby?”

As he’d agreed easily, you friend had stepped closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both regarded the stranger across the room, the mass of bodies between you nothing more than a simple nuisance you hardly noticed when he was the view on the other side.

“You’ve been together less than a month and you’ve already got him this whipped?” You’d asked her, eyes never straying from the masked man who continued nursing an amber coloured drink.

“The sex is just that good. Speaking of which…”

“Don’t start.”

“And why the hell not?” She’d shot back at you, bumping your hip with hers as she leaned her chin down onto your shoulder. “You deserve some earth shattering sex every once in a while too. And skull boy over there certainly looks like he could rock your world.”

“I came out for you tonight, not to flirt.” You’d replied, though the confidence in your words was diminishing with each second you spent watching a pair of thick arms strain aginst a tight shirt.

“And I’m telling you, as your best friend, that you are more off the hook if you wanted to get laid tonight. In fact, I encourage you to do so.”

“What if he’s waiting on someone?”

“Then he’ll tell you so.” She’d replied simply, beginning to sway the two of you in place as Thriller came on over the speakers. “Besides, do you see anybody going up to him? He’s here alone, babe.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” You’d said, downing the rest of your drink in one swig before turning to face her head on, snapping your eyes away from the masked man for the first time since he’d walked in as your heartbeat pounded through in ears drums.

“Oh, relax.” She’d reasoned, putting two steadying hands on your shoulders and looking you in the eyes, as best as she could in the bar’s dim lighting. “Listen, we’re gonna do like we used to do with Yasmine, right? We’ll use my guy this time.”

“I don’t-”

“Girl, would you at least talk to him before you convince yourself you can’t do this? Look how big this dude is. Just imagine the size of his dick. Are you willing to let that slip?”

Daring to slide your eyes back over to his massive stature, you couldn’t help but to have gulped as you did in fact dare to imagine for one fleeting moment, just what it would be like to get a man of that size in your bed for one night.

“You’re right. I want him.”

“‘Ere you are, love.” Her boyfriend had said as he made his way back into your small circle, passing the drink along to your friend who instantly slipped it into your hand and tipped it towards your lips.

“You, drink this.” She’d instructed you, nodding as you downed the liquid courage without needing to be told twice, not if you were going to go through with this after all. “And you,” she’d added, focusing on the now confused man beside her. “You’re gonna help her get laid.”

“I’m gonna- wha’?” He’d questioned, increasingly baffled by the conversation he’d returned to.

“The guys in our friend group used to do this for one of our friends. You’re gonna pretend to be buggin’ her. She’s gonna go to the big man for rescuing and you’re gonna back off and come back to me.”

“Why would I do tha’? Surely she can just walk up to him?”

“Well if you wanted to see my tits tonight…”

“My lady.” He’d said quickly, offering you his arm as though he were a proper gentleman and not some drunk grad student in a superman costume eager to appease his girlfriend in hopes of seeing her boobs later that night.

Gulping down the last of your friends drink and chuckling at the wink she sent your way, you’d strolled ahead of her boyfriend fast enough that you couldn’t change your mind, the alcohol running through your system helping to pull you towards the bar with just enough bravado to properl you in his direction, hands unabashedly landing on a massive bicep before you could stop yourself.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” You could hardly hear yourself over the music and the ringing in your ears, though you knew he’d heard you, was looking at you, when his gaze landed on your face for a second before following yours, eyes falling on a sweaty superman behind him.

“You’re expecting me to believe that this is your boyfriend?” He’d asked as steadily as he could, gesturing not unkindly towards the skull masked man you were still holding onto, hoping desperately that this stupid college trick you and your friends used to use would still work.

You’d been grateful to be leaning against the bar top as you felt your knees suddenly threaten to give out, seeing as the masked stranger had just slipped a muscular arm around your shoulders and spoke in a voice so deep it sent lightning shooting down your spine.

“Husband. Actually. Best move onto the next one mate. She’s taken.” His gravelly Manchester accent had cut through the clamour of the pub, the feeling of the very same arm you’d been ogling now wrapped around you was rapturous. You definitely owed your friend for this one.

Your friend’s mate didn’t need much more than that before he’d been slipping back into the crowd, almost certainly expecting a snog now after this victory.

“Jesus, he’s been hounding me all night, wouldn’t take no for an answer, but you say all of ten words to him and he’s over it? Ugh, men I swear.” You’d said, learning your elbows against the bar top as you went to wave down someone behind the counter, intent on another drink.

You were all to pleased to feel a heated gaze on the side of your face, tilting your head enough to catch the stranger’s eye and sending him a playful smile.

“Funny way to say thank you.” He’d replied, taking half a step closer into your orbit none too subtlety.

“Hey, I was getting there.” You had laughed genuinely, relieved if not in slight disblief that you had him talking to you, had his attention now. “Would a drink be enough to repay you for saving me?”

He seemed to have thought it over for a moment, mulling his answer befor shifting an increment closer to you, relaxing the arm still slung over you shoulders as he easily got the bartender’s attention, despite your best efforts to do the same half a second ago.

“Only if you’like have one with me. Got to keep up the appearance that we’re here together now, haven’t we?”

“Hmm, suppose so.” You’d agreed with him easily, quickly snatching up the barstool next to you as its occupant left. You couldn’t help the deep blush that spread across your cheeks when the man next to you all too easily reach a muscular arm behind you to grab ahold of the stool and drag you closer to him, appearing as though he’d hardly used any effort in doing so. “So, what’s my knight in shining armour’s name, then?”

“Call me Ghost.”

Had his lips been free, Simon might’ve found the decency to apologize for the state of his apartment, a disarrayed sight that would’ve brought his first CO’s to shame, but as it was, his lips were a tad preoccupied dancing against yours.

It’s not like he’d been planning on entertaining tonight anyhow.

Certainly hadn’t planned on this being the outcome of coincidentally walking into a pub hosting a fucking mask party, while he took his own mask on its farewell tour for a night of pity drinking.

Hadn’t planned a pretty little thing all but stumbling into his lap, hadn’t intended on having so many drinks with her, definitely hadn’t meant on finding the things she said so genuinely interesting, hadn’t meant on staying out until the lights in the pub turned on and the owners were telling patrons to leave.

Sure, he had been to one to lean in and kiss you outside under the flickering lamppost around the corner as everything else around you faded into mere background noise, he had been the one to grab your waist tighter when your arms looped around his neck, fingers slipping into hair and under clothing, he had been to one to ask if you wanted to go to somwhere else after the whoops and cheers of a passing group of boys bled through into your reality

What he hadn’t planned on was for your flat to be nearly forty minutes away from the pub, when his was a less than five minute walk, the decision on whose place to go back to being clear though not his preferred choice, though it was all irrelevant when the difference meant getting your naked all the faster

He hadn’t planned on needing any condoms that night, or any time soon for that matter, not a single one or be found in the flat, something you reassured him was fine seeing as you were on the pill, and if he just pulled out, something he all too easily agreed to when your dress slipped off your frame and pooled around your ankles on his floor.

One thing Simon did plan on however, from the moment he’d decided he was going to be bringing you into his bed that night, was that the mask would be staying on.

Yours had fallen off or been ripped off ages ago, whereabouts unknown and uncared for as his frame pushed forward, widening the spread of your thighs that much more, as a massive fist came down and gripped your ankle, propping the limb up against his broad shoulder as he thrusted again.

Simon was far from being anywhere near a lightweight, especially when it came to his drinks, though even he had to admit, he’d been a tad excessive tonight, matching your drinks each time with two if not three times the amount of alcohol inside his glass, losing track of the number as it reached double digits.

He was a smart man, a well-trained one, no matter how many drinks he might’ve had, Simon was also aware of his surroundings, constantly surveying for potential threats or dangers, never leaving his guard down entirely, lest it be the first and list time he does so.

No, his memories of walking back to his flat together, of stumbling through the door as you couldn’t keep your mouths of the others, of ridding each other of every piece of clothing hiding the others warm skin, of landing in bed together in a tangle of heat and sweat and sparks, wasn’t because he was drunk of his drinks.

Simon was drunk off of you.

Each sound you made as his hands roamed the expanse of your naked flesh, every dip and curve, had him feeling higher than an addict.

Every touch you pressed aginst him, every inch of his skin you caressed, squeezed, scratched, and held had his head spinning faster than an overdose.

Simon fully intended on getting every ounces worth out of tonight, on squeezing each bit of pleasure he could out of you and the feast you’d presented before him, on making the most of this fuck as he could, intent on this being the only time.

You were a lovely thing, a soft thing, a much too beautiful and delicate thing for someone like him, for the man beneath the mask he still could not relinquish, not while he was still broken in the way he was, all sharp angles and points that would inevitably leave you hurt, worse off for knowing him.

He would let himself have something like this, someone like you, tonight, but only tonight, just this once.

Though Simon certainly hadn’t meant on cumming in you that night either.

“Please, Ghost! Fuck- I’m so- oh fuck!” Your cries had been the most beautiful symphony to his ears, no concerns about a heardboard banging against the wall when he had nothing more than a mattress and a sheet on the ground, his strong arms cushioning your head with every powerful thrust he gave your sore cunt.

“Oh? Wha’ was tha’? You weren’t about to cum were you?” He’d teased, slowing his pace to instead grind his pelvis against your throbbing clit, the pressure just right as you’d thrown your head back farther, Simon taking advantage of the expanse of your bare neck to press his warm lips to your pulse.

“I’m so close, Ghost- holy shit- don’t stop.” You’d pleaded with him fingernails dragging down the width of his back as you followed his rhythm.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He’d murmured in your ear, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he slowly picked his pace back up, getting you to that point of release for the fourth of fifth time that night.

He knew you were there when you tensed up around him, ankles locking behind his back and moans growing louder as you squeezed impossibly tight around his length, testing every bit of self-restraint he had left.

“Fuck, love. You’re so tight.” He’d grunted, still grinding his hips as to drag out your bliss. “Fuck- I’m gonna- wait- I-”

The words were lost on his lips as he couldn’t help but let out a guttural sound of his own, his heavy balls emptying into you without any hope of stopping it, warmth spreading through you as he continued rutting despite the overstimulation.

“Shit. I didn’t meant to-” He’d started, only pulling out of you after you’d both caught your breaths, leaning his heavy weight off of you and watching in slight horror and secret hunger as his cum covered cock pulled out of you, evidence of your shared release soaking the sheets.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You’d reassured him, glassy eyes staring into his own as your delicate hand held the side of his mask, thumb tracing the grooves beneath his eye sockets.”Like I said, I’m on the pill. And I’ll grab a Plan B on the way home.”

On the way home

He’d planned on you leaving, had planned on finding a way to avoid letting you linger in his sheets too long after it was all said and done, had intended on paying for your taxi fare and bidding you farewell.

What he hadn’t planned on was the odd pang in his chest when he heard you agree it was over.

“Si? What’s wrong? What is it? Simon?” You’d been trying to snap him out of his daze for at least a minute now, something suddenly happening in his brain to have him nearly unresponsive as he struggled to hear you over his thoughts.

“It’s me.”

“What was that?” As upset as you currently were with him, you still loved him, still wanted to help and support him if he was about to have an anxiety attack or something of the sort, his mumbling coming out too quiet and untilleigble for you to understand.

“It’s me.” He mumbled just a touch louder, more coherent, as his eyes began moving again, though not yet reaching you.

“You’re what, Si?” You tried to ask him, still perplexed as to what he was suddenly going on about, confused as to what revelation he appeared to have gotten in the middle of an argument.

“It’s me, love. Birdie, I- fuck.” He said, his gaze finally meeting your, eyes blown wide in apparent shock, an expression you’ve never sen before plastered across his face.

“Jesus, Simon. Sit, sit down, please.” You stood, grabbing his forearm and pulling him towards you where you were sat on a stack of moving boxes, helping him to do the same across from you, only letting go of him when you were sure the box would hold his weight. “What are you talking about? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Love, I- I’m the dad. It’s me. I’m Rosie’s dad.” He said, gesturing towards himself with both hands, speaking as though this were breaking news.

“Si, I- I love that you call yourself her dad, I agree, but we’ve been doing that for months now-”

“No,” he interrupted you, leaning forward wit his elbows on his knees, a nearly crazed look in his eyes as he tried to reason with you. “No, birdie, I- I’m Rosie’s dad. I’m the one who got you pregnant last Halloween. I- fuck- I’m the dad.”

“Wha- what are you even talking about?” You stuttered, more than slightly flabbergasted that Simon would think this was something fun to joke about, knowing how sensitive of a subject this was to you. “That’s not even a little funny, Simon.”

“No, lovie. Listen to me- I swear to ya. O’Malley’s Pub, a fuckin’ Halloween mask party, right? You stumbled into me when some bloke was messin’ wit’ ya.”

If Simon noticed the blood drain from your face at his words, he didn’t comment, instead continuing in his explanation that left your ears ringing.

“You were dressed as that maid from the opera whatever, least ‘til I brought you back to my flat, round the corner from that same pub, am I right?”

“What- how could-”

“And then I fuckin’ came in ya, we spent hours in that bed and the last time of course I bloody fuckin’ came in ya.” He continued, sounding mad at himself as he recounted the events of that night, the possibility of it all being too astounding for your mind to comprehend.

“You’re lying again!”

“Birdie, please-”

“No! How could you possibly be her father? What are the odds that it was you that night, Simon? That you’re not only her father but when I walked up to that fence last year and every person on that damned crew told me to talk to you? That you were the one who showed up and came through for me. There is no way! I can’t believe you would-”

“Stand up.”

“W-what?” You asked incredulously, watching as his eyes never left your thigh his chin jutted out towards the box you were still sat atop.

“Stand up and open that box, love.” He replied simply, his calm demeanour unwavering you now more than anything else. You still felt red in the face, your pulse pounding in your head as you felt tears threatening to spill over.

For some reason you still stood, you still turned around and glanced at the box in front of you, one of Simon’s from the flat you’ve never visited before, not when he always came over to yours.

The box was simply labeled ‘Work’ in Simon’s sloppy hand writing, a black sharpie telling you this box was one you’d never seen the inside of before, should it be from his old career in the military and not his new one of hammers and nails and hard hats.

“Open it.” He told you, eyes softening when you tilted your head slightly to glance at him. “Please.”

As furious and confused and exhausted and conflicted as you felt at that moment, you still opened that box, still lifted up the folded camo print pants that were stacked at the top, sifting through the heaps of clothing until your fingers found something out of place.

Eyes locking with Simon’s, you’d hardly needed to glance down at your hand to confirm what you’d just pulled out into the open.

That damned skeleton mask.

If there’s anything I love more than a run-on sentence, it’s a cliff hanger… and thus the night Rosie was created 😉

We’ve only got two more chapters to go with this pair! I’ve been having so much fun writing this story, it’ll be bittersweet to watch it come to an end, but equally excited to tie it all together

- M 🫶🏻

Tag list: @dawnnightshade666 @topaz125 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @th3on3and0nly1r1s @sirbonesly @biscgutz @cmbghost @glossy01 @slowlyshycomputer @barcelonaaababe @astrxsee @sweetpeakarolinaaa @aqua-nina @wizzdot @beautifuleaglealpaca @peachy-satan00 @drewsuncrustables @pato-spoiler-27 @lem-hhn @dravenskye @juullllssss @mxsatorisimp @merkitty49 @monssan99-blog @notkyleelol @tessakate @sahvlren @danika1994 @viennakarma @pastel-devil-06 @asoulsreverie @puppydollgstar @strawberrygato @heletsmelovehim @404creep @just-lilita @desiretolive @marigold-morelli @robinfeldt98 @sleep101 @scaleniusrm @wh0reforstars @beebeechaos @lulutheoverthinker @casterblue @amans-puer @mestrecadumaverick @loud-mouph @t3a-bag @enfppuff @kneelforloki @scorpio-echo @casketofroses @vintage-karma (Taglist is full, tumblr only lets you add 50 users)